Author's Note:

I don't like writing ANs, so i'll make this brief.This was probably my first actual action scene. It's not really my style. I think its pretty clear what I took inspiration from with it; despite everything else, I'd love feedback about that specifically.Dumbass Reviewer and his mortal enemy King Allen: You hath been noticed. And I'd like to thank Bloody Hero for really helping out, and everyone who reviewed for helping me figure things out and grounding me a little.I've a lot planned still. There are many things within the DxD verse that would benefit from being explored by a character such as Shirou. Though Issei is a really fun character, his perspective sometimes warps things in ways that detracts from their "realism", for the lack of a better word.I hope you all choose to stay with us for the duration of this story. If nothing else, I can promise a surprising ride.

The night smelled of sulfur, bile and blood.

As soon as the chapel's door was opened, that thought assaulted Shirou with the strength of a hurricane. It was a faint smell, merely an afterthought after the biting of the winter's cold wind, but he noticed it immediately.

Just from looking around, he could say everything seemed normal. The flashlight in his hand was the only actual source of light he could count on, for the lampposts around the street were flickering unevenly at best and unresponsive at worst. It'd been so for years now, but the knowledge did nothing to put him at ease.

He turned the flashlight to the path he was to follow. A few feet ahead, the dirty concrete covered in snow greeted his eyes, untouched by anything. The steps that he'd taken to get to the chapel had long since been covered by more snow, after all.

Shirou swallowed his discomfort, shaking his head as he started walking. The repetitive melody of snow being crushed by his shoes was the only noise he could hear for miles, complete silence resurfacing after each step was taken. The stars above gazed indifferently upon him, sprinkles of light littering an expansion of darkness above.

Logically speaking, other than the faint but putrid scent he'd gotten to smell for just a second, everything was just as he'd seen before. Maybe the odd smell had just been in his head, a remnant of whatever fungus might grown on an abandoned chapel - in fact, he could no longer smell anything of the sort.

— that being said. He couldn't fight the strange feeling of wrongness that permeated the air like fog. It was hard to put it into words, but if he had to describe it, he'd say… he felt unsafe.

Yes, that was a good way to put it. Unsafe; as if the rushing of blood and adrenaline through his veins denounced an imminent evil. The thought made him draw a shaky breath, and he looked around once more.

He approached the thicker part of the street, an area where most of the falling snow was on rooftops or ceilings. As his shoes finally clicked against concrete, Shirou paused and turned his flashlight around. Had he heard something?

Nothing, of course; nothing but locked houses and shops collecting dust. It'd been all in his head; he'd always been somewhat paranoid. With that thought, he continued on his way.

It usually took around 15 minutes to walk the distance between the orphanage and the chapel, but the path there itself wasn't exactly safe at this time of the day. The streets were completely empty save for him, and not a single car could be seen or heard. Because of the faulty lampposts around this area, this was a perfect spot for a robber to make a mark.

Not that Shirou had anything that a robber could steal, being perfectly honest. He wasn't sure if that made him safer or put him in danger because he'd risk pissing said potential robber off by merit of being poor. Neither option was desirable, being frank.

...There it was again. That odd smell. It was stronger this time, more intense. He couldn't tell where it was coming from, but there was no denying it's presence this time.

His heart hammered against his chest loudly, and he could almost hear the rush of his blood through his veins as a shiver travelled through his spine. Something was wrong. Something was very, very, very wrong -

His hand tightened around the flashlight's metallic grip. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead. He'd be fine; he just had to get home before anything bad happened. Sure, his way there might lead him through some unfortunate places, but what else could be done?

— The sound of wind being parted by a moving object reached his ears; a woosh. Faint, but undeniable; this time, he was sure.He turned his flashlight to the rooftop of a two-store house to his right, as if he'd somehow find a ninja standing on its rooftop or something ludicrous like that. Of course, reality didn't work like that, his magic notwithstanding.

However. There was someone there.

A humanoid figure previously enveloped by darkness was suddenly bathed in the flashlight's luminosity. A black-haired man, not a day older than 20, wearing a torn shirt with dark red stains and some ragged pants. He was standing tall, crouched as if a predator sneaking up on prey, and his eyes were fixed on Shirou's own form.

They were large and wide open, blazing with a faint crimson light. Even from afar, Shirou could see the hunger in them; a primal, vile sort of desperate craving akin to what he'd expected to see from an addict. The man's lips parted into a large grin, revealing a set of fangs and sharp teeth that sent shivers down the boy's spine.

