Kiritsugu saw the end.
The earth was a burning and ruined land. Wreckage of gnarled metal and shards of glass melted beneath his feet as a broken man found himself wandering through the hellscape of his own making.
How could this happen?
The sky was painted black, the stars blotted from the sky like an evil omen spitting the truth of his own undoing before him. The Magus Killer no more merely shambled through sinful earth looking for someone, anyone.
So he walked.
And walked and walked and walked and walked.
He walked until his feet bled, until the tears in his eyes had all but dried out, until his throat was too dry and frayed for him to even shout and cry out. His heart ached and his body was weak, resolve broken and ripped apart by the truth of the Grail.
And so he continued to walk. It was like a punishment, something he deserved.
The bodies he found were merely hollow husks, too broken and too damaged to be saved. The people swept away in the vicious tide of sin and evil didn't even have time to scream.
Kiritsugu Emiya killed so many, justifying it as a way to save the world. The few for the many, one for ten, ten for a hundred, a hundred for a thousand.
And now… nothing.
Nothing nothing nothingnothingnothingnothing.
Rain soaked the broken man as clouds had formed above. Droplets pitter-pattered against the ruins of the city as he continued on his futile search, the fire around him began to suffocate and die.
He could barely think, he could barely breathe. Nothing remained but him, nothing but a pitiful excuse for a man that tried to save the world with the use of a glorified monkey's paw.
Hundreds of people died in that fire, and over a hundred buildings destroyed.
"...!"
But then a miracle finally came. Amidst the rubble was a hand, covered in soot but still colored with life and warmth.
Kiritsugu's empty eyes blinked, hoping that this wasn't another farce from that wicked Grail trying to crush his hopes. His hand reached out, grasping the hand.
It was real.
It was alive.
Kiritsugu's eyes were filled with tears once again. Someone still survived the fire, an impossibility that managed to elate the older man's spirit once again.
He fell to his knees, clutching the hand of the one he saved as it was the only thing that mattered to him anymore. The eyes of a red-haired child looked back up at the crying man, barely able to comprehend what he was looking at.
"Thank you," the man whispered, his eyes shut tight as a sad smile made itself known, "Thank you thank you thank you…"
The boy was confused, never having seen this man before in his life. Nor knowing in that moment, he hadn't been the only one who was saved in that fire.
Click!
The hammer of a pistol clicked back.
Kiritsugu glanced back up, seeing another impossible sight.
Standing before him was a taller man with his Thompson Contender in hand, his eyes burning like bright coals amidst the smoldering flames. Draped around his ash-covered body was a tattered cloth while his other hand was hidden from sight.
Empty eyes met empty eyes, hollow men meeting for the first time ever. Two machines in mortal flesh that shouldn't have survived despite the impossible odds. Fate was cruel, and it seemed to have a sense of humor as well. If rather twisted.
Only one thing could've wished for his death, and he was sure every Master had been accounted for shortly before the end of the war. This had to be a Servant.
The Assassin.
Neither one spoke to the other, Assassin merely kept the stolen gun in hand, pointed between the eyes of the former Magus Killer. There was no mercy behind them, nor love or warmth or happiness. Instead, there was something else… something he didn't know what.
The Spartan, on the other hand, only focused on his enemy, this so-called Magus Killer. The Master of Saber that created this hellscape, if he was able to pin down the fact he was the last. He didn't know what Kiritsugu had tried to accomplish or wished for, but what happened here was, without a doubt, his fault.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was low and raspy, like what a desert could sound like if it had a mouth.
"Saber?"
His face went still for a moment, then Kiritsugu grimaced and shook his head.
Six got the same answers when asked of Caster or Archer. The Assassin was the only one left. Kiritsugu saw confusion written on the Spartan's face for only a fraction of a second, like something didn't line up with what he said.
Regardless, he was the winner.
But… this didn't feel like a victory. Far from it.
The Spartan's eyes hardened, hatred for the man known as Kiritsugu Emiya beginning to well up inside of him. His finger slipped around the trigger.
Half a millimeter more to squeeze the trigger, intent on splattering the man's blood and brain matter against the wrecked concrete.
But something stayed his hand.
It was a subtle gesture, something almost incomprehensible, but he watched as Kiritsugu pulled his arms around him closer like he was trying to shield himself. Or rather what was in his arms.
The Spartan saw the boy, the tuft of red hair barely visible in Kiritsugu's grasp. In that moment, Six's anger diminished, but that cold demeanor still remained, finally remembering one final promise to a girl that gave him this opportunity to live once more.
Thunk.
Kiritsugu looked down at what the Servant had given him. His eyes widened as he realized what it was. The perfect golden scabbard wreathed in blue enamel sat at his feet, the embodiment of a past king's utopia.
Avalon.
The man looked back up only to see that Assassin was gone, the Servant that stood before him had disappeared from Kiritsugu's sight. But that didn't matter.
Kiritsugu's fingers tentatively touched the object, feeling the remaining power within that could still be put to use. He gently placed the boy down, taking note of the serious injuries that littered his body.
