Twin cherry wood doors fly off their hinges as a pale body hurtles through them at a bombastic speed.

The body hits glass but doesn't shatter it, even with the combination of velocity and his own physiology.

He's dead before contact is ever made, the body crumples to the ground–a large hole having been pierced through his chalky chest. This also ruined his once pristine black suit and immortalized his last moment of shock before having died at the ripe old age of fifty-eight.

His name was Lonnie Thompson Lincoln aka Tombstone–Notorious in the underworld for being a man you would never want to cross in any sort of way (and that was before he became a subordinate to the Kingpin). With skin that allowed him to take a shotgun blast point blank to the face and strength that made him able to crush a man's skull with a single hand as if it were walnut.

Tombstone had the cutthroat predation of a wolf that allowed him to rise up from the lowest dregs of a small-time gangland member to an enforcer of the Maggia Crime Family and finally to a seat at the table of New York City's current mayor.

Tombstone was not a man to be trifled with unless you were an idiot or had a death wish. Two traits that could be placed on the Big Apple's friendly neighborhood wallcrawler, who had been a frequent sparring partner bleach-white man. If one were to ask his thoughts on the webhead, Lincoln would laugh and say 'The bug is good guy, funny too–doesn't mean I won't kick his fuckin' ass'

The man who killed Tombstone, who would cause his daughter, the current Beetle, to wake up from her coma weeks later after having put her in it after trying to apprehend him–was someone who could be called a fool, and has done some crossed deeds or blessed deeds depending on who you asked.

Even the last few bastions of platonism he had in this world surmised he did more of the latter. Through the blood on his hands there was a reluctant yearning beneath a cold exterior that held a wish that seemed of the more hopeful sort.

Though that still thought close, they still believed he could be saved, even after the events that set him on this path. It was an Age Of Wonders after all–

Stepping through the threshold into a well-furnished and refined office with expensive art pieces of painting and statues, he kept his eyes steady on his target.

Clasping his bow, garbed in black body armor that clung tight to his body, a rather specific red long coat, and a tanned complexion as if he repeatedly let himself be burned by the sun. With slicked back hair that was almost completely white with the exception of a red locke of it on the right of his skull.

Shirou Emiya's gray eyes zero in on his person of interest, his reason for coming to NYC, to what the Association and Church would call the singularity point for Age of False-Gods.

That being Wilson Fisk, New York's newly elected bald and black business-suit attired mayor. And for those who knew within the darker sanctums of polite society, The Kingpin. The big man (both metaphorically and literally) at the top of the Big Apple's crime circuit, a man who had his hands in a lot of pockets, with dirt on anyone who could benefit from him or he could benefit/ruin.

With devilish sneer Fisk spoke "Ah yes, the no-name who tried to kill me" his voice was deep, commanding like a bulldog. He sat at his desk within a glass box that separates him from Shirou. And even while sitting, the mage could tell Fisk was a wall of man almost rivaling Heracles in sheer height and mass. "Suppose you're here to finish what you failed to do the first time around?"

Shirou says nothing, approaching the box to get a look at where Tombstone had hit it. He looks the Kingpin dead in the eye "Yeah" he responds nonchalantly as he scratches his chin.

"Better than you have tried" he shakes his head with a scoff "Shirou Emiya"

This causes the bowman to raise his brow, though his expression remains impartial.

"That's right, I know who you are. Had some digging done, who would have thought the son of the Fujimura Group's old friend, the so-called Magus Killer would come for my head." He crosses his arms confidently "Does Raiga finally want me dead? The Hand decide to get some outside help for a change? Leland get greedy again? Perhaps, Ryougi–I have heard rumblings that she wants to expand her reach. Or did I somehow piss off those wizards in England? Tell me, Mr. Emiya–I'm all ears until my city's finest come for you." He confidently clasps his hands in a patient manner.

"..." Shirou takes a few steps away from the box–he could tell it was something aken to bulletproof, especially after sending Tombstone rocketing into it. It wouldn't break easy. "I'm here to kill you for what you've done and what you will do if I don't." with a steeled eyes, he glares into Fisk's own glutinous blue irises No one's paid me to do this–I am here in the name of justice"

