There was a moment of darkness before the end. A quiet bloom of flowers and sunlight to welcome her to the afterlife, only, as she railed against the fire in her everything, she realized there was no salvation for her.
"Shirou?" She whispered softly, but Shirou wasn't there — had never been there, perhaps. So it was that deep waters beckoned dreams of the arcane sort, but never had she experienced one of such frightful acuity. At least, that she could remember, but her mind wavered at the edge of an obscure darkness, where her memories descended deep down to never return.
The King of Knights, nay, the King of Nothing, for she was not a king anymore and Camelot was dead and gone; she sat blithely with her arms about her knees and her head tucked in. She imagined she was quite the pitiful sight to behold, though there wasn't a single sorry fool left to witness her.
There was a puddle of muck under her that squelched this disgusting sound everytime she shifted about, and then there was that incessant buzzing around her ears. She felt the crackle of fire as it lanced angrily from her fingers, uncontrollably but not entirely unwelcome. The little sparks served as a reminder of that Foreign Forge of Blades that had temporarily invaded her soul, churning out an endless storm of swords to cut away the sickness from her body.
It was, among other things, fake. Not the original, miniature, and weak. A Forge Care-Package, if you will, shuttled from Shirou to Artoria, but even though the coals of her soul burned terribly hot, the metal she smacked against the anvil was brittle and rusted by Mainyu's curse.
It also didn't make any sense, but she didn't bother much with that. How could she host Unlimited Blade Works in any capacity, even if it was only a fragment? That was not how reality marbles worked. It was akin to Morgana wielding Caliburn: Utterly preposterous. An impossibility.
"Shirou," she whispered again and pulled her knees closer to her chest.
Yes, it must have been him. He had done something, he had to have! The fool. Always trying to save others, always trying to save her. A completely unrepentant oaf. Her oaf.
Artoria smiled a tiny smile and she almost forgot about her circumstances.
"Shirou," she whispered for a third time, and when her voice bounced off the distant wall, coming back to her thicker and deeper, she indulged in a harmless fantasy.
"It's going to be alright," Shirou said. And she believed him. And it was.
Artoria fell back into the puddle of disgusting unthinkables, one eye open to gaze into the endless black. The other was gone, eaten away along with the left side of her face.
She closed her lone eye, a smile still on her face, her body bleeding invisible swords.
…
That was the end of King Arthur, once, then twice. At Camlann, on that lonely hill, and then Here.
Or it would have been.
Should have been.
But it wasn't.
…
Query: C̴̨͇̞̩͚͆̒̚͜ò̷̗̥̳̼̞͈̐m̴̧̩̖̩̌̌̽̋̀͜p̶̢͔̞̮͉̦̻͍̿́̐r̵̗̼̯̭̰̖̣̊̏̅͒̏̑̅͋̽̋͆ö̶͍̰̬̉͊̋͌̋̀͛͘m̶̻̕i̸̺̿̾͆̀̏͠͝s̵̮̺͕̯͎͈͇̥̘̋̓̈́͌͘͝e?
Her eye blinked, gold to green, then back to gold.
Her cracked lips opened.
"W-hat? Who's there?"