He held Avalon in his hands, praying for another miracle as the Everdistant Utopia evaporated inside the boy's body and watching as his wounds were miraculously knit together.
Kiritsugu continued to cry, this time in joy, as fire and rain surrounded the both of them.
A life had been saved.
That was all that mattered for Kiritsugu Emiya.
An hour before…
Spartan-B312, designation: Noble Six.
True Name: Unknown.
Servant Class: Ą̸̩̲͎̮̟̤͈̟̼͔͍͒͗ś̵̨̡̡̩̬͇͇͔͈̏͌͂͊̐̌s̷̛̙͋͊̓̐̋̽̔͠͝å̴̢̲̲̪͙̙̲̠̺̤̬̦̃͊s̸̱͉͍̼͋̋̂̓̋̕͜͝s̶̛̯͈̳̟̫̥̽̾̿͠i̴͚̻̩̊̍̇̚͘ǹ̵̦̀̀̍̽͆̃̾̍̍̀̚?̸̺͙̟̇́̍̀̓͘͘͝
Noble Six blinked, waking up to the hellish landscape that surrounded him. Confusion and concern being the biggest feelings running through him right now.
What the fuck happened?
The first thing he noticed was the heat against his skin, the next being that he was completely naked, and the third was something hanging off of his hands, it looked like a scabbard. The former being more concerning than the latter, that could easily be rectified with a change of clothes.
He rose to his feet, the sound of gravel crunching beneath his soles and the fire nearby kissing his bare skin. He felt warm, uncomfortably warm. That shouldn't be possible.
Unless…
Six flexed his fingers, briefly thinking back to that vision in the Grail. That fake Irisviel telling him about his own death returning him to the Throne.
And yet here he was.
Fall of Reach. The Noble Phantasm of Reach's last survivor. The gift that crystallized whatever legend that existed within his Spirit Origin, etched into his form as a Servant.
According to legends throughout time, animal sacrifices were made to the gods as offerings in return for their gifts and insight. But human offerings were rituals that neared the domain of gods, sacrifices like those couldn't go unnoticed even in an age of man for someone as blasphemous as him.
The sacrifices of Noble Team for Reach were these gifts. He himself was one of these gifts too.
Had he simply used one in a gamble for survival… and won?
The thought was almost too dizzying for him to comprehend.
Nevertheless, that was what happened now. He was alive in a body of flesh and blood, the "core" that made up the power of a Servant was still there, if somewhat dormant. Remnants of mana still flowed through his body, but the lifeline connecting himself and Kariya was suddenly severed.
In a way, he could call himself a… Demi-Servant? No, that didn't feel right.
Six shook his head, aimlessly walking towards some unknown place. Where did he go from here? He was as naked as the day he was born, thrown into an unknown world in a time far off from his own.
What was there to do next?
He looked down at the golden object in his left hand, not knowing how it came into his possession, but there was something compelling him to hold onto it.
A memory flashed before his eyes. Irisviel told him to return something to Kiritsugu… was he even alive though?
The Spartan continued walking, picking up a ragged cloth that somehow managed to survive the fires. He tied the ends around his waist as ash and gravel and glass crunched underneath his feet, every step reminding him of the chaos that surrounded him.
Not a survivor in sight. Only corpses.
Whoever had caused this was going to die, he'd make sure of that. It had to have been the remaining survivor of the war.
Someone had to have seen this all to the end, right? A Master that lived to the end.
The former Assassin came to a halt, sensing a strange rumbling beneath his feet. Something was wrong, and he didn't know what. Six scanned the surrounding area, seeing nothing in sight as the world continued to burn.
Then he saw it.
From the wreckage, something crawled forth from the flames. Naked and covered in thick black sludge, whatever wasn't covered was stained reddish-brown skin that looked way too muddled to be natural. The hair was long and flowing, thick and matted like the mane of a lion.
He recognized that figure anywhere.
"Archer…?" the Spartan whispered to himself as those glowing eyes seemed to pierce through to him, their eyes locked together even from so far away, unknowing of the other's intentions.
He looked shorter even from this distance, his limbs leaner and more lithe than the expanse of muscles that rippled across his body, but that face and hair was all too familiar.
Neither one moved, neither one made a sound, neither one even breathed.
Seconds passed, then a minute. Then two.
Whatever remained of Archer suddenly turned away, disappearing into the flames and gone from the Spartan's sight. Noble Six looked back at the trail that stood before him, his legs carrying him forward through the infernal expanse.
Something bumped by his feet, making a light clicking sound as it slid along the wreckage. It was a gun, a Contender by the looks of it. The Spartan bent down and picked it up, wiping the ashen surface off with a hand before checking inside.
A single shot was inside. Six closed the gun and kept it by his side, the Contender in his right and the sheath in his left. If he found Kiritsugu, he'd have to wager whether to give the artifact in his hands to the man, put a bullet between his eyes, or both.
Either way, he'd be fulfilling his promise.
