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.

First off, let me say that I'm really sorry that it took so long for this chapter to get done. I mean, really? It's almost been half a year since I last updated! That's kind of ridiculous.

I'm afraid that this is mainly due to the first draft of this chapter not only being nearly 50,000 words long, but also not up to my usual quality. In my efforts to drum up the tension I inadvertently ended up writing Shirou as far too indecisive and borderline incompetent, then there were complications in the second part, lots of stuff that my Beta pointed out after I sent it to him. I admit that I was less than happy with the amount of rewriting needed, but I couldn't argue the fact that I'd made some pretty big blunders, so I began the laborious process of a rather large rewrite, and let me tell you, it's actually much harder to rewrite something the second time, lots less inspiration and motivation.

This was further complicated by the fact that I have been trying to crack down on a novel that I'm hoping to have finished and published before this time next year. Devoting time to it naturally ate into what I had spare to devote to this fic. On top of that the place I work had begun the process of changing owners, and I, sadly, was not one of the employees that made the transition. That meant a lot of long hours and hard work to get everything ready in time, not to mention the dread of approaching unemployment. Add in a couple of issues closer to home, and it all made for a less than ideal situation.

It's not all bad news though. I got a pretty decent final pay check, lots of untaken holiday times that they owed me, plus a decent bonus, so I'm taking a short break until the new year. I also decided to divide the chapter into two, thus making it a bit more manageable, and so I was able to get this chunk out to you. Hopefully it won't take anywhere near as long for the second part to be edited and finished with.

In response to my last chapter a lot of people asked why Shirou used Chain of Prometheus instead of Enkidu, so let me clear that up right now. In an earlier chapter I did state that Shirou wouldn't have access to Enkidu, but it has been a few years since that chapter came out, so let me restate my reasons. Firstly, since it is not a melee weapon it would cost Shirou extra to Trace it. Next is that though it is never stated in the source materials I choose to believe that Enkidu is a very high-level weapon, one that would be difficult to fake under the best of circumstances. Lastly, and this is just canon for my fic, Enkidu is a Noble Phantasm that signifies the bond between Gilgamesh and Enkidu, as a result it can only be used by either of them, it won't serve any others without suffering a major loss in ability.

The reason for this is simple enough, Enkidu would be entirely Broken if it worked as advertised in the Campioneverse. I mean, it managed to hold Heracles when he was amped up on Berserker power, and in the original legend it managed to hold the Bull of the Heavens, which as I understand it was a massively powerful being. If Shirou had it then no god would be able to stand against him, every fight would be very formulaic. Bind with Enkidu, stab with Excalibur, rinse and repeat and soon Shirou is the greatest god killer in history. Might make for an Omake, but not for the main plot. I hope that clears things up.

Okay, I might have mentioned this before, but I want to write it again, just to be clear. Ahriman is a powerful and dangerous god, but they are not massively powerful. If I had to quantify his/her/its strength I would have to say that they are stronger than Perseus, but not as powerful as Mordred, about equal to Hades. The thing that makes them such a threat to Shirou is that they are essentially a hard counter for most of his abilities as well as protected by possessing Illya, something that gives them a nigh perfect shield against him.

One of Ahriman's core concepts is 'corruption', and this is especially suited to fighting Shirou since it eliminates his use of Noble Phantasms as direct weapons. If he does use them against Ahriman, then they will be usurped and turned against him. True, there are some that would bypass this effect or be immune to it. Excalibur, for example, is a crystallized concept that can be darkened, as with Saber Alter, but never usurped. There is also Gae Dearg could cut through the aura of corruption without being affected, but then it would hurt Illya. Even worse, should Shirou materialize Unlimited Blade Works in full then it would be rendered vulnerable to direct corruption by Ahriman, most likely leading to a complete soul collapse on Shirou's part.

Also, it seems that my last chapter was a bit divisive in the opinions I received. I'd like to thank all of those that might not have been too keen on it but told me so in a civil and polite fashion. I also received a few somewhat abusive reviews, these were ignored and deleted.

A lot of people brought up that I seem to be using the concept of mind control a lot, so I'd like to respond to that here. I think using it two times over the course of more than a million words doesn't really count as overuse, but I can see how some might not like it at all, though I feel that the distinction between the two should be made. My using it on Shirou was due to me wanting to have him fight other Campione in a way that was believable, since I thought such a battle would be an excellent point for him to fully realize Unlimited Blade Works. My problem was that I couldn't come up with a reason for them to fight that didn't seem too contrived. I wanted to avoid the overused 'fight over a misunderstanding' plot twist, but I was having trouble finding a substitute. I had considered Illya being kidnapped and used as blackmail against Shirou, but that would have resulted in a half-assed fight, with neither participant giving their all. Also, I'd already had Illya kidnapped by the Circle; I thought it was far too soon for it to happen again.

One of the Campione being mind controlled by a god was a good way to ensure that all parties in the fight would have ample motivation to fight as hard as they could, so I decided to go with it. Then, when I was looking over which gods might have such abilities, deities of love and lust were the ones that immediately sprang to mind. Aphrodite was my first choice, mainly because as a child I was scared by a story about her in some legend. I don't remember the details, but someone offends her by saying their daughter/wife/sister, I can't remember which, is more beautiful than her. Aphrodite retaliates by making someone fall in love with someone they shouldn't, and this sets off a chain reaction, by the end pretty much everyone except for Aphrodite is dead, maimed, or catatonic. So, she seemed like a good fit for the role I needed.

What Ahriman has done to Illya isn't mid control so much as it is body snatching. The idea came from me trying to think up the worst possible enemy that Shirou could face. The original plan was for him/her/it to be linked to Illya, so any wound it received would be reflected upon her, but I discarded this idea after seeing something similar in an anime and finding it frustrating to watch. It was while watching a YouTube video that I got the idea of Ahriman possessing Illya, thus using her as both sword and shield against Shirou. She is very much aware; she just can't control her body or connect to her senses. Rest assured though, she's not going to be just sitting back and waiting for a rescue, that's not the sort of girl that Illyasviel is.

SPOILERS!

You may be wondering why Shirou seems stuck on the idea of the culprit being Angra Mainyu, but at the same time thinks it's impossible. The reason is that Ahriman is very akin to Avenger, given that their nature is similar in that they are linked to the accumulated evils and curses of all humanity. There are differences of courses, since the 'systems' of the worlds they exist on operate in different manners, but they are alike enough that only a detailed analysis could tell them apart. When Shirou senses Ahriman's power he immediately thinks of Avenger, but knows that it shouldn't be him since even if Angra Mainyu became a god he shouldn't be able to descend to the mortal realm so soon after being killed. Intellectually he is aware that there might be another god with similar properties to his enemy, but when faced with something so close it takes him a bit to shift mental gears.

My Beta commented that Shirou seems to be doing somewhat poorly against Ahriman. I've tried to clear things up with a description of some of their Authorities at the end of this chapter, I hope they will help clear up any questions.

Also, many thanks to my Beta! Really, I'm serious, without his excellent help this chapter would be nowhere near as good as it is! He prefers to be unnamed, but a large chunk of this story's quality can be attributed to him. So, many, many thanks!

Anyway, here is, a Christmas present for all the readers I have kept waiting for so long. I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


Chapter Thirty-Nine: Desperation

Shirou silently cursed as he dodged backwards, only just avoiding one of those abominable hooked blades that Illya was using.

Things were not going well, not by any stretch of the imagination. Sure, he had been able to avoid getting struck, and that was most likely a victory in and of itself. He had no idea what being cut by those weapons would do to him, but given the sheer malevolence that they seemed to be dripping with he was willing to bet that it wouldn't be anything good. Unfortunately, that was all that he'd been able to do at least for the moment. He'd tried to restrain his adopted sister, but his efforts so far hadn't yielded any results, indeed, they had only raised greater questions.

His first effort to restrain her had been to use a Mystic Code, one that had been gained when EMIYA had hunted those magi that committed atrocities in the pursuit of their research. The one that he used had belonged to a mage that liked to catch his 'research subjects' alive, believing that since pain was a universal concept to all living things it could be used as a route to Akasha if properly studied. Naturally such studies required the inflicting of pain upon healthy and sane subjects, so this Mystic Code had been used to capture them. It was one that was well suited to Tracing, a series of cables forged from various magically responsive metals all joined together at a single point, and with the loose cables extending from it like the limbs of a jellyfish. It wasn't truly automatous, but when it encountered a living organism it would wrap around them with inhuman strength, taking the hold needed to immobilize its victim and rob them of the leverage needed to break free.

The construct was not on par with even a weak Noble Phantasm, but it had been surprisingly well crafted for what it was. In the past his alternate self had used copies of it to restrain weak Dead Apostles or magi proficient in personal Reinforcement, and the Code had proven useful. Granted, he hadn't been expecting just one to be able to restrain Illya as she was, but he'd Traced four of the Mystic Codes. The copies had worked well together in the past, and he'd hoped that between them they'd be able to hold his sister. What was best about them was that they were designed to keep their victims from injuring themselves, so he'd hoped that he could capture the white-haired girl without hurting her.

The hope had proven false though, the cables rotting away into rust and metal flakes within seconds of coming into contact with the black aura that enveloped her. Illya's only response had been a contemptuous giggle before she came at him again.

His next effort had been to use the Black Keys favoured by Executors of the Church. The Sacrament weapons had a potent emphasis upon interfering with the spiritual concept of 'evil', so he was hoping that it would work in this case. For a moment he'd thought it might have worked, after he'd thrown one of the blades past her and impaled her shadow, causing her to freeze in place. However, this hope was quickly extinguished as her shadow moved on its own and seemed to consume the weapon driven into it.

His third attempt had been aborted as his sister closed with him, forcing him to focus upon defending himself until he could get some room, a proposition that proved itself more difficult than he had expected. Illya was not as strong or fast as him, but she was definitely operating at a level that should have been beyond her, even if she had pushed her Reinforcement to the absolute limit. Her physical abilities were on par with those of a lesser Servant, almost on par with some of the gods he had faced in the past. It wasn't as overwhelming, but it was enough to take him by surprise, leaving him flat-footed.

"Really, onii-chan? Is that the best you can do?"

She came at him again, and once again he dodged her, just as he had been doing since this battle began.

Shirou's mouth curled in frustration as he tried to evaluate the situation. His initial shock at Illya trying to kill him had taken some time to shake off, but now he was starting to get a handle on the situation. Obviously, she was being controlled, used as a weapon against him, but that left important questions. How was Illya-chan being controlled? The problem was that there were too many options, given that the act of imposing one's will upon another was almost the most primal form of magic that there was. Before you altered the world, before you altered yourself, before all else the simplest desire of man was to make others listen to you and agree, and such had been the subject of much effort over the history of humanity. Mesmerism, binding, potions, geass, slave contracts, mental surgery, possession, puppeteering, cursed objects, the list was so long that there were entire libraries on the subject.

Which one of them could be afflicting his sister? He didn't see anything like jewellery or equipment upon her, at least not obviously. Could it be concealed beneath her clothing? For that matter it did not need to be an object, it could be a brand or tattoo. Shirou couldn't claim to be any great authority on the matter, but one of EMIYA's memories included hunting a seal designate that had used inked bindings to forcibly turn others into virtual extensions of his will, including a number of other magi and even a Dead Apostle. Could something like that be happening here? The future Archer had been able to use a Traced Rule Breaker to destroy the connection, but only by touching the tattoos directly.

So how was he meant to see if there were any markings upon her?

For a mad moment his memory flashed back to one of the many anime that Illya had forced him to watch with her. It had been some sort of fighting anime, not quite his favoured genre, given his preference for sentai style, with a large ratio of female to male fighters. He'd also complained that most of the battles had resulted in said females getting most of their clothing removed. It had been at that point that Illya had explained the concept of 'clothing damage' to him. That had been a bit embarrassing, given that only a few months ago the snowy haired girl had never even seen an anime before. And now he was thinking about how to destroy her clothes without hurting her to see if she had any marks that he could undo?

Hell no!

Dismissing the absurd and distracting thought Shirou focused on the here and now. The obvious move was to use Rule Breaker on her and see if it was enough to undo whatever was forcing her to try to kill him. The Noble Phantasm of Medea was one of his best options when it came to breaking spells and magical effects. Even if it didn't work perfectly it would hopefully do something to reveal just what was going on.

Alright, he had a plan. In a way that made this situation somewhat more bearable. Now he knew what he had to do.

Again, Kanshou and Bakuya materialized in his hands, his grip and stance shifting to prepare for battle.

"Oh? Are you finally ready to take this seriously, onii-chan? Good, I was starting to think that you had somehow turned into a coward on me."

"Illya, I don't know what's happened to you, but I promise, I will save you!"

Shirou didn't wait for a response to his declaration; instead he swept forward, his blades swinging at her. Well, not at her, that was something that he'd learnt not to do very early on in their first exchange of blows. Illya wasn't fighting in any way that would be regarded as practical. She clearly knew how to use the weapons she held, but even with her newly acquired speed and strength her fighting style was insane, and that was coming from someone that knew Archer's method. Illya took it a further step due to her own style being flat out suicidal.

She had no defence whatsoever, her every move and swing were geared entirely towards offence, no thought to protecting herself at all. Shirou had nearly sliced out a chunk of her left arm before he realized what she was doing. She was essentially using her own body as a shield, trusting in that he would never hurt her. It was in this way that she was closing the gap between them, by concentrating all she had onto attacking him and ignoring any sort of defence or evasion. He still had the option of using the flats of the blades on her, knocking her out rather than going for the kill, but against someone who was boosting their physical abilities like she was just how much damage it would take to render her unconscious was uncertain. He might end up killing her before her knocked her out.

Still, he wasn't out of options yet, he still had safer ways of trying to free her.

"Ah, there's the resolve I was expecting of you! Really, I'm disappointed that it took you so long to find it, you would have been much quicker for Sakura, you know."

Ignore her words, don't let yourself be distracted. Shirou repeated it to himself, but it didn't stop the words from carrying some sting. Had he been neglecting Illya? Had he been spending too much time focused on trying to get back to Sakura? Despite his best efforts the questions grew in his thoughts like weeds in a garden, still he managed to shove them into the back of his mind as he closed with her.

The Noble Phantasms in his hands flicked out, but unlike before their target wasn't the girl, but rather the weapons that she wielded. This time he didn't hold back much either, and his sister winced slightly as the black and white swords smashed into her serrated weapons. The hook-like blades did not break under the assault, but it was clear that Illya was having a hard time holding onto them, despite her increased strength, he could feel them twisting under the force of his blows, even though she kept her grip. If he tried harder then he might be able to knock them from her hands, but that wasn't what he wanted.

"Trying to disarm me, onii-chan? Do you really think it will be so easy? It's not as though I need my toys to play with you."

Yes, let her think that was what he wanted, that would only work to his favour. He gave no reply, just kept swinging his swords. Now she was the one that was backing away. Not retreating, rather she was trying to open distance between them in order to have more space to swing her weapons. He saw his opening, and he didn't hesitate for an instant.

Both his swords swung up and out, catching his sister's blades with enough force to momentarily spread her arms. Under other circumstances it would have been a fatal mistake upon her part, since it left her vulnerable to attacks to all her major organs, but for her it was no threat, not so long as Shirou refused to harm her. It was alright though; he didn't plan to harm her with his attack.

