AN: I'll keep this short. I am deeply, deeply sorry for making all of you gracious readers wait. As a reward, I present a super chapter. Roughly five thousand words, and a special gift at the end. Enjoy, and read the note at the end.
4 May 2010 a.t.b., 1304 hours
Channel 1 BBC World News
"Breaking News from the Britannian Broadcast Channel: the Disaster at Fuji. We're coming in with our special correspondent, David Pritchard. Can you give us any clues about the explosion that, according to experts, originated at Fuji and caused these earthquakes around the globe?"
"Jane, what we have here is actually the remains of the largest source of sakuradite in the world. Nothing is left except the ashes of Mount Fuji itself. Our Britannian forces report that the Japanese destroyed the entire mountain by detonating a sakuradite-fueled bomb, causing a chain reaction. Both forces were completely destroyed. As you can see here, several Britannian soldiers on the outskirts of the explosion made a final stand here, only to be engulfed by fire."
"David, what are the potential repercussions of the explosion just two hours ago?"
"Already, the Japanese military is feeling the loss of their air force. Britannia has established almost complete air supremacy over what's left of Japan. Despite their own losses, the Britannian military just released a statement requesting the unconditional surrender of the Japanese armed forces. Whether Japan will is still up in the air."
"What about the long-term effects?"
"Well, Jane, Mount Fuji contained roughly 55% of the world's sakuradite. Sakuradite is used throughout the world for low-temperature superconductors. Now that it's gone, high-yield energy systems are going to be rare and high in demand. However, the crown has resolved to overcome the cowardly actions of the Japanese, and stated that Britannia will not submit to this impediment."
"Thank you, David. The Chinese Federation and Euro Universe have not released statements concerning this tragedy. We'll return after these messages."
Chapter 6: Curtains Rising
10 August 2017 a.t.b., 1624 hours
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
( [] indicates translation from Arabic)
"[Damn those Britannians! What's the situation on those tanks?]"
"[We're done for! They're too well-armored!]"
"[Our infantry are being slaughtered! They're falling back!]"
"[We can't hold Riyadh. We have to abandon the capital.]"
The communications channel was filled with the panicked cries of MEF troops. Morale was down to dangerous levels, after a string of losses to the Britannians. Atlas alchemists already gave up Saudi Arabia as lost, and retreated to their headquarters in Egypt. And without the cover of alchemists, Britannia's mages could rip into the heart of the Middle Eastern Federation.
And now they were next to Riyadh, the capital of Saudi Arabia. Plumes of sand indicated their position, explosions along the Arabian lines their hostility. They used the typical V-formation for an assaulting armored column. They were the Royal Tank Company, consisting of five platoons of five tanks each, all distinguished veterans. Their blue hulls and purple banners with the Britannian royal crest, as well as their current lack of casualties, demonstrated their superiority over standard Britannian units. And the damage they did …
Gouts of flames, from conventional high-explosive shells and magecraft, engulfed the MEF infantry. They were scorched with impunity, drafted civilians and soldiers alike. The Britannians didn't care, and neither did their firepower. In trenches and behind buildings alike, the lines of infantry crumbled.
The MEF tanks offered a stiffer resistance, but all they could do was resist the munitions poured into their units. Their rounds could not pierce the reinforced armor of the Britannian armor. Quite literally, the armor of a Britannian tank was reinforced by a magus designated to the tank's entire battalion. Reinforcement magecraft is tricky business, especially if the object the mage is reinforcing is constantly being bombarded with projectiles and curses.
With that object multiplied by twenty-five, the task of reinforcement becomes incredibly taxing on a magus. However, with the speed of the Britannian tanks' maneuvers, the aim of the gunner, and the teamwork conducted by an entire unit, the magus was not taxed beyond his means. All of these factors made killing a Britannian tank a truly daunting proposition.
This said, the MEF field marshal was thankful that the Britannians did not have air cover. The war stories (or were they horror tales?) still left him speechless. One Imbued Sakuradite bomb would have ended their campaign then and there.
Thank Allah for our Sakuradite Disturbers. The magical equivalent to ECM, it swatted most aircraft out of the sky. He didn't understand too much of it himself, but it somehow disrupted electrical systems at a level beyond an EMP of its price. Tanks and radios could take the interference, but aircraft, with their more delicate systems and their lack of proximity to the ground, could not take it. It was expensive, requiring constant prana flow from a magus and a gram of Sakuradite, but it was effective.
