《I do not own TYPE-MOON or any other related franchise in this work of fiction. The story and OC characters are the only works I own.》
The Holy Lance of the End.
"Haaa...haa...haa."
The sound of ragged breath and sound of steps resounded.
The sound of metal creaking was heard in this place of empty silence. Sorrow and despair hung in the air. Curses flooding the ground. Crimson fire licking away the earth.
Admist the pool of cursed mud and crimson fire a boy dragged the empty shell of a body with all might. A will of steel. A sword that cuts everything in path. Emiya Shirou.
The body was trying to weigh the steel soul down. Swimming admist the pool of evil the curses desperately tried to cling to the broken body, to curse it, to kill it, to end it.
The fire raged wildly, to burn the hide, the skin, the bones, the soul itself. To curse it, to kill it, to end it.
Yet, this soul of steel doesn't budge.
The corruption of mud failing miserably as motes of gold light burns away the evil cleanse the sins of the world. The wounds closes and the curses dissipate.
The crimson fire was clamped down by molten fire of forge burning within the world of steel. The steel melted and mended forming a layer of ethereal barrier protecting its master.
The gold eyes pays no mind to the pain or anguish, nor does it care of the visions of the evil within the mind kind that he saw within the mud and fire.
The gold eyes merely stared at the horizon, his hawk like eyes locking upon the bubbling sphere of putrid ichor. The black and red straining it's form bringing a twisted image of world plunged in madness.
It was the All World's Evil, Angra Mainyu...
Blood trickled down from the mouth, his face was stained with blood. Almost millions of miniature swords weaving the wounds in a twisted manner alongside the golden motes of etheral light.
Gold eyes stared at it with tired gaze. The crimson red hair ruffled by the wind nearly had him break away. He was not sure he could take anymore.
The sins of all the atrocities were gnawing at his mind, corroding his brains like a cancer, his mind growing numb, the memories breaking away the ones of his life as Emiya Shirou and the shared ones of the counter guardian through the phantasmal arm of the wrought iron hero.
A few images were the only one clinging to his mind, no, his soul.
An image of father crying as he held the boy in his arms, the smile of saving oneself from the curse of an ideal.
"You're alive!. You're alive!."
An image of a knight, a beautiful maiden of battle, regal and proud, announcing of a contract of fate, the sight of ephemeral memory etched into the soul of the boy and the guardian, alike.
"I ask you...are you my master."
And of a snow fairy clad in white and red with gold adorned. A smile of kindness upon this wretched creature who does not deserve the smile. The smile of an elder sister.
"Shirou..."
Just one more step. His breaking mind held onto the thought.
The unnatural arm stretched as if to grasp something. A swirl of blue light forming around his palms.
This was the finale. The endgame. The last stand.
The shell of broken man streched his arms, twenty seven neon green lines gleaming to life. The gears within the soulscape of his world moving. The forge fire burning bright. The hammer of gun strikes.
Countless models and the blueprints of several armaments of heroes, kings, demons, gods, fae, giants forms within the land of steel.
Magical and mundane. Holy and demonic, dragon-slaying, demon- slaying, god-slaying, healing, cursed all of them. Ancient and modern armaments from western to eastern,
from the time mankind had not even formed and when the planet was but newborn to the times where mankind had soared past the stars and cosmos.
Unfortunately, the mind was too corroded by the sins of the world to realise them, leaving it to the muscle memory and pure instincts that drove reason to a jaw dropping rate for a person who had his soul itself in pieces.
The red haired boy's subconscious mind instantly tried to grasp the blueprints of the strongest holy sword, an armament he was familiar with more than anyone, for he was the sheath of victory.
The image of the sword that carries the hope of the whole mankind came to his mind and for a second the soul reacted as the consciousness with a miracle of chance came to life...and instantly rejected the blue prints.
No, he would never taint the Sword of Promised Victory within the sin of the worlds, not even by holding it by his hands, even if the fact the sword of promised victory tried to call for him when it was rejected.
He had seen it's glory plunged in darkness, the ivory gold crafted by fae of Avalon tained by the evil into an ichor black and crimson red of blood drawing circles.
His dearest Saber, tainted by regrets and anguish the glorious image of the King of Knights, the Once and Future King was stained with blood and darkness birthing the image of the Tyrant King.
With the option of promised victory out of option. The Faker digged further into the steel factory within his mind.
And deep within the hill of swords, he found one. It was the one he saw from the memories of the humanity's guardian, it was also the one he saw in his beloved Servant's dreams.
Of a tower of light sealed in a lance, a tower that anchors the world, the sacred lance that pierces the Tyrant king, Vortigen.