He let go of the sword in his right hand. Its momentum carried it away, but he was unconcerned, so long as he had its married blade in his left then the other would return. Instead he tensed his hand and Traced a copy of Ruler breaker into it. The iridescent dagger sparkled in his hand, light cascading off it in a multicoloured sheen that would have been quite beautiful on any other weapon. Ruler Breaker though was different, so steeped in blood, cruelty and betrayal that regardless of its appearance the sight of it made part of his mind squirm in revulsion. Still, for all its faults it was hopefully the key to saving Illya.

The tip stabbed into her shoulder, just inside the shoulder joint. He'd aimed there deliberately, knowing that if the weapon penetrated deeper than he wished then at least the damage would not be life threatening. He felt the power of the Noble Phantasm surge in his grip, drinking his own prana in order to activate its ability. In a split second the jagged dagger reached out . . . and then everything went wrong!

Shirou only got a glimpse of colours fading away, then his hand was screaming in pain. Without thinking about it, he let go of the Noble Phantasm of Medea and sprung backwards, opening distance between him and Illya. It was only as he came to a stop, a good twenty or thirty feet from his sister, that his brain was able to catch up with events. Firstly, his hand was a lacerated mess. Cuts ran across his palm and fingers as though he had tried to seize the blades of an active blender, with only the improved hardiness of his Campione body having kept them from being completely slashed apart. The hand would still work, but his grip would be weak, and until he stopped bleeding it would also be slick. Not good, not good at all.

The second thing that he saw was Rule Breaker. The dagger still hung in the air where he had left it, but the ceremonial knife was changed in both form and colouring. The gold and red on the hilt and guard were gone, replaced by silver and black. The grip would now never be used by human hands again, not with the multitude of razor-sharp blades that extended from it, ready to shred any flesh foolish enough to try. The blade of the knife was also changed, no longer the multi-hued shimmer that it had been; now it was flat and colourless, like glass that had misted over with time.

"Oh, what's this? This is . . . Rule Breaker? Yes, yes you told me about it in your letter. Ah, I see, you were trying to free me weren't you, Onii-chan. That's so sweet of you, so like you, but it's also pointless. Don't you know that you can't win? Don't you know that thieves never escape their punishment?"

What was happening? What had done that? Shirou's mind raced as he stared at the Noble phantasm, trying to understand what was going on. Instinctively he reached out with Structural Grasping, trying to understand what had changed about the Noble Phantasm that he had created from his own prana only seconds before. It was the same, it was Rule Breaker, its powers remained, its legend remained, its composition remained, but . . . but what was wrong with it?!

The King of Steel felt a sharp pain behind his eyes as he tried to grasp what had been done to the knife. He could tell that something fundamental had changed, but he could no more understand what it was than he could cook gravel into bread. His mind shied away from it, unable to grasp what his magic was able to sense. The dagger remained intact, but it was changed, warped, corrupted.

And most certainly, no longer his.

Before him the Noble Phantasm flipped in place, its jagged point now aimed squarely at his chest.

"Look, onii-chan! I've stolen something from you now! It's not nearly enough to make you pay for what you did, but it is a start, wouldn't you agree?"

He expected the stolen Noble Phantasm to be fired at him, but instead it remained hovering at her side, its point always centring upon him as though it were a compass needle pointing north. Another weapon for her to use, that seemed to be all that he'd managed to accomplish with his efforts. Well, actually that wasn't quite true, he'd learnt something, the problem was that he wasn't entirely sure what it was that he'd seen. Rule Breaker had been . . . usurped from him, ripped from his control and somehow altered, but Shirou didn't understand the how of it, nor how to defend against it.

This wasn't something he could just let go; he had to know more if he wanted to be able to help Illya. There was a brief moment of internal debate, then two more swords faded into being above each shoulder. These were thin weapons, their blades barely a finger-width, their design meant more for stabbing than slashing. These Noble Phantasms were nameless blades, swords that had once been wielded by long forgotten heroes in a bygone era. Though not powerful they were suitable for the task that Shirou had in mind.

"Trace Bullet Fire!"

As though they had been discharged from a rail gun the two swords shot at his adopted sister. The eighth Campione gritted his teeth as released them, internally agonizing at the thought of hurting his adopted sister. Still, as much as he hated to do so he had to bring her down quickly, before the situation escalated any further. The swords he'd fired were aimed at her legs with near surgical precision, and their nature meant that any wounds they inflicted would be small and clean. With any luck he'd be able to disable her, then see to healing without any sort of complications.

It wasn't ideal, but . . .

His internal debate proved to be pointless; as soon as the swords came into contact with her the same change that happened to the knife overtook them. They blackened, warped, no longer weapons of shining steel and pristine lines, instead they were weapons akin to the serrated and hooked blades that she wielded against him. Nothing, just more weapons added to those at her command. Though . . .

Yes, this vaguely resembled the Noble Phantasm that the Berserker of the Fourth Holy Grail War had possessed, the one that had allowed him to turn objects that he touched into Noble Phantasms for him to wield. What Illya seemed to have was a more defensive version, one that usurped any weapon used against her. Unlike the Berserker's ability it didn't seem to be increasing the power of the weapons she took control of, but she did seem to be able to use them even without physical contact, as evidenced by the three usurped Noble Phantasms now pointed at him.

Wait, was that why she had been willing to leave herself open the way that she had? It made sense, if she could steal his weapons on contact then there was no need to defend against them.

"It's still not enough, Onii-chan. I can see some shock on your face, but it just isn't enough. I've stolen your swords, but that isn't enough, I want to steal more from you. I want your strength, your power, your hope, your joy. I want to take everything from you until there's nothing left that I want to take, do you think that will be enough to make up for what you stole?"

"You keep on talking about me being a thief, but what is it that you think I've stolen?"

Yes, getting her talking was a good idea. At the very least it might buy him some more time, and if he was lucky she might let slip something that he could use.

"What do think it is? Do you really think that I'd be doing this if it was something trivial? What do you think is of enough worth to merit all this?"

One of her curved blades gestured about them, and in the distance Shirou could see several plumes of smoke rising into the sky. Internally he tried to count them, tried to guess at how large the fires creating them must be in order to send up enough smoke that he could see it from where he was. Again, he pushed such thoughts away, refusing to let them distract him at such a crucial time.

"Authorities, you're talking about my Authorities, aren't you?"

"The powers of the gods, stolen and taken by mortals by the ritual of Pandora, what else could I be speaking of?"

She came at him again, slashing at him not only with the weapons in her hands, but also with the Noble Phantasms that hovered around her. He was still faster, stronger, and more skilled, but she had three extra lines of attack now, and she seemed to know how to use them, even if only crudely. Bakuya came up to deflect one of her serrated blades even as he leaned his head to the side to avoid a stab from the blackened Rule Breaker. The next instant he ducked, barely avoiding the sword blade that whistled through the space his head had just occupied. This wasn't ideal, but he could deal with it, at least until his hand healed up enough to allow him to once more wield two weapons at once. Until then he could get by using one and his evasion skills.

"Still not willing to accept your punishment, Onii-chan? There's only one way that this can end, you know? You really should just-"

Her words were cut of as Shirou swung at her again, this time aiming to knock her unconscious with the flat of his blade. The move was more brutal than he wished to use, but he needed to know if it was the use of the bladed edge of the weapons that had let her defence usurp them. Authorities and powers like them often came with certain conditions, and Shirou needed to know if this one would defend against all weapons, or just bladed ones. The attack impacted, and Illya was sent stumbling sideways, but even as she did so the black and white blade in his hand twisted. This time he let it go before the grip could harm him as it changed, but that wasn't important.

He'd felt it, as the flat hit, resistance as though he'd tried to strike through tar or honey. It wasn't enough to stop the blow altogether, but it had been able to bleed off strength, lessen the blow until she could endure it.

"Oh! Oh, that was clever of you, Onii-chan. Clearly I need to take this a little more seriously!"

Her arms blurred, and then the weapons she had been holding were scything through the air straight at him. The eighth Campione was able to dodge the first and then bring up his lone Noble Phantasm to block the second, but he was caught by surprise at the sheer force that came with the weapon's impact. As soon as the hooked and serrated blade impacted with his own it seemed to burst apart, there was no fire, no sound, just a wave of pure force strong enough to send Shirou rolling as though Berserker had landed a hit on him. He didn't have time to recover though, even as he got back onto his feet Illya came at him again, more of those twisted weapons in her hands, her movements fast and vicious as she seemed to swarm at him, more like a feral beast than a real fighter. He was still stronger than her, but their speeds were matched enough that even though he had the advantage he was still being pushed back.

"All created returns to ruin, all hopes give way to despair, all trust is broken, all worth lost! A million daevas heed my words and carry them to the far corners of the earth, that the truth of this may be known! All light shall die, all oaths shall be lost . . ."

Even as she started her chant Shirou felt his stomach begin to drop. That hadn't been a spell; he would have been able to tell if it were. Instead he had been all too familiar with the power, the potency that had accompanied them. That was an Authority, a divine power that Illya should not have been able to wield.

Well, some background part of his mind decided, at least that meant he now knew what he was dealing with, some sort of divine possession. The rest of him was not so distracted though, instead he tried to be surge forwards, break her concentration and halt the invocation of the divine power.

Whatever deity had control of his sister must have been ready though, because for the very first time since the battle began Illya defended herself. His blade, aimed to smash her own aside so he could try to grapple with her, met a solidly braced block, one that absorbed the force of his attack and sent her flying back, opening space between them. As she lightly landed on her feet his adopted sister's lips curled into a sweet and cruel smile as she completed her chant.

". . . and all that shall remain are the remnants drowned in the tears of a million lost souls. Everything that is shall break, and all that break are mine! Let the shattered, the tainted, the ruined and the shunned be mine!"

He felt the magic surge about them, a sudden wave of pressure without a definable source. He bit back a curse as he prepared to face whatever was going to be marshalled against him, but was momentarily distracted as Illya waved to him, the normally friendly gesture now mocking instead.

"You really should be more careful of where you're stepping, Onii-chan."

The warning came too late to be of any help, but then there had never been any real intent to warn him in those words.

Pain shot up through his leg, agony as though his foot had suddenly stepped into a tub of boiling tar! There was more than the physical pain though, it was as though beneath the heat of the pain the warmth of life was being leeched out of him, taking his strength with it. The sensation was horrifying, agonizing, and terribly familiar.

There was no time for thought though, the second the pain hit him he threw himself sideways as hard as he could. His leg didn't want to respond, but the other one was working fine and the strength his Authority had granted him was enough to send him rolling across the ground. The connection broken, he felt the pain fade and heat that didn't burn return to his limbs, as the roll turned into a controlled return to his feet. Looking back, he saw what had caused the pain, a line of viscous darkness running along the ground, thin tendrils retracting from the spot where he'd just put his foot.

That pain, it was familiar, something he'd faced before. The 'texture' was different, but the 'flavour' of that darkness remained unmistakable. A glance about him revealed his thought to be correct, all about him, everywhere that Illya had stepped, everywhere the grass and soil had died and desiccated beneath her tread, was a familiar mixture of darkness and red. The darkness was not in the form of mud though, not as it had been when last he faced it. Instead it was thicker, oilier, but moving as though directed by a current hidden beneath its surface.

This . . . this didn't make sense! Angra Mainyu was dead! He'd hit the infant god virtually point blank with a blast from Excalibur! He'd become a Campione by . . . No! No, he couldn't let himself fall into that trap of thinking! Angra Mainyu had been terrible, a Servant that had become a living wish so vile that it had contaminated the Holy Grail system, and then later ascended into a nascent god once brought to this world, but he couldn't think of him as unique. This world might have more in it that were similar, gods tied to evil or madness enough to create something similar to that mud that held all the evils of mankind.

"Ah, I can see your mind working, Onii-chan. Have you started to put the pieces together?"

Even as she spoke his adopted sister stamped on one of the paths of darkness that her Authority had created. Despite its seemingly liquid state it was as solid as rock beneath her foot, at least until it suddenly cracked like glass. The explosive shattering ran along the path, heading straight past the King of Steel, but close enough to catch him in the spray of black shards. There was enough time though, and Shirou was able to distance himself from the attack, enough to leave him untouched.

Why had she done that? The action made no sense to him; wouldn't it have been more sensible to leave the trail of darkness on the ground, making it that much more difficult for him to find safe footing? In the wake of the trail's eruption there was nothing but a long and deep furrow blasted into the ground, one deep enough to trap a car that drove into it, but otherwise perfectly mundane. There was no hint of the blackness, just broken concrete and scattered earth. So why had she done it? Had it been an impulsive act? Had she miscalculated how fast he could move in response to the threat?

"Here's another hint, dear Onii-chan."

Her foot stamped down on another trail, setting off another line of explosions as the trail of black and red tar shattered and tore the earth. It wasn't hard to dodge, not with his Authority granting him speed, but he was still pelted with loose gravel and could be blinded by dust if he wasn't careful. The attack was more of a distraction than a serious assault, but that didn't mean it couldn't hurt him if he wasn't careful. He felt a stinging at the back of his throat, small but persistent, he almost dismissed it as an annoyance, but then he caught a slight taste of blood in his mouth and his eyes narrowed over at the sight of his maniacally smiling sister.

"Trace On!"

Prana flowed through his magic circuits, and Íonú Domhanda appeared in his hand. More of his Od flowed into the Noble Phantasm, enough to make it strong, then too much for it too handle. As its frameworks swelled to bursting it became fragile, it became dangerous, it became Broken.

Shirou drove the blade into the ground before him in the same instant that the Broken Phantasm went off. With almost any other Noble Phantasm this would have been a pretty terrible idea, given that it would ensure that he'd be caught in the area of the weapon's detonation. Had it been something like Caladbolg or Hrunting then he'd have been severely injured at best by being so close. Campione fortitude was not invincibility, and either of those two would have been enough to either incapacitate or flat out kill him.

However, Íonú Domhanda was different. Despite its form as a short sword it was never intended to be used as a weapon. Instead it was intended as a tool, an implement, just a differently shaped wand or talisman, its function wasn't to harm or destroy, but instead to purify.

And that was what it did as it Broke.

The explosion that was released wasn't one of heat or force; rather it was a massive ripple that pushed outwards, eliminating every impurity that it encountered as it passed by, in the air, in the ground, even in Shirou's own body. Well, it tried to.

Shirou felt the wave trying to quell a portion of the prana in his body, he'd been expecting it, knew that it would react in this way. Elevated levels of magic in the body were dangerous; they could burn out nerves, even damage organs if pushed far enough. Prana was useful, but unless it was controlled or kept to a low level then it was harmful, a contaminant, so the power released by Íonú Domhanda tried to purge the excess from his body, and given that Shirou was currently in a fight for his life that was not a good thing.

Fortunately, he was not a normal mortal. Powerful though the release of the Noble Phantasm's effect was his magic resistance was able to greatly mitigate it. He'd lost some prana, but he had huge reserves, enough that it would be of minimal issue. What was of greater import was that the miasma that had been choking him was stripped from the air. He did cough again after his next breath, but the pain in his throat quickly faded as he drew in further breaths of untainted oxygen.

That was good, that was what he'd been aiming for. Sadly, the other effects that he'd hoped for weren't so forthcoming. The trails of darkness about him still remained, the force of Íonú Domhanda insufficient to erase them. They had shuddered and recoiled as its power had washed over them, but they had remained, whatever divine power that had spawned them being of too great a potency to be purified by the Broken Phantasm.

Illya herself was also unaffected. He supposed that it was too much to hope for that she'd be freed from whatever influence had been controlling her, but he had hoped.

"Irritating, thief! Very, very irritating."

That was all the warning he got before she stamped again, setting off another trail of destruction. Nor did she stop there, no sooner had she detonated the trail that she hopped to another, and then to another. Her movements were almost dance-like as one by one every last one of the trails of dark muck were set off.

