Hi! This is the first story I've ever written. I'm a huge fan of Coeur Al'Aran, and Not This Time, Fate and Relic of the Future are my 2 favorite RWBY fanfics. When Arc Royale was first announced, I was really hoping for a scene/fight between Jaune Fate Arc and Jaune Ashari. Unfortunately, they didn't end up meeting, so here I am attempting to give us some closure.
A few key details before you read. This is an Arc Royale setting during the battle of Beacon. Definitely divergence from the original fic. Rules still apply. Fate is from chapter 50 of his story, right after he died against Adam Taurus. Ashari is taken from the end of his story
There's a LOT of fanservice here. Like a ton. Nearing shark-jumping level. Hopefully those who've read both fics get some of the smaller references.
I hope you enjoy it!
Special thanks to Wolfy and Sunset Hunting
All characters are RWBY and Coeur Al'Aran
As Ashari pushed through the large double doors, he knew something wasn't right.
While it felt like a lifetime since he'd last stepped into Beacon's cafeteria, he could still remember what it was like to witness it for the first time. It was usually bustling with life, the sounds of students talking amongst themselves, discussing classes and subjects creating a lively atmosphere.
The state of the dining hall now was a stark contrast to those memories.
The massive room was dimly lit by the moonlight that filtered in through the windows. The frames casted shadows across rows and rows of empty tables that almost seemed to move in the darkness.
The silence was deafening, only being broken by the heavy footfalls of his boots on the marble floor as he approached the center of the room. He came to a quick stop when he saw the figure wreathed in shadows at the opposite end of the room.
Fate was waiting for him.
Evidently he'd been waiting for a long time, judging by his posture. The younger man was splayed out across a table on the far side of the cafeteria, his fingers laced behind his head. Crocea Mors lay at his side, the blade gleaming in the moonlight.
He took a cautious step and Fate's head snapped up. He watched as the time traveler leaned up, stretching his arms above his head before scooping up Crocea Mors. He kicked his feet off the table and stood up, facing him.
"About time," Fate called out, stifling a yawn with his hand. "I was beginning to think you got lost out there."
His tone was light, his back was slouched, and from the look on his face, it seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but here. But that wasn't what caught Ashari's attention.
Fate's eyes bore into him, glinting in the darkness. It was hard to place, but something about them was off, unsettling even. They were eyes Ashari had seen before in Hazel right before he snapped. The look of a desperate man only barely keeping it together, easily betraying the calm demeanor Fate was trying to project.
"I didn't come to talk," Ashari stated gruffly.
Fate offered him a lazy smile. "Come on, it's not every day you get to chat with another time traveler." His smirk switched to a more Roman-esque grin. "Besides, wouldn't you like to know just how much easier you had it?"
Trying to get under my skin already, huh? He brushed it off.
"I'll admit, the chance to talk with you does sound intriguing," he started. His hand darted down to grasp the hilt of his own Crocea Mors, the blade making a dull rasping noise as he drew it from its scabbard.
"But I've got a job to do, and I'd rather not waste time sharing stories."
"Suit yourself," Fate snorted, dipping a hand into his coat pocket. It was Atlesian, just like his. "But if you want any details of my escapades, even the more…risque ones," he winked at him. "I'd be more than happy to share."
Fate was difficult to get a read on. With the other Jaunes he'd met in this competition, what you saw was what you got. Knight was courageous and determined, Barista was calm and friendly, Null was dark and brooding. With Fate, he couldn't quite tell.
One minute, he was staring at him, not unlike the way a predator would look at prey. Next, he was joking and teasing. It put him on edge.
But in the end it didn't matter, he was just another Jaune. One more person standing in his way of fulfilling the promise he made to his family. He needed that wish, and as long as Fate was alive, he was a threat to that goal.
Ashari would take no joy in it, but it had to be done.
"I even slept with Winter, and let me tell you, those angelic Schnee voices run in the family."
Ashari's eye twitched.
Okay, maybe I'll enjoy this one.
"You're a lot more clever than the others, it's a nice change of pace," he stated, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to stand down and spare yourself the effort?"
He watched Fate's eyes narrow. His expression switched again, all signs of friendliness gone, replaced with the cold fury he'd expected when he first entered the room.
"Not a chance."
Ashari's smile was bitter. "I figured as much. If you're anything like me, I doubt you'll go down without a fight." He brought Crocea Mors up and fell into a ready stance, pointing the blade directly at Fate's chest.
"I don't really intend to fight you," Fate replied calmly. The younger man leapt backwards onto the table he was previously propped up on. The arm that had been under his coat came up, and Ashari found himself staring down the barrel of a submachine gun.
"I intend to kill you," he finished, and squeezed the trigger.
/
Ashari rocketed forward.
He could feel Fate's gaze tracking him as he got closer. Those dull blue eyes were honed in on him as he dodged and weaved, attempting to escape the hail of bullets that was currently raining down on him. The empty cafeteria was filled with the sounds of gunfire as glass shattered and marble cracked.
Fate's experience had given him an advantage in marksmanship, which was clear by the way he managed to keep Ashari at bay with the constant fire of the sub-machine gun. His aim was nearly perfect, with the barrage of bullets keeping up with Ashari's erratic movements.
His aura flickered as he felt shots pinging off his shoulders, chest, and arms. Thankfully, Ashari had a lot of it, and was able to push forward. He planted his boot on the edge of one of the tables that lined the cafeteria and kicked, sending it skittering across the hall at Fate, who only barely had time to roll to the side to avoid it. The maneuver bought Ashari a few seconds to make his next move.
He elected to duck behind one of the various pillars scattered around the cafeteria and consider his options. If he chose to just run at Fate with his shield deployed, he'd probably still have a decent amount of aura by the time he reached him.
However, Fate was one of the most crafty iterations summoned for this tournament, and he had no idea if the younger man had time to prepare before he arrived. Losing more aura than he needed to might not be the best decision. That in mind, Ashari settled on a tried and true option.
You've got thousands of years of gunplay, but that goes right out the window when you can't see.
Dipping his hand to his bandolier, Ashari removed the pin of a flashbang and launched it towards the younger time traveler. With Fate blinded, he'd be able to close the distance and swing the fight in his favor. Experience could only hold up so well against raw physical ability.
To his surprise, Fate's focus instantly swapped from where Ashari was hiding to the small metal object hurtling through the air. The flashbang detonated in the space between them with a resounding boom as Fate shot it down.