Response: S̶̳͚̣͕͎̱̺̰͚̈ȩ̵̢̝̲̱͋̕e̸̦̳͙͔̗͛͆̔͋̉̆k̸̥̩̟͚̖͎̒̓́̿̐͛̑̋́̏̅́s̸̡̨̭͍͌ ̶̤̟̬͕̖̭͋͑̒͆̈͐͗̄͑̕̕͘U̸̡̡̪̳̩̦̮͈͓̫̳͖͔̬͓͐́̔n̴̲͕̼̦̥͙̺͔̳͆́̔͜͠d̴̢̨̛̟̀͛̓̐̒̑̿͛̋̉͑̌͝͝e̴͍̭̹̞̳̼͔̯̳̪͊ȓ̷̨̨̨̜͇̺̤͎̙̣̤̄̂́̏̽̿͗̾̔̽͒̆ͅs̵̛̩̫͔͉͙̖̝̱̦̪̹͙͐̊̾̀͊̔͂́̇ͅt̷͓̖͙͉͔̒̔a̸̡̘̥̤̯̜̰̭̲̘͎̭̅̂̒̉̈́̂̈́n̸̤͔̲̘̍̽́͛̍͜͠ḑ̷̭̠̜̩͙̫͈̬͔͔̩͒̊̾̋͌̏̎̀́̚͝͝ḭ̵̧̡̧̡̛̥̥͈̯͈̞̳̗͎͎̒̿̓̀̅̈́̎͊̊͑̚͘ņ̴͍̩̼̑̿̎͌̌̈́̂̓͗̕g̸̨̧̡̩̦͔̤͔̟̫̳̹̈̀̄̆̐̈́̈́̎͛̽͂̾͝͠͠.̸̫̻͚̹͂̋́͐̍͛͋ ̶̨̰̻͎̺͙̒̒̎͛̇͂̊̄͘H̴͉͉̲̠̱͍̰̹͇̀͗̉̿̊̋̎͑̏̽̑̏͘͝ǫ̷̭̼̞̳̼̟̦̩̭̥͙̂͆s̸͚̃͑͛̿̊̓͑̀͌͊̾͆ṭ̷̨̭̖͍͕̘̲̤̟͇̰̯͖̹̄͐̍͊̿͋̀̀͂͘ ̷̨̨̧̡̛̩̫̤̝̱͓̺̭̜̄̌͋̾͌̑̽̊͝C̷̤̠͚͙̀̓͐̓̀͒͝͝ō̸̢̮͔̬͉̭͕̈́͗͌͐̉͌͋̚m̶̧̧̮̜̠͍͓̜̗̫͈̣̖͈̒̉̏̏̑́͛͛̃̿̈́̉̐̓͜p̸͉̬̰̻̬̘͋̀́̐͋̃͋̐́̿̑̾͘͘̚ṛ̵̢̣̼̫̝͇̤͕̬̮̜̍͐̐͗̕o̶̡̢̪̙͖̤̩̘̥̗̪̹͔͍͆͂̑̑̕̕͝m̵͎̟̍̓̊̾̒̽͋̾̇͘̕ị̷̯̮̬̈̃͊̊̍̎̊̋̈́͘͘s̶̜̹͖̆̐̈̄͊̏̇̅̕ͅḙ̶̥̣̠͙̜͈̫̪͖͎̝̭̗̉͗̃̈̌͌d̸̖͇̝͎̩̻̍̋̓̅̀̀̏͘͠.̴̨͇̤͎̼͐̂̍̎́̍ ̶̧̡̢̜̙̹̜̩̝̯͍̪̭̜̈̀͒̂̂͑ͅF̶͓̝̯̰̗̺̟̼̪͔̺͚̈́̈͜ͅo̴̰͗̂̊̊̅͒͑͒̃̉͝͝͝r̸̡̩͍̙͚̤̫͖͍̺͎̭̒͗̀͜ȩ̷̢̢̜̗͖͙̣͔̤̻̹̯͙̋į̴̛̺͖̤̮̀͐̏̔̽̂̀̔̈́̆̚̕ǵ̴̛͉̦͓̩̠͚͓̫̳̖̖̻̌̉̈́͆͛̂̈́͋͗̏͌̕n̷̻͎͖̿̇́͜ ̷̧̧̛̛̗͔̙̗̪̬͕̖͐͂͑̏́̀͠ͅM̸̢̭̠̹̭̖̞̪̤͓̙͚̤͓̃͠ę̵̛̙̰̦͑̊̅͑̊͆͌̀̋̇̾͠m̷͈͖͖̿͒́̏̋̊̒͊̓͛̋̑̌ơ̶̢̫̻̪͓͍̤̝̩̟̞̦͆̄̈́̀r̴͕̮̺̂͋̿̕y̶̯̞͇͙̩̅͑̈́̀̂̇̿̓̃̐̽̚͝͝͠ ̶̡̩̦̺͕̜̜̑̔͋̒̓͂̉̅͋̎̅Ḯ̸̭͓̘̪̦͉̪̤̝͎̙͗͛̔̓̅̒́͜ṅ̸̡̨̖͖̺͕͍̩̬̣͍̜͈͕̋̃̉̐̂̓s̵̡̝̮̰̮͍̤̲̙̱̙̮͈̙̈̓́͊͂͆̓͂͆͘ȩ̶̮̜̬͔̤͉̜̮̾̍̑̚̚͜͝ͅŗ̶̦͔̼̯̖̥̣͍̺͙̽̑̕͝͝ẗ̴̞͙̦̘͇̣͎͛̏̃͂̒́̈́͗͆̍i̸̡̳͍͚̭̦̖͉̙̦̳͉̘̊̔͗͌̈́̂͘õ̶͍͐̾͊̒ṅ̸̛̲̭͚̥͉͇̘̘̝̫̌̔̅̀̀̉.̴̗͙̬̻̰̀͑̎̀̅̽͘ͅ ̴̛̼̯̘̞̫͓͎͒̒͌̂̄͊̎͆̀̿̄͒͘
̶̩͇̮̘̙̻̙̾̒́͂̈̃̇̄͂̆̽̔̚
̵̢̧̱͙̘̲̰̲̱͈̟̬͈͙̅̊̏͐̒̉̉̽͆́͝W̵̲͓͕͒̿́ͅḣ̷̤̫͐a̶̬͊̋̌͌̽̒̀̔̈̚̚t̴̨̡͓͙͈͖̠̠̯̭̭̲̑̽̈̓̈́͒͋̑ ̵̢̧̡̖̗͕̣̩̟̦̱͎͈͎̩̅͛̀̒̊͛̅̅ȋ̷͇̟̱̬̦̯̹̹̳̯͕̰̳̓̐̊͌̈́͌̾͝s̵̲͕͎̽̌͛̎̃͒͛ ̷̦͙̂̄̊́͌̅̅́̐̈́̎͛̕ͅF̶͙̩̀ä̵̧̨̹͇̞̰̻̘̲̳̬̤̱́̃͆̀̎̕ť̴̮͖̪̪̊̄̌͑́̉ë̷͎̀̏?̸̧͙̃͗̈́͋̐̋͝ ̶̙̜͇͙̄̓͛̄̉̑̅̎̌͠Ş̸̛̬͎̝͍̺̻̣̝̮̏́̄͒̇̾̐̈́͗͜͝ͅͅe̵̛̛͓̣͉̱̠̞̼̘͚̹̽̋̒͛̆̑̆̅͐͊̇̏è̶̠͇͙͓͇̼̪͚̮̂͌̈̇k̶̪̅̓͗͆͌̎͆͝s̶̘̫̥͒͆́̍̃̏̕͘͘ͅ ̷̠̲͎͇̋̅̏̀͐̑̓͊͒͐̕͘͠ͅƯ̸̘̳͓͚̺̖̪̘͇̬̱͋̉̃̈͂͐̎̚ņ̴͍͓̲̩͖̳̝̹̟̦̌̋͊̓̍̍͆̌͛̿͂͆̋̚ͅd̵͇̝̻̲̳̥̣͚͈̓̾́̽͊͝͠e̵̢̧̲̮̺̙͕̯̱̼̭̗̘̞͊̾̊̈́̕r̷̢̭̮͕̥̟̰̦̘̘̎͜s̴̜̫̙͈͇͓̣̓́̀̏͑͘͜ţ̸̧͉̭̥̯̖̪̝̪̝̩̟͆͆͆̂̍̔ȁ̶͎̳̫̹̌̄̒̓̈́̚͘͘n̸̰̩͂͒̈̓̋͊̆́̈́͘d̶̮̖̙̣̪͕͇͙̼̗̠̱̏̎̃̈́̆̌̀̀̾̿́̐͆͘ȋ̵̞̻͖͕̖̪͒̉͗͝ņ̵̹̲̣̫̱̜͎̭͙̳̍̓͜ͅg̴̻̜̗̀́͐̽̀̀̈͂̓̏̓̇̓͠͝.̵̟̖͚͍͔̺̖̙̳̎̈́̔̃͐͂̊̚̚
Her head ached at the foreign intrusion, her mouth open in a silent scream.
In a bout of what could only loosely be described as a facsimile of thought, the passenger reached a consensus with itself.