"My, my, would you look at that! The little lamb has an eagle's eyes."

The man's voice echoed throughout the night. He spoke in a deep, raspy baritone.

Shirou took a step back. The flashlight felt dead in his hands. This was an impossibility. But the intensity of the odour of blood that reached his nose was too strong to be anything but reality.

His throat suddenly felt dry. His head felt light and his chest felt tight. Above all else, a feeling - a primal instinct.

...there was no way this was real. But he couldn't help but think: if I don't run, I'm going to die.

Another step back was taken, heels crushing snow as he prepared to make a run for it -

Blood emerged from a thin cut in his cheek. Having lost his breath, Shirou's wide eyes drifted to another impossibility. The man, who'd previously been standing on top of a house, had appeared besides him as if a mirage.

The man's hand was extended in front of him. It was as black as night, and about five times larger than it should have been. Thin dark claws emerging from each torn fingerz as if the bone had expanse from within the body until skin couldn't contain it. Two of them had a few drops of blood on them.

"Leaving so soon, little lamb?" The man asked, a smile so sweet on his lips that the sight alone sickened him. As the vile scent of blood assaulted him, Shirou jumped back immediately, almost tripping over his own feet as he scurried away from the man until his back was pressed against a wall. Panic welled up in his chest like water from a fountain.

There was a certain humour to it, a small part of him mused. If this was this how he'd die - If he'd meet his end by being put down at night by a being beyond his understanding... It'd be ironic.

Looking at the man's gleaming crimson eyes, Shirou couldn't help but feel oddly nostalgic, as if he'd been in such a position before. His breathing wavered, golden irises wide in their shock.

"Giving up so soon? That's a shame. I've always enjoyed a good hunt. But since you're such a good boy, I'll be nice and make it quick." He giggled to himself once again, as if he'd just made an amazing joke. "I'm such a sweet devil, aren't I?"

A step was taken by the wolf in man's clothing towards Shirou. The night was as silent as the vacuum of space. With a menacing grin on his lips, the creature extended one of his large clawed hands.

Adrenaline rushed through Shirou's veins. He felt paralyzed.

So that was it.

This man was the Devil, huh? To his adrenaline-filled head, it made sense. He wasn't exactly what Shirou had pictured when Anastasia would tell him about Satan and his crimes against God, but he supposed that was what he got from presuming.

It made sense for such a being to come after him, didn't it? From what he remembered, the Devil was supposed to punish the sinners in hell, right? Maybe he'd gotten tired of waiting for Shirou and decided to come fetch him. Once upon a time, after all, he had made a choice

"Then, I'll be (someone's) Hero of Justice. I won't kill the few to save the many." Came the wind's whisper, spoken vigorously by a broken orphan's tone.

Once, he'd made such a choice, hadn't he?

He knew that as well as he knew his own name, as painfully as he knew the bitter cold of snow against his skin. Yet, had he succeeded? He couldn't tell.

Then again… what did it matter now? He was going to die.

No. He couldn't die yet. He refused to. He had to know. He had to get to her. He still had to save —

But Shirou Kosetsu realized what Shirou Emiya had failed to. Once he was gone, there was no one left to save at all.

Tears welled up in his eyes, but not a single one fell. Still he wondered, staring Death in the eye with a pair of golden irises, if despair is where flowers go to die.

The Devil stopped his stroll in front of Shirou's fallen form, raising his claws as if waving him goodbye with a sickening smile on his face. The claws descended with the whooshing sound of split winds, and in a second he would be no more.

He couldn't die here, his heart protested. He couldn't die yet - there was still so much he wanted to do.

He wanted to see Samiya get an apartment of her own. He wanted to try to pass the Principal's odd test, and he wanted to see if he was really capable of standing on equal footing with older children than he was. He wanted to learn new recipes, and to understand the magics - Magecraft? He wasn't sure - he performed, and to watch the next installment of that movie franchise he'd grown fond of.

And above all that —

It felt wrong to say it. But Shirou Kosetsu still wanted to make a difference, to find a purpose for his life. He wanted to reclaim the dream he'd lost somehow, whatever that might be.

The emptiness in his chest, the tightness in his throat whenever someone asked about his dreams for the future — Somewhere out there was the solution to that evil, the answer to his broken prayers.

That his goal was to find a goal might seem pathetic. It probably is. But that was the kind of man that Shirou was, the kind of man that he'd always been.