Soon enough, he saw the man in the distance, wandering about with a zombified look in his eyes, completely devoid of emotion and unaware of his own surroundings before crouching over a pile of rubble off into the distance. Was he looking for something?
Assassin felt something in his chest, anger if he was correct. He made his way over to the man, his steps silent even amidst the rubble. The former Master of Saber seemed transfixed with what he was doing.
It started to rain, water droplets bounced against his skin and soaking whatever clothes he had left on him. He'd have to make this quick, lest he find out whether former Servants could get hypothermia.
The Magus Killer didn't seem to care or even notice as the Spartan finally got within his line of distance, as if hyper-focused on the task at hand. He needed some way to get his attention.
Click!
The hammer of the Contender pulled back. Kiritsugu looked up to see a very pissed Spartan.
-oOo-
In his final moments, Kariya Matou had a dream.
The dream of memories, belonging to the Servant one was bound to. Perhaps Assassin's original Master had a dream like this.
But where Kirei Kotomine had dreamt of the end, Kariya Matou started at the beginning.
He found himself standing inside a dark room, the sterile scent of artificially pumped oxygen reached his nostrils as he breathed in deep. Machinery around him beeped rhythmically in tune with his own heartbeat.
Kariya stared into the glass, weary and tired eyes stared back, for what lay behind it bore a heartbeat quite like his own.
A child, male and not even a single year old, floating around in a reinforced glass container holding some kind of jade green solution.
Around their tiny face was an oxygen mask hooked up to a tube and water-sealed fiber optic wiring that ran all the way to the bottom of the panel, pumping that precious resource into the child's lungs and diffusing the waste out into the room.
There was familiarity. Kariya sensed a kinship with this child, despite knowing they were feelings of the man whose eyes he was looking through.
His eyes were closed, asleep but still alive. The subtle twitches and kicks from their tiny legs told him so, nerves and muscles that would become overwhelming potential.
Something in the back of his mind told him that this child had been crafted, not simply developed with something as inane as cloning or what Kariya could understand as the creation of homunculi.
This was something far more special, something that the man had a special bond to.
The child's growth was temporarily stunted for the time being, unable to age for the time being until the man's plan was finally put in motion.
The old man inspected himself, the uniform he wore was grey and minimalistic, simply his Army uniform. He cautiously chose not to wear any of his medals or ribbons for a specific reason. If he wanted this to work, he had to appear on their side, to play by their rules.
A dull flash of blue made itself known out of the corner of his eye. Kariya turned to see a blue orb encased in dual spiraling rings. His mind immediately went to the word "AI".
"We've finally arrived?" his mouth opened and spoke, his voice as tired as his face. The construct paused in its motions and flickered for a moment. A confirmation, "Good. I can only hope this goes well, make sure to secure this room until I return. Once they authorize this… he's all yours."
The man turned back, listening as the doors hissed and slid open, tunnel with flimsy elastic walls greeted him on the other side, eerily resembling the texture of an umbilical cord. He strode forth with purpose nevertheless until the door of an airlock greeted him on the other side.
He couldn't take a Pelican, not as stealthy nor was he here for an extended time. A simple meeting, get in and get out with authorization.
The doors slid open, blinding him momentarily as the stark white reflective walls dilated his pupils. His eyes refocused and the man stepped inside, led by an assistance AI that supervised the area of the ship he boarded.
Before long, he found himself sitting in front of an ebony conference table, on it was a carafe of water and a small number of cups, the entire room was a five-diameter bubble bisected by a floor of metal grating. The door closed behind him, sealing him inside what was known as a Faraday cage.
The man ran a hand through his thinning grey hair, contemplating the situation he was in and partially uncomfortable as he poured himself a drink. He checked the watch around his wrist: 0455.
Before long, three people entered, the white walls sliding aside before finally closing.
A graying man in his forties, sitting on his right, drinking from a golden flask filled with cheap whiskey. Rear Admiral Rich.
Another man that moved with the gait of a panther now sitting at his left, long-legged strides from extended work in microgravity. Captain Gibson.
A woman in her nineties, but looked so much older. Her eyes simultaneously cold and burning like dry ice, she was frail and looked as though a slight breeze could knock her over at any given moment. But she was the most dangerous woman in this room.
Vice Admiral Parangosky.
"You better have one hell of a reason for dragging us all here through back channels, Colonel," the woman's voice was old, scratchy, and bitter. In short, she scared the hell out of him.
He might as well start now, placing four reader tablets on the table.
"Please, Admiral," he looked to her, nodding back down at the chair opposing him, "If you would."
"Very well, I'll bite," she growled, taking a seat.
All eyes were on him.
He had their interest enough for them to come all the way down here. Now all he had to do was grab their attention, listening as the men and women that surrounded him bickered lightly with one another.
Breathing in as if diving underwater, the Colonel took the plunge.
In just under an hour, the groundwork for the Spartan-III project began its manifestation. A skeleton of sorts was finally put to work, now all was needed was the resources to get the job done.
Onyx, Kurt-051, Mendez. All he needed for his debt to be repaid.