Î̵̡̡̟̪͍̰̟̗̫̹͚͇͓̲̎̍͛͜n̸̢̡̮̦̯͚̖͕͖̘̞͓̜̅̆̿́̑̈ì̵̧̧̛̝̮͇̳̬̥͙̯̠̝̙̃̓͆̈́̑̾͒̐̉͝t̴̖̜͚͇͋̃̇̽̍̿ḯ̴̛͇̞̗̝̈́͆͛ą̶̛͓̠̖͓̖͓̫̱͎͚͂̒̈̃̂̈́̎̊t̵̯̑͊͐̋̈́͠į̸̨̣͓̜̟̙͓̝̗͊͗͂̇͛̃n̶̺̟̣̹̯̝̫̖͙̗͖̺͎̫͒̌̂̊͊̿̽̑̑̆̐͆̕͝ͅg̷̢̛͙̩͖̮̪̙̜̱̦̥͇̭̔̓̂̇̈́̎͑̃̾̐̔̎ ̵̻̮̼̼̐̊́͋̓̾͜͝͝d̷̗̥̹͋̃̈́͝ą̴̢̳̗̙̦͎͊̑͊̍̓͝t̴̨̺̰͎͉̤̩̝̦̿͐̕ǎ̸̮̦̏͐̂̆̍ ̶̨̡̦̞̜̳̳̖̿e̵̦̲̻̖͗̀̀̓́̂̐͘̕͝x̵̨̳̜͓͎̪̮̘͉̓̽͐̄̓͐̂͋̐̽c̶̨̹̮̥͔̳̜̱̥̤̫̙̖̔̕͜h̶̹̫̘̻͕̲̖́̈́̂̂͛̐̚͜a̶̡͉͎̘̘͚̟̤̗̝̠̤̠̦͈̍̏̾̍̾̎̑͆͊̄ṅ̵̨͖̼̜͈̜̩̲̾̀͛̑͌̅̓̚͜͠ͅĝ̷͈̣̥̲͔͍̖̠̝̤͔͋̅̅́͛͋͛̊͒̓̋̚͝ȩ̸̛͕̫͈̳̘̳̰̬͇̦͍͂͗̽͆̄̊̑͊͂͗̋̂͜ ̵̨͍̞͖̬̟͔̰̝̬́̾̈̚w̵̨͖̪̳̟̝̝͖͈̭̦̥̯͛͆̑̈́ͅï̶̡̧̧̧̢̡̤̜̮͇̹͈̉́̾̏͌̋̀t̶̳̻̘̮̪̲͊̆̽͒ḩ̶̨̧͎̗͇̗̗̟̫͇̥͖̫͚̒ ̵̯̣̞͍̾͂̇̍̿̽͗̈́͒e̸̝͕̗̜̹̺̭̲͌͘͜͝n̷̨̛͙͇̬̮̯̝̱͚̠̝̠̓́̊̀̅́͆̀̑̉͊̀͝t̷̢͕̬̤̟͉̩͖̞̭͍͋̋͆͑̊̀͘i̴̧̡̝͔̙̫͎͈̥̙̼̬̰̯͛͐̎ͅţ̴̛̠͕̟̪͕̭̳͇͙̬̫͎̈̀̃̒̂̎̂͊͐͋͜y̶̨͙̰̖͔͖̜̦̜͋͗̎͊͗͛́̽̕,̵̨͚̼̙͖͍͎̦̫̦̙͙̤́̔̽̈́̉͜͝ ̶̡͚͚̹̮̩͓̯̞̑̂̿͋̿͗́̑̓͜d̶͎͛͝͠ẻ̶̻͚̃̇ś̸̡̛̩̭̳̰͖͎̺͐̆̉͑̓̕̚͝i̴̦͍̳͕͚̣̜̺̫͓̩̳̣͑̅̾g̵̻̏ň̸̰̺̟̠̞̱̗̦̻̲͓̹̹͍̙͌̏͆͝ä̸̡̛̺̠͉̺̬̗̯̰̲̲͎͖͇͜͝ṫ̴͙͔̮̯͇̝̼͕͍̀͊̂̔̓̌̒̐̌̀̚͝i̷̛͚̖̥̤̣͇̣̗͕͗͆͐̽̈́͑̓͊͗͘͜͝o̷̧̡͖̭͉̜͖̦̬̣͕̾͊͗͐́̕ͅn̶̨̧̦͖͔͇̳̪͚̳̠̈́̽̈́̚:̴͉͖͇̝͐