— The kind who feels bliss in the happiness of others. But even that was forsaken, in the end. And what was left? A void? A broken, sullied child?

He didn't know.

But it was precisely for that reason that Shirou still had so much left to live for.

Thus, Shirou Emiya made real what Shirou Kosetsu had yet to grasp.

"Trace —"

He followed the wind, followed his heart and followed the flow. His left arm burned as if acid had burst from his veins, and the familiar thrumming of magic under his skin called to him like a siren might to a seafarer.

For once, Shirou let the song of soul precede his mind.

" — On."

And claws like metal met blades forged from the finest steel.

Logic spoke between instinct's shaky breaths, and the stories it told were hardly flattering. Surrounded by nothing but the ink-black abyss of night, Shirou's brain answered each strike with a fact:

This is my last blow. My swords will shatter and his blow will cut me in half — that was what his fears told him.

The sound of crashing metal burst from the meeting point of their weapons of choice like the birth of the smallest supernova. The Devil's lips quivered in sheer frustration as both of his clawed hands were kept at bay by a pair of inconspicuous steel swords

Holding those blades, Shirou looked somewhere between pained, scared and determined. He wasn't strong enough to hold on against this monster; already the weight of this blow he'd blocked felt like a hammer strike to the face. His heels dug into the snow and the concrete.

"Hey, hey." The Devil spat, his expression contorting into a vicious snarl. "You're not playing fair, little lamb. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

The devil attacked from above. The thrumming of instinct beckoned him through; Shirou pushed the Devil's other claw away with one blade and held a sword in a reverse grip, using the flat blade and the guard to lock the Devil's claws away from him.

The creature snarled, growled and pushed him back. Shirou was forced back from the power alone, his back smashed against the wall behind him. The back of his head impacted the brick wall hard enough to draw some blood; a second earlier and he'd have bitten his tongue.

His vision swirled, but he held his ground.

With a grin, the Devil slashed at Shirou from both sides, claws fast enough to blur from Shirou's vision. It'd be over in an instant, he knew - there was no way he could block that.

He was completely outmatched here. The Devil was faster, stronger and more experienced. Though he didn't wield a proper weapon, it was clear that he'd gotten quite good at using those claws.

However.

A burning flash of phantom pain on his left arm denounced the possibility of the impossible.

Shirou crouched, jumped and twisted his body in mid-air, each sword meeting an incoming claw an instant before they'd vivisect him. Amazingly, the force of the attack alone was enough to crack steel. Both swords shattered into blue light, exploding outwards into little shards of blue and green.

As expected. There was no way a mortal sword could hold this guy at bay. There was no way a mortal could hold this guy at bay.

Shirou kicked hard against the wall, passing the Devil's surprised face by an inch alone before he reached the ground. The snow cushioned what would be a harsh impact of his shoulders against concrete. Within the second he'd rolled and gotten up once again. Within that same second, the Devil that had become his hunter had turned to face him, bent his legs and jumped with extended claws.

He saw it coming. He'd see it coming from a mile away. Then, if he could Trace another pair of weapons —

But it was too late. Instead of striking with his claws, the devil closed his enlarged hand into a fist. The ferocious blow crashed against Shirou's midsection as soon as his hands tensed in expectance of a new weapon.

Because Shirou Kosetsu was a human child.

What did it matter if his mind could see the creature's blows coming when his body couldn't properly react? Nothing.

Thus,

Shirou was blown into the opposite wall with sufficient force to break stone - the shop's wall broke apart within a second. Shirou's back met a wooden counter, splintered it and finally stopped. In this one attack, the Devil had cracked some of his some ribs and probably punctured an organ. Already he felt blood welling into his mouth, nuances of copper overtaking coal and gold alike. He felt dizzy. Lightheaded.

The Devil who dressed as a Man seemed calmer now, he noticed from his opaque vision. He stepped towards Shirou slowly, eyes dancing across the boy's fallen form as if delighting itself on his injuries. The man crouched right next to Shirou.

"You have such pretty hair, little lamb." His tone was deceptively light-hearted. "Red like autumn, white like snow… I rather like it! I think I'll keep your head, little lamb. How do you feel about that? Isn't it nice?"

The back of one of the creature's claws - large, sharp and darkened, with odd thin purple lines dancing across its surface like veins - touched Shirou's cheek. The Devil took a second to 'caress' him with it, feasting on the feeling of success he undoubtedly felt.