He'd seen it coming. Fate must've had plenty of time to watch him throughout the tournament. It made sense that he'd try and come up with ways to counter him. But he had tactics of his own, and his time with Team November as an Atleasian specialist had given him plenty of training on how to navigate gun fights.
Get him talking and find an opening.
"Looks like you've done your homework." Ashari called as he unclasped his thigh-holster and drew his handgun. He peered his head out and fired off a few rounds around the pillar.
He watched Fate scoff in between bursts of gunfire. "When you've been fighting superpowered women for as long as I have, you learn to adapt pretty quickly."
A quick glance at the weapon confirmed it. Fate's sub-machine gun was Atlas made. Ashari had become quite familiar with their weaponry during the siege of Salem's tower.
He'll need to reload again soon. The weapon had fifty bullets per magazine, and it had been at least a few moments since Fate had last emptied the magazine.
After drawing fire from him once again, Ashari took his moment. He burst out from behind the pillar and holstered his gun in one fluid motion. He ripped a grenade from his bandoliers and charged Fate, shield arm up as the stream of bullets bounced off Crocea Mors' deployed scabbard. Those that got through were deflected off his aura. Now that he knew Fate couldn't keep up the barrage, Ashari was happy to sacrifice a bit of it if it meant reaching his target.
He heard Fate curse as the sounds of gunfire halted. He took that as a sign to pull the pin out and throw the canister in the space between them.
White smoke flooded the room. Tear gas would've made the fight difficult for both of them, even with the windows shattered, so he had settled on smoke to obscure his approach.
He launched himself through the haze of white with his blade drawn, ready to cleave the younger man in two. His eyes met Fate's as he emerged from the cloud, watching as surprise hardened into a look of desperation in those azure orbs. Fate threw himself backwards off the dining table he'd been standing on, bringing his left hand in front of him and slamming his thumb onto an object clutched firmly in his grasp.
A quiet beep rang out through the weakening hiss of the smoke grenade.
Ashari only had a split second to direct his shield downward before the table exploded, sending shards of wood splintering across the cafeteria and Ashari spiraling through the air. He broke his fall, slamming both arms to the floor as he made contact with cold tile. His muscles stung from the blast and a chunk of his aura was missing from the explosion.
Scraps of what looked like dust cartridges and twisted metal littered the crater. A homemade explosive. Fate knew Ashari would get to him eventually, and had made sure to have a plan for that too. He'd known he was dangerous, but this only confirmed that he had to deal with Fate as quickly as possible.
The man in question had gotten back to his feet. He let the sub-machine gun slip from his right hand, electing to draw his sword instead. A homemade detonator was visible in the other. Fate flicked it to the side, falling into a combat stance.
There was a mix of satisfaction and dread on his face. Triumph in the fact that he had scored a hit on Ashari early, and alarm that the soldier was now well within range.
Leaping forward with Crocea Mors drawn, Ashari was happy to show him exactly what that meant.
/
Fate knew he was in trouble the second their blades clashed.
His countless lifetimes of fighting tooth and nail against some of the strongest people on Remnant had taught him to recognize the signs of a formidable opponent, and right now, Ashari was passing with flying colors.
He could feel the strength of his blows every time he brought Crocea Mors up to defend himself. Like it or not, Ashari was in his physical prime, and deep down Fate knew that no amount of knowledge or skills would be able to offset that kind of advantage.
Out of all the ways the Gods have screwed me, this might just be the worst.
Fate cursed as he watched Ashari bat away another slash, this time after Fate had switched his blade from his left hand to his right. The counter threw him off balance and he staggered back.
"You're ambidextrous." Ashari noted. His gaze trained on Fate's sword arm, seeming to take in every detail he could about his fighting style.
"What can I say? I'm good with my hands in more ways than one." Fate replied, trying to hide his irritation. He stepped backwards in order to right himself, before charging back in.
That was by far the most frustrating part. Every time Fate thought he had the upper hand by reaching into his decades deep bag of tactics, Ashari managed to counter him with relative ease. Even when he switched to dirty tactics like eye pokes and throat chops, the specialist dropped right down to his level, throwing groin kicks and handfuls of dust of his own.
The irony of losing to a version of himself at his physical peak was not lost on him.
For every hit he barely managed to score, Ashari gave two back, and even with their auras both close to full, Fate could tell this was a losing battle.
He'd managed to exhaust all his usual tricks, and had yet to land a significant hit on the older man. He'd need to change up his strategy in order to swing the fight back in his favor, and fast.
Let's see how good you really are, Ashari.
Fate sliced at him with Crocea Mors, and let the momentum carry him, overextending. He fell into a stretched position, leaving his left side open. Ashari buried his fist in his gut, causing Fate to exhale sharply. Even when he braced for it the pain was intense.
It was worth it though, as Fate watched Ashari step closer to clinch and throw a knee to his stomach in an attempt to capitalize on his weakened foe.
Bingo.
Fate sidestepped the knee, and dipped his right hand into his pocket to pull out the dust taser he'd been saving in case they got close. He jammed it into Ashari's ribcage and squeezed the button, sending shocks coursing through his opponent's body.
Thanks for the idea Cardin. Maybe I was a bit too harsh on you after all.
If he managed to win this tournament, he'd be sure to get him something nice.
As he sent violent shocks flowing through Ashari's body, for the first time since the fight began, Fate felt a glimmer of hope.
Maybe I can pull this off after all.
That hope was immediately replaced by a sinking feeling as he watched Ashari's left hand rear back, still twitching erratically from the electricity, slam right into his jaw, knocking the younger man to the ground.
Fate looked up incredulously as he watched Ashari recover from the taser's effects. He was smoldering, both figuratively and literally. There was an ugly black mark on his jacket where the taser had made an impact, but Ashari remained unbroken. Scrambling back to his feet, Fate wondered what it would take to put him down.
There's no way this guy's human.
"Not bad," Ashari gritted out, dusting himself off. "Where do you keep getting these things?"
"Beacon's armory, I'm like Ruby in a comic store." Fate replied.
"I'm surprised they let you in there."
"Who said they let me?"
Fate watched as Ashari almost cracked a smile. But those eyes that briefly held something akin to respect for him hardened into chips of cobalt.
"You're good, crafty, I respect that," He raised his sword and deployed his shield. Steel azure eyes met cold, tired blue. "But I have no intention of letting you win."
Ashari charged in again, and this time, Fate needed to be ready. He braced his sword arm, intercepting Ashari's strike and stepped back, ready to counter the second slice.