The Kingpin snorts "So you're a hero, HA!" He points to the red clad archer "let me tell you a secret, Mr. Emiya–men like me are the backbone of civilization. Always in the background while samaritans like Carol Danvers or Steve Rogers go about with their bombastic dramas that keep the masses entertained." He points to himself with a steady index "Men like me, like Lonnie Lincoln-we get our hands dirty so the average joe don't have to worry about how they're going to put food on the table, or how they're going to pay their mortgage so they stay off the cold-streets they walk on to get from A to B every day." He clenches one hand into fist and lets it rest in the other "We give the people a purpose, a sense of security, a reasonable goal to work towards while those heroes bring tragedy to their doorstep like its clockwork. And when my people are grieving from the latest incident brought about by this superheroes–" He relaxes, spreading his arms with open palms "I keep the buses running on time, the lights on and the news continuous so they know where they sit and whose fault it is for their misfortune. With this, they can begin to return to normalcy"

"And I'm sure the people you killed or had killed were always necessary for this normalcy?" the former red-head asks with critical brow. "Not to mention the children used and abused by your associates' businesses–" He takes a moment, a brief image of what that priest hid below his floorboards flashing before his eyes "...And how could I forget about the OD'd bodies that pile in the morgue?"

"Can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs." he laughs before seemingly thinking of a new topic of conversation "Are you familiar with the tales of King Arthur and his knights of the round?"

Shirou says nothing, only giving him a look that promises death to come.

"When I was a boy, my mother, a good woman, though my father thought differently–she would sometimes read to me stories of the good king. Praying that I'd take inspiration from it and be a better man than my bastard of a father–well, I did." He let's a breath and looks wistfully on his childhood gone past before leaning forward with an intense focus like that of a wolf about to pounce on a lost rabbit "One line in particular, a mantra if you will, always stuck out to me. Though I didn't understand its full meaning until my first kill at age twelve." a disquieting satisfaction spread across his features, folding his facial muscles into a morose grin "Without sacrifice there can be no victory–and that's what men like I do. We make the tough calls, my city is proof of that. From the depression onwards, hell, from the revolution." He slams his fists on his desk "My city is the definition of manifest destiny and e pluribus unum. Heroes, they give the people a false hope to aspire to. Something bigger and more overwhelming than they can handle. When it's better to follow their basic instincts and allow me to give them a cookie, a pat on the back and say they did a good job. What more proof do they need, when their marvels made Stamford a crater and brought their squabbles to the common man's businesses and homes–destroying countless livelihoods because they couldn't agree on what those in Washington said was the law!"

"It was a supervillain that caused that explosion, not a hero, Fisk" Shirou says sternly but floundered at a response to conflict that came in the hero community afterwards. "And this is not about that. This is about you taking advantage of the suffering everyone went through. And no amount of hired guns or roadblocks will stop me from doing what must be done for you to bite the dust"

"Quite, you killed most of my Thunderbolts and hospitalized two of them. Not to mention my employees and associates whose lives you retired early when getting to my office. At least Frank Castle understands what I bring to the city and how bad of an idea it is to mess with the status quo." Fisk shrugs his shoulders "The devil you know and all that, but I suppose your thought process makes sense if you're a certain type of person. One, who all truly despise."

Shirou gifts Fisk with an unimpressed smirk "And what type of person would that be?"

"A chump." he responds with a smug grimness "One who seeks justice and goes good because it is good. Someone that is walked upon day in and day out because they have to bear the proverbial cross that comes with such ideals." He shakes his head "Kiritsugu Emiya's son seeks justice–now where did you learn that? I would have actually been truly alarmed with your reputation like my fellows were with your father's. But now that I know what drives you, I am rather disappointed."

"That makes two of us–to see people call you a hero. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

"Well, you'll taste a lot worse when you find yourself locked up. Then I'll make sure you're put out of your misery–though it is aggravating I can't request Mr. Poindexter's set of skills when I do, thanks to your childish tantrum at my success–"

"That wasn't me." He admitted the sadistic assassin known as Bullseye had attempted to kill the red bowman after his escape from the cops/fight with the Thunderbolts. The former master of Artoria Pendragon had been drifting in and out of unconsciousness and was about to have gotten the drop on himself before divine intervention of the executionary kind had BAMF'd out of thin air.

"Whatever the case. I give you two options–fail at killing me again and be taken away to be killed later or just walk away and I forgive your reckless waste of my time and resources"

The room is silent–

As Shirou Emiya dead eyes Wilson Fisk–

"Hmm,"

For several beats-

for several moments–

"...nah–" Quicker than any regular human eye could track or react to. He aimed, pulled his bow string and let loose an arrow at the glass barrier. It shattered.

"WHAT?!" Fisk rises from his seat, quite obviously alarmed at this turn of events.

Shirou smiled. "Your lackey hit it just hard enough for a hairline crack to appear."