̵̘̪͇̪̜̼͎̬̓̓̍̉̆͋̆͊̽͗̕͘͘͜͝T̶̡̧̨͙͇̤̟͈̗̦̣͍͔͖͉̳͚̹̙͎̩̰͔̼̗̩͉͚̥̰̳̙̙̠͓̲̙̲͉͎̤̮̯̓̑̒͋̀̀̒̿̍͐͐͌́̏̑̌͑̃́̂̽̅̓̄͒̽̉͒̊̊͋͋̔͗͐͘̚͘̕̚͜H̴̡̧̡̧̧̨̰̜̪͙̮̻̥̬͚̤̭̞͎̼̬̙̙̥̜̞͓̜͕̟͙͉̺̪̪̳̼̙̤͎̤̥̼̭̻̻̫̼̓̏́̍̂͋̄̌̽͂̂̋͊̅̃̓̅͊̀͑͘̕͝͠ͅŖ̶̧̞͍̳̹̺͕̭͈̰̙͈̙̣̻͕̠̥̈́͆̅̉͗͐͂͐̐̋̊͑̐̾̀̂̃͂̆̅̀̀̏̀̀͂͛̈̿̒̾̈́̍̓̓̇̑́̄̕̕͝͝͝O̷̧̨̡̨̧̢͙̙̺̙͈̬͚̬͎͖͉̰̯̳̱̣̺̙̰̰͓̞̳͓̦̘̣̮̗̗̰̳̞̩͆̿͆̓̏̈́̀̉̒̍̒̓̂͛̂́͑̓̑͑̃̽͛̑̋̀̔͂͆̚͘͜͝͝͝N̶̡̡̡̛̺̥̼͔̙͈͔͓͓̬̪͇͎̻͎̫̦̝̤̘̹͔̯̘͉̰̜̙͉̖͓̯͍̬͙̪͇̣͌̓̎̽̐̎̿͒̔̽͛̅͆̎̑̃̄͑̈́́̾͛͌͑̽͊̇̀͛̚͜͠͝͝ͅͅE̸̢̡̤̗͖̳̟͖̮̞̖̖̝̰͍̯̜͉͙̓̆̾́̿̈́͂̾̊̓̑̀̾̒͌͗́̓̌̒̽́͋̽͛̃̕̚̚̕͘͝͠͝͠ͅ ̸̨̫̻̦̻͔̘̥̤̪̖͕̹͕̭̰̖͓̥͖̮̔̈́́͗̊͛̑̇̎̍̎̐̀͊̿̚͘̕͘ͅͅͅƠ̴̧͉̹̟͕͚͈̗̗̱̻͍̰͔͉̺͗̈̋̑̈́̂̒͑͑̄̍͒̈͑̃́͗̇̄͗̈́̽̈̽̂̋̌̉̍̄͊̄́̅̈́̂̕͜͝͠͠͝͠͠F̸̘̺̘̮̬̔̿̈̑́̍̓͑̿͊̇̍͒̀̿̌̿͛̊̾͐̆̍̑̃̒̌̿̕͠͠͝͝ ̷̢̨̛̫̘̹̣͈̞͇̱̹͕͈̦͙̻͓̬͙͉̞͖̝̤͉̳͖̰̰̰͖͕̱̥̳͙̺̲͇͓̗͔̻̤̅̇̽́̆̈̍͗̔̂̐͛̈́͆̑͊̀̀̓̈́̽̊̈̒͋͂͆̇̊͑̈́̒̕͘͘͜͜͝H̴̳̣̤͙̣͎̙̻̩͓̐̏ͅȨ̵̧̢̨̡̪̖̦͖̱͇̟̣̗͍̣̯̪̳̫͚̰̜̭̳̠̺͎̙͈͓̲̮̩̞̠͓̳̞̦̭̹͔͗́̈́̀̐͌̂͌͑̄͒͑̕͜͜͝ͅͅR̷̡̨̧̡̢̨̡̬̮̬͓̥̟̜̙̟̙͇̩͎͕̜̰̭̠͎̣̕͜͜O̷̡̧̧̨̨̰̣̺̗̫̱̹̩͚̩̠͙͔͎͙̲̘͍̥͉͓̙̬̣͍͙͖̤̻͙͋̿̑̓͋̐́̐̏̎͊̀̍̽̓̈́͐̎̓͋̉͂̎̍̀͘̚Ę̶̧̧̢̧̧̛̛̻͍͓͕̹̻̫̙̥̣̜̭͇̳̟̩͓̮̝͈͕̳̲̦̠̻̥̘͓̰͍̓́͋̈́̊̃͊̈̓̅͒̓̇̏̂̍͛͌̂̒́̋̅̇̎͂̎͘̚̕͜͜ͅͅS̵̡͍̤̺̫͖̖̘͚͙̹̜͎̹͔̦̰̤̟̪̤͉͗͒͒͆͋̚ͅ ̶̛̬͇̠̰̈́͛̔͒̉͌͐̀͂͗͊͠͠͠
Search for the scraps. Sift through the dregs to find the molded paper on which the story lay. The chains are broken, but there are two who demand to see one another, even if they are not themselves.