It never came. This time, Ashari followed through and spun, extending his left hand towards Fate's chest.
He felt the buckshot before he saw the weapon. Ashari's shotgun. How could he have forgotten about it? His shoulder screamed in pain, the force of the impact sending him reeling backwards.
Ashari didn't give him a moment's rest, as just when Fate recovered, he was on him again, hacking and slashing, alternating with shotgun blasts whenever Fate would try to put space between them.
He tried again to hit him with the taser, but Ashari had caught on to his game, capturing Fate's right arm with his own and roughly jerking upward, forcing the appendage at an awkward angle. He could feel the ligaments in his shoulder snapping as the limb dislocated, air whistling through his gritted teeth.
Breaking the clinch and popping the limb back into place, he began to wonder how much longer he could last.
Minutes felt like hours as he bore the brunt of Ashari's brutal assault. He'd long since abandoned his hopes of overpowering the older man, replaced with a desperate effort to stay alive. Over time his strikes and stabs had switched to blocks and parries. Ashari dominated the fight, attacking from all angles, refusing to give Fate a second to plan.
He could feel his strength leaving him. He couldn't have had more than 20% of his aura left. His lungs burned from the feeling of him pushing his body far beyond its limits as he tried to hang on.
But he couldn't keep up forever, and when he threw a half-hearted stab to try and put some distance between himself and Ashari, he knew he'd made a mistake. Ashari threw his body weight into battering away Fate's sword, sending it spiraling across the cafeteria. Before he could react, Ashari slammed his elbow into Fate's chest, sending the wind from his lungs, before sweeping his legs out from under him.
Fate's head bounced off the marble tile as he fell, for a brief moment seeing stars. He was vaguely aware of Ashari towering over him, his own sword raised, ready to strike a fatal blow.
Dying by my own blade. He thought. That's a new one.
"It was a good fight," Ashari offered. "But this is how it was always going to end, I have too much at stake."
In his battered state, Fate's eyes widened. He was right. The stakes were too high. He was so absorbed in trying to stay alive he'd almost forgotten the reason. He wasn't just fighting for himself. He was fighting for Weiss. For Blake. For Yang. For Team RRNN, Amber, Sapphire, Beacon.
He was fighting for the future he could have with them, and now, it was all going to end.
His breathing took on a frenzied pace as he rose to one knee. If he died here, he'd lose them forever. That was unacceptable.
He wouldn't let Ashari take them away from him.
/
Instincts had carried Ashari through not one, but two lifetimes. For the most part, they'd kept him safe, save for a few times he let his guard down around a few people he shouldn't have.
So when he watched Fate catch his blade by the hands and roar up at him, he knew the fight was far from over.
The younger man attacked with renewed strength, launching himself off his knees and wrapping his arms around Ashari's legs, using the leveraged position to take him down. The two landed roughly as Ashari quickly threw Crocea Mors and his shotgun aside, preparing for a fist fight.
Fate bore down on him with the fury of a cornered animal, punching, clawing, and scratching whatever he could reach. It resembled more of a fight between two street rats rather than a battle between two huntsmen.
Ashari was no stranger to brawls though, and knew to wait for his moment. The second he saw hesitation he threw a right cross up at Fate, hitting him flush on the jaw.
He found himself unsurprised as Fate barely registered the hit, snarling as he resumed his assault, any semblance of the fast talking swordsman long gone in those wild blue eyes.
Ashari had fought most of the fight under the impression that he had a clear advantage, but right now, he wasn't so sure. He was fighting a man with everything to lose, and he knew how dangerous that could be. Fate had tapped into something primal, unpredictable and unyielding.
But Ashari had beaten the unpredictable and crushed the unyielding before. He attacked again, throwing hooks, eyepokes, and crosses at Fate, feeling his knuckles sting as fists met bone. He watched as the younger warrior began to slow down as he bore the brunt of each blow.
He can't take much more, a few good hits and he'll stay down.
He got his opportunity when Fate bent double after an elbow to the ribs. Ashari felt the beast claw at his chest before he managed to plant both feet in Fate's gut, sending the smaller opponent sprawling a few feet away.
He scooped up Crocea Mors and scrambled to his feet, intent on finishing Fate off before the monster masquerading as a man could charge him again.
Fate was sprawled out, propping himself up on an elbow, snarling up at him. That wasn't what got Ashari's attention however. His attention was on Fate's right hand. His fist was clenched tightly, grasping multiple small metal rods.
Keys? No. Pins.
The clawing at his chest. Fate had ripped the pins out of the grenades that littered his bandoliers.
Fuck.
Ashari ripped the belts off and flung them at Fate, forcing his aura to the front and deploying his shield.
The explosion must have been larger than he thought, because he was no longer standing across from Fate in the cafeteria. He was flat on his back, laying atop the weathered stones of Beacon's courtyard. His once white specialist's coat was tattered and burned, and he could feel the residual heat from the blast on his face.
He steadied his breathing and forced himself up, muscles screaming in agony. It wasn't the first explosion he'd been in after all, and he still had a job to do. He found Crocea Mors amid the debris and began to search for Fate.
He spotted him about thirty feet away. His own white coat was blackened with soot. Despite all the damage he'd taken, Fate was still alive, propped up on his hands and knees. His expression soured when he saw him coming.
"After all that, and you're still alive?" Fate spat in between heavy breaths. "At this point, maybe you've earned it," he scoffed bitterly.
Ashari didn't respond. The time for talk was over. He readied Crocea Mors to strike the killing blow for the second time that day, and stepped towards his foe.
/
Fate noted that Ashari was about twenty feet from him. Try as he might, he couldn't move. So he opted to wait for his inevitable demise. He watched as the bigger man got closer and closer.
Then, the world froze.
Ashari began to slow down, but he wasn't slowing his pace. It was like he was walking through molasses. Fate's eyes widened as he watched Ashari's movements slow to a crawl, stopping about fifteen feet away from him. The older time traveler's expression was blank.
Last time he'd checked, Fate didn't have a time stopping semblance. So he was at a loss. Was it another Jaune? Headmaster? He couldn't be sure.
Then, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, as if there was something right behind him.
It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Goosebumps tore through his body like a great ball of flame ravaging a forest. He spun around as his soul cried out in an uncanny wrongness.
The very space before him distorted and churned. A white mist not unlike vapor oozed through the air. Something was there, for him. He could recognize it, as accustomed to its sensation as he was death.