Of course, those would vanish if they let the Britannians take Riyadh.
Currently, the field marshal was barely holding on to his own nerves. He coughed on sand and smoke, but managed to choke out a command. "Give me a sitrep on the Britannian forces."
His lieutenant, a bandage wrapped around his arm, ran over.
"[It's murder out there, mushir. Their tanks and transports aren't being killed no matter how much we pour at them. Our men are experiencing hallucinations, and our officers are unable to communicate our plans. We think it's some sort of psychic interference, perhaps from a spell. I wish those alchemists-]"
A wave of fire impacted ten meters away from the command center, interrupting whatever wish the lieutenant had. The Britannian infantry had finally deployed on the ground, engaging the MEF garrison with a hail of bullets and grenades. They took the bunkers rapidly, reestablishing the infantry-tank dynamic in only a minute. Britannia's invading strength was their perfection of coordinating all aspects of the resources given to the battalion, resulting in a massive force multiplier. This synergy made rapid assaults a favorite of Britannian commanders, the sheer power that could be brought to bear overwhelming opposition easily.
And this strength made itself evident as the Britannians ploughed through the line, focusing their forces and momentum in the direction of the command center. Tanks ground Saudis under-tread, and rifles caught fleeing soldiers in the back. One particularly cruel act was the toss of a grenade into a truck full of panicked civilian volunteers, which drove straight into a refugee's building.
"[Enough. We must retreat to Riyadh herself.]" I wished to prevent the Britannians from even setting foot in the city, and to prevent the touch of violence from entering. It seems-
"[Mushir, we're getting a transmission from a secure channel!]"
The field marshal looked up, his eyes wide with a spark of hope. "[Patch it through. Now!]"
Interference from the ECM and Sakuradite Distrubers reigned over the radio for an eternity. Then-
"[Mushir Hossain, this is Bamides Squadron. We'll cover your regroup from the dunes. They won't set foot in Riyadh.]"
Tears of relief streamed down his face. "[Masha'Allah. We'll draw them to the open desert.]"
"[Allah be with you.]"
Mushir Reza Hossain left the radio immediately. "[Full retreat to the desert! Reinforcements approaching!]"
The Bamides was essentially the streamlined, armored, and heavily armed equivalent of the Britannian G-1 Base. Developed as a potential counter to the knightmare frame, it was one of the few MEF vehicles outfitted with a Yggdrasil Drive, due to the limited supply of Sakuradite available to the MEF. The model was made to be large and powerful, making the most effective use of the Drive, while maintaining a greater maneuverability over a standard tank. Tan camouflage effectively gave the Bamides the profile of a large sand dune.
A 150mm cannon, a pair of six-unit rocket launchers, one autocannon, one 7.66mm machine gun, and a hull 100mm thick made it one of the most powerful fighting vehicles in the world. The round, bulbous head carried the crew, the main cannon underneath, and the two guns on two stubby arms. Two legs with Sand Panels transported the head, enabling rapid and silent levitation over the treacherous sand.
Expensive, but the Middle Eastern Federation's best weapon against Britannia. So far, only ten were built, but those ten were about to turn the tide of the Battle for Riyadh.
Inside the Command Bamides, Lieutenant Fahid Mohammad analyzed the HUD as firing solutions quickly leaped onto the screen, a wave of red reticules following a scattered group of green. Mushir Hossain was making good time, delaying the Britannian advance with timed explosions from … Well, noble sacrifices at appropriate times makes for an effective defense. He turned to his fire coordinator.
"[Synchronize fire to fall when all advancing Britannian armor are within effective range. Mushir Hossain should be safe from our fire, at the rate his men are moving.]"
"[Lieutenant …]"
"[Yes, Advisor?]"
A man garbed in a simple black robe approached the lieutenant. He was an "Advisor" from one of the sheiks, a personal magus sent to assist on the war front. As with all mages, he made normal men nervous. Lieutenant Mohammad was the only person who knew about the Advisor's special status. He walked to a quieter corner of the Bamides, knowing that the Advisor would follow.