For his part Shirou was dodging about in a way that could only be described as 'wildly'. For all that his speed was enhanced by Dragon Slaying Hero being able to evade so many detonations of force erupting so swiftly after each other was nigh impossible due to there being almost nowhere to go. Worse than that, the air was once again being choked by the miasma being released by the explosions. Already he could feel it cutting at the back of his throat, trying to go deeper into his lungs, even as he covered his face with his arms.

Again, Shirou Traced Íonú Domhanda, holding the blade close in his still healing hand. Just being near the ancient talisman was enough to ensure some breaths of clean air, but he would once again have to Break it in order to clear the atmosphere of the area.

"Not this time!"

It was a challenge to get Bakuya raised in time with his uninjured hand in his defence, but he managed it. Illya came out of the cloud about him like a small hurricane of weapons and poison, not all that much skill, but plenty of raw speed and viciousness. As before she was attacking with every one of the weapons at her disposal, using those in her hands and the ones that hovered about her, even the ground beneath her feet was melting into that black mire of crimson and darkness that he'd seen earlier. That meant that if he stood still for too long or was careless with his footing then the spreading pool would drag him in, so all he could do was fall back.

It all added up, and it was not coming to a good sum. Shirou was still stronger, faster and more skilled, but for the time being he only had one reliable hand and couldn't use more potent Noble Phantasms in case they were usurped as well. Illya had aggression and viciousness on her side, and with all the new weapons she was gaining her vectors of attack were growing in numbers. He could still deal with them, for now at least, but it was a growing problem.

More pressing was that he was unsure how to proceed, Rule Breaker had been his most reliable shot at freeing her and it had failed catastrophically.

What were his other options? Should he try to knock her out? But if so then what would he do? He could take her back to his manor, Noble Phantasms might be at a disadvantage which would limit his normal options, but he did have other resources. Tiamat and Guinevere, each of them knew enough about magic that they could have probably qualified as Casters had they been Servants, so there was a good chance they might know something that could help. The problem was in actually subduing her, Illya was far too strong to be taken out easily, but at the same time she was fragile enough that he could cause her considerable harm if he wasn't extremely careful, and his option of using Traced weapons was uncertain. On top of that most of his Authorities were combative in nature, and those that weren't didn't have any applications that he thought could be of use here.

No! That wasn't quite true!

Shirou's eyes narrowed as he contemplated the two Authorities he possessed that he actively disliked. Neither of them had effects that he took lightly, and indeed hoped never to actually use, but given the current situation both of them flashed to mind as possible options to subdue Illya and the being possessing her without harming his sister.

Golden Cupid was an Authority that he regarded as almost an abomination, strange as it was to say. The ability to force others to fall in love, or at least in amorous obsession, was wrong in every way as far as he was concerned. Medea was not someone that he liked or respected, not given his borrowed memories of her in those other timelines where he had faced her. But for all that seeing her trying to break Saber, or kill him and Rin, made him angry there was also some sympathy in him for her. Every time he Traced Rule Breaker he knew its past, knew how it had been used by her to cut up her brother due to the relentless love that had obscured her every thought at the time. A love that had been forced upon her by the gods that had favoured Jason, not one that had grown from her own choice or heart.

The bow-based Authority wasn't of much use right now though. Or it might be, but he had no way to be sure. Possessed as she was it was uncertain of how effective the arrows would be upon her. They might make Illya fall under their curse, but not touch the deity controlling her. Alternately there was a chance they'd affect the possessing god, but Shirou was unsure of how effective they might be against them. Despite their nature as so-called 'arrows of love' the shafts from the Golden Cupid were actually curse based, rather than being blessings. This god that had taken control of Illya, it was clear that they had a deep affinity for curses, given their ability to produce something so similar to Angra Mainyu's vile mud. Trying to use a curse against them might well be as effective as trying to put out a fire by pouring gasoline over it.

So that left him the option of his other disliked Authority, the Hero's Bride.

Truthfully it was the Authority that he had paid the least attention to since he had gained it. He had managed to learn its ability via meditation techniques that Archer had picked up, and as soon as that happened he decided he didn't like it. All it seemed to be was a method of forcing one that he had saved to serve him. No, that wasn't a correct description; it seemed to almost be a means of ensuring compliance for a rape.

Shirou understood that it was an Authority that was based around a concept, namely that the hero got the girl they saved. The ability to enforce his will upon any one person that he saved was meant to ensure that the 'princess' he rescued was suitably compliant. Intellectually the King of Steel knew that it was all based around the concept of hierarchy, that the saver had authority over the one they saved, but it still didn't do anything for the distaste he felt in regards to the third Authority he had usurped from Perseus. In comparison Dragon Slaying Hero or Mount of the Hero were much more useful and acceptable.

However, in this situation that disliked Authority might be able to save Illya.

All of this went through his mind in the time it took him to open some distance between him and his possessed attacker. By the time he came to a halt he'd made his decision and was invoking the spell words needed to use the Authority.

"Bask in my glory, revere my magnificence, I am the hero, the saviour, the prince of the steed of white! I come to claim the prize that I have saved, the heart of my maiden bride!"

As soon as he spoke the spell words Shirou could feel the magical energy inside of him surge, his power rising in response to his invocation of that power. It was a heady sensation, and one that he hadn't felt many times before. He knew that this was a trick that other, more experienced Campione, could pull at will, using spell words to increase their magic, essentially giving themselves a second wind at will. It did little to help the injuries he was accumulating, but it did send a surge of energy through him, almost as though he'd just had a shot of adrenaline.

More than that though, he could also feel the connection that this Authority had to Illya. For a moment he could feel other connections, a considerable number of them. Most of them were weak things, ones that didn't seem to have any real strength to them, but something like a half dozen were different, far stronger and more vibrant. They were only there for an instant though, then they faded as he focused on the link between him and his adopted sister. It was one of the strong links, and he could feel his Authority reaching out along it, lending even more power to the connection.

Alright, here went everything.

"Illya, stop!"

The command ran down the link along with some of his power and slammed into her. His eyes widened in hope as he saw her freeze in place. It wasn't perfect, she was still trying to move; he could see her muscles relaxing and tensing as she pushed herself. He could see her face turning red as she strained, but it didn't look like it was enough, her feet remained locked in place, her arms likewise unmoving. His authority had worked!

"This power . . . I recognize it!"

It wasn't the words that Illya spoke that caught Shirou by surprise; rather it was the sheer venom with which they were spoken. She was glaring at him now, her strange eyes showing none of the earlier playfulness or false affection that she had been displaying. Instead they were brimming with unhidden hatred and anger.

"You . . . you took it from him, from Mithras? No, no it wasn't Mithras, but it was? Who was he? Oh, oh I see, he was Perseus, not Mithras, that is what this means! You took this Authority from him, but it lacks the power to hold me! Not now!"

Shirou could still feel the link, still feel the order working upon her, but even so Illya-chan was moving again. It was as though she was forcing her way through a heavy wind, she had to lean into it and push, but she was making progress. Still, even as he saw this the eighth Campione's mind was racing.

Mithras, that had been what Illya said, that Perseus had been Mithras. This was something that Shirou had already known, having made a point of learning more about the deity that he had slain in the first few days of being a God Slayer. Perseus had come after him thinking that Shirou had been his 'old enemy', something that had led to the death match between them. What he'd sensed was the remnants of Angra Mainyu's presence, the power of the Authority that the young Emiya had usurped from him. Mithras had been the enemy of Angra Mainyu . . .

Several things finally slid into place, the way Illya kept on referring to him as a thief, the familiarity of that black tar-like substance, her comments about Mithras.

"Angra Mainyu?"

The name slipped out on its own, but it was enough to bring Illya's darkened eyes up to stare at him. That in its own way was confirmation, but he had to be sure.

"You are the one that has taken my sister, aren't you, Angra Mainyu?"

This . . . this was not something he had been expecting. Certainly, he'd accepted that he might be facing a deity with similar properties to the first god that he'd slain, but he'd not thought to be facing him again!

No, no, that wasn't right, he mustn't allow himself to be swept up in panic or preconception. The things Illya-chan had said, they matched with what he knew of the being that nearly destroyed Sakura, but at the same time this divine being didn't seem to recognize Shirou as the one to once kill it. Of course, would the former Avenger recognize him if they were to meet? Shirou had had little direct contact with the being in the Holy Grail aside from a comment to it as his mind was collapsing, then slaying it after they arrived in this world. Had it had anything close to conscious thought at any of those times? Would it be able to recognize him if they did meet?

That was possible, or his other notion might be more accurate.

"Answer me! Am I right? Tell me!"

She didn't react to his question, just continued to stare at him in a way that wasn't a glare, but which still somehow conveyed her desire to flense the flesh from his bones.

Again, he used his Authority, pushing his will along the link that it formed, trying to force his sister to answer his question. If this was right then it would explain much. He wasn't quite sure how far he could push the obedience that the divine power granted him, but he might be able to use it to force the god within Illya to speak, to answer his question. If not, then there was a chance that he could force Illya-chan to break through the possession by adding the compulsion of his Authority to her own desires. It was a gamble, but one he was willing to take.

He could feel resistance to the command, but the link was there, and the power of his Authority would not be denied.

"It's . . . it's . . . I . . . it . . . it's not . . ."

The words escaped her lips as though there were being dragged out. Shirou could feel that it was his sister that was responding to the Authority, but there was interference, a counter force working to keep her silent.

"Tell me, Illya! Who is controlling you?!"

"Is Ang-"

"YYyYAaAAAGGGgHHhH!!"

The bellow that erupted from Illya's throat was quite possibly the most inhuman noise Shirou had ever heard. Certainly, Berserker's roar had been louder, the corrupted dragon form of Mordred had been more bestial, but this . . . this was like nothing he had ever heard before.

Of course, he didn't have much time to think about it, not when his snowy haired sister was crashing into him.

The impact took him by surprise, her sudden shift from stillness to motion happening in the instant that he was distracted by trying to force more magic into his Authority, but he was able to get his weapons up in time. He could still feel his Authority still working upon her. The connection was still there, still intact, but even though he was forcing magic into it she was able to move anyway. If he had to guess then he'd say that the possessing god had forced Illya's conscious down further, to the point where she couldn't affect her body anymore. As they were immune to the Authority themselves that meant that though the connection remained there was nothing for it to influence.

All of this ran through his mind, but only at the back of it, he was more concerned with protecting himself as the weapons she held descended upon him in a vicious rain of serrated metal. Bakuya and Íonú Domhanda came up to protect him, but it was almost too much, the attacks coming in something akin to a berserk frenzy rather than the earlier feral rhythm! As another strike impacted against a defending sword his footing stumbled on some loose earth, and suddenly he was falling backwards.

Even so it wasn't more than he could handle. He could have caught himself, could have regained his balance, it was within his skill. The problem was that he had no time to do so, not while he was being attacked by what could have been a living hurricane of black steel. Illya gave him no quarter, no respite, no mercy. Her frenzy of pure aggression was wild and vicious enough to make a rabid wildcat seem like a tame kitten by comparison. All he could do was keep defending himself even as he fell to the ground, Illya's attack remaining unrelenting even as he fell.

"YYAAAAHHHHH!!"

The former Einzbern Master let out an inhumanly distorted howl of rage as she brought both the hooked blades down at the same time. For the moment it seemed she had forgotten about the other weapons that were hovering about her, her sheer rage meaning she was only lashing out with the weapons she held in her hands. Shirou was grateful for this, as things stood he didn't think that he'd be able to handle them all if they came together, whatever was happening hadn't made Illya significantly stronger, but with the raw ferocity she was exhibiting she didn't need to be. He knew that it wasn't something she could keep up for long, even with a god forcing power through her body his adopted sister was still mortal and would tire. This was only a short-term disadvantage, but for now it was a potent one. All he could do was maintain his defences and get ready to take advantage of any opening his could find.

However, with so much of his focus upon his defence and planning his next move he made a mistake.

It was his grip on Íonú Domhanda that betrayed him; his hand was still too cut up, too slick with blood, to keep a proper hold on the talisman. His grip had been strengthened by his Authority, but even the power of a god was unable to completely overcome the simple fact of his hand being structurally damaged. As the talisman twisted in his hand, the blade he'd been using it to defend against came down and stabbed into his shoulder.

Shirou bit back a scream, but still tasted blood in his mouth as he did so!

Pain was no stranger to Shirou. How could it be, had he not been born amidst the hell that had emerged in the aftermath of the fourth Holy Grail War? Were not his first memories of surviving the flames and despair of that burning landscape? He'd known other pains since then, the sharp burning pain of his own faulty magecraft converting his nerves into jury-rigged magic circuits. The more savage pain of his flesh being destroyed by the awesome force of a Servant's raw power. The pain of being stabbed a thousand times from within as his Reality Marble went out of control and started to manifest inside his own body. Of having his heart impaled, of knowing that he was going to die and that there was nothing he could do about it.

This pain stood shoulder to shoulder with the worst of them.

As soon as the jagged point of the curved blade sank into his flesh it was as though frozen lightning was shooting out of it, running through his veins and freezing the blood that it touched. More than that though, it was black, black as pitch and seemed to stain all it touched. He could feel it clawing at the inside of his mind, trying to get a grip upon his soul. For a moment it wasn't simple physical pain that assailed him, it was a feeling that his soul was going to break, be torn apart as the frigid lightning continued to course through him.

Shirou's arm came up in between the two of them, desperation lending him speed and strength. It was a struggle; his body didn't want to respond as it should, his muscles spasming and twitching as though there were electricity running through him. Even as his uninjured arm spasmed he pushed as hard as he could, trying to add as much strength to his limb's involuntary movement as he could.

It worked! There was a tearing in his shoulder and the blade came free as Illya went flying. The strength of Dragon Slaying Hero had remained in him, even when that torturous power had been flowing through him, and though Illya was strong she had no way to anchor herself. There was an audible splash as her small form fell into the water of the lake, but at that moment the King of Steel had other things on his mind.

His body seethed with pain in a way he'd seldom felt before. Oh, it wasn't as bad as it had been a few moments before, but where that pain had been fire and lightning ravaging his body this was the ache of cold seeping in, only a thousand times worse. His Magic Circuits throbbed with agony, as though they'd been forced to carry more prana than they were meant to, even though they still remained strong and filled with Od waiting to be used. Beyond that though it wasn't just his Magic Circuits that had been harmed, even his muscles and nerves hurt, he didn't need to use Structural Grasping upon himself to know that his body was riddled with tiny tears and shocks all over the place. Between his Authority and his natural Campione hardiness he was already healing, but nowhere near fast enough for him to be able to discount what Illya had done to him.

That . . . Shirou wasn't entirely what the nature of the attack used against him had been, but he couldn't let it be used on him again.

His weapons were gone, dropped during his convulsions, but that wasn't an issue. Hurt though his Magic Circuits might be they still worked, and in a flash of light Kanshou and Bakuya were back in his hands.

Too bad that their familiar weight didn't make him feel any better about his chances.

The Hero's Bride had been his best bet at ending this without hurting Illya, but now that didn't look to be a viable option. Sure, it had worked for a short period, but it was clear that whatever was driving his adopted sister was able to overcome it. What else could he do? He still didn't understand what it was that was controlling her, and that was what he needed to know the most. Her words, her rants, seemed to point towards Angra Mainyu, but that shouldn't be possible. On the other hand, something was definitely going on, so maybe what he thought of as impossible was more mutable than he'd initially believed.