"YOU FUCKER?! You don't know what you're doing–you kill me and this entire city falls to cha–"

Several arrows hit him. Mana flows, Shirou circuits burn with overuse, so to grant each strike extra oomph. This oomph sent the kingpin of crime flying back, slamming into the office window

The impact of the shot and its target, made the glass (unknown to Shirou–made from the same glass as the previous barrier), under a keen eye, move as if it were liquid at first up to the point where the cracks violently formed.

The window–still attempting to cling to its original uniformity–was stained with the crimson blood of Wilson Fisk.

"*hegh*...*HEGH*..." haggard breaths escaped the goliath of a man's maw. His once pristine suit was drenched in his own blood and viscera. His left arm gone, his right abdomen blown away. He didn't have any legs anymore. He should have been dead.

This made Shirou raise a slight brow. Perhaps he misjudged how much mana he needed originally. Doesn't seem like that matters in any case…

He glared at the archer with a hate that would put any sane man into a fit of fear.

Problem was, Shirou had seen worse.

'S-senpai…?'

A dark corner of a place that he had called home once.

The cavern's rock had no light except for the dark red heart beat of the Greater Grail.

Her once violet hair–now closer to a haunting white. Gowned in a dress of broad black and narrow red. Her skin was poisoned with dire veins of red.

The girl he had held close to himself in what could have been mistaken as a hug–

A replica of a crystalline blade had gone horizontal through her gut, to her heart, with its tip jutting from where her upper thoracic vertebrae would be.

It was this point, near the end of where his path had led him–that he felt numb.

The blade broke, the girl was bleeding out in his arms.

Even at death's door, she held him tightly as if he was still her lover. The one who persists endlessly no matter how dire the hand of fate was. The same boy who's dedication and kindness gave her some solace in a life that had granted no reprieve from the endless tortures of her grandfather, her brother, and her sister.

She whispered in his ear, desperate cries, questions, damnation as the soul of silent suffering and shadow of this world's evil that dwelled within her faded.

A husk went limp against his body, a body that was breaking down moment to moment as he was swallowed by his own origin.

Blades growing upon his mortal shell, their tips ripping his skin letting blood flow.

It hurt,

it hurt a lot…

His golden-brown eyes looked forward, as the greater grail beckoned him.

The leviathan of black, red veins in the bastardized shape of a chalice beckoned him to face its wrath.

A voice called behind him, urging him on, through tears as its owner mourned the death of her sister.

At the foot of the greater grail stood a priest without a heart.

"..."

A cold smile beckoned the redhead.

That very moment before a fatal finale would begin,

Shirou Emiya felt the weight of his father's gun on his hip—

And he accepted hell's invitation.

"...kill you…" Fisk's body shook violently as he reached in vain with his only arm. "...I'll. Fucking. Kill–" His head was gone, another syllable could leave his tongue fast enough.

It fell into the growing puddle of blood, it blinked for a moment. No anger, just fear as the last remnant of Wilson Fisk's consciousness realized, The Kingpin Of Crime, had been beaten.

The blade that had done the kingpin in, broke down as Shirou let it go.

"*sigh*..." he rubbed the back of his neck as the tension lessened. Need to move fast, cops will be here fast if Fisk wasn't bluffing…no, he didn't seem the type…

He began moving towards the doorway, his plan to escape was to go to the roof–there he'd reinforce his legs and begin traversing the rooftops. Sticking to shadows and heading to the harbor.

I'll be lucky if that Barret guy actually went through with our deal…his eyes sharpen as he heard it.

Up until this point, with the exception of Fisk before his execution, the area had been quiet but now–Shirou heard movement, quick movement. Not on the floors though. Crap!

Without hesitation he let loose a flurry of arrows towards the doorway. Each shot had a purpose, flying to various positions where his attacker could leap to. He let loose two rounds this maneuver–

*CRASH*

A body hit the floor within the darkness of the outer area of the office. I wish I didn't have to do that–but he wouldn't have given me the option either way

He waited for a second and listened for a struggle of some kind. Nothing. Not even a death rattle. In any case, He wasn't going to take the chance–

Shirou one-eightied to the window and fired at the cracks. The window shattered, with that he deftly barreled himself towards the opening.

*Thwip*

Only to be violently pulled from his free fall, back towards the office and then instantaneously drop kicked to the floor.

It didn't take second for his attacker to begin webbing him to the floor. No quarter was given with no wiggle room that he could immediately identify.