With everything said and done, James Ackerson left The Point of No Return. A ghost of a smile etched itself on his face, as if claiming a victory that was surely within reach.
His vision suddenly went dark, pain flooded his body as he opened his eyes.
Kariya Matou woke up, the slithering of worms had all but dulled to slight wriggling as he found himself sitting on a bench. He inspected his surroundings, finding himself in the same park where he ran into Aoi and Rin.
"Acker...son…?" he muttered to himself. The name was foreign to Kariya.
The man shook his head, unknowing of what that dream even was nor did he want to know. What mattered now was…
No...
He stared back down at his hand, now devoid of the command seals engraved upon it.
Tears fell upon his dirty jacket, his only remaining eye widened in grief at his own failure. Sakura would end up becoming Zouken's plaything, Rin would grow up without a father, and Aoi…
The Matou had long since accepted his role from the woman's point of view, and even though he absolutely despised Tokiomi. Rin would stay strong, he was certain of it, but Aoi would be absolutely crushed by the revelation. And even now there was nothing he could do.
A slight breeze picked up, blowing back the hood that covered the man's disfigured face and pallor skin, sickly white hair messy as slumped over. Utterly defeated.
"You look like shit," a voice spoke up. Kariya blinked, looking up to see someone he never thought he'd see.
"A-assassin?"
The Servant stood before him, now wearing dusty old clothes that he had picked off from somewhere, but it was still him, "So I guess you're the winner, huh?"
The taller man paused before slowly nodding, "It was a pyrrhic victory, but I suppose I am."
Kariya laughed bitterly, looking down at his hands, "I could see the fire even from here. What the hell happened over there?"
"Nothing you caused or of your concern," the Servant curtly replied, his eyes downcast for a brief moment before looking back up, before adding, "I'd kill you for that stunt you pulled with that Command Seal, but I believe I made a promise to you beforehand."
His eyes widened.
Sakura. There was… there was still a chance.
The former Servant watched as the man tried to stand back up, only to find himself both too weak to, looking as though he was on the verge of death could do nothing but spew that tainted blood from his mouth and recline back against the pillar holding him up.
"T-the estate is a long walk from here," Kariya straightened himself back up, pointing at one of the roads. Assassin followed the direction of his finger to see a one road among many, but only one that went down the direction Kariya had pointed, "Down the road, take a right as soon as you reach the end and keep walking. You'll see a mansion, the big creepy one."
Assassin quickly took a mental note of this and nodded, "I'll be back shortly."
"Before you go-" the Servant paused, turning back to Kariya as he added one more thing, "Follow the noise, that's where you'll find Zouken's 'Training grounds'..."
With that, Kariya watched as the man quickly left. He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning back against the bench's support as bloodstained hands traced across the concrete beside him.
He'll wait for Sakura to come back.
In the meantime, Kariya Matou would rest, drifting off to peaceful sleep and dreaming of an impossible future.
-oOo-
This must be the place.
The feeling of passing through a Boundary field sent shivers down his spine as Noble Six kicked down the door. The wooden barricade splintered apart with barely any effort on his part, listening to the broken pieces skidding across the floor before coming to a halt.
For once, Six decided to neglect the subtlety of things. If what Kariya said was true, then he had to get this girl out of here as soon as possible.
Stepping inside with the Thompson Contender in hand, his eyes scanning warily in the dark as the wooden floors creaked beneath his weight. The house was barely lit only by the moonlight, no one was either home or made an effort to come down and greet him.
The former Servant still had one last promise to keep, even if it was from someone that forced his hand. As much as he hated Kariya Matou for the use of that Command Seal, he never disobeyed an order.
Noble Six listened closely, lowering his pistol and closing his eyes. The faint sound of buzzing. The ground was still, devoid of vibration to suggest anything was on the same floor as him.
So why did he feel like he was being watched?
Six followed the source of the noise, making his way down a narrow corridor until he came upon a door. The sound of buzzing was at its loudest behind it.
An overwhelming sense of deja vu ran through the Spartan's mind, but he ignored it, focusing on the matter at hand. Exhaling, he turned the knob on the door and pushed it open.
"...!"
Noble Six immediately regretted opening the door, forcing back the urge to vomit just by the pure stench alone. The slithering and beating of countless wings and clicking of infinite ravenous teeth filled his ears louder than a thundering battlefield.
He blinked and took a breath before stepping back inside. The Spartan's aim swiveled between every crack and corner of the room, taking notice of the sticky green luminescence that made up the basement.
That's what he saw the worms at the bottom of the pit.
Hundreds. No… thousands.
Thousands of them squirming about along the stony floors as their teeth clicked like demonic drumbeats. Squirming masses of piranha-shaped worms with armored carapaces and flesh-colored abominations vaguely phallic and covered in thick slime.
This had to be the place.
The Spartan cautiously stepped towards the staircase, his steps echoing with the sound bouncing off the stone walls. He lowered the pistol in his hand with each slow step, attuning his ears to the myriad of sickening sounds.