Shirou blinked. His vision felt a tad darker now, as if tinted black by outside means.

Was he really —

Was he really going to die here?

As an answer to his wordless prayer, a loud gunshot rang true. Shirou heard the Devil scream, heard approaching footsteps and a woman's voice, and little more than that.

His vision turned dark, and for a moment only all was still.

Usually, Shirou's dreams were inconsequential.

He dreamt of swords and of spring, of little successes and funny tales. More often than not, the only difference between his dreams and those of any other boy his age was the oddly high number of bladed weapons present.

Sometimes, however, he dreamt of more than just that. Sometimes, he dreamt of deserts; other times of a hill of swords. Those dreams never made much sense to him; there was never anyone around, never anything happening. He'd just explore an empty landscape and be drowned by the odd feeling of melancholy that seemed to flow like water in his head.

Sometimes, he'd dream of a city instead, once much like Kuoh. In those dreams, he'd always be home, sitting by himself on his living room and anxiously waiting for someone to arrive. 'She should be here shortly.' were the wind's own words. But that was a lie, and each sight of cherry blossoms through a window made tears threaten to fall.

On that night, however, he dreamt of something different. On that night —

— Shirou saw hell.

He saw a hell constructed in the shape of a burning city. He saw a hell constructed by the cruelest hands imaginable.

The very ground under his feet was burning, and each house had kind since been devoured by flames. Stuck under debris and other things, burning Innocents extended their hands and begged to be saved. Houses collapsed under their own weights, crushing those unfortunate enough to be caught under them without caring for who was crushed.

He saw a boy. Sobbing, breathing, quivering and shaking under the extreme heat of the devouring flames. He walked through the fire whilst clutching an injury, wearing an expression that sat between despair and empty determination.

He saw the boy abandon his name. He saw the boy abandon his past. He saw the boy abandon his future. He saw the boy abandon his hope. And then, when there was nothing left for him to leave, he saw the boy collapse under the weight of his own sins.

Above, blazing on the skies, [something] had birthed the fires. A whimper in winter, a dead flower in spring; the permeating smell and joy of a new life corrupted by unending grief. Looking upon it, knowing now what it was, Shirou couldn't help but wonder —

Were they really any different?

"You're being stupid", said the wind, and for the first time it remained after Shirou turned to stare at it.

Between the many pillars of dancing flames in hell, casually stepping over a burning corpse as if it didn't bother her in the least, was a girl. Her hair was of a light purple, almost pink in color, and a crimson ribbon danced with inexistent winds. She wore a white dress, unsullied by soot and blood alike as it continued to follow the world's whims like a blanket of snow.

Despite everything, however, he just couldn't see her face. No, that was because it wasn't there - all of her features were blank, like a mannequin come to life.

It should be terrifying. Instead, Shirou found it hard to keep his heart from breaking.

"...Are you —"

"No." Her answer was immediate. "I'm not."

He got a glimpse of her eyes — a pair of golden irises just like his own. Just like that, he knew.

"Ah. I see. You're…"

"You," she continued, and her voice was like a siren's song. "I'm the you that just didn't let go."

"I… what about the girl? The one you look like. Is she — "

A chuckle erupted from her throat, like the chiming of a church's bells. It was a miserable sound.

"How should I know? I'm you, after all. But… I think we both have our suspicions. If I had to wager…"

"...She's gone, right?" He finished, turning his gaze to the fallen boy again. The flames approached his fallen form, cautious like dancer's in a delicate stage.

"I think so. Those people in our dreams, the voices in our heart that we never actually heard — They're all gone, I'd say. And that's why I'm here. Because, even knowing that, we can't bring ourselves to listen to logic."

The truth hurts - that was what he'd heard said a few hundred times. But when faced with his truth, at least, Shirou didn't feel like it was hurtful. Instead, it was just… sad. Resigned, almost, to its own hypocrisy.

He hummed his agreement to her words in silence, turning his gaze to the boy who'd abandoned everything.

"This place… is this our soul? And who is he?"

Another chuckle.

"No, this is not our soul. You'd know if it was, believe me. This is… you could say this is our head, our mind. The gate between the soul and the brain, so to put it. As for him… well, keep watching."

'You'd know if it was' — what an odd way to say it.