"Show yourself!" he barked. Hand darting down to grasp a blade that wasn't there.
The darkness didn't answer. Rather, images entered his mind, filling his vision with hundreds of lifetimes and thousands of years of life and death. Wherever he was, it felt so familiar. Familiar enough that he hazarded a guess of what it could be.
"So, you finally decided to show up," he ventured. He let his eyes drift closed as he steadied his voice. "You're the one who's been doing this to me."
Emotions flooded him. He staggered back as the strange new feelings overtook him, spreading through his whole body.
Happiness. Pleasure. Joy.
It was probably as close to a yes as he'd get. For the first time in a long time, he was speechless. Part of him wanted to scream at the darkness. Demand why it tortured him life after life. Why it wouldn't let him rest? Why it kept taking everything from him, life after life?
But if it was here, after hundreds of years of nothing, at the end of the tournament, there had to be a reason. If that reason had anything to do with the competition, he needed to hear it.
"So you're one of the Brother Gods then. I'm guessing the god of—"
He wasn't able to finish his thought before a new surge of emotions crashed into him. He nearly doubled over at the intensity, nausea bubbling up in his stomach as he clamped a hand over his mouth, shuddering. These feelings were a stark contrast to the previous message.
Anger. Hate. Rage.
Ok, maybe not.
"Why are you here, Why now?" he asked, wisely switching the subject.
His mind was filled with memories this time. Unlike the first vision, these were more recent. He recognized them from this life. He saw himself waking up at foot of his anchor's bed, right after he was summoned.
He saw Jinn, the Relic of Judgment, explaining the rules of the Royale in Ozpin's office. His vision blurred. When it refocused he saw two figures floating in endless space. One a brilliant gold and one a dark purple watching over the battles.
The Brother Gods. He thought. They'd been watching this whole time. He should've expected it, but actually seeing it was a different story. Watching them fight and die for their amusement, it made him angry.
As he watched them talk amongst themselves, he felt another wave of emotions wash over him. These feelings took him a bit longer to understand. They were far more complex than the raw feelings of happiness and hatred that he'd felt.
Abandonment. Betrayal. Jealousy.
Maybe it felt Fate had abandoned his world? His friends? The inevitable end he was trying to avoid? Maybe, but it was the last one that puzzled him.
Why would a God be jealous?
He didn't think anyone would be jealous of the position he had been put in. But then again, if this really was the god that made sure he never changed the future, then maybe it had a problem with the cycle being broken. Like it or not, his soul belonged to Fate, and it may not have taken well to another two deities meddling in its affairs.
"Were you angry I was taken?" he ventured, "That I was picked out of my world and sent here?"
The happy emotions were back once again, affirming his thoughts.
But why? Unless–
"Are you angry about the wish? That another God offered me a way out?"
The vindictive feelings that filled his soul were all the confirmation he needed. Now they were at a crossroads. He needed that wish, and whatever this God wanted from him he clearly wasn't willing to do. Why else would he have been stuck in the loops for hundreds of years?
But, if this deity had been watching him the whole time, it had to know he couldn't take much more. His aura was failing, his mind was fraying, and his very soul had begun to turn on him. What would happen to this God's plan if he wasn't around to fulfill it?
Maybe it was time he hedged his bets.
"Help me," he gritted out. "You know I can't beat him," Fate gazed up defiantly at the darkness around him. "He kills me here, I go back."
He felt no reply from the ethereal presence, but he didn't plan on stopping.
"You know I'm breaking, you've seen my aura fail, but you know I won't stop fighting, even if my own soul gives up on me, I'll never give up," he let his eyes drift shut, taking a deep breath before he resumed. "But If I lose them this time, I'm not sure my mind will make it."
For a brief second, he felt a flicker of what felt like uncertainty from the deity. He kept pressing.
"I'm assuming you didn't just come here for a visit, considering you've never done anything like this," he scoffed, "You help me beat him, and I don't break."
The emotions that filled him sent him crashing to his knees. His head felt like it might burst. The air thickened, and the fog began to circle him violently. He felt his throat close up. He was already exhausted, and the swirling mist around him made it harder and harder to breathe.
The rage and anger were back, merging together to form indignation. But this time, he wasn't going to let it deter him. He tried to gaze back up into the darkness, but he couldn't move. It felt like he was frozen in place. He hadn't come this far to stop here though, and drove his head back up.
"I don't care about whatever future you have planned for me!" he screamed into the void. "You let me get that wish, you risk a change to your perfect future, or you don't, and we keep fighting for eternity. Make your choice." He let his head droop, unable to hold it up anymore.
"Please."
For a few moments, there was complete silence. Then, just as quickly as it had materialized, the fog began to dissipate. The icy mist that surrounded him, blacking out the land and sky began to spiral around him, moving faster and faster until it disappeared completely.
He was back in Beacon's courtyard. He could see Ashari, a short distance away, frozen in time. His muscles still ached, but the pain had dulled. He could breathe freely now, and could feel a second wind coming on. Was it from the moments of rest or a gift from God? He didn't know. To make things more confusing, Crocea Mors was laying a few feet away. He could've sworn he'd lost it in the fight.
Ashari began to move again, as if nothing had paused the time between their last encounter. The soldier stalked towards him with the intent to kill for the second time that day, and Fate gazed up at the sky.
Now or never.
For a horrible moment, nothing happened. The only sound was that of heavy footfalls getting closer and closer.
Then, he saw it.
A small white dot in the space between him and Ashari. A small white spot, no, symbol. It shined in the darkness, illuminating a few of the stones with a dim pale light. It began to grow, stretching across the courtyard, causing Ashari to leap backwards.
What had looked like a small circle started to take shape, edges formed, sharpening into points. The symbol began to refine itself further, until it was completely unmistakable. As the ground began to shake, Fate could hardly believe his eyes.
The Schnee family glyph adorned the face of Beacon's courtyard.
A low hum filled the air, getting shriller and shriller until it reached a fever pitch. The glyph began to rotate. He could help but notice something was off about it. It looked almost unstable, shuddering with every rotation as it began to spin faster and faster, as if it was ripping itself apart.
Right when he thought it might explode, it froze. Fate could only watch in awe as something began to rise from the center of the glyph. A sphere? No. A head.
He scrunched his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them to make sure he wasn't in a dream as he watched the figure ascend from the sigil.