"GGggGGGYyYYYyyyAaaAaAhhHhH!!"

The discordant roar of rage was enough to cut off any further thoughts as the waters of the lake exploded outwards and a black and white missile tore out of them, heading straight for him.

Defending was a pointless effort as things stood, it was within his ability, but all it would do was leave him caught in another stalemate. Instead he threw himself to the side, letting her weapons rip through the spot where he'd been standing only an instant before. He rolled again, wincing at the pain in his body as he came to his feet. His healing wasn't going to be fast enough, and if he kept things up then he was going to start suffering the sort of damage that could hamper him.

Emiya Shirou could endure a lot, he could take things that would have left even hardened men broken, he could keep going when the sane would have given up. However, that didn't change the fact that all the damage he was taking was slowly starting to add up. Sure, his pain tolerance was enough to ignore it, and with his Reinforcement he could keep fighting, but there was only so far he could push himself before it became a structural issue. A broken column could not support weight, and a broken body could not fight, that was the simple truth of it. Granted, it would still take a lot more injury before he got close to that state, but in a battle of attrition his possessed sister seemed to have the advantage, at least as things stood now.

He either had to end this fast, or he had to fight defensively to give himself a chance to recover. Could he use some Noble Phantasms to heal? Actually, that wasn't a problem, he could think of a dozen weapons that could fix him up, the problem was that they were almost all vampiric in nature, taking from the foe in order to heal their wielder. Given that his enemy was someone that he wanted to save though . . .

He was once again forced to see why the deity had taken Illya, setting her against him like this was crippling most of his regular options.

"Not enough, Onii-chan! Far, far from enough! Just die! Die and this stupid struggling can end, and then the fun can start!"

Illya's voice sounded . . . distorted towards the end, as though other voices were speaking in cadence with her. Her face was just as warped, her smile a mad parody of any sort of good humour. It was more a feral bearing of the teeth, the rictus grin of a serial killer in the process of losing whatever sanity they might once have possessed. It was so utterly unlike anything he had ever seen on Illya that it was jarring, discordant. His sister preferred to unnerve by playing the part of the innocent child even as she unleashed whatever resource she was bringing to bear upon her target, be it her magic or Berserker. This wasn't her.

And that meant that whatever being was possessing her was tiring of the game it had been playing by trying to act like her.

It made sense, at that start of the fight he'd been thrown off his game by his sister being his enemy, but as things had progressed he'd come to understand the situation, and begun to adapt. With the psychological impact waning it only made sense that the being controlling his sister's body would start to show themselves.

"Look, Onii-chan, you've given me some new toys!"

As she rose from her crouch Shirou saw the weapons that she was gripping in her hands. In one hand was Bakuya; in the other was Íonú Domhanda, both weapons already warping due to the strange effect that was surrounding her. What was even more disturbing was that she wasn't holding them by the handles, as any person would have done. Instead she was gripping them by the blades, uncaring of their edges biting into her flesh. Íonú Domhanda wasn't cutting deeply, its blunt edge doing little more than drawing a few droplets of blood from her grip. In her hands the iron artefact was darkening, its edges turning rusty, and the metal blackening, lumps that could almost be described as tumours were growing on its smooth surface. Bakuya, also held above the hilt by the blade, had cut deeper into her. Blood flowed freely trickling to the ground, though it didn't seem to be bothering her. The blade itself had more than doubled in size, mimicking its Broken form, but it was different. The feather-like design that would normally be there was gone, replaced by a fragmented edge of metal shards. Even stranger was that more shards seemed to have burst from the sword where she was holding it, as though the weapon was trying in vain to repulse her.

Shirou had memories of the Berserker from the Fourth Holy Grail War, he'd 'seen' how the mad knight had been able to turn anything he laid his hands on into his own Noble Phantasm. What the King of Steel was now seeing his sister do was uncomfortably close to what that Servant of madness had been able to accomplish. He'd already known she could usurp his Traced weapons with that aura of hers, but this . . . this looked like it was more advanced than what had been inflicted upon the other weapons she'd taken from him.

Was it because it was more direct? Did the blood contact have more to do with it? Bakuya was the more bloodstained of the two, and its alteration had been the more drastic. Damn it! He just didn't know! There was so much that he didn't know, and now Illya was bleeding heavily, and she just didn't seem to care. If things continued like this she was liable to end up hurting herself even if he didn't lay a hand on her through the whole fight!

"Oooohh! This one looks like it'll be a LOT of fun!"

She came at him, her new weapons swinging in strange arcs that had no resemblance to any sort of sane sword style, but ones that could have carved him up if he hadn't defended. New blades were Traced into Shirou's hands, but this time he was careful in his choice of arms. The swords that he brought up to defend himself were nameless Noble Phantasms, one of the myriad his alternate selves had gleaned from the vast depths of the Gate of Babylon. They were strong in their own way, but they lacked in destructive power. Instead their focus was upon durability, these were swords that would not break, would not rust, would not falter. These were swords that could have clashed with Excalibur itself and probably have endured the blows of the Sword of Promised Victory.

The choice was a strategic one on his part. On the one hand he hoped that their resistant nature might keep them from succumbing to whatever form of corruption or usurpation Illya was using to suborn his Noble Phantasms. Alternately, should she prove able to steal them, then doing so would not grant her too much additional firepower given the nature of their strength, or at least that was his hope.

The next moment he had to bring both swords up in a crossed block as the warped form of Bakuya came smashing down. The blow should have been weak, unbalanced, and useless. It should have done more damage to Illya than it did to him. Swords were designed to be held in a specific way in order to get the maximum amount of force and leverage from it. Holding it as she did, by the blade and with the edge cutting into her flesh, that was about as far from the ideal way of handling the sword as she could get. The only way she could have been doing a worse job of it would have been if she had been trying to hit him with the handle.

Instead she swung at him in a sort of pirouette, the blade coming at him from a strange angle and with the full force of her spin behind it.

The force of the blow was surprising, even given her increased strength. Bakuya wasn't that strong a Noble Phantasm. Maybe if it was in its Broken state, but as it was it should not have been able to augment her force like this. Then his eyes flicked to the side because suddenly the warped Chinese blade was gone, and his adopted sister was pirouetting in the opposite direction.

Shirou didn't need to have access to Archer's ability to read the flow of battle to know what was coming next, just about any decently trained person would have been able work it out. The King of Steel had been training with one of the finest masters of the martial arts for weeks now, and despite all the various crisis that had hit in that time he'd still managed to improve his own skills.

Shirou stepped back smartly out of the way as the corrupted form of Íonú Domhanda stabbed down into the spot where he'd been standing only a few moments before. As the dull point of the violated Noble Phantasm buried itself into the dirt he kicked off the ground, throwing himself backwards in an attempt to open as much room as he could between himself and his sister.

The action proved a wise one as the soil that the blackened Íonú Domhanda stabbed into seemed to darken and putrefy in the space of an instant. This was different to the way the ground had corrupted under Illya's footsteps though. Then it had been as though the ground was becoming cursed, malevolent even. This was more like the soil was becoming diseased, rotting and collapsing into nothing more than corruption of a different sort. Yes, this wasn't the corruption of evil; this was the more natural corruption of rot and refuse.

"Oh? Ooohhh. Yes, this is definitely a fun toy, Onii-chan! Thanks for giving it to me!"

Once again, his adopted sister's childish demeanour seemed to be . . . insincere, forced even, as though she were deliberately trying to be immature, and only partially succeeding. One foot came out and kicked at the corrupted patch of earth before her, soil burst as though it were a thin skin-like membrane and a dark miasma of gasses puffed out. Shirou didn't need to smell them to know that the scent of death and decay would have been heavy in them, nor did he need to breathe them in to know that they would be poisonous as well. Illya seemed to have no such concerns though, as she eagerly inhaled a lungful of the dark vapours as they passed her by. For a moment the Emiya heir felt his heart freeze in his chest as he feared what she might have done to herself, then he felt relief as she exhaled and started to laugh.

"That's good, oh that is so good!" She smiled at him, her teeth flashing white in the light of the street lamps. "Onii-chan, this is so wonderful, it could sear the lungs of anyone that inhaled it so easily. I don't think it would kill them immediately though, if they were strong then whoever breathed them in could probably last for a few hours before they ended up drowning in their own blood."

She paused for a moment waving the corrupted Noble Phantasm through the air before her.

"I'm going to have so much fun with this after I kill you. What do you think it will do to water, or food? Oooohh, what do you think it would do to those that eat or drink it?"

"You can end this charade," Shirou spoke, trying to keep how her actions had just made his heart jump up into his throat. Instead he tried to sound like Saber, confident, capable, and regal, though he wasn't quite sure how close he came. "I know you aren't Illya, so who are you?"

He stood in a ready position, both swords held in preparation to defend himself if need be, but his eyes remained locked on the blackness tainted ones of his adopted sister.

"That's a cruel thing to ask, Onii-chan. I'm your beloved little sister; don't tell me that you're forgetting that already!"

"No," Shirou's voice grew more certain as he spoke. "No. You may be able to play the part, and you have spoken of things only she'd know of, so I know you can access her memories, but you aren't my sister. That muck . . . I have some notion of what it is, and it is not something a mortal can create, not even her. So, cease this! Stop pretending to be my sister and tell me whom is my foe!"

"Oh, that's such a hurtful thing to say."

There was no warning, no hint of it coming. One moment the impostor was standing there, seemingly playing with the weapons that she was lacerating her palms with, then she was suddenly RIGHT THERE, so close that it was all he could do to get his swords up in time to block the warped Noble Phantasms she held. He could smell the air suddenly turning sick and bitter just from being near to the blackened Íonú Domhanda that she held. Shirou had been ready though, having expected her to possibly use the opening his question offered to attack. True, he hadn't been expecting it to be so fast, but he was able to bring up his weapons in time. She didn't give him even a second of respite though, chasing after him as he tried to open space between them, the weapons in her hands swinging again and again with that brutal strength.

"It's true though, but it still hurts! Do you think I should make you hurt too, Onii-chan? That would only be fair, wouldn't it?"

He didn't let her words distract him, not this time. Instead he slammed one foot down behind him and arrested his backwards stumbling. For a moment he matched her strength, his own swords pushing against her weapons as she teetered. Then his footing firmed, and he was able to bring his greater strength to bear against her, pushing her back, forcing her away. With a grunt he pressed forwards, and this time she was the one to be sent stumbling in retreat. He could have pressed his advantage and pursued her, but that wasn't what he wanted right now, what he wanted were answers.

"Who are you!" Shirou snarled as he blocked another blow. "Am I facing a god so cowardly that he will not even name himself in the face of the one that he has accused as a thief? Maybe I'm not facing a god after all, perhaps I simply face some angry spirit grown fat upon delusion!"

It was a calculated gamble, taking a stab at the ego of whichever god he was facing, but it was also a pretty safe bet that he was going to get at least some information out of this. Every god the young Emiya had faced, be they drunk on power, seething with rage, or calm and reasonable, had all shared a distinct pride in who they were. Whoever it was that had possessed Illya, he couldn't see them taking a shot at their ego like that and not retaliating in some way.

And it had an effect alright. Seemingly in mid-swing of one of the blades held in her bleeding hands the Einzbern heiress seemed to freeze in place, then leapt away from him in a movement that seemed too fast and fluid to have been natural. In an instant the two foes now stood separated by a divide of several metres, not a distance neither of them couldn't cover in an instant if they so choose, but enough to ensure that doing so would be noticed.

"Oh, so you don't want to play this game anymore? You would be so eager to know the name of the one that nests within your adopted kin and makes her dance to their tune? You wish to know whom you face and why they name you as a thief? Are you certain that you can bear the answers that you shall receive?"

Shirou did not like the expression that was spreading across the face of his adopted sister. It was . . . wrong, something that should not have been possible on the features of a human. The eyes were a bit too wide, the smile too broad, the flashes of white teeth seemed too sharp, even the stance of her body seemed to be wrong. Could whatever god was possessing her be causing some sort of changes to her body? The thought was a frightening one, but one that wasn't without precedent. The power of a god was not meant to be held by the body of a mortal, not even one as strong and used to handling massive amounts of prana as Illya. If the deity in question had a strong vessel and devoted some of their power to reinforcing it then its destruction could be avoided, but he doubted that whatever deity held his sister would be so gentle. Could this be the first signs of some sort of mutation? Or was it simply another ploy meant to unnerve him? There was no way to be sure.

"Playing the part of your sister wasn't uninteresting; it's rare for such hatred to have existed before having been discarded so easily. But . . . maybe it is time I speak to you as mysELf, tHieF!"

The last words were spoken in an increasingly distorted voice, as though other voices had joined in to speak alongside his sister's, and those voices weren't human. If rusted and bloodied barbed wire could speak, that would have been one tone. If poisoned and choking water could speak, it would have been another. Barren earth for the hungry, the cruel smile of the betrayer, razor sharp razors that cut through flesh, all of them seemed to speak as one beside his sister.

Shirou had personally been in the presence of existences that surpassed humanity, Servants like True Assassin, that were so steeped in blood and death that they had grown into something more, Angra Mainyu, a being so blackened with hatred that it had ceased to be human at all, the gods of this world, creatures that were never mortal to start with. All of them were powerful and unnerving, but none of them had caused the hairs on his body to stand in response to them in such a visceral manner. His every instinct was screaming at him that what was speaking to him through his sister was wrong on a fundamental level.

Still, he didn't take a step back, nor did he let his stance falter, though it did take some effort.

"And just who is that? Who are you?"

In response to his challenge the fractured smile upon Illya's face spread wider even as her head tilted in a way that made him fear her neck might be damaged.

"I'm cruelty to another, I'm the betrayal for greed, I'm the cowardice that breaks oaths, and the anger that consumes reason."

The words on their own sounded almost . . . juvenile, the sort of thing Shirou might expect from a rant of one of the super villains that featured in some Sentai series. That was how they should have sounded, but somehow they didn't. They were spoken with the conviction of certainty, with the knowledge that they were as unquestionable as the moon following the sun.

"Every act of malice, every great or small sin, every selfish and corrupt deed that mankind has wrought upon itself or the world, that has all been a part of me. All the evils of mankind, that is my identity!"

All the evils of mankind? It was a title he was familiar with, though he had not expected it to be used by another.

"I knew another with that title, his name was Angra Mainyu. Do you claim to be his brethren?"

For the first time since the fight had begun in earnest the smile dropped from Illya's face. Instead her eyes narrowed as she glared across at the King of Steel.

"An old name, one that I was once known by, but one that has not been used in centuries. None have used it, for none have been foolish enough to draw my anger down upon themselves. None of my brethren would use it, for I have no brethren, I stand alone, unique, so speak no more drivel. You would know who I am? Well, I am Ahriman, and you, thief, have earned my ire most deeply."

Shirou could only stare at the figure before him as he felt his heart thump in his chest. Ahriman?! That was a name that he recognized. During his studies of the other gods in this world he'd decided to indulge his curiosity and had seen what they knew of the counterpart to the being that held the title of Avenger. It had been during that research that he'd learnt that the first god he'd slain had once had another name. at the time it had merely been a small piece of information that was more a curiosity than anything else, but now . . .

He supposed it made sense, that there was a true god that was a counterpart to the false god of his own world. There Angra Mainyu had not been a true divinity, he'd simply been some poor random villager that had been forced to shoulder the burden and the blame of all the evils in the world by a confused and primitive people. Here though, things were different. Perseus had been a god, King Arthur was a god, the Monkey King was a god, Mordred was a god. Was there any reason why the malevolent force that had nested in the Holy Grail could not have a divine counterpart?

