Due to the interest I got, I've decided to continue this series regularly. I also spent a lot of effort on this chapter. A LOT. So I really hope you guys enjoy it and thanks for reviewing
She had always hated the sea.
With its briny fragrance and the chilled wind that played upon the heated sand below her sabaton, to its putrid waters and crashing waves.
She hated it all.
Throughout her Kingship, the sea was a conduit. A thoroughfare that bore invaders to her abode and the shore nothing but another arena for war. Her presence in the sea meant battle. Whenever she came to greet its horizon, there was no merriment—only blood and steel.
Yet, there were moments when she could appreciate its beauty. Irisviel certainly did, frolicking along its shallows, the worries of her failing frame pushed aside. The homunculus found solace in the lapping of the waves that kissed her toes and the sparkling of the moonlight upon the cresting tide.
For that, Saber was grateful.
But now it burned— set ablaze by a wretch that fancied itself a dragon. A foul, selfish creature that trampled over any in its heedless path, devoid of honor or remorse.
Black smoke, ascending from the burning field mixed with the white of steam, creating a whirlwind of stark white and deep ebony. Their mingled hues twisted and blended in the wind like the duality of Heaven and Earth that desecrated land and sea.
All because of a wounded ego.
But even a knave such as he had a virtue—the virtue of a cockroach. In his endless perseverance, he fought, abandoning defense in hopes that he could spill even a drop of her blood.
He failed.
Utterly.
For all his ferocity and grandeur, ten thousand shimmering silver scales littered the ground, butchered from his colossal body and scattered amidst mounds of flesh and broken bone with not a hint of hers. It was a scene of utter, bloody carnage. Foul and revolting. But high up in the heavens above, Saber presumed the field would resemble the night sky, each silver scale a twinkling star.
As the battle dragged on, he acted- moved with increasing desperation. Before, he would at least mimic the semblance of mortal discipline.
Now? His cuts were wild, thrusts unsteady, and his lunge laughable.
But he was no weaker.
Yes— his style was raw and untamed, becoming more beastly by the second. It was no method that could ever be wielded by human hands. Yet it had no fault. The Wyrm had merely ceased fighting as a man and fought true to its natsure, befitting his shape.
The blows were heavy and forced, lacking the finesse of a seasoned master, yet even so, each strike tested her defense. Her parries were no longer effortless, and she found herself ever so slightly straining against the onslaught.
Though the beast's physical growth had ceased, its combat prowess evolved with each cut and feint, as though it was becoming more at ease in its bloated, contorted form.
It seemed that while he was no warrior, he was still a fighter.
Sword and talon clashed, atop the turbulent waters, amidst the searing flames that raged all around. The battlefield was akin to a ballroom, pillars of flames serving as marble walls as Beauty and Beast were locked in a deadly dance.
The Beauty moved with precision, grace embedded in every sweep and twirl.
The Beast fumbled.
Her every step was marvelous and rhythm perfect.
He flailed.
For every mistake, she extracted pounds of flesh and corrected its errors.
The Beast learned.
The dance was one of savagery. Yet in its savagery was a beauty that bewitched those that bore witness. But the dance had to end, as all did when the clock struck twelve. One way or another, the curtains had to fall.
Decision made, she advanced, her holy blade aimed at his throat.
The Wyrm recoiled, surprised by her sudden offense. With a massive flap of its wings that birthed a storm of sand and glass, he withdrew, seeking to keep his sole advantage – his reach. But not before leaving a chasm of flames as his parting gift.
In less than a moment, it reached her. The torrent of fire didn't so much burn but smash, leaving rivers of magma that cratered the earth. The flames were hotter, stronger – eclipsing their previous intensity a dozen times over. Yet, they broke before her again, faltering like the gentle tide before noon.
He roared. He screamed. He wailed.
Rage and frustration bled from his voice as his methods failed once again. Saber grimaced as the cacophony thundered through her ears, inflicting the closest thing to damage since the battle had begun.
So far, he had displayed incredible regenerative prowess, nigh-instantly returning from even the most fatal of wounds. But she knew of only two that could persist without a head.
But therein lay a problem. The Wyrm was titanic, its size surpassing even Vortigern's.