The image formed within his mind as a torrent of blue motes materialised upon his palms. An outline of handle materialises as he grasp it tightly. And the body itself started to form, a gleaming divine light was emitted, the curses began to bubble and scald like hot water, the fire began to flicker and quiver.
"Rarrghh!." With a mighty swing in an arc, the silhouette of the lance vanished alongside the mud and fire drowning the Faker.
Ivory form deserving glory equal to the sword of promised victory gleamed admist the dark world. The tip of the humongous lance that is too divine to be called an ordinary lance gleamed a dangerous glint. The Divine Construct created by inhumane hands was now created by human by the cost of the death.
This was no fake, this was a something equalling original, a Divine Construct created at the pinnacle of it's form by the price of it's user's life.
A certain ancestor of this Faker would be proud indeed.
"𝕾𝖊𝖆𝖑 𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓, 𝕯𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙." The voice of the Faker was no longer something belonged to human.
It was uncomprehendable by mortals, reeking of divinity and of a ethereal nature, as if ephemeral god.
It was the result of using the Tower of the End, the tower that fasten the real of world to the illusion. The tower that ties the world to the Reverse Side of the World.
The lance can only be used by inhumane or a being that transcends mortal ilk. Arturia was able to use it because of her self that composed as the fact that "King isn't human.". Even then Arturia had only used the sacred lance few times favouring the holy sword over the holy lance.
And Shirou had ended up accepting the condition of Lance thus ascending past the limitations of one's humanity into something truly transcendent because he knew he was about to die, he was bothered less over his humanity and more of the fate of world.
It won't be wrong, if someone compared Shirou to a Divine Spirit or something akin to it.
Gold eyes had gained slight clearer shade akin to a golden polished glass, as if they were soulless. The body fluctuated with an alien energy, only suppressed by Avalon who recognised the familiar aura of the Lance and vice versa, which was the reason the lance recognised this user as it's new owner..
And across to the pointed tip of the lance the sphere of malice started to break, a 'head' peeked out from it.
It was grotesque, it was malice, it was greed, it was lust, it was envy, it was sloth, it was wrath, it was pride, it was evil.
"G̙̜͔̖̱̣̘̰̿̓̒̀g̽͏̝̘̝ģ̺̯̜̤̗̞͔ͣ̓͊ͯg̲͇̥̻͎͇̓͘ȓ̨̠̰̝̦ͥ̓̚r̶̲͕͇̭̲ͣͬͅr̽ͬͦ͏͕̠͙̺̗̖͖r̞̤͗́r̵̼̙͒͆ͧ̓ͅr̠̯ͦ̋͟a̮̗̬̮̖͚͗ͧ̃̋͢a̴̳͓͍̥̜̔͆ͣa̵͙͈̥̝͉̟̩̋̀a͉̰̠̫̩ͨ͌͌͞h͍̺̅h̋̇ͥ̚͏̭͎̞͍̪̫ḧ̶͖͙̗̙̥́h̺̲ͪ̎ͨ͞!̵͉̪͍̞̬͈̈́͐!̻̲̪̖͉̤̟͖̀͜!̡͍͔͍̬͈̓ͫ̿.̙̬͓̮͇͍̳̎͘ "
It was All World's Evil, in its truth.
Inhumane gold eyes stared impassively down at the eldritch abomination figure as it's scream tore open the reality and shattered the space and time. The world fluctuated around it..
Then.
"𝕭𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖊" "Approved."
The enemy must be more powerful than oneself.
"𝕻𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖉𝖊𝖘" "Approved."
The battle must be one-on-one.
"𝕷𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖙" "Approved."
The battle must not be against an elemental.
"𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖉" "Approved."
The battle must be against evil.
"𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖍" "Approved."
The battle must not be inhumane.
"𝕲𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖍𝖆𝖉" "Approved."
The battle must not involve personal gains.
"𝕲𝖆𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖘" "Approved."
The battle must not be against humanity.
"𝕬𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖆𝖎𝖓" "Approved."
The battle must be for truth.
"...𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖍𝖚𝖗." "Approved..."
The battle is to the save the world.
"𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖓𝖉...𝕽𝖍𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖔𝖒𝖓𝖞𝖎𝖆𝖉!!!!."
"G̙̜͔̖̱̣̘̰̿̓̒̀g̽͏̝̘̝ģ̺̯̜̤̗̞͔ͣ̓͊ͯg̲͇̥̻͎͇̓͘ȓ̨̠̰̝̦ͥ̓̚r̶̲͕͇̭̲ͣͬͅr̽ͬͦ͏͕̠͙̺̗̖͖r̞̤͗́r̵̼̙͒͆ͧ̓ͅr̠̯ͦ̋͟a̮̗̬̮̖͚͗ͧ̃̋͢a̴̳͓͍̥̜̔͆ͣa̵͙͈̥̝͉̟̩̋̀a͉̰̠̫̩ͨ͌͌͞h͍̺͔̅h̋̇ͥ̚͏̭͎̞͍̪̫ḧ̶͖͙̗̙̥́h̺̲ͪ̎ͨ͞!̵͉̪͍̞̬͈̈́͐!̻̲̪̖͉̤̟͖̀͜!̡͍͔͍̬͈̓ͫ̿.̙̬͓̮͇͍̳̎͘ " The Beast screamed.