That would also explain why he kept on going on about Shirou being a thief, could he somehow sense the Curses Without End Authority? Actually, that was a stupid question, of course he could, there was no other reason for him to be here if he couldn't. So . . . was that why he'd taken Illya over?

"Illya, why'd you possess her?"

The question itself was rather unnecessary, after all it was clear why his sister had been possessed. But any question, no matter how inane, was worth it if it kept Ahriman talking, and if it managed to shed any sort of light on the situation.

"Why do you ask such a question, when the answer is as obvious as the blood on the ground?"

The reply was spoken with the satisfaction of one that knows they hold the winning cards, and Shirou had to bite back a snarl of frustration. He still wasn't entirely sure of how he could free Illya, even after getting a better grip in the situation. Now that he knew possession was the problem it narrowed his search down, however he wasn't sure if any of the Noble Phantasms that could drive spirits and other external forces out of a victim were up to the task of dealing with Ahriman.

The Gods of this world were powerful, on par with strong Servants, but they all had innate talents that made them even worse to deal with than a being of comparable power would have been back in his home reality. Their powerful natural magic resistance and the natural potency of their divinity combined to grant them considerable resistance to the powerful weapons he could Trace. They could grip and claw at their hosts in ways that the spirits of his world could not have, their divinity worsening it further as the very world tried to subtly aid them. Certainly, there were some 'A' class or higher weapons that could do the job, the problem was that he wasn't sure his sister would survive their dragging the deity out of her.

"Let her go!"

He snarled the order, though he didn't expect it to be obeyed. All he could do, for now, was keep Ahriman talking and hope that he let something slip that could be used. Something, anything, the King of Steel had so many options in his Reality Marble, he just needed to know which to use.

"I think not, little king. Mortal though this girl might be she is a fine vessel, a strong one and a comfortable one. She is served by the imitation of a godly hero, and her own power is not inconsequential, I think I shall remain in her for much time to come. Or at least until she begins to break."

Her hand came up and gently pressed against the side of her head, even as those red and black eyes stared at Shirou.

"She is breaking you know. It is slow, but it is continuous, and it hurts her. When I took her flesh I seeped into her body and forced her mind and soul aside. They're still in here, you know. I can hear her moaning in the sleep I have forced her into, groaning at the pain that this battle is forcing upon her. It is why I chose her, you know, because she was your sister. And now, because of you, she is trapped within her own body, my essence slowly eating away at her as more of my power is forced through this mortal form."

Shirou's hands were gripping the hilts of his weapons so tightly that he thought something might break. He'd been afraid of something like this, that Illya wasn't just a hostage, but also a victim that was slowly dying, but hearing it confirmed . . .

"You . . . you want to punish me for having the Curses, right?"

He hated the way hesitation tinged his words, but it wasn't something that he could control, despite his best attempts.

"Indeed," The answer was calm, but vitriol and malice boiled beneath the surface. "They are mine and have been mine since the first time that man wished for his fellow man to suffer misfortune or disaster. They have ever been mine, but now they serve you! I know not how you stole them, but for their theft you shall know torment that mortals cannot fathom, this I promise you!"

"Let her go, NOW!"

This time it wasn't just an attempt to buy time, instead it was an order, a demand, one backed by the growing anger and determination once more welling up in the Emiya heir. He was still caught, still unsure of what weapon or tool to use to try and free Illya, but the indecision that had been threatening to paralyse him was beginning to fall back. By revealing that their mere presence was harming her Ahriman had escalated things to the point where the option of holding back was beginning to fade away. Shirou would never willingly harm his adopted sister, but in this case inaction might inflict even greater harm.

Was force really the only option left to him?

As though sensing the thoughts running through his head his possessed sister answered his demand, her voice mocking in its almost relaxed casualness.

"Why would I do that? Is she not the ideal shield to employ against you? I know something of your strength, King of Steel, and perhaps you can slay me. But in this form, with this armour of flesh, do you dare to use that strength so fully? Indeed, what can you do? Will you run? If you do then know that it is she that pays the price. Will you fight? Can you harm me without harming her? Will you try to capture me? Can you capture me in such a way that I cannot exact my vengeance upon the girl before you can stop me?"

With every question Shirou could feel the pit in his stomach growing.

"Even time is not upon your side. Your sister is a strong mortal, but a mortal she remains. I am not trying to harm her, not now, but my mere presence in her form is slowly corroding her existence, breaking her apart until there will be nothing left. You cannot leave me in here, if you do then her soul shall crumble and shatter until there is not even anything left to pass into the afterlife."

More complications, more limitations. Shirou internally snarled as he tried to think of a way out of this, but nothing was coming to mind, at least not anything he was willing to consider. He could go for broke, try and see if he could use some of his strongest spiritual level Noble Phantasms to attack Ahriman directly, try and drive them out. He had other Noble Phantasms, ones that could heal anything short of total spiritual destruction, maybe he could use those at the same time, hurting Ahriman even as he healed Illya. It was difficult, something that EMIYA had never tried, but it was possible in theory, and it might be able to save her.

However, some sign of his developing plan must have shown. Maybe a firming of his stance, a narrowing of his eyes, a setting of his jaw, something, because again that damned smile widened.

"Also, you should know that the more power I draw upon then more the corrosion of her mind and soul accelerates. If I am forced to use my greatest strengths then . . . well, I am not certain of how long she would be able to last."

Oh.

Oh, damn it!

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

His plan might still work, but with this new variable . . .

Could he draw Ahriman out and heal Illya at the same time? Maybe, he had the theory of it down, and he could probably brute force it with his Campione levels of magical reserves. However, if the god possessing her fought, then she'd not only be taking damage from his efforts to resist, but also from the very power he expended in those efforts. The Noble Phantasms he knew of could make miracles, but as weapons they were principally meant to be used by the wielder, not upon a target. He knew the tricks to them, how to make them work, but could he do it well enough to heal the damage done by a god?

His hesitation was minor thing, but it was all the opening his enemy needed.

Illya crossed the distance between them with shocking speed, once more moving at just the right time, her hands seized corrupted weapons out of the air and brought them down with brutal power. The blows were strong, but he could take them, Dragon Slaying Hero still giving him more than enough strength to endure the assault. The problem wasn't in the clash of weapons or the strength of arms, rather it was in the mind and heart.

He didn't know what to do. Shirou hated himself for it, but in that moment that was the truth. He'd had a plan, a risky one, but one that he could have made work. Then Ahriman had spoken, and the plan had fallen apart. Maybe the god was lying, maybe the plan could still work, but the eighth Campione wasn't sure enough to take the risk. Ahriman was sitting in her like some poisonous parasite, and any attempt to wrench them out would not only tear her up as they struggled to remain, it would also release poison and bile to eat her from the inside. One at a time he could probably deal with, but both at once, while also trying to keep them from hurting Illya's physical body? Not with the plan he had.

And he couldn't think of another one, not with the information he had.

It was a blow, not a crippling one, not a breaking one, but it was a hard one. He'd gotten his hope up, then they had been broken. It wasn't something he couldn't get over, but right now he couldn't see another plan and-

"I can see it!"

His racing thoughts were interrupted by that multi-toned voice as Illya darted in again. His swords crossed before him, blocking one of her hooked blades and a corrupted Noble Phantasm. This time he'd been able to brace himself, and though the pressure she applied was great he was able to match it and hold his ground. Staring at her he couldn't help but feel a slight shudder at what he saw. Her clothes seemed to be tearing themselves slowly apart, long rips opening up in her dress and blouse. Her modesty remained preserved, but every passing moment made her seem more feral and wild.

Damn it! How much longer could she hold out? He needed to find a way to help her! He had to find a way to drive this monster out of her! He needed-

"There it is! There is what I expected to see from you! That frustration, that anger at what is happening, how long will it be before it turns into despair and fear? Do you think there is a way through this? Do you think that you can overcome the odds? Even as she crumbles your sister is revealing more and more of your secrets to me. I know of Unlimited Blade Works. I know about your journey here from another world! I know about Angra Mainyu, and how you slew him to gain his Authority!"

Illya came at him from the side, emerging from the dust thrown up by her explosion of miasma like an evil spirit springing forth from fog. Her stolen swords came down, striking as hard as she could, but despite being off balance Shirou was able to bring his swords up in defence, blocking the attack despite its viciousness. Then her left hand let go of the weapon it was holding and darted out faster than a striking snake. The small hand that he held so many times before seized his right shoulder; the nails of her fingers digging through cloth and into flesh deeply enough to draw blood. His other sword was immediately coming down, the hilt ready to deliver a brutal blow that might have broken her wrist. Some part of Shirou railed at the idea of hurting her, but the colder and more rational part of him said that he couldn't save her if he was dead, and that a broken wrist would be easy to heal.

He dodged back, trying to open a bit more room between them, something he could use. As soon as she came at him he'd strike back at her weapons as hard as he could, with any luck the sudden change in the battles tempo would catch her off guard, give him the chance to disarm her and get in close. Those floating weapons were still a factor, but he could deflect them with Traced weapons of his own. Once he had a grip on her . . . one Noble Phantasm came to mind, one that had a minor Anti-Divinity effect that might serve here. It was weak, but he could Trace several copies, and together they should be able to hold a mortal possessed by a god. The problem, and the reason that he hadn't used it earlier, was that it was not simply a weapon, it was a torture device, a creation forged towards the end of the age of legends by fanatics and madmen seeking to root out 'heathen gods' and uncaring of innocent victims. If he used it, then Illya would be hurt, and hurt badly.

But she would be alive, and she would recover. That had to be enough. He hadn't been willing to go this far before, but now, did he have any other choice?

But even as the plan came together in his mind it faltered in reality. His possessed sister had been moving to follow him this whole time, but he'd kept backing off to maintain distance. Twice she'd launched weapons at him, but one had been dodged and the other deflected, no more attacks form the hovering weapons coming after them. Instead she had halted in place, her black eyes locked upon him with predatory focus.

"Really? Is this the courage and mettle of a god slaughterer?" He discordant voice dripped with contempt as she kept staring at him. "Do you think this is some game? Something that you can win by playing at keeping away from me?"

Her head tilted to the side, then her right hand came up, the corrupted blade still held in it, and in a single deliberate motion slid the edge of the weapon across her chest, the cut parting the clothing and flesh from her left shoulder down to her right hip. Shirou's eyes widened in panic as he saw blood well up from the wound, soaking into her clothing and dripping down to patter onto the ground beneath her. Even as he watched he could see the wound begin to heal, but as he met her blackened eyes and saw the way her smile spread even wider he knew that his enemy was more than willing to up the ante of this fight.

"If you will not meet me in battle then I shall need to find other targets to vent my vexation upon," the blade came up again, this time reaching for her other shoulder. "How much will you run when every time you do means another cut for your dear sister? Her flesh might heal so it will not impede me, but every time I heal, more of my divinity begins to eat away at her soul! What will you do, little thief? What will you do?"

The blade came down again, another line of blood gushing forth before the divine healing kicked in, even as those eyes continued to stare at him, and that damned smile remained fixed in place. Even his wounded hand was clenched into a fist now, despite the pain it was causing him, and his teeth were gritted so hard he thought something in his jaw might crack.

"Oh? Such a cruel brother, to watch as his sister is cut away piece by piece. She is strong, you know? Even now she's fighting, struggling to hold onto herself with exceptional tenacity, even for one of your vermin race. But how long do you think that will last? How long will her soul persist under my corrosion? When I healed that last cut, I felt something slip away, it was small, simply the colour of a bedsheet, but it is lost to her now. What do you think will be lost next? Her childhood friend? Her father's face? Her mother's voice? What do you think this will take from her in order to heal?!"

As she spoke the blade in her had came up again, this time reaching for her throat, her smile impossibly growing even madder as she kept eye contact the whole time.

Shirou was moving before he even thought about it, and even as his mind screamed at him for his stupidity he kept moving! He knew he was being manipulated, he knew that he was being played, but he still moved. He loved Illya, he could not have loved her more had they been siblings in blood as well as choice. Hurting her was painful to him, but it was something he'd do in order to save her, but he also knew how precious the memories of her parents were to her.

His adopted sister had experienced so much suffering in her life, being orphaned, being deceived by her family, being mutilated in order to make her more powerful, knowing that her lifespan was doomed to run out in only a few short years, then losing her beloved Servant and the maids that she'd come to trust. It was so much that he was sure that any one of them could have driven a weaker person to despair, and the fact that she kept going only showed how strong his adopted sibling was, but he also knew that she drew on her memories of her mother and father for strength to deal with that pain. Could she continue if that was stolen from her?

Another weapon was launched at him, and he saw it was the corrupted Rule Breaker, the jagged blade aimed at his face. Again, the power of the Dragon Slaying Hero served him well, and he again swung the sword in his hand as hard as he could, the Authority granting him the speed and strength he needed.

Even with the situation as severe as it was, he felt a shot of satisfaction as the weapon broke and shattered into dust. Good, the Noble Phantasm was troublesome in the hands of an enemy, even when it wasn't corrupted into a twisted version of itself. Ahriman's absorption of Illya's memories mustn't have reach it yet, otherwise they'd have known not to use the fragile dagger like that. Still, the small victory was only a peripheral thought in his mind, the focus of his concern was the sword at his sister's throat!

His hand lashed out, and it was only after he moved that he realized it was his injured hand. It had healed, at least enough to function, and since it had been his only free hand he'd instinctively reached out with it to grab Illya's wrist, pulling the sword away from her throat. For a moment his heart leapt into his throat, wondering if he'd screwed up, if his hand wasn't strong enough to save her, healing as it was. Then her hand went limp and the sword fell from it, and his heart leapt for an altogether different reason. Had he done it? Had he been stronger than he thought?

Then the twisted parody of a smile grew wider, the corners of her mouth dripping blood as they tore slightly. Shirou had just a moment to tighten his grip, then a massive burst of that black miasma exploded around her. For just the briefest moment Shirou lost sight of her, the force of the sudden eruption sending him stumbling back a pace even as he kept his grip on his possessed sibling. It was only a brief distraction, but that was all that she needed.

The King of Steel gasped in pain as a short blade buried itself in his guts before his eyes had a chance to clear. Pain followed as he felt his insides almost roil, a feeling of sickness almost overwhelming him as he stumbled back. His eyes fell to the weapons now protruding from his side, and he recognized the corrupted form of Íonú Domhanda. Internally he cursed, understanding what was happening. The druidic weapon was meant to purify, but he knew its corrupted state reversed that, on top of that it was inside his body, meaning it had bypassed his Magic Resistance and was now attacking him internally.

The Noble Phantasm in his hand lashed out. It was an awkward angle, but backed by his divinely enhanced strength it was enough. Íonú Domhanda was like Rule Breaker in that it wasn't a hardy blade, and the blow shattered it back into the prana it had been formed from. Blood leaked from the wound, and the skin about it seemed discoloured, but Shirou immediately felt . . . not better, but as black blood leaked out only to be followed by red he felt as though he was clean of whatever foulness it had left in him. He staggered for a moment, a sudden rush in his head momentarily disorienting him.

Illya came surging out of the cloud of miasma, tearing towards him faster than he'd seen her move since the battle began. Reflexively he brought up his sword to defend himself, but she paid it no mind as she crashed into him. The edge of the blade bit into her side, but it wasn't deep, and it wasn't stopping her! Pain seared through him as her left hand punched into his abdomen where he'd just been stabbed, her fingers digging into the wound despite his Authority strengthening his skin. Her other hand clamped onto his left shoulder, next to his collarbone, her nails forcing their way into his skin and drawing blood. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself to throw her off.