It began to take form. Billowing silvery hair flowed from her scalp. The white light that obscured her graceful form faded, replaced with a dress of the same color, the fabric dancing in the wind. Her icy blue eyes burned with an ancient power.
"Winter?" Ashari gasped.
"No," Fate replied, and he couldn't stop the smile that made its way across his face.
"Weiss."
His Weiss.
He couldn't believe it. For the first time in his life, he felt like the luckiest man in the world.
He watched as she scanned her surroundings, taking a little humor in seeing her wide eyes darting around the courtyard, clear confusion written on her face.
Then, she saw him.
He tried to gauge her reaction. To be honest, he wasn't sure what to expect. The last thing he remembered from that life was the gentle snowfall that had proved her triumph over Cinder Fall. Had she saved Beacon? Were Blake and Yang alright?
Did she know he'd gone behind her back and thrown himself into a suicide mission?
"Jaune Arc!" she screeched, her wild eyes staring daggers through his soul. Myrtlenaster was clutched in her grip.
Ah. That answers that.
He only had a few moments to brace himself before she was on him.
What he didn't expect was for her to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. Everything else melted away. Even after all this time, he hadn't forgotten her kiss. Vanilla with a hint of fresh snow.
It was unmistakably his Weiss.
She pulled away, and he took in her face. She was as beautiful as she was when she left him frozen to the ground on Amity colosseum. The last time he thought he'd ever see her. Looking at her here, alive, it was surreal. The moment seemed to last for hours as he found himself mesmerized by those sky blue orbs.
Then she flicked his forehead. Hard.
"Come on Weiss," he groaned, rubbing his brow. "Really?"
"That's for sending Yang and Blake after me," she huffed. Her eyes softened, her voice barely above a whisper. "I asked you for one thing, Jaune. To let me die."
"You know I couldn't."
"Yes," she sighed, a small, wistful smile spread across her face. "I know." Her face took on a pained expression. "I thought I lost you."
A twinge in his neck cut their moment short, as the beating he'd taken from earlier hadn't been forgotten. Weiss took notice too, and he watched her icy blue eyes widen as she took in his bloody, charred appearance.
"You're hurt!" she cried, scanning his body for injuries. "Who did this? Was it Taurus?"
"No, that would be my doing," a voice over her shoulder called.
Fate watched as Weiss' spun around to face her partner's assailant, a snarl on her face. He forced himself to hold in a laugh as he witnessed her rage morph into confusion as Weiss Schnee locked eyes with Jaune Ashari.
"Mr. Arc?" she gasped.
"Close, but not quite," Ashari replied.
She looked back at Fate, wariness mixed with puzzlement on her face.
"But he looks just like him."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Fate sighed.
Weiss' eyes hardened like they always did when she felt she'd been challenged. "I believed you when you told me you were a time traveler, try me."
She had a point. He figured it was worth a shot. "He's me from the future past."
Weiss looked at him like he'd just stepped off an alien planet. Then, she groaned, massaging her temples.
"One Jaune Arc is bad enough, now there's two?"
Fate could hardly contain his glee.
"Try twelve."
He thought Weiss might have an aneurysm.
"As fun as this is to watch," Ashari called out, a small smile threatening to grace his face. "We aren't finished here, Fate."
His words were like a bucket of ice water dumped on the two of them. Fate's eyes hardened as he was reminded of the task at hand.
Weiss caught the determined look in his eye and turned to face Ashari, flourishing Myrtlenaster. She spared him a quick look.
"Should I even ask why you're fighting him?"
"Long story short, when I died I woke up here, fighting other me's for a second chance."
He saw Weiss' eyes widen at the mention of a second chance. Then they sharpened to slits.
"How strong is he, Jaune?"
"I'm not sure I've fought someone tougher."
"Skills? Abilities?"
"My sword and shield, as well as a few guns. I'm pretty sure I managed to blow up all of his grenades."
"Is that why the jacket I bought you is currently little more than a tattered mess?" She growled.
He elected not to answer that. He preferred Ashari to be the only one fighting him.
"Try and keep him at range," he hissed, "Use the powers of the maiden."
She nodded, then fixed him with a strange look.
"Jaune," she started, "If we lose here, is that it?"
Fate took a deep breath. She was right, but telling her that wouldn't make it any better.
"I'd rather not think about it."
He was shaken out of his stupor when he felt a hand in his. Weiss was looking at him, brow drawn down, jaw clenched. She raised her blade before her and slashed it to the side, not taking her eyes off him. She squeezed his hand.
"Then I guess we'll just have to show him exactly what one half of Team Berry is made of."
Fate smiled, the thoughts of what their loss would mean momentarily forgotten. She always had a way of getting through to him. He squared his shoulders, raised his blade, and for what felt like the thousandth time that day, prepared himself for battle.
As he and Weiss began to walk towards Ashari, he just couldn't help himself.
"Of course dear, but isn't it Jazzberry?"
The last thing he saw before charging in was Weiss rolling her eyes.
/
The God of Light sighed, trying to expunge his frustration as he watched the ones called Fate and Weiss fall upon Jaune Ashari.
He and his brother had planned this contest for years, watching decades go by as Ozma and Salem continued their tiresome feud. They'd meticulously picked the perfect fighters, the perfect setting, and the perfect anchors in order to make sure this competition went smoothly.
And somehow, it had been ruined.
"UNBELIEVABLE!" a voice roared beside him, the horrible sound managing to shake space and time around him.
The God of Light sighed once again, turning to face brother. The God of Darkness was furious, purple energy rippled across his brother's form, that of an ancient dragon. His lips were pulled back in a fierce snarl, showing rows and rows of teeth.
"How dare another deity meddle in our game," he hissed, venom practically dripping from his tone.
The God of Light grunted his agreement, watching intently as Ashari attempted to fend off Fate and the maiden. Their Relic was holding his own, but the longer the fight went on, Fate and Weiss began to gain the upper hand.
Ashari fought well, quickly countering Fate's slash before knocking his sword away and stepping in to bury his fist between the younger man's ribs. However, when he stepped forward to press his advantage, Weiss darted in like a lancer, raking Myrtlenaster across his back before using a glyph to propel herself up and away from any reciprocal blow Ashari attempted to deal.
When he switched his attention to her, attempting to find a pattern in the maiden's graceful movements, Fate would fall upon him like a berserker, his blade constantly finding new angles to attack from, not giving him a moment's rest.
As strong as Ashari was, he was tired, facing a fresh maiden and a man blessed by God.