"[Lieutenant, our most immediate concern is the knightmare squadron that is approaching. I believe that they are Cornelia's group.]"
"[Damnit. They were supposed to be in Ceraphalm. If our information is right, our Bamides can't engage targets moving that quickly. Can you do anything about them?]"
"[Yes. The Evil Eye is upon them. But there is a more pressing matter.]"
Mohammad spat. Damn mages. "[What is it?]"
"[We are facing a particularly dangerous magus, Desthos Archibald El-Melloi. Contrary to our intelligence, reinforcement is not at work here. He is actually shifting the wind and fluids arouns Britannian armor to block our men's fire.]"
"[Can you do anything about him?]"
"[I can, actually. It will take some time, though. Buy me that, and I can destroy both the Britannians and the magus.]"
"[We cannot afford to lose this, Advisor. If the opportunity arises, we will strike to win, magecraft or not.]"
"[I understand.]"
The Bamides squadron drew closer to the kill zone and floated silently on the dune. Finally, the last red dot entered the ring representing the effective firing range of the Bamides, six kilometers away.
The 150mm cannons raised above from their cradles. A sheet of fire engulfed the HUDs of the Bamides for a second, then vanished, revealing a spiraling circle in the middle shrinking quickly. The roars of the explosions could be heard even at that distance.
The Desert Lions had spoken.
The Britannian tanks spearheaded the charge, finally out in the open and quickly gaining ground on Mushir Mohammad's men. Then, the first and second salvoes arrived from the Bamides.
Red tracer tracked the projectiles' paths. The rounds flattened themselves onto enemy tanks, remaining that way for a moment until they exploded. Smoke and sand spun as the rounds detonated. Britannian soldiers were caught by the shockwaves and fire, thrown into the sand and torn to shreds. Plumes of flames and sand leapt up into the air. The black smoke from the rounds surrounded the Britannian forces, and hope flooded into the MEF forces. However, the smoke swirled, and the Britannian tanks burst through, engines screaming and whining in protest of the overdrive.
A current of panic swept through the retreating MEF forces. Britannian tank shells tossed bodies into the air. A MEF tank's turret helicoptered into the air, then exploded in blaze of detonated ammunition shells. Supersonic shrapnel ricocheted off of armor and tore into the dwindling ranks of the MEF. A single MEF soldier cowered on the ground, head in his hands. This image succinctly captured the emotions of those soldiers, whose reinforcements had failed them. A primal feeling surged across the battlefield. What could stop these invincible, monstrous hulks? Apparently nothing.
Until the next salvo hit.
Blasts of wind, stinging sand, and fire. Steel shards. A shockwave of air, followed by consuming conflagrations. And the screams of Britannians.
"Milady Cornelia! Enemy reinforcements-"
Cornelia gritted her teeth. Round after heavy round slammed into her armored brigade, obliterating each tank with every salvo. She couldn't blame the Archibald sent here. Already, he was too exhausted to keep up the protection of her units. He was able to stop the first and second salvos, but had to disassociate himself from the wind around the armor to keep himself alive. And her tanks suffered.
She had made a tactical mistake by relying on the magus to protect her regulars. Her strike force, the modified Sutherlands, was headed for Riyadh herself. After realizing the presence of the Bamides, she scrambled her Gloucesters to intercept and continued on to Riyadh alone.
They would be able to handle those cheap copies.
She gritted her teeth again. This damn campaign was taking too long.
"Shoddy oversized imitation knightmares!" Darlton swore at those metal beasts. Their firepower was impressive, to be sure. He swiveled left, then right as shells dug into the sand where he was moments ago. His Gloucester whirred and hummed, its Yggdrasil Drive increasing revolutions as its ME Boost kicked in. His fellow pilots were making good progress towards the Bamides, already halving the distance between them.
On his left, Guilford dodged a bracket of long-range autocannon fire. Guilford grimaced, muttering "They would have done well to surrender in the first place …" under his breath. The truth was, the Gloucesters were having a difficult time evading the volleys. They tried to flank the Bamides, but over a distance of five kilometers, such an effort was futile.
"Blast it!" Darlton's scar contorted in frustration as he barely missed maneuvering into a shot, distracted by the comm channel opened by a corporal at the front of the spearhead. "What the hell is it, Williams?"