He didn't get the chance to go through with it though, instead he felt his body lock up as something tore through it, his arm freezing in midmotion.

"Poor little thief, the time has come to pay. SUFFER!"

Shirou didn't scream, but a moaning keen did manage to force its way past his clenched jaw.

It was difficult to make Shirou scream, hardly surprising given what he had managed to live through. He was, to all intents and purposes, born in fire and pain, the nightmare in the aftermath of the fourth Holy Grail War. Pain was his first memory, despair and fear his second. His Reality Marble going out of control couldn't make him scream, Kotomine Kirei's brutal beating hadn't made him scream, his mind slowly breaking as it was invaded by EMIYA's existence hadn't made him scream, even the price of Curses without End had not made him scream. This came close though . . . this came very close!

As he felt the searing black tar of Ahriman's power being forced directly into him Shirou could do nothing to resist, try as he might. He felt his muscles wail, he felt his bones groaned, and he felt his blood seem to curdle in his veins, but none of that was comparable to what he felt in his Magic Circuits.

Magic Circuits didn't just exist in the flesh, they also served to connect the spiritual to the physical world, and it was that connection that the dark filth of the evil god attacked, seeping into the connection like poison into a wound. The pain was unimaginable, something just as much of the soul as it was of the body, and the red-haired young man was sure he felt something crack in his mouth as his jaw spasmodically clenched. However, what was even worse was that the malignant power wasn't simply trying to harm him, it was attacking his connection to Unlimited Blade Works.

The Reality Marble was without a doubt Shirou's greatest martial asset, surpassing even his Authorities in value, at least as far as he was concerned. Even with the additional powers that he'd usurped from the gods he had slain the complete manifestation of his internal world was still what he regarded as his strongest trump card. He had the memories of his other selves having used it, of a version of himself forming a pact with Rin so that he could fight Gilgamesh with it, of Archer using it against his own enemies. There had been enemies that could fight within Unlimited Blade Works, some of them were even strong enough to overwhelm it with raw power, but never had they had their inner world come under direct attack.

Gilgamesh could have destroyed it; Ea was an Anti-World Noble Phantasm, a weapon almost ideal for the destruction of Reality Marbles. The only way his counterpart had been able to contend with the King of Heroes as he had was due to Gilgamesh's unwillingness to use his only 'true' weapon against a mere faker. By the time he had realized it was needed that version of Emiya Shirou had been able to close the distance and prevent its use. Honestly, Shirou wasn't familiar enough with the nature of Reality Marbles to know what would happen if his were somehow destroyed. Archer had never experienced such a thing, never having gone up against a foe that had both the means and opportunity to do so, the few that he encountered that had the first he had been careful enough to neutralize before they had a chance at the second.

However, what Ahriman was doing wasn't trying to destroy the Reality Marble itself, rather he was attacking the links that allowed Shirou to use it.

Unlimited Blade Works was a world created by his mind's distortion, a distortion that remained despite the eighth Campione having grown arguably more 'normal'. The malignant muck that was being forced into him couldn't attack that world directly, but the Magic Circuits that allowed him to make use of that world was another matter! The pain was terrible, but it grew even worse as Shirou felt himself . . . losing his grip upon his Reality Marble. Ever since he had gained knowledge of the weapons and arms stored there they had always been with him, at the back of his mind, even before he had fully understood how to reach them.

Now . . . now he could feel them slipping away, the swords and weapons that had come as easily as the knowledge of his own name seemed to be forgotten, even though he remembered knowing them. Even the pain that was burning through him was almost negligible compared to the sheer feeling of wrongness that came from having those parts of him taken. He wanted to lash out, to strike back, to break the connection that was forcing the miasma into him, but his limbs remained unresponsive, held as though by invisible bonds.

A scream finally torn its way free from his lips, but not one of pain, but rather one of anger and frustration!

"No, no no no! That wasn't the scream I wanted to hear, little king! Come on, 'Onii-chan', give me the one I wanted! Give me more of yo-"

Ahriman was cut off as sword blades literally burst out of Shirou's body, the unstable connection to his Reality Marble finally manifesting itself as weapons forming beneath his skin. The blades swiftly withdrew as he managed to re-establish control, but he was left with several deep gashes leaking blood across his torso, though his internal organs had escaped serious damage. For her part the possessed Illya was forced to jump backwards in order to avoid being impaled by the emerging weapons, an act that broke the grip she'd had on her victim.

"Hah . . . haaahh . . ."

The King of Steel panted heavily, blood staining his clothing as he heaved himself to his feet. His hands still clutched the swords he held, but it was no longer the grip of a swordsman that held them, rather it was the desperate grip of a man who could see his end coming.

"Ah, so you are ready to hurt little Illya-chan now. And she was so sure that you'd never hurt her, not again, but now look at her!"

A stab wound just inside her right shoulder leaked blood, slowly dripping down her arm to mix with the bleeding of her hands where they held the blades. Still, it was the first semi-serious wound that Shirou had himself inflicted on her over the course of the fight, a visible sign that he was not succeeding in his goal of saving her.

Then he didn't have time for more contemplation. There was a flash to the side, and it took all of his skill to throw himself backwards, the breath almost being knocked from his body as he hit the ground. Before him one of the corrupted nameless blades and one of Ahriman's serrated and hooked blades sliced through the spot where his throat had been only an instant before. He didn't let that realization stop him from moving though, instead he rolled to the side, turning the roll into a scramble as he managed to once more retake his feet. Again, he saw the sputtering light of the street lamps reflect off blackened metal, and he was just able to get a sword up in time to deflect another usurped weapon. The impact was harsh though, and both the weapon sent against him and the one in his hand broke apart into prana as they were unable to endure the clash.

He was able to recover though, quickly regaining his footing and balance. But before he could Trace a new weapon or think of calling upon another Authority a small foot smashed into his stomach, the force throwing him off his feet. His flight was brief though, as his back slammed into the remains of the street light. Up above him the failing light went out as the metal pole gave up the struggle and collapsed like a chopped tree. There was a loud crash as it came down on the side, but the King of Steel couldn't pay it much attention as he continued to dodge, even as his mind seethed with questions.

How had she been able to move so fast? She hadn't done so earlier, so had she been holding it in reserve, or were her physical abilities increasing as Ahriman gained more and more control? Then what did that mean for Illya herself, was she suffering because of it? Was his time running out?

Distracted by his thoughts and worries Shirou made a misstep. It was only for a minor mistake, one that his inherited skills would have let him recover from swiftly, but it in the midst of Ahriman's attack it was enough.

A small white and black clad figure slammed into him like a cannonball fired at point blank range, driving the breath from his lungs. As he tried to recover one small hand, backed by impossible strength, seized his undamaged arm while the other clamped down on his throat. A knee dug into his abdomen while her face drew to only inches from his own in a twisted imitation of intimacy.

"At the end of the day, Shirou, you couldn't save her! You couldn't even save yourself! All you could do is fail!"

Those black eyes filled his vision, the smile beneath them seeming to be broken, like a mirror that had been smashed, then put together in a sloppy and careless manner, their stark white clashing with the all-consuming black of those eyes.

"Now . . . pay for taking them from me!"

That putrid and corrosive power poured into him again, swallowing his world in pain and corruption again, his Magic Circuits burning as though acid had been poured over them. Shirou had felt them aflame before, when he had pushed them too far, demanded too much of them, but this was different. Those times it had felt as though they were heating up within him until they started to burn, this was more as though they were starting to melt, even as they corroded away. In a moment of agony he felt Dragon Slaying Hero slip from his mental grasp, the Authority's strength leaving him as his will was cast from the back of the steel horse that it mentally embodied. He thought he felt its reluctance as it faded, but the miasma seared through him, burning the connection away.

More than that though, the effect was reaching his mind, the pain distorting his thoughts even as he tried to form them. Dark and vicious thoughts that he knew were not his own rose up as he thrashed, his limbs uncoordinated and unresponsive. Thoughts of killing Illya, of ripping her apart, of violating her, of tearing at her flesh and eating her raw bubbled up in Shirou's head, thoughts he knew weren't his own but which forced themselves upon him.

Pain, mental attack, his throat being clamped shut, was it any surprise that he acted? Inaction was not an option, even in his agonized state he knew that, indecision, inaction, they would only spell death for both him and his adopted sister. So, he did that only thing he could, he lashed out.

Simple action wasn't an option though, not with Ahriman being far stronger than he was without some sort of augmentation. Tracing wasn't an option, not with the chaos afflicting not only his thoughts, but even his ability to connect with Unlimited Blade Works itself. Most of his Authorities weren't an option due to the concentration they required, but there was one, one that was always eager to lash out, to use its power, one that didn't so much need to be invoked as it needed to be held back.

Curses Without End.

As nearly incoherent as he was Shirou knew on an instinctive level that the first Authority he gained was the one best suited for this situation. For months now he had been living with the constant need to keep it on the leash, with the need to hold it back every time it sought to unleash its endless hatred upon every little thing that annoyed him or stood in his way. Of all the Authorities he possessed it was unquestionably the most eager to be put to work. And that was what he needed at this moment.

So, deep in a part of his mind where words weren't really needed, he relaxed his control and let the leash that held back the eager puppy that was his first divine power fade away.

There was a moment, a tiny, brief moment where Curses Without End just seemed to wait, confused by how the situation had changed. Then the eager puppy was replaced by the rabid wolf, and freed of restraints it immediately lashed out at the force harming its beloved master, every curse and malediction imaginable waiting upon it for a target.

Of course, the eighth Campione didn't let it run completely free. The Authority might have been let off the leash, but he'd at least been able to aim it. Illya wasn't the target, rather it was the god inside her. It was a narrow distinction, but it was one that even in his near crazed state he could still manage to force upon the divine power. He felt it lash out, he felt it connect . . .

And then the pain stopped.

For a moment all Shirou could do was just blink in confusion, his mind unable to process the sudden shift from unutterable pain to normality in such a short time. Then, as his brain began to form connections and understand what had happened, his eyes widened and shot to Illya. Was she alright? Had the curse-based authority hurt her? Had it attacked her along with Ahriman? Each thought raced through his head with a treacherous intensity, forcing thoughts of what could have gone wrong across his mind's eyes in the split second it took him to focus upon his sister.

And she . . . was laughing?

Two facts hit him at once. The first was that Illya wasn't laughing in joy or relief, this laughter was far too cruel and vicious to ever be associated with such emotions. This was a laugh that danced upon the edge of madness, the laugh that you would expect from someone that had just lit the world on fire and was now sitting back to enjoy the show. This was the laughter of Ahriman, and there was nothing of his adopted sibling in it.

The second thing that hit him was Curses Without End. The Authority wasn't lashing out, it wasn't attacking, it wasn't raging. Instead it had retreated, back into him, and it wasn't coming out.

As a sort of mental exercise Shirou had always assigned mental images and personality traits to his Authorities, the divine powers possessing qualities that made him consider them to be partially alive, if not aware or sapient. Dragon Slaying Hero was a steel warhorse, eager for battle and obedient to its master. Rule of the Underworld had always put him in mind of a sleepy and grouchy dragon. The Black Knight's Armour was a raven, an intelligent creature that was often seen as a sign of doom, while Golden Cupid made him think of a snake, a large and deadly one that could hypnotize its prey into standing frozen as their doom approached.

To him Curses Without End had always been like an eager but battered puppy, one that had once had an abusive owner, but which still desperately wanted a kind master to love. The fact that the adoring puppy could turn into a rabid killing machine at the drop of a hat had made him wary of the Authority, but that same ferocity had allowed it to be effective against gods that were quite powerful. Perseus, Mordred, Lancelot, none of them could have been brought down without the Authority's aggressive potency.

But now . . . now the wolf had reverted to the puppy, and it was cowering in the deepest recesses of his being.

"So that is all? That was what you stole from me? Is this what all the evils of mortality have become?"

The deity possessing Illya virtually screamed the questions to the world, not simply at Shirou. Then those black eyes snapped down to him, glaring at him with such hatred that they seemed to burn with midnight fire.

"Odysseus told me you had taken them, that you had made them yours, that you had made them love you, but I didn't believe it! The very notion infuriated me, and I hunted you here, across the world and to these lands I have never set foot upon, but I never truly believed!"

She paused for a moment, then burst into more of that mad laughter.

"And I was right! They do not love you, they are not yours! All you have done is given them a place to hide from me! But now I have found them!"

Her voice rose, louder, more distorted, less human. It seemed to burrow into his head and claw at the inside of his ears.

"AND THEY'RE STILL MINE! THEY TRIED TO RUN, THEY EVEN FOUND A NEW MASTER, BUT THEY ARE STILL MINE!"

And then he understood. Curses Without End was an abused puppy, and suddenly it had been faced with the very master that had once visited such abuse upon it. Of all his Authorities this had been the most 'alive' and the fact that it was now cowering in fear of the one that had once hurt it only proved it more.

Still, it had been enough to make the malevolent god cease his attack, and that was enough to let Shirou act.

He still had a grip on his one remaining sword, and the weapon came up between them, the flat of it catching one arm, then the other. As he did so the power of Dragon Slaying Hero rushed back into him, giving strength and fortitude to his still aching body. The Authority was a little slower to respond though, the steel horse that embodied the divine power being a bit sluggish in its response. Maybe it was tired, he had been using the Authority almost constantly since the battle began, but that wasn't something he could think about right now.

His enemies grip on him broken again Shirou brought up his foot and kicked out at Illya once more, trying to drive her back. This time she saw him coming though, and her eyes narrowed as the blades that she'd usurped control over moved to stab out at him. A nameless Noble Phantasm and one of Ahriman's own weapons came down, each aiming to run him through the leg, his eyes widened, and he swung the sword he held as hard as he could from his awkward stance.

A blade bit into his flesh, another broke, and another flew through the air. Illya was sent tumbling as the kick connected, and Shirou gritted his teeth once more as he stumbled backwards, only one of his legs able to fully support his weight.

He'd had to make a split-second decision, and he could not afford to allow himself to be hit by one of Ahriman's hook-like blades. Though not a usurped Noble Phantasm the weapon still reeked of danger, the baleful divinity that had created it being every bit as vile and poisonous as the miasma that served the deity possessing his sister. The Nameless blade was strong, but that was all it was, this weapon was venomous, and so he swung at it had enough to shatter it.

Unfortunately, that meant that he hadn't been able to defend against the other sword, and he'd paid the price for it. Dragon Slaying Hero did increase his durability, on top of what being a Campione gave him, which was the main reason that Shirou didn't have a sword running all the way through right lower thigh. Instead he had a deep stab wound that reached all the way down to the bone. It bled, but his enhanced constitution kept it from being dangerous, and the flow had already slowed to a trickle. The worst of it was in the structural damage, Shirou might be able to endure the pain of the wound, but it did him little good if the muscle refused to work due to being half severed.

"Still not enough, thief," Ahriman spoke up, their voice having fallen back into its previous disconcerting harmonics as opposed to the distorted monstrosity it had become. "I shall take them back, and I shall make you pay for ever having wielded them. You shall pay, and pay, and pay until the stars begin to grow cold and dim, and you shall curse the day you ever touched the curses that are mine!"

The situation was not good, but it was far from hopeless. If he could buy some more time, then his leg would recover at least a bit. He probably wouldn't have long enough for it to completely heal, but just a bit would be enough to ensure the wound wouldn't get any worse at least.