It was a pace he couldn't keep up with.
"This is a farce," his brother growled, "We should stomp them out right now." He clenched his clawed fists together, wisps of maroon energy began to flicker from his talons, each having the power to wipe out entire planets.
It didn't make any sense. He and his brother didn't make these mistakes. They couldn't have known the God of Fate would intervene. It wasn't their fault this was happening, and now their ultimate tournament was paying the price.
Ruined. He thought to himself. All that planning, wasted.
"Well?" his brother inquired, his voice taking on an exasperated tone. "Shall I do the honors dear brother?" He watched the God of Destruction's palm begin to radiate as dark energy congealed together to form a ball of pure annihilation.
The God of Light returned his attention to the contest, not quite willing to tell his brother to end the game just yet. He desperately looked for anything that could save their competition.
He watched as Weiss waved her arms in the air, weaving the very essence of Fall into a blizzard she sent straight at Ashari. The soldier raised his shield in a valiant effort to ward off the storm.
He looked on as Weiss began to rise into the open air, her eyes blazing with an ancient blue fury. Her arms began to move in a graceful, fluid motion, channeling magic from an era long forgotten into the atmosphere. The wind began to blow, circling violently around her.
With a final flourish of her arms she unleashed a torrent of raw magic, shaping the magic of Fall into Winter as she unleashed a blizzard aimed directly at Ashari, large enough to block out the moon.
To his credit, their Relic didn't run. He raised his shield fearlessly and leaned into the blast, as sturdy as a mountain in a storm.
But even the most resilient mountains were eroded eventually, and despite his best efforts, Ashari was blown away by the blast.
The golden deity's brow drew down. The man had served them well, showing him and his brother exactly what humans were capable of. They'd granted his wish to reunite with his new world after all.
Watching him now, he seemed so alone.
Wait…
Now there's an idea.
"Brother, there may be another way to bring balance to our game."
The God of Darkness quirked an eyebrow at him, skepticism clear in his face.
"And what would that be?"
"Perhaps we do some meddling of our own."
/
Steel blue eyes cracked open as Ashari came to. He was only out for a moment, but he knew he didn't have time to rest. Taking a deep breath, he started to get up once again.
He dragged himself to his feet, and raised Crocea Mors in unwavering determination, the familiar blade gleaming in the night.
Even with his shield forgotten, even with every last trick and item he had used up, and every muscle fiber and tendon screaming in agony with every move he made…he refused to give up.
Pain had lost its grip on him long ago. For the people he loved, he'd walk miles across broken glass through Grimm infested forests. The agony he was in now paled in comparison to the day he'd lost them. It wasn't even close. He promised them he'd see them again, all of them. No matter what universe separated them.
All he had to do was win.
So even as his legs shook, his chest heaved, and his sword arm wobbled, he grit his teeth and fell into a familiar stance, daring Fate and Weiss to finish him off.
The pair in question approached, equal parts exhaustion and triumph written on their faces.
Weiss levitated into the air as her eyes burst into sky blue flames, spreading her arms to conjure up one last blast to wipe him from the face of this world.
He didn't close his eyes, electing to look his demise in the face as it took him.
Jaune Ashari didn't fear death.
A red slash carved its way through the space in front of him, slicing through reality like a hot knife through butter. It was as if the world around him bent to accommodate the scarlet fissure in time.
Shock rippled through him, followed immediately by recognition….and an unexplainable relief. An omen of hope in the sea of despair he found himself in. He'd seen it countless times before, and every time he did, he'd been bereft of the exact hope that filled him now.
Weiss' eyes widened as a jagged bolt of lightning flew through the crack in reality, bathing Beacon's courtyard in white light. It crashed into her with a resounding boom. She managed to get her arms up in time to shield the blow, but the force sent her sailing through the air, crashing into the debris.
Fate spared the portal a wary look before sprinting for cover, doing anything to break line of sight with the source of the attack.
When will I ever stop doubting you?
A wild black mane stepped through the portal, and for the first time in what felt like ages, blue eyes met red ones, burning with the power of the Spring maiden. Reunited at last.
Raven Branwen finished stepping through the portal, the hand she'd casted the lightning with hung in front of her.
For a moment, Ashari was speechless. There were so many things he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. What were you supposed to say to someone you'd practically been fighting a war for the slim chance you'd see them again?
"Thanks," he settled on, "I owe you one."
Red eyes drifted over to him. "I'll add it to millions of other reasons you owe me."
Gazing into her eyes, he couldn't get a read on her. Raven had always been a master of keeping her emotions locked away after all. He'd gotten pretty good at her tells, but he was out of practice.
Regardless, they didn't have time to talk.
The air dropping in temperature was their only warning as the other side of the courtyard exploded in blue light. Chunks of stone and greenery were flung in all directions as Weiss rose from the debris, her ice blue eyes blazing with rage.
"I don't know who you are," she growled, magical wisps of blue flame dancing across her fingertips, "but I'm giving you one chance to get out of the way."
Raven's hand dropped to her hip and in one swift motion, withdrew Omen from its scabbard and leveled it at Weiss.
"Not happening," she gritted out.
"I guess being difficult really does run in the family," Fate snorted, stepping out from behind a pile of rubble, flourishing Crocea Mors. "Weiss, meet Yang's mom."
Ashari watched as Fate laughed at the incredulous look on Weiss' face, the latter muttering something about her hatred of time travel. A grunt from Raven got his attention.
"You deal with the brat," she started, her eyes sliding over to Ashari, "I'll take your sister in law."
"Works for me," he replied, flicking bits of frost off his own blade, "And please don't call her that."
"You're sure?" Raven snarked, "You look like you're one foot in the grave already."
"You've seen me in worse states," he replied, a tired grin making its way across his face despite the pain, "We still came out on top."
Raven laughed and brought her blade up, preparing herself to charge in.
"Then let's see if you're still worthy of fighting alongside me." she finished, and launched herself towards Weiss.
He only lingered for a moment before he sought out his own opponent, catching Fate's gaze. The younger man began to stalk towards him, flicking Crocea Mors between his hands. Ashari brought his own blade up and marched forward to meet him in the center of the courtyard.
For the final time that day, the two time travelers were ready to go to war.
/
The world was in chaos. It was as if Remnant had gone to war with itself as the two maidens unleashed the power of the seasons upon the world. Lightning streaked across the sky, the jagged bolts illuminating the courtyard with blinding light at an erratic pace. Powerful gusts of wind threatened to topple Beacon's walls as it howled around them. The very ground beneath Ashari's feet trembled as the champions of nature fought overhead.