His foot was met with resistance before a crunching sound gave way beneath his feet. Six resisted the urge to cringe at the sound and smell as he began to wade forth through the sea of filth. The girl had to be here somewhere, his intuition wouldn't betray him this time.
Eventually, his ears picked up a sound. Breathing.
It was quiet, harsh, and weak, but no doubt the breathing of a child.
Six trudged through the swarm as if through a mud pit, summoning forth only a portion of MJOLNIR to protect him from the vicious bites and clawing of worms. The techsuit that made up the underarmor of his most used Phantasm was the only thing summoned, decidedly conserving what was left of his mana.
The former Servant had seen many things, atrocities committed by those heartless aliens and countless worlds glassed, but he couldn't even compare that to what he was seeing before his eyes. Six was always away from the proverbial fire as it burned, it was what kept him alive… and yet here he was smack in the center of it.
His hand grasped something, covered in the same sickly mucus that perspired from the worms, but what he managed to grab ahold of was different. It was warm… and there was a pulse. An arm.
The worms hissed softly at him as the man dug both arms deep into the abyss, feeling the dull ache of those phallic creatures attempting to sink their teeth into his flesh before his hands met flesh once more.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled and tugged with as much strength he could muster without breaking the girl's fragile bones. The worms' assault became ever more frantic, as if screaming for him to stop. They wouldn't let the Spartan take away their favorite meal without a fight.
He finally pulled her out, his hands wrapped around her underarms with as much gentleness as humanly possible. Her skin was pallor and sickly, covered in a thick membrane of mucus and sweat and whatever other filth lay at the bottom of the pit.
Her hair was a light shade of violet, likely altered by magecraft. Her eyes were a similar color, but they appeared glassy and lifeless, unfocused as she seemingly stared off into space.
The girl's mind had shut itself away, likely to cope with the pain of her trials as she had resigned herself to her fate.
This was sick. Whatever had done this to her couldn't possibly be human. Vicious thoughts ran through the normally cold mind of the Spartan as he carried the girl in his arms. It was like carrying a rag doll.
Eventually, they reached the staircase. His armor faded away as the worms were out of reach. Various worms still clung to her body as he gently placed her on the stone steps, pulling them off gently until they were detached from her skin before violently tossing them against the stone wall, listening to them splat as they exploded against it.
"How awfully rude of you, young man," an old voice said, the words came out rasped and laced with venom, "Don't you know it's dangerous to go around messing with another's belongings?"
Six snapped upwards, the gun in his hand now pointed at the source of the voice. The frame hidden in the shadows told him it was a frail and balding old man in a robe, but the presence he seemed to give off was no different than the worms in that pit.
"Ah... you're that Assassin he's been talking about, eh?" the old man tilted his head in intrigue, "Meeting in the flesh, you are so much more underwhelming than I had initially believed, but I know you've caused quite a stir if recent events are any indication."
The man stepped out of the shadows, revealing the form the frame belonged to. Sickly gray and wrinkled skin and eyes like glowing yellow pinpricks surrounded by black sclera stared at the Servant for a good long while.
Evil was the first thought that came to mind.
"Are you going to shoot me?" the old man chuckled, a disgustingly wet and raspy sound, "By all means, do so, I'm really in no mood to fight today."
The taller of the two stared back, his hand still gripping the handle of the pistol yet there was no effort to pull the trigger. The Matou, at least he assumed this was him, showed neither fear nor resistance, he seemed… frighteningly unconcerned.
"Tsk," the old man clicked his tongue as the Spartan lowered his arm, instead setting aside the pistol and focusing on the girl, "Did Kariya send you? Foolish boy, he should know that what he wants is impossible."
Six ignored the elder, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around the naked girl in an attempt to cover whatever modesty that remained. She had already been violated, her mind utterly broken by the rape of those creatures. This was all he could do for her.
With ease, he picked her up gently, easing her arms onto his shoulders and wrapping around his neck. Her chin rested against the crook while the Spartan's arms wrapped around her legs for support. He picked up the pistol with her other hand, still pointing it at the Matou as he made his way up the stairs.
"There's no need to point that thing at me. Take her and leave, I have no more use for her, " the old man shook his head disappointedly, as if scolding a young child, before looking back up at Six, "Oh don't give me that look. It doesn't matter any longer, you have what you came for, so leave."
There was no force behind the old man's tone as Six brushed aside the shorter man and continued walking, reaching the doorknob and turned it open, having tucked the antique pistol underneath his arm.
He stopped at the door, his eyes barely hiding his contained anger before he finally spoke.
"She's not yours to keep," was all the Spartan said. His voice devoid of emotion, it was simply a truth that didn't need belief, words that carried an insurmountable conviction.
The door opened, the former Servant stepped through the door, stopping as the opposing man's voice stopped him once more.
"So long as that girl still lives-" the Matou's voice came out dripping with malice, but it held no more doubt than the Spartan's own words, "-She will always be mine."
Six's hand twitched slightly, not enough for either man to notice. He was tempted to pull the trigger right then and there, but this man wasn't worth the bullet. There was something off about this old man. Something almost… inhuman.
