"I... I am sorry, Irisviel... Illyasviel. Kiritsugu.
But this is the only way.
I have no more regrets."

Despite the agony of having been nearly cut in half, of feeling the agony from the regenerative effects of Avalon, Kiritsugu struggled. Channeling prana into reinforcement, to assist the healing provided by the legendary Noble Phantasm, the magus killer knew it wasn't enough.

That it was too late.

The wish had been spoken.
And answered.
Was being answered.
Would be answered.

Was this despair what Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi had known as he died?

What all those who had died at his hands had experienced?

Those guilty whose deaths were required, those innocent whose only crime was to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time?

"Emiya Kiritsugu and the Heroic Spirit Arthuria will never see eye to eye." Hadn't that been what Iri had said to him in the privacy of their bed, before their departure from the snow and ice shrouded lands of the Einsbern?

Had the incompatibility of personalities been that great?

That she would strike him down as swift as a knight would an enemy not worth the honor of fighting? Without warning, for such things are no longer needed? Not for the likes of him?

But hadn't he rebuked her for her honor and chivalry, for the notion that the battlefield was a glorious place to stand in? That to battle was to enter hell?

That he would shoulder the burden of all the world's evils to prevent further bloodshed? Had his words been so at odds with his actions that a Heroic Spirit would behave the way Arthuria had, and struck him down as one who would soil the world?

Even so...

Even so...

He would save everyone... somehow.

He could see Arthuria fade away into light, consumed by the Holy Grail as an ebon sun ascended, brimming with the curses of all mankind.

He knew of what it contained.

Had known.

He had wept as he killed his dream while in the grasp of the mind/mentality/spirit of malign and most destructive. The concept of ill will which the ancient people who followed the teachings of Zoroaster had called Angra Mainyu.

Had he had the time, he would have stopped her.

Stopped the wish.

Forced her to use Excalibur upon the grail.

But time cared not for him.

And so that mud, of rancid blood, filled with curses, despair, rage and ill-will towards all of mankind, poured down upon the lesser holy grail.

And filled it before spilling out.
Into the world...
Towards that which denied it.
Which bound it outside of human society.
Which cast it out, and then sacrificed upon the alter for the "greater good".
It would be born from the wish directed at it.

But even so, Arthuria's wish... such a thing.

To repeal the passage of time.

To twine the fork of history and passage of time, and make what was into what could be. And what might be into what should be.

It would be twisted, Kiritsugu knew with an absolute certainty beyond words, from the drenching in the Mud beyond the grail. The absolute delight of what lay beyond at such a wish.

That the grail could be tainted, how absurd.

That convenient "wish granting machine" was directed by the ghost within it. That which had sought to harness to his purpose.

Heroic Spirits, nothing more than tools to that end.

He had to laugh at his arrogance, as the Mud poured forth from the black sun that upheld the heavens. Poured forth and drenched him once more, filling his hollow cavity with its burning rage.

It burned and yet at the same time, Avalon healed and shielded him to an extend. But the pain was left untouched.

The fatality, that absolute pain of his nerves exploding from his innate time control earlier as he battled Kirei Kotomine was as a drop of water in the ocean of agony now.

The sensation of malicious hatred ate at him.

Consumed him.

And yet.

And yet.

He existed.

He could see.

He could hear.

Observe impotently as the world was consumed by the Mud.

Watched as the men of modern day fought with weapons forged in the brilliance of science.

Watched as magi involved their myriad mystic codes in futile defense against the onslaught.

Watched as daemon girls stood against it.

Watched them be consumed by the Mud.

One by one. All of them.

They all fell down.

And from their fall... greater disasters emerged. Emerged and rampaged before becoming one with the Mud.

Watched as the despair brought forth new daemon girls.

He saw the delight that the liquid darkness dyed with the hatred of humanity, for humanity, as hope became despair.

Saw the flicker of white as girls contracted with things beyond the ken of mankind, that their hope could stave off the rough beast spoken of in Yeat's poem.