In the eye of the storm, he and Fate continued to fight, but it was clear the battle wouldn't last much longer. Raven had possessed the Spring maiden's power for decades, having ample time to hone its power.
From what he'd seen, Weiss couldn't have had it for more than a week. She struggled against Raven, and the older woman was content to hunt her down until there was nothing left. It was only a matter of time until Weiss lost, and Fate wouldn't be able to stand against himself and Raven.
He must have to have known it too by the way he continued to attack at a frenzied pace, fighting desperately through the exhaustion that plagued them both. So that begged the question of why? Why prolong the inevitable? Perhaps it was the pain overriding his judgment, or maybe it was out of genuine curiosity, but Ashari wanted an answer.
"You're unbelievably stubborn," he started, ducking his head under a horizontal slash that threatened to slice it clean off. He swung his own sword in a wide arc, glancing off Fate's guard as sparks showered the two of them. "You know Weiss can't hold out against Raven for much longer, why draw it out?"
Fate slipped inside his guard, a mix of annoyance and confusion on his face as he threw a kick at Ashari's stomach, missing by a scant few inches. "You're asking me this now?"
"You said if I wanted to hear any stories, you'd be happy to share."
"Pretty sure that offer expired the second time I blew up," Fate shot back, roughly switching his sword back to his right hand and darting back in for another slash.
Ashari barely caught the slice on his cross guard, propping his sword against his side and forcing his blade against Fate's. The twin Crocea Mors made a heavy clanging sound as the fatigued warriors' faces got close.
"So you're content to keep fighting while Raven beats Weiss to a bloody pulp?"
"I'm doing this for her," Fate snarled, frantically swinging his arms down, stabbing both of their blades into the ground. He threw his shoulder into the older man's chin, causing Ashari's teeth to click together. "I'm doing this for all of them, they didn't give up even when they knew they had no chance," he threw a kick that caught Ashari's inner thigh, forcing the older man back, "I won't now."
Ashari's right leg wobbled, the muscles nearly compromised from all the damage he'd accumulated during the fight, but he managed to plant it and regain his balance. A low chuckle escaped his lips as he staved off the pain.
"Something funny?"
"Nothing, you just remind me of myself."
Even with the blood and dirt that threatened to obscure the younger man's face, he could clearly see Fate fixing him with a deadpan stare. "Really? What a shocker," the sarcasm practically dripped from his voice.
Ashari launched himself forward to close the distance, breaking Fate's guard to throw a chop at the man's windpipe, causing him to descend into coughs as he tried to keep himself upright.
Smartass.
"I undid everything my friends worked for when I traveled back," Ashari started, sidestepping a poor attempt from Fate to run him through. "I wanted to fix everything."
It was a simple goal, but one he had clung to. Seeing Ruby, Ren, Nora, and the others lying there in pools of their own blood had nearly driven him insane. He'd promised them he'd find a way to change things, no matter the cost.
Wasn't Fate trying to do exactly that?
"That choice of needing to make things right led me down a rough path," he continued, eyes roving over Fate to try and gauge any reaction to his words. The younger man only scowled at him, continuing his assault.
At least he's listening.
"I blamed myself every time something didn't go my way. Thankfully, I had someone knock some sense into me." He managed to keep Fate off of him long enough to spare a glance upward at the woman in question, watching as Raven sent her own shards of ice streaking across the sky at Weiss.
"Things change Fate," he finished, parrying his assailant's blade to surge forward and grab the collar of his tattered Atlesian coat, the burnt fabric mirroring his own charred appearance. He gazed into the man's tired eyes.
"We can't save everyone."
The younger time traveler's response was to kick. Hard, hitting the same leg he'd been targeting in the past few exchanges. The limb finally buckled, and Ashari fell to one knee. Fate stood over him, his eyes smoldered with rage, a vicious scowl etched on his face.
"If that's what you believe, then we're nothing alike," he gritted out, unable to hide the contempt in his voice.
Ashari glared back up at him. "Then you're doomed to fight forever," he spat, putting weight on his bruised leg and forcing himself up. "And I've wasted more than enough time trying to help you."
"Funny," Fate shot back, "I can't remember asking for it."
"Then I'm finishing this," Ashari growled, and launched himself at Fate. The younger man was ready for it, and threw a knee, catching Ashari on the injured leg.
Ashari knew the limb wouldn't hold up, and let himself fall with the blow, his knees impacting the stone tiles. He steadied himself with his left hand and thrusted with the right, sending his blade at Fate's chest. Fate's sword, previously poised for an overhead strike, darted down to try and deflect the stab.
But he didn't make it in time.
The tip of Ashari's sword sprouted from Fate's back, running him clean through. Ashari's hand felt warm as blood began to soak through his gloves. He twisted his blade before drawing it out of Fate's chest, making the decision to catch the younger traveler as his knees gave out. Fate's eyes were trained on his, the defiance in them crumbling as he was lowered to the ground, replaced with the crushing realization that the fight was over.
Ashari could only imagine what it felt like, being so close to escaping decades of torment, only to fall in the end.
"This wasn't personal," he offered, rising to his feet, "I hope you find peace."
Fate was silent for a moment, a complicated look on his face, then he spoke, his voice low.
"Maybe I am doomed."
Ashari was inclined to agree, but the shrill sound of Weiss' scream interrupted his thought process. He watched as the woman who'd crossed time and space to save Fate rocketed down from the sky a small distance away from him, barely managing to catch herself before she started to sprint towards her dying lover.
Weiss had been willing to take on an opponent she knew she couldn't beat for even the slightest chance she'd be able to win for him. If anyone had the will and determination to break Fate's cycle, it would be her. He returned his attention to Fate.
"Maybe not," Ashari replied, turning his back and beginning to walk away, "Goodbye, Fate."
/
Tired blue eyes cracked open as Fate drew a ragged breath. The stars glittered above, little white dots that hurt his vision. His lungs burned when he tried to catch his breath. He was familiar with the feeling of course. How many times had he died like this, bleeding out under the stars? He'd always thought bleeding to death was the worst way to die, so tiresome and dragged out.
Somehow, it hurt more this time. He'd tried everything, put up a hell of a fight, and yet, just like that, it was over. He was familiar with death, more so than anyone from this reality, but this was the first time in over a thousand years he'd felt disappointed.