He didn't care about having a gun being shoved into his face. No, he treated it as if it was the best joke someone told him in a long while.
"What are you waiting for? The door's just down the hall," the old man grinned an evil toothy grin.
The wooden floors echoed with each step as Six began his exit out of this hellish place with the girl in his arms, a blurry blue shape appeared out the corner of his eye. He turned his head to see a young boy with messy blue hair and beige sleepwear.
"Go back upstairs, Shinji," the old man's voice spoke behind the former Servant, his voice echoing throughout what he thought was an empty house with a voice that carried authority, "We're finished with business anyway."
Shinji Matou, as Six learned, nodded nervously and quickly made his back to his room. Even the Spartan was able to gleam the underlying layer of terror beneath that boy's eyes, he knew that his grandfather was at least not human, and perhaps the Matou patriarch knew that the boy knew.
There was no respect in this place. Only fear.
The entire house was a deathtrap, those worms were used for some sort of sick project. Considering the mass amounts that lived there, this certainly wasn't the first time that old man had used these things as some sort of food source or breeding pit.
Six was greeted by the cool air breezing past him once more as he stepped out of the estate. Pushing the gate open and turning back, the Spartan was almost tempted to torch this place to the ground.
Too bad he didn't have a lighter on him.
All he could do was continue walking, the soles of undersized shoes echoing throughout the darkness as he felt the subtle heartbeat of the little girl in his hands softly beating against his chest.
Don't get sentimental-
He shook his head, continuing to walk from the estate to his former Master. The walk was roughly under an hour, completely silent as if the entire city had died in that fire or simply slept, the Spartan was unsure which was more cruel. But right now, all that mattered was his orders, nothing more nor less.
The only sure sign that the girl was even alive was the rhythmic sound of near-silent breathing and a constant heartbeat, otherwise she was as still as a stone. The Spartan turned his attention to the road before him, seeing the scenery beginning to subtly change until it became more and more familiar. He was getting closer.
Afterwards, then what?
Focus on the now, Six.
He shook his head, clearing those questioning thoughts from his mind and focused on the present. The future would have to wait.
Before long, the Spartan stood before the motionless form of Kariya Matou, his eyes closed and head lolled back, resting his back against the support behind him. Gently placing the girl on the seat next to him, Six stepped back and saw that he had finally fulfilled his end of the bargain.
That was good enough. They were even now, he could probably get the kid to a foster home if he didn't have long to live anyway. This wasn't his business.
He turned around and began to walk away, only for the soft voice of a child to speak up.
"Uncle Kariya…?" she finally said, the rustling of clothes followed after, "Uncle Kariya… why won't you wake up?"
Six froze, his blood running cold at the realization that finally caught up to him. His breath caught in his throat as he slowly turned back to look at the pair. The girl was trying to wake up the man… and Six noticed he wasn't breathing.
He slowly stepped closer to the motionless man, carefully placing his fingers around his neck and feeling closely: no pulse.
Shortly after Six had left, Kariya Matou passed away in his sleep. The only thing left living and standing before the Spartan was the little girl that he had rescued, her small frame curled up in the lap of the man too weak to have saved her.
She wept no tears. Her mind was now barely coming to lucidity, but her eyes appeared as glassy as ever.
The Spartan looked down at her before noticing a crimson shape out of the corner of his eye. Next to the Matou's hand was traces of what looked like blood. His blood.
Two words written by a shaking and sloppy hand.
"Protect her."
Six stared down at those words, his gaze refusing to break with the final message that Kariya Matou had left him before he died. The Spartan swallowed, absorbing the information as he realized what exactly the former Master had done.
Kariya Matou had no wish for the Holy Grail, but he knew there was something that he wanted. He knew he wouldn't live long and that he couldn't save the girl on his own. So he entrusted her to the only person he had trusted his wish to in those final moments.
That was the wish of Kariya Matou. Protect Her.
And the Spartan never once disobeyed an order.
Almost on cue with his realization, the girl turned back to the taller man. She stared up at the giant that stood in front of her. His body was still as a statue, the only clue that this was even a person at all was the clouds of frosted air leaving his lips with each breath.
Then he took a step forward, arms reaching out to the girl as his mission finally became clear.
The girl, Sakura, knew that her uncle had died, she was supposed to resign to her fate in that moment. A Tohsaka that had been traded for the Matous to secure their lineage, her mind and body violated for a whole year.
But now the cold air nipping at bare skin told her she was no longer in the "comfort" of the Matou estate. Her mind focused once more as she felt a strange pressure against her back and legs closely with a sense of weightlessness.
She realized she was now being carried by the scary man with cold eyes. Did he kill Uncle Kariya?
No… she wouldn't be alive if that was the case. The man she saw so long yet so shortly ago had looked like a withered zombie the last time she saw him, there was no way he would've been able to rescue her from that bad place, from Zouken Matou. That only meant…-
"What's your name?" he asked her, his voice void of emotion. The tone almost sounded just like hers. But to the girl, it was the warmest voice she had heard ever since she left her old family. .