Saw the invisible force of the World strain against the hatred that humanity had for it.

And always that rain.

That pink rain from the heavens.

The light that boiled away the darkness, purified the Mud.

A counter to the ill will within that which was born, brought forth.

And the Disasters that rampaged and became one with the Mud... never were.

Hope to despair.

Despair to hope.

Salvation.

But only for the daemon girls as they fell to despair and taint from the Mud.

Never for anyone else.

Magi, mundane humans, and monsters... left to drown in the Mud.

As he was.

Suspended.

Alive.

But consumed, being consumed, would be consumed. Always.

Always. Forever.

An eternity of pain beyond conceptualization, despair beyond depair and regret beyond regret, encapsulated in a moment of crystal clarity.

Emiya Kiritsugu learned to hate that eternal pink shower, as the world was consumed.

Always consumed, backwards in time.

Moment by moment.

A True Magic beyond the understanding and reach of man.

A miracle.

A dark one to be sure, but in the end, still... a miracle.

One born from and of Emiya Kiritsugu's torment in perpetuity, always to suffer. Helpless, impotent as the world he loved so was consumed backwards in time.

Causality destroyed.

Puella Magi Schuetze Aurulent

Part 6 : After a fire, comes new growth...

A quiet humming filled the air.

A few notes in repetition.

A familiar tune.

Hadn't he heard something like this before?

Training in the classical arts. Something that a noble magus would undertake.

The essence of being noble required certain skills. And to be a master in the arts was considered appropriate.

Where had he heard it?

Ah...

Iri enjoyed playing that song on the piano in the lazy afternoon.

Ah... yes. Had enjoyed.

She would never have that simple pleasure again.

Because of him.

Because of her family.

And so he relaxed, shame and guilt cast aside as he sought the sanctuary of unconsciousness.

It certainly felt... comfortable, that soft cushion that his head rested on.

Blissful, even, after the pain of ... combat. He had been fighting, hadn't he?

A flash of memory.

Of surprise as his opponent, the obstacle to his goal, had simply deflected an armor piercing round from his Thompson Contender.
Surprise at the simple parry, shock at the absolute lack of effect of his mystic code.
The absolute negation of his one-shot kill.
He had won... eventually.
Hadn't he?

A nostalgic scent filled his nose as he slowly relaxed.

Another flash of memory. Of being drenched in... something.

Dark. Malevolent.
Happy to grant his wish. All wishes.
Mud dyed dark with pain and hatred, cursing the light of hope.

No...

Clear formless energy.
Unthinking, unknowing. Nothing more than absolutely perfect raw potential.
Untainted shapeless miracle to be grasped.

And it BURNED.

And his body spasmed in reaction to the phantom pain.

Of pure vileness pouring in, tainting his thoughts, giving ever greater darkness to his will.

No...

Of pure and unfiltered mana raging across his Magical Circuits unrestrained.

Overloading them as his prana attempted to protect him.

Soft drops of rain fell upon his face, as a gentle hand stroked his cheek.

Emiya blinked, and opened his eyes to the sheering light of the sun high above. At least he would have, if there hadn't been a face framed by silver white hair.

Framed by silvery white hair, and halo'ed by the light of the sun behind her. The prismatic sparkles of light that came from being in the beam of sunlight separated from its kin by clouds only added to her charismatic mien.

It could only be her.

"Iri..." A blink. To remove the tears, from dust getting in his eyes... nothing more.

"Kiritsugu," her voice was half sigh of relief, and of emotions unspoken and unstated, save in her heart.

Perhaps, this was still a dream, it would certainly explain her presence after... his mind shied away from that fact.

As well as why she was au naturel.

That gentle slope and curves that formed her perfectly breasts were part of what drew his animal side to her. Motherhood hadn't ruined that part of her, like it had with some women. Iri had always laughed and said it was a perk and benefit of being an Einsbern woman.