As to what he could do next . . . well, he still had a sword in his hand, and it was steel of worth, so it could be a sacrifice. Not for the Titan Knight, that would just end up killing Illya, and Steel for the Legion was of no use either, but maybe the Armour of the Champion or the Black Knight's Armour could let him recover. It was an option at least, and at the moment those were growing precious in their scarcity.

Yes, he had options, but while they let him win so few of them offered him a chance to save Illya.

Unless . . .

An idea grew up in his head, a dangerous one, but it might work, it might save Illya-chan!

"Fine, then take me instead!"

"Oh? And what do you mean by that?"

The features of his adopted sibling were twisted into an expression that was at once alien and familiar. She'd worn that look in the early days of the Holy Grail War, when she had been his enemy. It was the face of superiority and cruelty that she had shown when she prepared to crush the foes that stood before her, and that had included him and Rin at the time. Of course, even at her worst Illya had looked to be at least sane. Yes, she had been cruel, terrifying, even oddly adorable, but she'd never given the impression that she was unhinged.

Right now, though, the way the god possessing her twisted her features could not in any way be considered sane by human standards, and Shirou would admit that it was more than a bit unsettling. Still, he couldn't let that show, not if he wanted this to work.

"I can slay you," he said it with as much confidence as he could, channelling the persona of the 'False King' for all he was worth. "Do not doubt that! If you can see my sister's memories then you know that I have many ways to destroy even a demon god at my disposal!"

Actually, he was hoping that Ahriman hadn't managed to delve that deeply into her memories yet, but he had to assume that they knew about the Noble Phantasms, at least in part. Trying to conceal them and having them revealed as being known was more dangerous than revealing them himself.

"I can slay you, but doing so would lead to the death of my sister as well, since you wear her flesh as a shield. However, by your own admission she is dying by the pressure you're placing upon her soul, so perhaps it would be kindest of me to slay you and her together, at least that way her soul shall be spared further harm!"

The thing was that it might actually come to that, if he couldn't figure out some way to separate the deity from the body they were possessing. Shirou hated the idea of harming Illya, but if he couldn't save her life then wouldn't it be best to at least save her soul? He loathed it, knowing it came too close to the 'kill one to save many' logic that had led EMIYA to his miserable end, but in this case, there might be something to it. Well, hopefully it wouldn't come to it.

"But . . . I am sworn to protect her, so I will offer you a bargain!" The King of Steel internally winced, knowing that he was sounding far too much like one of the characters in his sister's favourite anime. "My life for hers. Swear to me that you shall let her go, that you shall not seek to harm her either directly or indirectly ever again, and I shall give you my life. You may punish me as you see fit, you may take my body as you have taken hers, you may make me pay for taking the Curses, so long as you keep to your word!"

This was his gamble, but it was also the best shot he had at saving Illya. Driving Ahriman out of her was an uncertain task, at least as far as ensuring her survival of it went. A malevolent spirit, a demon, a youkai, even a phantasmal beast, all of these were beings he had weapons to deal with, but Ahriman was a god, something on a level of potency that EMIYA had rarely faced, even in his time as a Counter Guardian. To be sure, he had faced creatures of equal power and raw strength, Dead Apostles, phantasmal beasts, even beings that could be called rogue Heroic Spirits, but for even so, such beings had not possessed the same nature.

Gods were beings of power that were also a part of the world, or rather a part of this world. In this world it was a law that gods towered above mortals, just as the sun had sovereignty in the sky, so did deities hold supremacy over mortals. It didn't matter how powerful a mortal might grow, even the mightiest of all mages could only hope to hold off a god for a short time, victory was always a distant illusion. God Slayers, Campione, were anomalies in the system, mortals that did what mortals should not have been able to do, but they were literally one in a billion chances, their power compounded by the curse of Pandora. Even if Shirou was one that didn't change the fact that to all intents and purposes the world's weight was behind his enemy. That weight, that advantage, would let the dark god fight where others would have succumbed, and in that fight Illya would be torn apart from within before Ahriman was ever pulled from her.

But Shirou was different, he was a Campione, a mortal whose flesh had been enhanced in order to cope with the pressures of holding a divine power and to have the strength to wield it. His body and soul were both tougher than a mortal's could naturally be, and that was what he was gambling on. Well, that and something he'd never tried to deliberately do before.

During the last moments of the Holy Grail War back in his home reality his Reality Marble had begun to manifest itself internally, literally growing out of him as the blades of his internal world emerged through his skin. At the time it had been excruciating, but ironically the swords impaling him had served to hold him together when he was falling apart. Additionally, it was probably only due to the scales of blades that had been forming over his body that Shirou had been able to outlast Kotomine in their final fight. Even though both of them had been on their last legs the former Executor had still been a master martial artist and a brutal combatant, without the weapons to provide additional protection the young Emiya was quite sure Kotomine would have managed to smash his head in before his heart had given out.

Earlier in this fight Shirou had spontaneously generated a weapon through his body, but that had been the result of the attack on his magic Circuits touching Unlimited Blade Works, an accident, nothing more.

What he planned was to do it deliberately, not something either he or Archer had ever done before. Theoretically it was within their abilities, but neither of them had ever chosen to pursue the technique since there was little reason to risk stabbing their internal organs when regular Tracing served their requirements just fine. The eighth Campione was pretty sure that he could do it, and if he couldn't then he was pretty sure he could fall back on the simple alternative of just stabbing himself.

The aim was to get Ahriman in his own body, then run said body through with the most potent Anti-Possession Noble Phantasms he could Trace. It was a pretty brutal plan, but what it lacked in elegance it made up for with simplicity.

Ultimately it came down to the simple fact that he had a chance to survive it, while if he'd used the same Noble Phantasms on Illya there was a good chance she'd have been killed. Campione were dangerous for a myriad of reasons, but their vitality was one thing to be wary of. Even when the God Slayer in question didn't have a defensive Authority, such as Doni's Man of Steel, if an attack, regardless of its power, didn't kill them within the first minute or so then the odds were well in their favour that they would survive and recover. Granted, they wouldn't be in much of a condition to fight, and they might well be in enough pain that they wouldn't be too happy about surviving, but they would live.

That was what Shirou was counting on, being able to survive impalement on powerful Noble Phantasms. It wasn't the best plan, or the sanest, but it was all he could come up with that had at least some chance of working. There was also the concern that if Ahriman did take him up on his offer then he wouldn't have the control to go through with it, but even that was something he was willing to gamble on. He'd been up close and personal with the power of Angra Mainyu in the past, and Ahriman seemed to possess a nature that was fairly close to it. Shirou was sure that he could maintain control long enough to go through with some version of his plan.

"So? Will you accept?"

Of course, it was all dependant upon the evil god accepting his proposal.

"So eager to throw your life away, I have seen enough images of it in her mind to know this is your nature. Tell me, did you really interfere in a battle between gods when you first met her? Did you really throw yourself between such forces when you were a mortal without any sort of power?"

Shirou blinked, momentarily confused, then he put it together. The first fight between Saber and Berserker, the fight that he'd leapt into, in defiance of common sense and basic sanity, in an attempt to save his Servant when Berserker had injured her. Ahriman could access that memory? No, he'd said it was a battle between gods, and if he had access to Illya's knowledge then he'd have known that Servants weren't deities, but if they were just seeing it then it would have been an understandable mistake. After all, from the perspective of this world how could Servants be anything other than gods?

Did that help? It let Shirou know a bit more about the level of information that his enemy had access to, but was it any help?

"Then you know that I will go through with it!" He declared, trying to keep up what pressure he could muster. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that he was trying to play the part of the self-sacrificing hero, as he didn't have any intention of going through with it if he could help it. "Do you accept? Or do I have to risk her death to free her?! What will you do then? Will you try to possess me then? Because if you do then I will fight you, and I have killed enough gods to know that it will not go well for you!"

Internally he was getting ready to reach for the weapons he'd need. He didn't think that he'd have much time to work with, so he'd have to be fast. Still, Shirou was certain that he could do-

"I think not."

Illya's face twisted into that mockery of a smile as her head tilted at an almost unnatural angle, those blackened eyes glaring at him.

"There will be no salvation for your sister, no relief, no escape. You shall fight to free her, and I shall fight to hurt you, and to hurt her. Bring your weapons, your blades that will kill a god, I shall bring my own curses to match them, and the weight of them shall crush down upon your sibling's soul and break her apart as we battle."

Shirou felt a mad alchemy of rage, despair and frustration boiling up within him, but did his best to choke it down as he glared at his enemy.

"Are you so sure? This battle is far from decided, and if I need to save my sister's soul from you I am willing to sacrifice her life," That was a lie, but it was one that might become a truth. Could he risk her soul just for her life? Was that a trade to make? Was he risking her being sent into oblivion or worse simply because he was scared of how taking her life would tear him up inside? "Are you willing to discard an opportunity for a certainty at what you want? And when the price is so cheap to you?"

"Oh, little King, your words were not so honeyed or beguiling in your sister's memory. Indeed, there you seem far less cunning in all your interactions, have you been concealing your true nature from her?" Again, there was that damned smile, the one that looked so wrong on her face. "But I do not want an easy victory, or an assured one. I want to watch you suffer, I want to see you either murder your sibling with your own weapons, or watch as I crush her soul from existence. Do you understand? I want you to suffer, and I want you to have no balm to sooth it. You will not save your sister, you will not save her in any way save death by your own hand, and then all you can expect for the rest of your life is a slow and torturous death that I hope to extend by years at the least!"

Discordant as the voice was that wasn't the worst of the small speech that Ahriman delivered. The worst was that they never raised their voice, they didn't rave, they didn't shout, they just spoke through Illya as though she was discussing the weather. That lack of . . . grandeur, the absence of the bile and hatred that he'd been expecting, it was chilling in a way that the King of Steel had never had to face before.

"Perhaps you will slay me, though I do not think you shall. You are strong and powerful, but you are Steel to your core, and steel rusts, corrodes, and breaks before the corruptions of the world. You have the power of Mithras, but your Steel is not the divine Steel he possessed, it is a Steel that is as mortal as you, for all its power. Still, Steel it is, and it might be that you will reave my life, but in the final analysis you shall find I care little."

The possessed form of his sister leaned forward, the usurped weapons floating behind her to give her the appearance of being blessed by some twisted halo. Her face was no longer twisted into the grazed maniacal grin of before, rather her expression was now a small, almost dainty, smile. Coupled with the calmness of her words the result was even more disturbing than her earlier theatrics. Some distant part of him noted that while her hands still bled from the way she'd been holding her weapons the drip of her life fluid was more in keeping with a papercut rather than the severe lacerations her palms should have endured. Paradoxically the monstrous deity was keeping her from serious harm even as they moved to destroy her from within!

"This is not about defeating you, little thief, nor is it even about killing you. This is about punishment, about repayment for you daring to touch what was never meant to be touched by any other than me. This is about hurting you, about stealing everything from you in return. No hope, no joy, no future, no satisfaction, nothing. Your sister will be lost to you, only the method is left to be found. She shall be lost, and it shall be your fault, that is all there shall be. You cannot change this, you cannot overcome this regardless of how you fight. You entered this battle to save her, but you had already lost before the battle began."

This wasn't a boast, Shirou would have been happier if it were, a boast he could have overcome as he had the taunts and proclamations of other gods he had fought. Instead, this was a statement of fact, a simple truth as far as the evil deity saw it. And even more damning the King of Steel wasn't entirely certain that this fact was incorrect.

He could defeat Ahriman, even slay them, Shirou was certain of that. His Reality Marble held many weapons of purification or demon slaying that would be up to the task, but again the problem was that they wouldn't be able to save Illya, not while Ahriman sat inside her like some poisonous parasite ready to kill their host before giving them up.

Internally Shirou swore, his knuckles growing white once more as he gripped his weapon in frustration. He . . . he couldn't think of anything else, nothing that would let him save Illya. His plan . . . it didn't work unless his enemy abandoned her and tried to take his form in her place. If they remained inside his adopted sibling, then there was no way to try it. Frantically he combed his mind for any other options, any at all.

There was one, but it was a bad option, more of a desperate attempt rather than a serious possibility. He'd thought about using healing swords and exorcizing at once, one helping Illya to survive the other. Of course, in order to get that plan to work then he'd need to somehow overcome that usurpation effect. He had one or two Noble Phantasms that might be up to the task, but again he was worried about their effects upon his possessed sister. More and more this 'plan' was looking more like a desperate roll of the dice, but did he have any other options? Retreat wasn't an option, negotiation out the window, and a straight fight would only hasten Illya's death, in one form or another. This was really all he had left, and he found he didn't really have much faith in it.

There was no time for further thought though, because Ahriman had decided that the time for discussion was over.

Shirou ducked to the side as a corrupted sword sped through the space his head had been occupying, then brought up his sword to deflect another blade that would have skewered him through the left lung, had it hit. For a moment he thought about Tracing another weapon, but discarded the idea. Between his Campione vitality and his Dragon Slaying Hero Authority his arm was on the mend, but it wasn't fully healed yet. He could move it at the shoulder and elbow, but the tendons to his fingers were still hurt, meaning that his grip would be weak and unsteady.

More weapons were coming at him in what was almost a half-assed imitation of Gilgamesh's Gate of Babylon attack. Under other circumstances it might have been almost amusing, Ahriman only had a small number of weapons to fire, but they were calling back the ones that were shot only to launch them again. It was a dangerous attack, one that could kill him if one of them struck home hard enough, but when compared to his memories of the King of Heroes it was . . . lacking in intimidation.

However, it quickly became clear that rather than being a determined attack the barrage of weapons had only been meant to open space between them. As the young Emiya ducked behind a boulder, one that had been part of some sort of park art display, he saw that the black muck that had been littering the area was starting to flow towards his possessed sister, coagulating into a single mass that was growing as more and more of it arrived. He didn't know exactly what it was going to do, but he was willing to bet that it wasn't going to be something that he'd like.

Alright, he might not be able to attack Illya herself, but that mass of miasma was fair game, and hopefully taking it out would serve to distract her long enough to come up with something to turn things around. He mentally reached towards Unlimited Blade Works, getting ready to Trace some sort of Anti-Curse weapon when a flash beside his adopted sibling caught his attention.

The first sign that something had changed was when Illya suddenly went flying off to the side as though someone had tied her to a cannonball that had just been fired off. The abrupt change in the situation was such a jarring shift that for a moment all Shirou could do was blink in incomprehension as he tried to shift mental gears. The second sign was an unexpected voice cutting through the night.

"That worked better that I expected!"

The voice came from the side, and Shirou turned his head to the side to get a look at the speaker, even as he kept the possessed form of his sister in his peripheral vision.

Kusanagi Godou? What was he doing here?

The seventh Campione stood next to where Ahriman had been just a moment before, his clothes dishevelled and torn, his hair looking more like a bird's nest than anything else. In each hand he held some odd lumps of clay or ceramic, though there was no way to be sure. Both of them were already falling apart, the crumbling remains slipping between his fingers even as he turned to face his fellow King. Shirou wouldn't have paid it much attention though, far more interested in the answers to other questions.

"Kusanagi . . . ? Wha-what are you . . . ?"

The question stopped and started a couple of times in his throat, as he fought to bring his spasming muscles back under control. Still, even as his fellow King closed to his side Shirou was forcing himself to overcome what he'd faced, forcing heat and strength into limbs that had felt cold and weak only moments before.

"Listen, we don't have a lot of time," Godou's words were hushed and urgent, but there was a definite conviction to them. "Circe told me what's going on, what Ahriman did, what Odysseus has planned! You've got to get out of here, leave Illya-chan to me. Don't worry, I can free her, I've got an Authority that's perfect for the job! You've got to get out of here, recover, and go after Odysseus, do you understand? You've got to stop him!