"There's some sort of visual interference coming up! I can't see a damn-"
Darlton caught a flash of red, the tinkling of shrapnel almost being drowned out by the screech of static. Another channel opened.
"Guilford? What is it?"
"General, there's some sort of sand movement approaching our position. We're going to lose visibility soon."
"That's impossible. Ops said that the wind speed would be zero!"
Famous last words as the shriek of a Class Ten sandstorm swept into Cornelia's finest. The Gloucesters were trapped in a tempest of sand and shells. On each and every member's minds were focused on one thing. We live only to serve, Cornelia. Forgive our failure.
Cornelia pulled up Odysseus on the communications channel.
"Brother, I-" She choked on her pride. "Brother, I need your help."
"But sister, I am only here to observe-"
"Dammit, Odysseus! My men are dying out there! This sandstorm isn't natural. Get your man over there now!"
"But-"
A tall, imposing man walked over. His old-fashioned duster covered most of his body, but what could be seen was curious. His hair looked like something from the Victorian era, a curled white wig that hung tightly to his head. A tricorn hat was positioned stiffly on top, accentuating the Romantic-Era wear. Contrasting sharply were the cavalry saber and the Britannian rifle that were slung on both sides, the saber on his hip, and the rifle over his shoulder. He carried himself like a man in command. However, there was a feeling of humility about him, like that of a commander who realized the valuable lesson of defeat.
He spoke. "Master, we must fight. Brave men are dying. It is their freedom to die, but it is our obligation to save them. Nothing is a greater stranger to my breast, or a sin that my soul more abhors, than that black and detestable one, ingratitude."
"If you say so, Rider. I wish we could have just talked it out with them. I'm sure that with a bit of conversation-"
"As do I. However, there comes a time where negotiations simply do not suffice."
"I understand, Rider. Let us depart."
"[Lieutenant Mohammad! We're reading an enemy signature approaching our position. Shall we engage?]"
The lieutenant turned from the HUD. He was enjoying the luxury of shelling the helpless opponent trapped in his Advisor's sandstorm. He sighed. "[It's nothing to worry too much about. We can start bombarding it when it is within three kilometers-]"
"[We just lost Bamides Six!]"
"[What?]" The enemy blip had jumped a good kilo in three seconds. It was now four kilos away, but there was no conceivable way that it could engage the longer-ranged Bamides. It was a simple M-1 Charles. All it had was a 120mm gun, and a coaxial machine gun.
He turned to his Advisor. "[Is there anything special about that approaching tank?]"
The Advisor closed his eyes for a moment, and then blanched. "[I cannot believe it. They actually-]" He interrupted himself, looking the lieutenant in the eyes. "[Focus all of your firepower on that vehi-]"
"[Bamides 2 has lost its main gun!]" A panicked officer stared, wide-eyed, at the unassuming tank that was running circles around the Bamides."[What do we do, lieutenant?]"
"[Engage with all guns, now!]" The lieutenant turned back to his Advisor. "[What is that?]"
"[Something I have to take care of, Allah help me. I must fight it with my djinni.]"
"[So that was the cause of the sandstorm. We have to destroy the more immediate threat.]"
"[Yes.]" Already, the Advisor was walking away, rolling up his sleeves to reveal summoning marks covering his arms. "[May Allah look upon us favorably.]"
Odysseus tapped his foot nervously. The "Gentle Giant" of Britannia, as he was called by some of the more gracious members of Britannia's nobility, Odysseus Eu Britannia lacked the propensity for war that his siblings possessed. He would have peacefully became Emperor when his time came without seeing a single battle if it were not for the arrival of his Servant. And now, here he was, contributing to the glory of Britannia in a rocketing tank that spat out shells imbued with prana.
He was surprised when his father brought him to a summoning circle.
He was shocked when the intricate Command Seals were engraved into his left forearm.
And he fainted when an imposing man appeared amidst smoke and lightning, in old-fashioned wear and a blade drawn.
A crash course in magecraft introduced him to a world of prana. Strangely enough, he actually took to it quickly-
"Master, we have an enemy mage coming in the lead Bamides. He's accompanied by some being of magical origin."