"So..." His voice sounded somewhat scratchy and unused. It sounded [wrong], the pitch was off.

"So..." Her response now sounded somewhat amused as if she found joy in his surprise and confusion.

"How?" Kiritsugu wasn't much of a magus, accurately styling himself a magic user. He didn't question things that occurred with hows, whys. Rather he focused on the situation, with goals to reach, and the obstacles that had to be destroyed to obtain it, and the collateral damage that had to be minimized as much as possible.

"How else?" She gestured to his not quite silent blink and hmmm before raising up a hand with thumb and finger seperated just so. "This close, we were this close to the goal of the Einsbern. Even with a failure, I nearly managed to grasp the third magic."

"Heaven's feel?"

"Heaven's feel."

"So... Saber's... wish wasn't a failure. Odd, I recall that Saber was summoned, but... I can not remember who or what Saber was." A frown now graced Kiritsugu's face as he thought about this. "Arcane Fate?"

Arcane Fate, the art of erasing one's presence by the world. That information such as one's abilities, true name and appearance traits vanish from the memories and records of those who witness said person. An existence denied by the very world itself, that not even those who knew that being could remember them.

"It's possible, I just know that Saber was not very compatible with you," she smiled at him, before the light breeze across his body reminded him of something important. She wasn't the only who was au naturel.

And there was something wrong with the feedback from his body. Kiritsugu could feel it, knew it, from his experience of knowing just how much his body could handle. Blood and tears had been the price of knowing his body inside and out. "But yes, whatever Saber's wish was... it didn't use up all the prana, and there was a faint connection to Akasha as if something was being compared."

"So, you stole fire from the heavens," An eyebrow rising up was directed at Iri as she giggled and poked his nose in response.

"Or something like that, yes."

"So... what now?" A question he had been dreading.

"So... we return home. And talk to Acht. He will understand what I've done here. With you."

"Me?" Now, he was curious and concerned.

"Yes, you. You know, you were dead for a moment there," Iri's smile didn't match the words that Kiritsugu heard. People died when they were killed, there was no returning from that.

"I... died?" Disbelief colored his voice.

"Yes, dead... for a moment, your body held no soul, no mind, its heart did not beat," She responded without pause. "I pulled you back from the Akashic Records. A success on some level, but not quite what was desired by the Einsbern. Constructed a body for your soul from records of mine. Implanted Saber's summoning catalyst from your old body to use its healing ability to make sure your revival went properly. And here you are."

"And... here I was?" He blinked bemused.

"Yes, Kiritsugu. You are now a Einsbern woman."

"... I... I see. How delightful, and you couldn't put me back in my body?"

"Where would the fun in that be?" She responded with a smile and a shake of her head before continuing on. "Also, your body was... very badly damaged. Complete destruction of the nerves, spinal cord shattered from your magic crest overloading, and where your brain would be..."

She shook her head and gestured to the right, directing Kiritsugu's attention towards a covered body. "It was faster and easier to build you a new body around your soul and the Noble Phantasm."

"Oh. And the crest?" The important question, not because it was the culmination of the Emiya studies into the mechanics of time. But because of how Kiritsugu made use of the thaumaturgical crest to accelerate himself, an unthinkable boost and trump in combat.

"I transplanted the surviving remains, but Kiritsugu... you'll need to examine the crest to see what was destroyed and what can be salvaged," He nodded his head slightly at that, as he or was that now she stood up.

"That's that," she nodded in the light of day. With sirens heard faintly in the distant, Kiritsugu tried not to imagine what the burst of prana from the Holy Grail answering to a wish had done to the people of Fuyuki city. Somethings were best left unknown for the present.

He was alive.

Irisviel was alive, somehow.

They were still together... and nothing would stop him from returning for their daughter.

Writer's note - I must apologize for how late this update was. Real life has been a bitch lately, I'll survive and I'll still try to do updates as regular as possible.

EDIT - Some minor edit to the chapter.