"Ma-" she stopped herself, having already abandoned the name of Tohsaka, so why would she continue keeping the name of the people who did those things to her? "Sakura."
"Sakura…" he repeated the word, her name, "I see. I'll look after you for now, Sakura."
Six's response seemed to have some kind of effect on her. As he continued walking, her arms grasped tighter around his massive frame, fingers kneading into his shirt as the collar suddenly began to grow damp, followed by sniffling sounds.
The Spartan did nothing more, for the two had a long walk to go once more. They needed to find a place to stay for the night.
-oOo-
"He's gone," Zouken Matou said, watching as the man who walked away with the former Matou disappear from his sight. The old man sighed to himself, seeing a year's worth of effort simply walking away from his own home, "Your plan better be worth more than that girl."
An audible thump at the old worm's side, a tall thing that could barely be called a man stood at his side, taller than the person who made off with the girl, "It certainly will, old friend."
His voice was deeper and older and in possession of a body made as the epitome that humanity is capable of. Messy and unkempt hair trailed down his back and stopped at his waist, dressed in a sheet as his body was far too large for the clothes in the Matou Estate's wardrobes.
"But tell me," the larger man, his face hidden in the shadows while Zouken looked up at the milky white moon hanging over head, "What did you think of him, of Assassin?"
The old man snickered to himself, what had the mud done to his old friend to make this man his sole obsession? Nevertheless, he humored him, "He looked and sounded unremarkable, but he is a dangerous one just from presence alone, if I suspect he is what I think he may be."
Zouken shook his head, reminiscing on the recent memory of having the Mystic Code of Kiritsugu Emiya pointed at his face. If he hadn't kept his cool nor bluffed his nonchalance at the former Servant, a single bullet would've undone everything he had built and hoped to achieve.
But Zouken Matou was familiar with death, he drew closer to it with every passing year.
His body was in a state of unbeing, worms constantly deteriorating and reforming with the magical energy that he stole and absorbed from others. Sakura was a consistent source for his worms, if a bit unripe compared to adult magi.
"Assassin was the only other to escape from the war completely unscathed. His body is truly a miracle, not that I believed in them myself," the man stroked his bare chin underneath the shadows.
Now he had to fall back on the former Servant that had been simultaneously warped and incarnated into a body of flesh. The man once known as Caster had already set his plan in motion the moment he had crawled out of the sickly mud, having already found a vessel for the Grail to be stored in.
"And why didn't you kill him?"
"Acquiring this foreign body took nearly every ounce of my magical energy, but Assassin had come out with only inklings left," the taller man grit his teeth, "Had we fought then or now, there was a chance that he could've killed me."
Zouken nodded. It made sense. Aside from rare exceptional cases, Caster never entered a confrontation without the likelihood of absolute victory.
"And this war, the next one after," the old aberration turned to the monster made flesh standing beside him, "It will not require an heir?"
The giant standing next to Zouken only hummed, looking back down, "Patience, Zouken. Simply trust in me and the Grail will be yours. By the time the next war comes around within the next half-century, our plan will be ready."
Zouken gave a look of skepticism, "I doubt even someone like you could manage this."
The former Servant barked a laugh, "So little faith, Matou, where's your sense of wonder?"
He only answered with silence.
Nevertheless, the giant gave the magus his farewells before taking to the rooftops and disappearing, intent on returning to his new apprentice. Zouken only watched as his old associate was finally gone.
The old man sighed to himself, closing the door behind him and returning to the safety of his workshop, looking down at where he had spotted the former Assassin that had attracted his old friend's attention.
An anomaly that Caster could never discern the identity of, he was an object of obsession for this exact reason. In the blink of an eye, he was able to discern every other heroic spirit that partook in the Grail War.
But Zouken had an idea of who that Servant was, or rather what. Everything that the Assassin used and the way they acted seemed too in place with the modern world, guns and knives were used like second nature while Noble Phantasms were treated like tools.
Only a soldier would have that level of pragmatism, an unsung hero that treated everything in their possession like it was a step towards an objective. He was likely one among millions, his drive and desire to finish his mission could've been strong enough to ascend him to the Throne of Heroes.
But patriotism was a trivial prerequisite for a soldier. He'd still be one among millions. No, his presence was a lot more simple and tenfold more dangerous.
Still, the Matou patriarch couldn't help but snicker at the situation he was in.
"We'll see each other again, this time with the girl in tow-" Zouken sat and reclined into his favorite seat, staring off into the starry night, his blackened eyes and worn teeth almost glowing, "-Guardian of Alaya."
-oOo-
Tap tap tap!
The man stood before yet another house, knocking on the door with a single free hand. He decided to take a more diplomatic approach, knowing that the owners of this household wouldn't exactly be fond of random strangers ruining their insurance.
He saw this place a couple times, having had to track the person down here after formulating a plan that was never put into action.
Now he had all the time in the world to come to this place, but not with the original intention in mind. The man was here for more important matters, he was sure the people here were hospitable to allow him inside.