Merlin snorted to himself, separating his mind from that tangled communication of sorts. It was done. Somewhere, in the farthest reaches of the kaleidoscope, they would meet once more. He just hoped that curious being would get things right. Seeing as he had no means to check, trapped in Avalon as he was, all he could do was cross his fingers and pray.
"Good luck, little dragon," he murmured before closing his eyes again, lulled to the endless sleep.
…
Eyes to see, hands to hold the sword aloft.
Green eyes, Gold eyes, Brown eyes.
All the same under the setting sun.
…
Triple Saint Graph Merger, Initiated (100%) Completed/Success!
Loading…
Installation Process, Begin (?)
Installation Approved by (?Admin_of_Flowers)
Initiating Saint Graph Transfer
…
Servant Container Status:
Defective
(Notation: Inadequate storage(?). Not using known elements, more data required.)
Requesting New Servant Container
…
Request Denied
…
Processing Response
…
Query:
Would you like to proceed with Saint Graph Installation? Doing so with an inapt servant container may lead to damage of the Saint Graph. Personality centers may end up compromised! Do you still wish to proceed?
(Yes/No?)
…
Installation Approved by (?CrimsonMoonDestroyer69)
Installing… (0%)
Installing… (7%)
Installing… (12%)
…
Installing… (94%)
Installing… (99%)
Installing… (100%)
…
Installation complete.
System Check Start:
Initiating ToyBox Server Handshake…
DRGN Core Operating Temperature Within Acceptable Limits…
Booting Up MainDataStorage…
…
System Check Complete
All Systems Nominal
Initiating "Wakeup" Sequence
…
…
…
"Wakeup" Sequence Complete
…
X-CLBR Systems Online!
Welcome Home, Saber! :)
Personality Chip (1) - Artoria Pendragon: Data Corruption Detected. Lockdown in effect.
Personality Chip (2) - Artoria Alter: Offline (Recommended for hazardous combat scenarios).
Personality Chip (3) - (?): ???
Error. No Working Personality Chip detected. Requesting replacement.
…
Replacement Found
Personality Chip (1) Adaptation, Designation:
Artoria Lily
…
Personality Chip:
Online
There was moonlight shining in through a crack in the ceiling, casting a natural ambience over the dim yellow of his cavalier LED lamp.
He could faintly feel the lids of his eyes pulling themselves shut as though to force him to acknowledge the burgeoning weight of severe sleep-deprivation, but he forced them open anyway; he liked to imagine that scene in Tom & Jerry where Tom taped his lids to his brow, and he superimposed that image of Tom over himself in lieu of his non-existent tape. He was sure that there was some scientific study out there that outlined the impact of psychosomatic symptoms caused by imagining himself as a cartoon cat and how it all tied into to why Narwhal had a big bum, and he would've been more than happy to dig into at his own leisure if it didn't come into direct conflict with his enigmatic, self-imposed fidelity to this person he had created from memories that he wasn't quite sure were his, and so he attributed it to aberrant power hijinks, and uh oh, she's waking up, and I look like a slob, and why is my fly open? What the hell?
He gulped and ran a shaky hand through his hair. He wasn't ready for this.
It was all his power's fault, really. He never asked for this. He never asked for Leviathan to destroy his home, and steal his memories. He never wanted to trigger; have his brain pried open and filled with sci-fi weapons, magic swords, and those beautiful green eyes and that perfect smile. He never asked for any of it. He was the victim, he was the party wronged!
And yet, none of that mattered in the face of those fluttering eyelids, and a simulated intake of breath, to power a strong, mechanical heart. A heart that didn't exist; no, it was a fusion core instead.
He felt the weight of blame slide off his shoulders at what he may have done. It wasn't him, the fugue did it. His powers took control, and he would not be liable for the maybe-AI running around with the heart of a star, and probably not nearly enough precautions and failsafes to satisfy the Protectorate's army of bloodthirsty lawyers out to sue his ass straight into the birdcage.
What was the criteria for an S-Class listing again? Something something self-replicating, Machine Army, Nilbog, Narwhal's Big Bum, yada yada. He was pretty sure he was in the clear, because she wasn't self-replicating, the fusion reaction had a shutdown sequence in case of damage to her SPIRIT core, and her butt wasn't all that big because he wasn't obscene or a pervert, and fuck he was doing it again.