Shirou was face down on the ground, arms behind his back and limbs restrained. He wasn't surprised in the least, just annoyed that his exit strategy had been cut short.

"You couldn't give me a few minutes, could you?" he snarked-only for his mouth to be webbed.

"..." Shirou heard his attacker walk away, he knew where he was going. "...God…" a hollow breath escaped his masked face. The webslinger was quick to return, picking the archer up by the back of his collar.

The white lenses met Shirou's golden-brown eyes. And even with the red web-patterned mask on–the former master of Artoria Pendragon could feel the rage being sent his way by the arachnid themed and empowered hero known as Spider-Man.

Shirou would have stood ten centimeters taller than the wallcrawler if he allowed him to get a proper footing. "...I don't know where to even start with you!" his voice was choking acid. "I really don't–I've seen crazy, committed, intense, and just plain careless…" The archer felt the webhead's grip tighten. "Did you even put any thought into what you just did!?"

The archer didn't bother with an answer. He granted the wallcrawler a cold sardonicism.

"Of course, you didn't–you psychos never do!" He groans, his knuckles popping out seeming frustration while staring to the heavens.

"How many do you think?"

Shirou raised an eyebrow.

"How many wives, how many husbands, how many sons, daughters, girlfriends, boyfriends, brothers and sisters are going to wake up in the morning to find the people they knew, loved and cared about, dead? Huh?"

That didn't matter, what mattered was the better tomorrow that would come with Fisk dead, that was the sentiment the former master of saber held.

"You know, even as much of a monster as Wilson Fisk was–he had a wife and child he cared about. I met them a few times, they are good people. And that is despite the crap Willy put his hands in! Tell me–" Spider-Man tears the webbing off Emiya's mouth. "-what are you going to say to the survivors? What are you going to tell that woman, Lonnie's daughter, who you crippled–that you killed her father!?"

"That this is what justice looks like…"

"This, THIS IS JUSTICE?! Give me a break–this isn't just, you slaughtered these people like FRANK-FUCKING-CASTLE!" He yelled close to Shirou's face, his wrathful and hot breath hitting him

"Heh…"

"This is funny to you?!"

"...I did what the Punisher wouldn't, I did what Daredevil or you couldn't do—I took down New York's Kingpin of Crime. I honestly, call this a succ–"

*PUNCH*

A bruise quickly forms across the orphan of the Great Fire of Fuyuki's face.

"People are dead! Not all of them were dirty like Fisk. Some were just security guards probably living day by day supporting themselves and their family"

"They got in the way, and they definitely knew they what they signed up for–Spidey"

"God, you're callous! Do you think you're the hero here!?"

The Archer is silent.

Spider-Man shakes him as if he were a toy that's voice box wasn't working– "Say something, damn it!"

Shirou grits his teeth "Do you think you are? How many years did you spend playing cat and mouse with him? As literal kids were abused in every. Single. Way. imaginable." The rage boiled up and he snarled "As people died on the streets, strung out on the drugs he supplied?" Blood and saliva dripped from his mouth "How many tombstones were made for those innocents who still had their entire lives in front of them as they were taken out of the picture because he saw them as an obstacle?" His blood boiled–what right did the wallcrawler have to grandstand? "You do good work, Spider-Man, I won't deny that–but sometimes you have to get your hands dirty so that everyone doesn't die because you're so stubborn that you can't let go of some old-fashioned notion of heroism!" For a moment, everything Rin's servant, Archer, himself–it clicked. And at that moment, his pupils shrank, and he felt cold.

The wallcrawler is silent for a moment, he takes breath "Oh yeah–let me let you in on something. I have a friend in the NYPD, her name is Captain. Yuri. Watanabe. Her and I had been working for months while Fisk was doing his campaign after the Civil War ended. We had him, we had dirt that would put him away for good.

"From victims willing to step forward, printed documents of illicit and illegal deals, and even video proof of him killing a man that he thought he had buried–" There was a aggravated passion as the webslinger listed these off with a twinge of sorrow of what must have felt like work for nothing.

"That entire self-congratulatory victory lap on town hall today was him trying to save face. He was desperate, trying to give off the feeling that he was a man of the people and cover all his bases before the evidence was leaked out by Ned Leeds and Ben Urich at the Daily Bugle." He inhales deeply and groans from deep with his throat. "We would have had him, and no one would have died!"

"It doesn't matter…what's done is done" The archer responds despondently. He hits the floor from the webslinger letting him drop.