Standing thirty feet tall, his length stretched over fifty from snout to tail. With four wings spanning city blocks, the shadow he cast with his flames could tower over the walls of Camelot. The creature almost looked beautiful, majestic even, with his lithe and powerful form- a far cry from the monstrosity he was before.
And most importantly, his head was high off the ground and far out of reach from the edge of her blade.
That would have to be rectified.
With but a step, she outpaced his retreat, digging deep into his guard.
Panicked, the Wyrm struck high.
But Saber twisted low.
A single, bladed talon passed by her eyes, a mere millimeter away from her visor. Even before she could steady herself, a taloned palm threatened her flank. With a burst of mana, she flickered out of the way, moving with the swiftness of a blink. But he was unrelenting, unleashing a flurry of blows – low, high, central – his four arms spinning with bestial grace as his tail probed her guard.
And then there was the steam – rising from the boiling sea, a dense white fog that released scalding condensation capable of melting flesh from bone. Her armor offered protection but did little to aid her vision. The fog was so dense that even her own hand was a challenge to see, let alone her foe, until a claw or tail was but a foot away. The Wyrm, on the other hand, clearly found no such difficulties.
As the mist boiled and steamed, a talon pierced through the veil. But she had seen the attack even before it had begun. With her route to victory found, she leaped, charging past the claw while embedding her sword into his arm.
She cleaved the limb, severing it from hand to elbow and exiting at the shoulder. The Wyrm merely grunted in pain, having long since adapted to the sensation. But while he was down a hand, he had three more to spare. But the loss left a crack in his offense, an opening to exploit.
The three remaining talons vengefully lashed out –
But hit nothing but air.
The Beast looked on in confusion, his head darting left, right and back, searching for his Beauty.
Like always, they never looked up.
Blade in hand, she descended- her invisible blade silent as it was unseen.
Mana exploded behind her, accelerating her descent from a mere free fall to that of a shooting star as she hurtled down toward her foe, sword held high above her head. He remained unaware until his last moment.
Her sword struck true, carving through scale, skin, flesh, bone, brain, and all again in reverse as her blade entered from one end and exited from the other with not a drop to mar its surface.
The Wyrm's slitted eyes went vacant, and its massive head crashed onto the ground. Shards of bloody glass flew in every direction, scattering like diamonds in the air.
For a while, all was silent. Comparatively.
Saber closed her eyes out of respect for the fallen. His heart was vile, but he had fought well and earned a flicker of respect. But she did not regret what she did, only that she had to do it.
Nevertheless, she would have preferred an end without a loss of life and fought for such. His death served no meaning. She had hoped to tire him, believing his regeneration would sap his strength. But he showed no signs while her own movements were beginning to falter from the long, drawn-out fight. Her mana reserves were massive but still finite.
With a heavy breath, she stepped away from the cooling corpse and surveyed her surroundings with a grimace. It was a scene from the depths of hell. Once soft sand, the ground was now hot and jagged glass surrounded by stones that burned like coal. The stench of the fumes mixing with the vapor from the boiling sea was putrid, churning her stomach in disgust.
The coastline had been no enchanting sight even before the Wyrm placed its talons about its sands. But she doubted that the residents would be pleased with what had been done to their land—its rulers even more so.
Rin would have advised fleeing. But with the main perpetrator dead, she remained the only one left. She would not flee from responsibility or the consequences of her actions. That would indicate shame. There was a chance that she would be arrested, interrogated even. The thought of resting in the dungeons marred her pride, but she would cooperate. As long as her jailers were honorable, that is.
Justice was sometimes inconvenient but had to be held nonetheless. How could she call herself a King, or even just, if she did not subject herself to the same laws she enforced? While the law was not blind, it had to remain true to its promise – impartial and fair.
Normally, she would have left regardless; her honor be damned, especially if she was in a Grail War. Honor had to be tempered with pragmatism. Furthermore, the mundane world had little way to hold its moonlit counterpart. But this was not the world of her legend.
Saber sighed, as she tried to recollect the events that led up to this battle. When she had destroyed the Corruption, she had expected to die- to join the Throne of Heroes.
Yet she was here. In this foreign world, having arrived a few scant hours ago.