"I know. It's a djinni." He began heading towards the exit hatch, nodding at the gunner/driver crew who switched roles with Rider when he took over one system, leaving the other system in their hands. He focused his mind. Sand. What can I do with sand?
The smoking wrecks of Bamides and the black, oily stains on the sky and the sand set an appropriate battleground for the confrontation between the greatest examples of true magic. The lone Britannian tank continued advancing, a force of sand sweeping in to envelop it.
Rider stood on the turret, blade ready and pointed at the swirling, ten-meter tall outline of the djinni. Smoke and sand comprised its body, and a pair of eyes, eyes of flames, stared at Rider. What appeared to be a wall of moving sand were actually the hands for the djinni, ready to crush and shred. Multitudinous movements of the grains, in patterns both beautiful and mystifying, would have confounded any man. The djinni moved in, its hands completely swallowing the tank.
A Conflagration slammed into the hands, fusing them together as sheets of glass.
Rider just smiled, and brought his sword downwards onto the sand. The curved cavalry blade bit back into the now-corporeal substance, parting it easily with sparks and hisses. The sheer amount of prana that Rider could bring to bear completely overwhelmed the present defenses of the djinni, and it was forced to pull back.
Rider pressed the attack. He leapt, the trench coat billowing out to reveal a beautiful military jacket of naval blues and gold tassels. A pistol was drawn, an old engraved flintlock that would have never worked in the circumstances. He fired it, the crack of the shot actually overwhelming the reverberations of the howling sand cage.
Again, the amount of prana packed in the bullet literally shoved the semi-corporeal being back with its existence. Rider's power simply was greater than that of the djinni's.
Normally, conflicts between beings of magecraft and magic were not determined by sheer power, but the logical basis of their existence. In this instance, the summoning of a legendary, epic hero into this world was just as likely as the calling of an embodiment of sand, smoke, and fire. In this instance, power determined the outcome. The keening wail of the djinni testified to the determination of whose power was greater.
It realized that this was not a foe to be trifled with. The howl of the sandstorm, the sparking of prana as the sand particles ate away at the tank, the entire essence of the djinni engulfed the battlefield. This was its home. This was where it was strongest. It would not let some foreign spirit deprive it of its free will. It drew itself to its full height, enveloping the sky in an ocean of sand. Then, it roared.
All of its posturing was for naught. The tank finally burst out of the sandstorm, behind the djinni. The strategy was quite simple. Keep advancing, hold the djinni at bay, destroy the summoner.
The djinni could not turn around that easily. It had already focused its power on bombarding the area in front of it with the might of the desert.
Odysseus had an unreadable expression on his face. His circuits were ready, and he scorched the sand underneath the Bamides with another Conflagration, turning it to glass and holding them in place.
"It worked …" The gunner of the tank allowed himself a moment to get over the indescribable experience of travelling through a living sandstorm. Then, he realigned his sights and fired at the command Bamides.
The tank and the Bamides were separated by a scant kilometer. There was no way in hell that the gunner could miss with the round boosted by prana.
The explosion and shattered glass that resulted was dwarfed by the death of the djinni. By destroying the summoner, the release of the contract that the Arabian magus had with the spirit of sand and fire was violently torn asunder. The force of the dissipated magic rebounded on the djinni. Wailing sand flew from the "body" of the djinni, and swaths of fire bit at Bamides, trapped knightmares, and the tank alike. The sky looked like a swirling mass of malevolence, an eerie mix of grains and burning streaks.
The storm decreased gradually in intensity, and Rider took advantage of this to take control of the tank's gun and destroy the last remnants of the Bamides squadron. Their destruction mirrored the flaming wreck that blazed behind them. Cornelia's custom Gloucester stood in the middle of the newly created ruins, her lance imperiously embedded in a building.
A communications channel was established between the tank and the Gloucester.
"Odysseus, I cannot express my gratitude. You saved the lives of my men." Cornelia smiled, one of the rare times she ever expressed happiness.
Odysseus and Rider both looked grim. Rider spoke. "Unfortunately, our victory will not be celebrated. The Crown just called us to Area Eleven. They say its urgency surpasses this campaign."
Cornelia checked her transmissions. There was a message from-
"The Emperor?"
"Yes, sister." This time, Odysseus spoke. He seemed shell-shoked.