Shirou blinked at his fellow King, unable to properly take in what he'd just heard. What? Leave Illya? Circe?

"Who . . . Circe? Why's she here? Why is she helping?"

Of course, he knew who Circe was. While researching Odysseus it had naturally led to him learning of the witch goddess that had turned his followers into animals, and who had been his lover for a short time. Though his main focus had been on the god he was hunting he had learnt a bit about the goddess, enough to know that she was not regarded as a deity to be trifled with carelessly.

So why the hell was she here? And why was she helping Godou?! The question repeated itself in his head as though it was stuck in some sort of loop, his frayed nerves not quite managing to stay as calm as they normally would.

"She was with them, Ahriman and Odysseus, but she's realized they're both crazy, so she's decided to switch sides! She gave me the spell that brought me here, and the amulet that let me bounce Illya-chan off like that!"

Ah, that explained what had happened. The normal magic of mortal mages could never hope to affect Campione or gods, or god-possessed mortals for that matter, but the spells of a deity of magic might be able to have some impact, even if their potency was greatly reduced. Whatever had sent Illya's body flying would have probably reduced any normal mortal to a fine mist, but with Ahriman inside her she was afforded the protection of their magic resistance, even as their power tore her soul to shreds.

Shirou shook his head, trying to focus. Circe, that was important! Circe had been working with Ahriman and Odysseus? But now she wasn't? And what did he mean 'she realized they were both crazy'? Could a god go mad? So many questions, but his mind and tongue seized on the one most important to him.

"Illya . . . ? You're going to save . . . Illya?"

Godou nodded, stepping close to the King of Steel as he kept his eyes on Illya's distant form.

"Yeah, I can save her! Don't worry about that. Look, you get out of here, go hunt Odysseus! If you try to help here it's going to make things worse, Ahriman's ready for you, but I can handle her!

The cobwebs were finally starting to clear from his mind, enough for him to start to put things into some sort of order. Shooting his gaze to the side he saw that his possessed sister was slowly getting to her feet, not hurt, but rather acting as though she were pushing her way through something he couldn't see.

"What was that? What did you do to her?"

The question came out slightly harsher than he wished it to, and Godou raised his hands defensively.

"That was something I got from Circe, something she said could hold Ahriman for a bit. It won't be long, but you've got enough time to get out of here. So, go!"

"But . . . Illya."

Shirou had heard what Godou had said earlier, but he wasn't willing to just leave his sister like this.

"Look, you can't handle her, Ahriman's planned for you! I can though, so trust me! You've got to go and deal with Odysseus! You've got to find him and make sure he's stopped before he can escape, otherwise he's going to try something like this again!"

Odysseus, again? What did he mean, 'try something like this again'? Was Odysseus the one behind this? Wait, he'd said Circe, wasn't Circe an ally of Odysseus? Or was she an enemy? He shook his head again, trying to straighten out his thoughts. No, they had been enemies in myth, Guinevere had been the one that suggested her as a possible ally for Odysseus, hadn't she? The two of them had attacked the island together, and now she was working with Godou against him?

There was too much that wasn't adding up right, though to be fair at the moment he wasn't sure he could manage anything more advanced than single digit addition, if he was lucky. No! No, he couldn't let himself get thrown off like that! What was important? What did he have to focus on?! Damn it! Think man!

Okay, the truth was that things had not been going well for him ever since this battle started. Yes, he wasn't beaten, in fact, he could still win, but only if he was willing to sacrifice Illya in the process. Ahriman wasn't looking to win in a fight, they were looking to hurt Shirou as much as they could. Plain and simple. Whatever options he had were risky, as likely to kill Illya as they were to save her.

But Godou had an advantage he lacked. His Golden Sword Authority was ideal for freeing her, as it was a weapon that cut divinity, not flesh. It was entirely possible for the King of Disaster to cut the dark god out of her without doing more than messing up her hair.

Hope, an emotion that had been in precious rare supply, trickled into Shirou's heart as he struggled to evaluate the situation as dispassionately as he could. He had to make the best choice here, Illya's life and soul literally depended on it.

"What . . . what's going on with Odysseus?"

In response the young Kusanagi pressed a small flat tablet of stone into his hands. The tablet had been carved with the image of multi-pointed star upon it. He couldn't see how many points there were to it, but he guessed there must have been at least a dozen. What was even more eye-catching was the way that one of the arms was glowing.

"Circe said that this will let you find him. She says that you should be careful when you do though, he's going to be worse than last time."

Well, that was useful, but it only raised more questions.

"Why is Circe helping us? Wasn't she an ally of Odysseus?"

Even as Shirou asked the questions he knew that he was running out of time. Illya's possessed form had almost managed to struggle to her feet. At the moment she was crouched, as though trying to rip her way through some sort of invisible blanket that covered her, but he could tell that it wouldn't be long until she was free.

"She says that Odysseus has gone insane, and that Ahriman was never sane to start with. She wants to get away from both of them before one of them decides it's a good idea to eat her face, and she figures that since you let Tiamat-san and Lancelot-san sign up with you that she could sign up with me!"

That . . . made a certain level of sense; it was certainly a good enough reason for a goddess to try to throw their lot in with those that should be her natural enemy. But still . . . Odysseus insane? That he wasn't entirely sure of.

"Look, you go and deal with him and make sure he can't pull anything else off! I'll see to saving Illya-chan!"

It was hard, even though he knew it was the smart move. Godou had the better chance, but even so every instinct in Shirou's body screamed at him to stay and aid in freeing his sister, even as his reason urged him to leave. For a moment he considered staying fighting at Godou's side. It made a certain level of sense, surely the two of them would be able to beat the god out of Illya faster than he could alone, but then the flaw to that occurred to him. Ahriman had a perfect hostage in the girl they were possessing, and if the fight went against them then they might well try to threaten her to get him to fight Godou. By taking himself off the playing board Shirou was denying the god that move. They might try it against the seventh Campione, but again the Golden Sword was a counter to that, since it could harm the god without hurting the girl.

Plus, if Odysseus was the brains behind tonight's mess then the Emiya heir could not afford to let him escape. This was the second time that the travelling god had targeted Shirou directly, and Illya and the rest of his friends indirectly, and this time countless civilians had also been caught up in the whole mess. There was no way of knowing how many were injured, crippled, or dead, but he was certain it would not be a small number.

A third attempt could not be permitted to occur!

So, it might be hard, it might even hurt, but it was a choice that he had to make, and there was only one choice that was the right one.

"Godou, I'm trusting you . . . don't let me down! Don't let her down! Please."

The last word was spoken almost in a whisper. For a moment the King of Steel had considered slipping into his False King persona, but then he dismissed it. That mask had been created back when he'd thought he needed to show a strong face to this new world if he didn't want himself and Illya to be hunted down as research subjects. Now wasn't the time to fall back into an unneeded habit. Now . . . he had to move forward. The so-called King of Disaster didn't say a word in reply; he simply gave a single sharp nod of his head, his eyes now focused upon the recovering form of Ahriman.

"Snow!"

There wasn't really any need for him to shout to call his steed, he could have whispered their name and they would have heard him from across the city. Still, there was a certain feeling of catharsis to simply yelling it, a minor release of the growing tension inside him. In just a few moments the beautiful white winged horse was landing before him, his left foreleg kneeling down in order to grant his master an easier way to settle upon his back.

"What's this? Are you leaving me Onii-chan? Are you just leaving me here to die, to be eaten from the inside out until there's nothing left? I didn't think you so cruel Onii-chan, so much a coward!"

The Emiya heir didn't look back; he didn't want to give that dark and twisted thing the satisfaction. It was a small and petty victory, but it was all that he could extract in the current situation. Instead he stared at his fellow King and gave a single sharp nod before glancing down at the small stone tablet that had handed him. On it he saw a single line of illumination one that he guessed pointed towards where he was meant to go.

With a nudge of his heels Snow was in the air.

"Where are you going?! Come back here, or I will shred her soul until there is nothing but the wails of her pain left behind!"

His fists were clenched so hard that he could feel the nails digging into the flesh of his palms. Internally he repeated to himself again and again, 'don't turn back, don't turn back, don't turn back'. He had to trust Godou; he had to trust the Authority he possessed.

"Do you think you can run?! I shall find you thief! I shall track you, and hound you across the word! I shall-"

The roared threats were cut off and Shirou found himself turning out of curiosity where before he had refused to do so out of a refusal to grant the possessing god even a minor victory. Godou had stepped into the path of Ahriman as she moved to chase after Shirou. The divine sword that shared a name with him was in his hands, the blade held ready for battle. The possessed girl was looking at him in some surprise, as though she hadn't really noticed him up to this point.

He took the whole scene in from a single glimpse, then Snow was sailing between buildings and his line of sight was cut. Alright, this was it! He'd made his choice, and placed his trust, there was nothing else to do now.

Shirou felt doubt gnaw at him, fears for his adopted sister, but he shoved them down. Godou was a Devil King, a mortal that had killed a god! He was one of the very few people in the world that could defeat Ahriman, and to his knowledge the only one that could save Illya. He had to place his trust in him and hope that it wasn't misplaced. There was very little else that he could do.


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Authorities of Ahriman

Corruption of the World – An Authority based on the myth that Ahriman, once called Angra Mainyu, once called the First Dark One, is not simply the source of all the evils of the world, but that all those evils serve him/her/ it.

In effect, this is a surprisingly powerful and versatile Authority, most likely due to its age and the fact that at the time of its conception human understanding was in its infancy, therefore a single effect covered many areas. It allows Ahriman to enforce their 'taint' or 'corruption' upon both objects and beings that enter their sphere of influence. This corruption can manifest in a great number of ways, though each of them has to be connected to one of the evils that Ahriman is said to be responsible for. Destruction, distortion, corrosion, weakening, usurpation, and inversion are all possible for this Authority, though it is subject to certain limits.

Primarily it must expend energy in order to overcome the natural resistance of the being or object it seeks to corrupt. Simple things, such as the dirt underfoot, or the materials making up the average home, are simple and offer little to no resistance, likewise a simple mouse or housecat can easily be overwhelmed. More important objects, namely treasured personal items or things that have been invested with deep connections by their owners, may offer more resistance, but can still be easily overcome. Items of power, such as Noble Phantasms or magic swords such as Erica and Liliana possess, require even greater effort to destroy or usurp, but it can be done swiftly enough to use in battle.

In their battle with Shirou, Ahriman used this Authority in a number of ways, the principle one being the usurpation of the Noble Phantasms used against them. Noble Phantasms that are thus corrupted are affected in any one of a number of ways, those who possess benign effects, such as healing, purification or protection, will have their effects inverted, becoming dark reflections of what they could do. Healing will instead inflict poison, purification will instead corrupt, and so on. Such weapons remain under Ahriman's control as long as they remain tied to their sphere of influence. They can be fired off as projectiles then recalled due to this connection, or taken in hand and used as melee weapons. It should be noted that this usurpation is not perfect though, maintaining it requires a constant drain of magic for as long as Ahriman wishes to control the items they have claimed. Though this is a minor concern to the evil god, given their naturally vast reserves, it can become a problem if they usurp too many items of power or try to maintain control over them for too long.

When applied to a living being this Authority will encounter resistance, though in the case of most mortals such resistance is easily overcome by sheer power. Mages or other magic users may be able to produce a limited defence, but such protection can be overcome with a simple application of force and concentration. Against other gods or Campione this resistance is far greater, but can still be forced through. Ironically Shirou, with his foreign soul structures, such as Magic Circuits and his Reality Marble, is more vulnerable to this form of attack than a normal Campione would be. Though his Magic Resistance remains the same, once bypassed the fact that his spirit and body are more connected than is normal in the Campioneverse means that it's easier for Ahriman's corruption to hurt and disable him.

Another limitation to this Authority is its range, the further it reaches from Ahriman the weaker it becomes, a weakness that increases rapidly. At a distance of only four or five feet it is so lacking in strength that the best it can do to a foe is to corrode their good fortune, leading to small bursts of poor luck. It is only within one or two feet of Ahriman's person that it remains powerful enough to be an asset in battle. This was why it was most effective against Shirou when they were able to get a direct grip upon him.

Lastly, while the results of this Authority remain, the Authority itself will only linger for a short time after the Authority ends. For example, the trails of corruption that Ahriman leaves in the wake of their passage. A few minutes after Ahriman ceases to use their Authority the divine energy will fade leaving behind only what effects will persist after the loss of that energy. Objects that have been warped in shape will remain in that shape, though lose any malleability they temporarily possessed, whereas things that were burning or molten will cool and set.

Ultimately, this is a close-range Authority with a wide range of uses in combat, and quite a number outside of it as well. Given Ahriman's twisted mentality they are willing to use it in ways that most conventionally sane beings would not, meaning it can go so far as to warp or even destroy souls. Against Shirou it is particularly effective as it can usurp his Noble Phantasms, though it should be noted that this is down to two factors. The first is that since Ahriman was in Illya's body Shirou wasn't attacking with his full force, thus making the usurpation of the weapons he used easier. The second is that none of the Noble Phantasms that he used were truly HIS, as such his connection to them was weaker, even though it was his power and divinity that created them. Had Ahriman tried to usurp Saber's Excalibur, or Lancer's Gae Bolg, then they'd have had a much harder time due to the connection between wielder and weapon being much deeper. They could have done it, but in the time it took they would have been vulnerable to alternate attack.

Ironically that means that against such a Servant as EMIYA or Gilgamesh, so long as he fought condescendingly and only used lesser Noble Phantasms, this Authority would grant Ahriman a major advantage as they could usurp enormous amounts of Noble Phantasms, if their opponents went for the 'Rain of Blades' tactics. Granted, so many usurped weapons would drain their reserves quickly, but during the time available Ahriman could launch a devastating counterattack. Probably not enough to win in one go, but it would be noticeable.


( - )


The Evil Within – This is the Authority that Ahriman used to possess Illya, and is derived from the ancient legends of people claiming that it was Ahriman that possessed them and forced them to do evil deeds.

As Authority go this one is fairly straight forward in its application, but more complicated in its scope. Its main function is to allow Ahriman to take possession of a mortal by inhabiting them and essentially wearing their flesh as if it was their own. In doing so they can also access the mind and soul of the possessed victim, using their memories to ensure Ahriman can imitate them, and twisting, corroding, or outright destroying the soul if they so choose.

While possessing a mortal, Ahriman retains full access to all their Authorities, though the use of them accelerates the degradation of the host, as their body and soul break down under the weight of so much divine power. This can be to the god's advantage though, as the breakdown accelerates the speed at which the deity can absorb and integrate the memories and thoughts of their host. However, as time progresses the body will be unable to last and slowly die around the deity inhabiting it. Ahriman can maintain control over the corpse for a short time, but eventually even the dead flesh will be unable to endure more and break down into dust.

It is possible for Ahriman to possess multiple victims at once, though doing so will spread out their essence between each victim. This results in the level of control dropping in proportion to the number being possessed. As a deity Ahriman can possess large numbers before their control degrades, at least one or two hundred, depending upon the willpower and vitality of those taken, it is only when the victims begin to number in the thousands that control begins to slip. At these numbers Ahriman may no longer possess direct control, but they can influence their victims, fanning emotions out of control, planting suggestions in their subconscious, stirring them to anger and violence. In this way the deity may not be able to exert direct control over the masses they infect, but they can see their will done regardless. In the past Ahriman has used this Authority to drown entire cities in riots, mindless slaughter, and ever escalating atrocities, all in keeping with his legend of being the source of all evils in the world.