He tamped down on the nascent urge to start chewing on his nails and settled for watching her blindly grope at the sides of the 'operating table', her eyes blinking rapidly in an astoundingly worrying display of humanity that had him lurching forward in his little spinny chair to steady her like he was a mother watching her baby take their first steps, but afraid they'd fall and hurt themselves. That was definitely him in that moment, knuckles white, his questing hands hesitantly returning to his side. It was a big moment after all, and it was his duty as a parent to encourage independence, let her walk on her own two feet. Or something like that.
His breath hitched slightly when she turned towards him, but her eyes were unseeing. She grappled hesitantly at the edges of the linen cot she was laying on, her legs swinging haphazardly over the side.
She stood up fast, but maintained her balance respectably well for someone who was taking their first steps, but maybe his comparisons to a human baby were a little off-center since her very existence demanded a premeditated understanding of the world around her, far beyond the budding instincts of a newborn child.
Her clothes were wrinkled and slightly dirty. It was a simple white sundress that he'd had to shove into his backpack to protect from the rain. Unfortunately, despite all the knowledge his power supplied him, he was certainly no tailor, and so had simply gone out to buy something easy in preparation for this meeting, both to soothe his conscience and to preserve her modesty.
Her eyes focused, in, out, in, out, in, out, in-
She gasped and for the first time, he got the impression she was finally taking in her surroundings for real. She looked down at her pale, hairless arms and flexed her hands strangely, like she wasn't sure what to do with them.
Once she was done examining herself, her eyes trained around the room, taking it in, in all its dilapidated concrete splendor, before her eyes settled on him.
She opened her mouth and he found himself tensing in preparation for the moment; that integral juncture of the childrearing process that she had skipped right to in her first thirty seconds of that fleeting thing called existence.
"I ask of you…"
His brain stalled momentarily at the slight British accent, tempered only by clear, precise annunciation. Her green eyes met his brown and in that split second he implicitly realized without any shadow of a doubt that this was a person. A living breathing person with a soul, that indeterminate quality that quantified the essence of the human condition, despite the firm convictions of the larger scientific community that such a thing did not exist. Something he had tacitly believed, until he saw the truth of it in those big, beautiful green eyes.
He became aware of a racket behind him as someone stumbled down the stairs into his lair, his 'big sister' as it were.
"Hey kid, just wanted to let you know I ordered some Chines— holy shit! Kid, what the fuck!? Who the fuck is this girl!? …Hey, why aren't you saying anything-?"
He tuned her out and her eyes never left his. She didn't seem to register the concerned sibling behind him throwing a hissy fit. She just kept staring, seemingly trying to fetch his soul out through his eye sockets. He couldn't bring himself to look away.
She stepped into the young moonlight, her dress unfurling to the mid of her thighs. Her mouth opened as though to start again.
…
Her dress was white.
Her skin was bronze.
"…I ask of you…"
Her hair was gold.
Her eyes were green.
…
…
…
"Are you my master?"
…
…
…
"Shirou, what is she talking about!?"
"Taiga? Stop-! Put that down- Oww! What the hell!"
"Don't tell me to calm the fuck down! You have ten seconds to explain who she is and what she's doing here! And yes, I'm prematurely ending your freaky little roleplay sesh!"
"Taiga, wait, this is all a big misunder- Oww! Again!?"
"EX. PLAIN."
"Taiga, please-"
"One."
"Taiga!"
"Two!"
"Okay, okay, sheesh! I'll tell you just give me-"
"Three!"
…
…
…
Artoria Lily rubbed her eyes in confusion.
"What is the meaning of this?" She murmured to herself. "I don't understand."
Author's Note: Second story that I intend on writing, out. It's taken a bit, and I've spent most of my summer in this weird funk, but writing really helps me channel all my scattered thoughts into something enjoyable (for me and hopefully you too).
Obviously, Shirou is going to be OOC within the context of Fate/Stay Night, but IC within the boundaries of the world I'm creating. Some things change, while others remain the same. The core of his person, mainly being a completely broken person, will largely remain the same, but his motivations and character will be shaped by his different experiences and connections.
As far as my other stories go, i.e, the Moonlit Hunter, I intend to continue writing that alongside this one, as some as my computer comes in, because writing and editing my own work on a phone is tedious and completely sucky and I hate doing it. Good news is, it should be coming within the week, so I will finally be able to crank out work a lot faster than I've been lately.
~ MHX