She read through the message. It called both Cornelia and Odysseus to the colony, with top-priority clearance and nothing else included. She frowned.
"We have to consolidate our holdings! This is not how a campaign is to be conducted! I-"
"Sister, are you questioning our father?"
Cornelia paused at this. Her reply was curt and hostile.
"I am. If this turns out to be a fool's errand based on some whim, he and I will have words. And by my lance and the lances of my men, there will be hell to pay."
"And if it isn't, Cornelia?"
"Hell will still have its due, then."
10 August 2017 a.t.b., 2112 hours
Route 2 from Shinjuku District to Ashford Estate, Area 11
She felt quite warm in his arms. Even with all of her armor, the weight didn't fatigue Shirou. Saber had closed her eyes, and appeared to have fallen asleep after the entire ordeal. Her head leaned on his chest, exerting a gentle pressure.
So she's my Servant. But … why me? She's exhausted after that chaos. What am I supposed to do as a "Master?" I have no idea what that even-
Instantly, his mind was filled with distinctly erotic images, images he almost immediately dispelled out of his mind. Servant? Master? Good, moral heroes of justice do not think of … that.
Saber stirred as he unintentionally clutched her tighter. She looked into Shirou's eyes barely illuminated by the streetlights in the night, on the highway. Nothing was said, no action was taken as Shirou kept walking. They both kept their gaze upon each other. Finally, the silence was interrupted by Saber.
"Thank you. Now, I understand what you meant by protecting me." Saber looked away, slightly embarrassed. "I am- I am grateful."
"It wasn't too difficult." Shirou looked up at the lights, hoping Saber wouldn't see his flushed face. "I just realized that I- I'm a Britannian, and … Well, I can use that."
Saber gave him a puzzled look. "How do you 'just realize' your nationality?"
Confident that the blood in his face returned to the rest of his body, Shirou looked back at Saber. "Well, it's- it's complex.
"My father did some work with the Britannian government during the Pacific War. He never mentioned what, but I can guess what he did. It was unusual for a Japanese citizen to work with the Britannians, and they rewarded him well for it. They made him an Honorary Britannian, and determined that I was 'at least' half-Britannian. That was enough to recognize me as a pending Britannian citizen and as an Honorary Britannian citizen in the meantime, with my father's deeds 'appreciated' by the government.
"A part of me- a part of me hates him for it.
"My father was Japanese. My lineage was deemed 'Britannian enough.' He betrayed his country for my sake. And now, I had to use that to help us escape."
He looked away in discomfort. "I'm sorry for burdening you with my troubles …"
"So, your father …"
"He's not my biological father."
"I see." With that, Saber and Shirou returned to the silence present moments ago. It allowed them to contemplate their surroundings. Shirou was familiar with the two sides that the highway split. For Saber, the discrepancy between the Britannian and Eleven domains was starkly evident and shocking. On the Britannian side, dark outlines of beautiful apartments, of glass and steel, could be made out. It was, for a knight of times bygone, mystical and wondrous architecture. But on the Eleven side, the crooked lines of crumbling buildings felt like hell. Hell isn't always fire and darkness. The ruins and absolute despair can capture hell's essence on earth just as well.
Shirou broke the silence before it could become awkward.
"Saber, why did you call me 'Master' back there?"
Saber remained silent, an unreadable expression on her face. What should I say? How much may I reveal? If he truly never heard of the Holy Grail, then my task will be made all the more difficult.
She spoke abruptly.
"Shirou, how much do you know about the Holy Grail Wars?
His expression of confusion confirmed her fears. "The Holy Grail? Isn't that something from Christianity?"
Saber sighed.
"The Holy Grail War is a literal war between seven pairs of competitors. It is a war for survival, a war to the death that masks itself as a ritual. This fight will not end until six pairs of Master and Servant are eliminated, and the remnant pair collects the Holy Grail. The Grail itself is not the Christ's Grail, but a sort of pathway to a greater power. At some point in time, the Grail activates, calling forth heroes graced with the powers of their legends to compete in the war, as Servants to operate under the control of a Master."
Saber watched her Master's demeanor grow more and more concerned as she spoke. His question reflected this. "Why?"