The sound of frantic heels clicking on stone shook him out of his final thoughts. Weiss' face appeared in his vision. He felt the sensation of cool palms on his cheeks as she knelt beside him, taking his head in her hands.
"Jaune." she gritted out, her shaking voice barely above a whisper. He could see the tears flowing freely from her sky-blue eyes. Despite the cuts and scratches scattered across her face, the grime that smudged her cheeks, and the clear distraught in her eyes, he thought she'd never looked more beautiful.
"I'm sorry Weiss," he managed to say, swallowing past the lump in his throat, "I tried." His eyes stung as tears began to blur his vision. The dam that had held feelings he'd buried for a hundred years finally burst as he started to cry, the sound of his broken sobs a stark contrast to the silence that had overtaken the damaged courtyard.
"I couldn't do it," he let his head go limp in her arms, "I'm going to lose you all." He was crying now, gazing up at her as his breaths grew shallower.
"No!" Weiss barked, startling him. The heartbreak in her light blue orbs had vanished, replaced by an intensity in her red-rimmed eyes, a fire that for once, wasn't from the power of the maiden. He recognized it, of course, it was a glare she'd level at him whenever he got on her nerves. It reassured him she'd be okay.
"I won't let it happen, I'm going to bring you back," she swore, her voice breaking, "I don't care what it takes, I'll destroy Fate itself if I have to!"
For a moment, he believed her. Even if he knew he shouldn't. He could feel himself fading now, shadows creeping into the corners of his vision.
He was out of time.
Weiss could see it too. She couldn't be doing much better herself, after all, neither of them was from this reality. She'd surely disappear after he died.
He forced his eyelids open to look at her one last time, trying to memorize every detail of her face. He knew that in the next loop, she wouldn't look at him like that. She might never look at him this way again.
"Thank you, Weiss, for everything. Take care of Yang and Blake for me."
She didn't respond, not verbally anyway. Instead, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. He smiled against the kiss and let Fate take them.
This time, death didn't feel so lonely.
/
Ashari managed a few more steps before his legs faltered, unable to carry him any further as the accumulated nerve damage finally overwhelmed his resolve. Catching himself against a wall, he allowed himself to slide down into a seated position, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling in. He sensed her presence before she spoke. Over the years, he'd developed a sense for detecting the Spring maiden.
"You look terrible."
"I feel terrible." he muttered, craning his neck to meet her gaze. He thought better of it when she sat down beside him, vermillion orbs gazing critically into blue ones. Her voice dripped with judgment.
"First, you leave me with a kid, then the next time I see you you're getting your ass kicked by another brat and a trust fund baby," she jabbed. "You've gone soft." Her words were sharp, but the relief in her eyes undercut the harshness in her tone.
He managed a smile, teeth stained red with blood. "In my defense, she was a magical trust fund baby."
For a second, he thought she might hit him, but took some relief when her eyes softened, her frown turning into a half smile. "If you weren't half-dead right now, I'd have half a mind to whip you back into shape, give the tribe a show, " she teased. "Maybe I'd even give Vernal the chance, she'd love a crack at you after all this time. That is if your brat doesn't get first dibs."
The mention of Vernal and Emerald filled him with warmth, pushing back the overwhelming exhaustion that threatened to take over his consciousness. "How are they?" he managed, never having let them leave his mind for a second.
He wondered if Emerald had ever warmed up to his younger self. He wanted to know if Vernal had found a sparring partner that wouldn't quit after two fights.
"How is everyone?" he inquired.
"The others? They haven't forgotten you," she started, "Sometimes I see Summer staring out her window for long periods of time, a pitiful look on her face," she scoffed.
Her expression changed, for a brief second almost appearing wistful, "I've seen your brat look for you in the stands after she wins a fight. They miss you."
Her voice caught, a rare misstep Ashari noted. Raven always had been a pillar of stoicism, even in the worst of times, but there were occasions where he'd been let behind the curtain of the apathetic facade she'd put up.
Right now, she looked tired, almost fragile. I missed you, her eyes seemed to scream as she gazed into his own. She'd never say it out loud of course, the raider was far too proud for that. He decided not to prod her, content to enjoy her company for what time they had left.
"It's Sparrow, by the way." Raven said, breaking the silence. "Your son."
The thought of his second batch of children stirred up mixed feelings in him, and he chose to avoid delving into them. It was easier to cover it up with teasing.
"Really breaking the mold with the names, Raven." he deadpanned. To his immediate unease, her face broke into a toothy grin, her eyes gleaming with amusement as if she knew something he didn't.
"Sure." she ventured. "I'm the one lacking originality when your wife named your other spawn Jeanne," she laughed as she watched him choke on air. "Way to break the mold with the names, Jaune." she mocked.
"Of course she would name her that," Ashari sighed. "No wonder that–"
A shimmer of white light rippled throughout Raven's body, stopping him dead in his tracks. He looked closer, hoping it might have just been a hallucination brought on from fatigue. Much to his dismay, Raven had begun to glow, her form bathed in an ancient light. The Gods had brought her here to even the odds, as painful as it was, it only made sense for them to take her away once the fight was over.
Raven, confused at what he was staring at, looked down at her hands and groaned.
"Already? Fucking figures."
Knowing he might have only seconds left, he made sure to let her know how grateful he was that she'd been there for him.
"It was great to see you, Raven," he said, unable to resist the smile that broke out across his face. "Thank you for saving me."
For a split second Raven almost looked flustered, but she recovered quickly, settling on a small, exasperated smile. She placed a hand on his shoulder, clutching it tightly.
"You can pay me back by winning, and even then it'll only cover the first hundred things you owe me," she stated, her familiar arrogant grin filling him with warmth. She spoke again, her voice soft.
"It was nice to see you too."
Then she was gone.
He lost track of how long he spent staring at the space she once occupied, struggling to understand what he was feeling. It was what he had yearned for this whole competition, a chance to see them again, a chance to see her again. He thought he'd be satisfied, but that wasn't the case. Despite his injuries, Ashari was filled with a familiar fire, the drive to win the tournament once again coursing through his veins, just as powerful as it was when he started.
After he took a bit more time to rest, he'd fulfill the promise he made to them, no matter what.
So there's my first fic! Which is a fic of a fic but hell it still counts. Unfortunately, despite being a huge Fate fan, he was never going to win. Maybe if he was from a lifetime where he trained, but the power disparity is just too far between him and Ashari. This was so much fun to write. Thanks for reading!