"I guess it is. But I'll be damned if you even think you're going to get out of this with a slap on the wrist! I hope you enjoy The Vault, pal" Spider-Man turns away from the faker to overlook the corpse of Wilson Fisk and Lonnie Lincoln once more. His body visibly shivers. "..."

Where does he get off?! Perhaps it was overconfidence, malice or something in between that kept him from going down swinging. "TRACE ON!" Shirou swiftly traced daggers in his hands. Cut himself free in a rapid motion like he was a man possessed–his circuits burning and firing on all cylinders, reinforcing his body.

He launched himself at Spider-Man, bearing dual swords. Shirou Emiya was ready for payba–

A sidestep, a crouch and upwards punch to the throat makes the archer stop. His world goes blurry, but he still tries to slash at the messy mass of red and blue.

This is all for nought as three more strikes to stomach, chest and cranium make the nameless man's world go black. It seemed the webhead had decided to punch harder than he was expecting.

It was hot, unbearably so and Shirou Emiya didn't know how long he had been out–

But he had found himself in the exact same situation he had woken up to that morning in New York. That being, cuffed and restrained, within a reinforced prisoner transport truck after going against Spider-Man. It was two for two but who was counting?

The former master of Artoria Pendragon rested his back against the wall of the truck, he didn't bother to struggle. He noticed the enchantments on his restraints the moment he awoke, apparently, they had a mage on staff. Or maybe Stephen Strange did this.

No, he was anti-registration Shirou recalled. "Crap…" He knew where he was going, The Vault, where they put all of the empowered villains nowadays after the breakout at the Raft. And then attempt to be killed by either the church or association for getting caught and possibly exposing magecraft. Does that even matter at this point? Hell, the Scarlet Witch was an Avenger for years before she went crazy?

But that was Chaotic Hex aka Sixth Magic. True magic and the abilities of the Sorcerer Supreme would always be a different beast entirely when compared to what the average magus had in their arsenal.

"Finally awake, huh?" One of the guards asked him through the small window into the container of the truck. "Hope you got enough beauty sleep, 'cause that's the last time you be able to get it–The Vault is going to ruin yer fuckin' shit! HEHAHAHA!" He said with a wild Gene Simmons-esque display of his tongue.

"Do you have to do that to every fucking supervillain we transport?" the driver asked, clearly annoyed.

"Dude! This is theatrics one-O-one!" the guard argued. "I'm telling them they just got themselves screwed!"

"Yeah…and when they escape, they're coming after you and killing your dumb ass for petty revenge!"

"No, they won't! And what do you mean escape? No one's gotten out of the Vault!"

"Yet!"

"Stop being such a worrywart! Big breakouts only happen in movies!"

"We had one a few years ago, you know–THE RAFT!"

"Blah blah blah! This is why we don't invite you to the Saturday Night barbecues at John Jameson's–you are always so pessimistic!"

"You wanna talk pessim–"

It all became dull noise as Shirou phased their voices out of his headspace. What the hell am I going to do? He pondered. Considering where he was going was custom made for the worse of worse for the Cape and Costume crowd–it meant it would have failsafes for any number powerset. Maybe even magecraft judging by the restraints.

He would need to play it smart with how he was going to break out and keep his head low if any assassins were sent for his head. If he was lucky, the Church would send Ciel–but he really doubted that likelihood.

Shirou groaned but didn't let the cards he had been dealt get him down, at the end of the day–he had accomplished what he had set out to do. And surely something good would come from it despite what naysayers might think. I'm sure Spidey will see what I mean he smirked, but it was hollow to say the least. Why couldn't he see it my way?

As the stinging slivers of doubt slowly began pressing into his soul–the truck suddenly stopped.

He winced at the sudden jolt.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE THESE BITCHES?!"

"Keep it cool man!" the driver said. "I got this," he clicked something, and his voice emanated from a speaker. "You are disrupting federal business–please remove yourselves from our route or we will have to use lethal force!" He clicks the device off "...I really do not wanna have to fire this thing!"

"You signed up for this, you knew this type of shit could happ…happ…why…am I…sleepy…." the guard begins to snore along with the driver though the red clad bowman was unaffected.

Basic sleeping spell, I felt mana in the air before it even hit them…question is, who's the caster?

What seemed like hours passed between seconds as Shirou braced himself. He heard a brief argument and then silence.

Without warning, the doors of the transport were torn off their sockets and tossed to the side.

Sunlight hit him, blinded him and then his eyes adjusted.