And then the the world was dyed in golden light of the end.
It gazed.
It had remained as remnant of a soul, It was prime of its species, one that was so powerful that it had dug the earth to drill a passage to the the Reverse Side of the World when it's stay on the earth it had born was threatening it's existence for remaining stubbornly upon the age where phantasm had ceased to exist.
When it dugged through the earth, it's flesh was weak as it gave away, yet the spirit was strong. The spirit drilled past all the restrictions and reached the Reverse of the world with sheer grit.
And now it rests peacefully, waiting for its existence to cease its draw and return to the empty void upon the land of inner planet.
Until it's gaze caught the sight of the pillar of light that tore through the space and time and performing what appeared to be a form of Second Magic, Kaleidoscope.
It identified the 'pillar of light' as the Tower of the End, Rhongomnyiad.
However, It would've ignored it if not for what the Lance carried.
The Lance carried a 'soul' heralding it as if a mother dragon to a hatchling. The soul was unique, an world of steel writhing and twisting, an utopia of fae guarding the soul. A taint of all world's evil clinging to it's remnant.
The soul was shattered and twisted. However, trying to reform itself like molten metal but miserably failing like a clay crumbling.
It reacted. A pulse of energy sent towards the soul. It saw how fragile it was yet it was strong. The flesh had proven to be weak while the spirit had been strong.
It 'laughed' ?...or atleast somewhat comparable to a 'laugh'.
It spread its influence, fluctuating the space and time, following the pillar of light that burned the axis of time. It had clamped down its 'spirit' onto the soul.
The Utopia and the land of steel tried to dissuade it, the Tower was no different. Yet, they ceased the efforts when it started to bind the soul back in place by enclosing the space by it's very existence, its spirit thus making what appeared to be 'giving its life to save another.'
However, while giving body of it's own it refrained from changing the soul or it's consciousness.
Despite being the soul of a human, toxin on mother earth, it's enemy by default it knows the truth of one's self is the most important.
The ability to make choice.
To be evil or good.
To destroy or preserve.
And Albion, the Calamity Dragon, The Dragon of Britain ended with a fanged smile of contentment.
A star travelled through the night sky of the medieval British Isles.
It passed through the skies of northern part of Britain, the kingdom of King Lot. The Orkney.
It passed through, Camelot of Uther..
It passed through the reigns of Tyrant King Vortigen.
Then, finally it hovered over the outer edges of Cornwall, a town under the rule of a noble family. It turned into a tiny speck of blue and gold orb of light..
And in the castle of the noble family, the light flickers over the top of the castle tower. A harsh storm blew, raining and thundering heavily.
"AAAAHHHHH!!!" The scream sounded was bloody and ear piercing. Pain was mixed with the scream, it tore the hearts of those heard. It was the sound of birth.
"T..h...t'..a...fa..y.."
"Si..h..e...b..r..t..is...fa..di...g"
"Th...ch...ld..he...dea..."
"NO!!!...Auro...don't...lea...e...!...n..yo..t...!.."
"*gasp* I...t'..a...fa..r.."
"O'..Hu..m..n...W...il...gi...th...c..ld..li..fe..i..n..exe..nge..le..e...t...Dr..n..o...Br...t..an.."
"Y...s!!...Pl...se!!"
"Nghaaa~, Nghwaa!~."
Another scream filled the air. Unlike the previous one this was filled of the life, the light of fragile human life born was echoing through the castle walls.
All other voices were blurry and distorted and all of them.
However, he heard one thing clear as day.
"My dear child...Avlon Aethelered."
Despite the fact that he has yet to see the light of the world or even regained the the memories and consciousness, Shirou knew..
I just entered massive pit of ridiculousness didn't I ?..
Edit: The entire chapter was rewritten and completely changed the script because the other one got trashed mainly because last one was basically getting dead ends at probably two chapters..The other two is in rewrite.
• Also, I don't know if the new name for Shirou is cringey. I just changed "Avalon" into another name and added a last name. In my defence, I am bad at naming and for the record you can't expect an British, especially at abou 500 A.D to be "Emiya Shirou" or even "Shirou". Seriously, I'm not Paracious ( sorry, not sorry bro, this is truth)