The sound of a doorknob turning, then the release of a latch as the door swung open. The cold quickly rushed in but there was still an essence of warmth inside that remained. Their eyes locked for only a moment, one knew the other while the latter recognized what the former was.
Neither one made a move, but the cold expression on the taller man's face withered somewhat, his hands grasping tighter around the figure in his arms. He was pleading at this point.
Before the boy inside could say anything, the sound of footsteps came from behind.
"Waver dear, what in the world are you doing?" the voice of an elderly woman exclaimed, "Don't you know it's cold… outside...?"
Martha and Waver "MacKenzie" both saw the desperate look of a soot-covered man, his clothes filthy and only clutching the unconscious body of a little girl in his hands, her body covered in a rancid muck. They didn't even need to guess what happened to the both of them, the fire was all too visible even from such a far distance away.
"Please…" the man's voice was weary, "We need a place to stay, if only for tonight."
Martha and the young man looked at one another, the latter much more cautious but nevertheless nodded.
"Come inside," the old woman's voice was warm and motherly, but her eyes were just as resolute as his own, "I'll prepare a bath for the girl and some tea for the both of you."
The Spartan nodded, stepping into the MacKenzie household as the Sakura was passed off to the woman. She disappeared, leaving the two remaining.
Finally they spoke.
"Waver Velvet," the former Assassin spoke, looking him up and down, "You're still alive."
"I was ordered to, Servant," Waver's eyes hardened, the fear behind his voice finally disappearing after gauging that the man was not here to kill him, "What are you doing here? Did you win the war?"
He nodded.
"How? How are you even still alive?!" the boy wondered incredulously, but keeping his voice low as not to attract unwanted attention.
"That-" the Spartan clicked his tongue, "-is a… very long story."
"...Tell me."
He proceeded to do just that.
The summoning, Caster, the Grail's evil, his reincarnation. All of it. He omitted Kiritsugu's survival and Archer's following incarnation, the boy was too frail to deal with those issues himself.
Nevertheless, Waver Velvet listened. He listened to the former Assassin's story and knew that he too was ordered to live. The magus didn't care for the man, nor did the Spartan care particularly for Velvet either.
But he still listened and took it to heart.
If another Grail War started, it had to be stopped. It had to be permanently dismantled from the very roots, like a weed infesting a garden.
The former Servant finally finished. The magus said nothing, only looking down as the realization that this whole war was pointless to begin with finally set in, his eyes seemed as though he was on the verge of a breakdown, but his resolve held firm.
Six may not have cared, but he at least did respect that he kept his bearings.
Waver only watched as the man excused himself, the magus gave him directions to a spare bedroom. Six only nodded as he got up. He stunk like shit, he needed a shower first.
Heading upstairs lead to another washroom, where a small showerhead just a head shorter stood. Six peeled off the ruined clothes and tossed them into the trash, grabbing the closest towel and folding it nearby before stepping into the running water, letting out a sigh as warm water poured off his body. It was only short of pure bliss.
He let the water run for sometime, washing himself thoroughly before stepping out drying himself off before he heard a knock on the door.
"They might be a bit small, but they should work for now," a muffled old voice behind the door said, the sound of footsteps receding as the former Servant was left to his own devices.
Opening the door, the man found a set of folded clothes lying at the edge of the bathroom. Picking them up, Six saw that it was only a short-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He put them on without complaint, seeing that it was better than nothing. Satisfied with his state of appearance even if the shirt was a bit tight, he made his way back down and to the spare bedroom.
Pushing the half-opened door, the Spartan was greeted by a rather large bed even for someone of his height and stature. The room was dark, the windows covered by curtains, but Six was able to make out the outlines of a nearby closet and various other furniture while empty video game cartridges lay scattered about. But his main focus was the bed.
Noble Six sighed before unceremoniously collapsing onto the bed, asleep before his body even hit the mattress. The former Servant didn't know how tired he had been, how exhausted his body was, until he finally entered the house. The entirety of the war had now caught up to his new body of flesh and blood, and the toll paid dearly.
For the Spartan, the rest was well deserved.
It wasn't until the sun had finally risen and hanging high in the sky did he finally open his eyes. He spotted something purple out of the corner of his eye breathing softly and curling up against his side as he had been asleep.
The girl once known as Sakura Matou had found him as he slept, taking comfort in his presence for whatever reason unknown to him. He was less disturbed by the unknowing feeling and more surprised.
"Protect her…" he echoed Kariya's final mission given to him. His cold gaze stared down at the girl's now clothed form, actually looking like she was truly alive, "Yeah, I can do that."
He brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face, grabbing a nearby blanket and placing it around her. Six would have a lot to work on if he was to accomplish a mission on such a long term scale.
But for now, maybe a little bit more rest wouldn't kill him.
The sun continued to rise higher and higher over Fuyuki city. Civilians took notice of the aftermath of the fire, as if waking up from a distant nightmare. Soon, they began to rebuild, as mankind always does.
The first day of the rest of Six's life.
So many more to go.
End of Part 1