At the edge of the box looking up at him were the annoyed aqua and amused golden-brown eyes of Rin Tohsaka and Luviagelita Edelfelt aka Kischur's Nightmare (a title given to them by a certain vampire).

Both were garbed into what could be described as adventurer gear, tank tops, combat boots and shorts. Red for Rin, Blue for Luvia. Their attire wasn't too dissimilar to what they wore when they sparred.

"...I did not expect you two…" He paused for a moment, with a sigh he asked "...don't tell you two were sent to kill me?"

The sylphlike but fierce raven-haired heiress to the Tohsaka family scoffed "You're not that lucky" She lifts herself into the box.

"Don't you worry your little head, Sherou~~~" The buxom and voluminous blonde head of Edelfelt family reassured playfully "we were able to intercede any bad news bad news to the association"

Rin began the process of freeing the archer "You're lucky Zelretch finds you interesting…" she sighs "...and that choir girl you hang out keeps an ear out for you."

Luvia sat next to Shirou and rubbed shoulders with him playfully "Indeed, if it weren't for her being told about you being taken in from the Ghost Rider's current caretakers–your cute little face would have been dead meat~~"

So, Caren and that blue elf saved me twice, cool… he thought dryly "OW!" He looked at Rin, who was shooting him daggers as the restraints sparked.

"Sorry." she apologized sternly with a frown.

"Ohohoho~~" which made Luvia laugh, "I think she's threatened by how much of ladykiller you are–I just think it's another one of your charms."

"Really…" he replied with slight smile.

A couple more minutes passed, the restraints clicked and fell off him.

He rubbed his wrists, "Thanks, Tohsaka"

She puts her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes "Don't thank me–thank the shoddy magus who did this spell. I could do better than this at the age ten!" she said proudly "Course being the one under it, I see why you couldn't just bust out of here immediately" She motioned with her head to get out, then she paused.

"Luvia, you get out first!"

"Ooh, I appreciate you allowing your better to be the first to exit–but I would feel just excellent if I helped Shirou out." She wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her assets against his arms "He's had a long day after all, he's probably tired, beat (just look at that bruise on his face) and needs someone to lean on~~"

"He brought it on himself. What idiot thinks it's a good idea to fight Spider-Man head on?! Not even I would do that without plenty of prep time" She huffed "Now get out, you hyena!"

"No, you Red Devil"

Rin clenched her fists.

Luvia chuckled and pushed the faux skinship up a few notches.

And Shirou knew where this was going, "I can get myself up–thank you, Luvia"

The Edelfelt heiress pouted but relented all the same.

This was sufficient success for the Tohsaka heiress.

The son of Kiritsugu Emiya exited the truck with the two heiresses in tow. He found himself in the dusty and desert plains of a long stretch of highway in God knows where.

The sun was high with only the slimmest feeling of wind going across his cheek. It was still unbearably hot.

He looked to the horizon, it was a new day, and another chance to do some good in this world.

Do you think you're the hero here!?

He blinked, an irate grimace washing over his tanned features.

"Before you go running off, I strongly suggest you come with us so you can get a shower and a change of clothes" Rin ordered with an exasperated tone.

"Not too mention, a delightful meal with a beauty like me~~" Luvia added with a refined flair,

"That just sounds like torture" the Red Devil deadpanned.

"If it's with you two, it'll be nice–but I hope you don't mind if I insist on doing the cooking?"

"You're kidding, right?" Rin smirked "Do you think I'm stupid."

"I really wished you'd have been my butler, Sherou" she swooned.

"Nah…I'm good where I am." he says with a forced smile, his hair was now completely white-

His circuits had finally burned the red away. We're both going for the same goal at the end of the day…and misunderstandings happen…

A small part of him, one that grew slowly every day,

A small part of him, knew how hollow this ideal was,

And how hypocritical heroes all were,

Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty–

Change is constant.

So that everyone doesn't die because you're so stubborn–

And,

That you can't let go of some old-fashioned notion of heroism!

Everything is eventual.

"Yeah, I'm good..."

Author's Note:

Decided to do a detour with this chapter to expand upon a few things. Hope ya'll enjoyed. If not-I hope I am able to write something you will enjoy later on.

I apologize for not updating for awhile, real life, jobs, family and all that. But I'm back and the next chapter will continue the main story.

And I give much appreciation to Woohoopizzaman78, Evowizard25 and Unsettling-A.I.R. helping me when I was stuck with this chapter/side story. Once again, thank you guys!

Criticism whether positive or negative is always appreciated and I do hope to see you all next time-so I wish you a good morning/afternoon/night

PEACE!