Before she had even opened her eyes, she wondered if she was dreaming. For what else could explain the absence of Gaia? She was no Magi, but her mentor had been Merlin. While she had little patience for magecraft, that did not mean her academic knowledge was lacking. The half-demon, for all his faults, had made certain of it.
Unless the Magi had succeeded in killing the Will of the Planet, there was no explanation other than that she was in a different world. The revelation wasn't as surprising as she thought it would be. The existence of parallel dimensions, or even worlds, was nothing new. She had wielded Avalon, after all.
But that still begged the question of how and why.
At first, she suspected another Grail War. But the grail did not fuel her existence, nor could she sense it. Even if there was one, she had forsaken her wish. She had no reason to be summoned to fight again. Neither was she given a mission or goal by Alaya. She was just… here. Living. Breathing. As flesh and blood…
The realization came slowly, then all at once.
She was not a mana construct. She had been reincarnated.
The revelation answered nothing and only added to the impossibility. Only the simultaneous efforts of the 2nd and 3rd True Magic could have hoped to achieve a miracle of this magnitude. But Heaven's Feel was lost, and the wielder of the Kaleidoscope was a stranger.
In the end, Saber found herself wandering about, directionless, hoping that another miracle would give her guidance.
She found none.
Dismissing her armor, she walked the streets, searching for information about her whereabouts. Perhaps because of her anachronistic dress, she drew eyes from every direction, with one heedless man so distracted that he ran face-first into a pole. The more daring approached, asking for… Autographs? Pictures? A hint of her displeasure was enough to send the fools scurrying away. She ignored the stares and shut her ears from the murmurs. She had long since grown used to the frivolousness of peasants from her tenure as King.
On the surface, this new world was a little different from the modern age of her original. Thus, she allowed herself to relax. The grail from the previous wars had given her enough information to survive in normalcy.
That was until she witnessed a trio of children flying in the air, in full view of the people below.
So this was what Shirou meant by cultural shock.
The Magi would have executed those three and silenced the rest. But considering how carefreely those children displayed their Mysteries, it seemed that mankind was far more acclimated to the supernatural than she ever thought possible.
For this reason, she dared to attempt capture rather than behead. If there were no risks of bringing harm to the peasants, she could afford to be kinder. Saber hoped that the girl she had rescued returned home safe and prayed that this event would serve as a warning to be more careful. Hopefully, she would stay out of danger and live as an honorable, law-abiding citizen.
Saber glanced to her side, noticing what appeared to be the silhouettes of two men. Brigands? Or perhaps the guardsmen had finally-
Her world was engulfed in darkness at the sound of a snap. Confusion turned to surprise as she found herself hurtling down a slick, fleshy chute, its walls pulsating and coated with a slimy mucous that threatened to crush her into a pulp.
But just as suddenly as the darkness descended, a blinding light erupted around her, flames dancing hungrily over every inch of her body. She cursed her carelessness without a thought for her precarious state. Even as she was being cooked from what resembled a pressure cooker made of flesh, no worry crossed her mind.
No… Her first thought was disgust.
The second, rage.
Pure. Unadulterated. Rage.
She unsheathed her blade. Not from Avalon, but from the Barrier of the Wind King that disguised it. All at once, the layers of wind became undone, revealing the holy steel underneath. Golden radiance that outshone even the light of the flames exploded, illuminating what was already saturated. All light bowed before it, no matter how vain and arrogant. But though the light shone brightly, it was not blinding. It was a soothing glow, a shimmering brilliance that was balm to her frayed nerves and wounded pride, bringing a sense of comfort and reassurance.
And with the light, the Wyrm exploded.
Flesh and blood rained down in a gruesome shower, not a single bit wider than the palm of her hand. Saber landed on the ground with a resounding thud, poised and ready to resume battle. She searched hungrily through the crimson deluge, her heart seething with a burning desire to avenge the indignity inflicted upon her a hundredfold.
"You will regret that scoundrel. Briefly. Before you die," she vowed.
But no matter how long she searched, all she saw were mountains of shredded flesh.
Her foe did not show.
No roar met her challenge. No talon struck her guard. No flame licked her armor.
All she saw was a man, naked as the day he was born.
Fleeing barefoot.
Until a halberd speared his back.
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