She looked straight at Shirou. "The Grail can fulfill any wish that the victors desire. The sheer power of the contestants and the invaluable prize at the end of the War are the main reasons why the War is so dangerous. Both Masters and Servants will do anything to receive the blessing of the Grail.
"To limit the collateral damage, Servants are bonded to Masters. All Masters have some sort of magical ancestry. To … maintain control over their Servants, Masters are given three Command Seals, which, when an order is given, will absolutely compel their Servants to fulfill that command regardless of what that command is." Here, Saber's expression darkened.
"The reason why these Command Seals are so valuable is because they maintain your status as a Master. Command Seals also enable Servants to act beyond their powers, which is an unparalleled advantage in combat. By wasting one on that …" And here, Saber looked away. "On that foolish, impulsive order, we lost a weapon we could have used to win."
"… Then I'm sorry. Now, I understand why you were so upset." Shirou tensed. "You said that Masters and Servants are willing to do anything to win. Does that include innocent people?
"Unfortunately, yes. Most Servants are heroes, and act accordingly to their nature. However, there are Masters and Servants who are not as noble, and have sacrificed many to win the Grail."
"What I don't understand is why anyone would be willing to risk their lives, and the lives of others, for a magic cup."
Saber turned her head to look at Shirou in slight surprise. "You have nothing you desire for with all of your heart, a wish that you would die for?"
Shirou shook his head. "I don't have anything to wish for. If innocent people are being hurt, then there is only one thing for me to do. I want nothing to do with this Grail, even if I am a Master. However, I will fight to keep innocent people from getting caught up in this mess.
"I guess … I do have a wish. I want to be a hero. A champion of justice, someone who fights for the benefit of others rather than myself. If the safety of innocent people is threatened, I will protect them. But I don't want to use the Grail to become a hero. I want to earn it myself."
"That is an honorable plan." He is a fool, but a fool with good intentions. Certainly, he is worthy to fight by my side. "If that is what shall please you, then I shall follow your orders."
"About my orders, Saber." Saber cocked her head, then realized what Shirou was talking about. She looked away again.
"I thought I saw you draw your weapon when we were approaching those Britannians. When you collapsed, I was- I was worried. Why did you collapse? Was it-"
"I fainted. I did not know what you were planning, and I thought you were going to fight those soldiers by yourself. Your protection comes before all else."
"Why did you faint?" They passed beneath a streetlight, illuminating Shirou's concerned face.
"When a Master uses a Command Seal, a Servant must obey it. The more specific the command, the stronger the effect, and the greater the compulsion to obey. To disobey would result in tremendous pain for a Servant. That is why I fainted." Saber's voice shook faintly. What caused the tremor? Shame? Shirou approached the subject with surprising tact.
"So you knew that it would hurt, but you still went ahead and drew your sword anyway?"
"Yes. At the moment, your protection mattered more than my own well-being. I did not think that-"
"It's alright."
Saber, once again, expressed surprise, eyes locked with Shirou's. "No, it is not! I failed you as your guardian. I should have trusted you."
"Saber, look. It isn't your fault. I should've explained my plan to you. Just … as much as you want to protect me, I want to protect you. If we're in this together, we both have to stay alive." He tightened his grip on Saber.
"I know that I'm not as strong as you. I'll probably hinder you. But I've said it before. I'll be damned if I let you carry all of the burden that I'll put on you."
They both fell silent. Their outbursts left them drained, and both were content to feels the alternating beams of light and darkness as they reached the final stretches of highway before Ashford Academy. It was then that Saber spoke, just realizing where exactly she was.
"Shirou?"
"Yeah?"
"I am- I am capable of walking on my own now."
"R-Right."
AN: I feel awful for making all of you wait. Working at a research corporation really doesn't allow much time for writing. I've tried to make up for it with a super chapter (with action and exposition, oh my), as well as that special gift I mentioned. It's not too much, but it did take some thinking and learning on GIMP. It's a logo for F/NA. Just take the link, eliminate the spaces, and hit enter.
http:/ heavyvalor. deviantart. com/ art/ Fate-Nightmare-Apatheia-Logo1-215268602
I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. I am going to edit the previous chapters a bit, and work on a wallpaper
Read and review, undeserving though I am. Thank you for your time. Again, my deepest apologies for making you wait.