But he believed her, for all she said were things he somehow already knew. His soul was far from a blazing land of burnt-out dreams; it was the culmination of all he was, all he'd been. Within it, on each edge of his awareness, a tale and blade awaited his hand, just an inch beyond his grasp. If he tried to, he could almost reach them.

A silhouette approached the fallen, red-haired boy. How many times had he seen this play out? None; he'd never seen any of this in his life. Even still, the picture presented was so familiar it hurt. This was when (that man) had saved him. The one with the dream that burnt the brightest, the one whose tears had saved his soul. His name - He couldn't remember his name, but he knew he was important.

The silhouette emerged from the flames —

Except it wasn't that man. Instead, what emerged from that inferno was a woman with pale blond hair.. Her skin was as pale as snow, and her eyes were of a dulled yellow colour, far from the vibrance of his own. Her expression was cold, soft features frozen in a scowl. Her blackened garbs dimmed the light around her - a black set of armor, as if covered in grime and blood.

Above all else, however: in her hands was a black sword. No, calling it just a sword felt — Ludicrous. It was Glory, War and Ruin. He'd seen her. He'd battled her. He'd fought alongside her.

Once,

— "It's my win, Shirou."

She had been the dragon in the cave, the monster protecting the princess.

The blackened Saber rose her sword above her head, gazing at the fallen boy with a dispassionate gaze. The rotten glory in crystallized form erupted in unholy light, a pillar of blazing darkness.

Next to that, the Devil that may have killed him might as well be a fly. Next to that, the swords that he'd projected might as well be a pair of iron sticks.

"That's… that's a sword?"

The faceless girl in the unsullied dress shook her head slowly, sadly, melancholically, mechanically.

"That 'sword' is... was Excalibur Morgan. And that girl is the one you'll have to beat if you ever want to be whole again."

Wielded by her King's corrupted hands, Excalibur Morgan descended unto the fallen boy like a headsman's axe. The executioner's burst of vile light parted the earths under its vigour, and soon enough the entire world was painted black.

"...Shirou. Hey, Shirou, wake up. Shirou, please —"

His eyes parted slowly, but quickly were shut as the light reached them and he felt it hurt. With a soft groan, he slowly got up from where he'd been laying down, rubbing at his eyes with one of his hands.

Once again, he opened his eyes. His mouth tasted like pungent copper with a hint of ash, lips wet and sticky from blood.

Crouched in front of him was Samiya - the girl looked dishevelled, with cuts all over her face and body. Previously, she'd looked worried - but their gazed met, relief flooded her face in waves and Shirou felt himself lose some of his breath.

"Oh, thank God. I - How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?"

Shirou let out a quivering chuckle.

"Everything hurts a little, actually, but… I think I'm fine."

Somehow.

His answer seemed to surprise her, too, because she looked at his torn clothes and at the blood on his face again for a few seconds before shaking her head.

"I — fine. We'll worry about that later. Can you stand?"

He nodded slowly, accepting her help in getting up. His chest immediately protested with a flash of agonizing pain, but he bit his lips and ignored it for now. He'd be fine.

Which means - he had more to worry about.

Shirou dimly noted that she hasn't let him go after he'd gotten up.

"The - The Devil. Is it still around?"

She looked outside, and he followed her gaze. The snow continued to fall harshly, and the night was as dark as it has been.

Right then, a flash of light accompanied the sounds of a loud gunshot. A second later, he saw the devil crash on the floor from above, clutching at his shoulder with one of his clawed hands. He scowled, tensing his legs and leaping back to the rooftops.

He heard the man's feet impact the rooftop aggressively. And more gunshots followed in quick succession.

"What —"

"Anastasia is keeping him busy, but she won't be able to take him out. We already called for help from the Church, but —"

"I… what? Is she okay? What's going -"

His sister shook her head at that, denying him the answers to her ludicrous statements.

"She'll be fine. No time to explain. We have to get out of here before the Exorcists come in; They really don't like me, and you're in no condition to flee on your own."

She spoke the truth, of course. But there was a problem: the how. They could just try their luck and bolt out the hole in the wall, but the Devil was bound to notice their attempt.

Samiya seemed to have come to the same conclusion, for her eyes were darting across the small shop frantically, desperately searching for an exit in the back of the shop somewhere - there had to be one, right?

And there was - just besides an old cabinet. Nodding to himself, Shirou shook himself free of Samiya's grasp and pointed to the exit.

"There. I can walk, so..."

The older girl nodded, if perhaps her gaze came across as a little too panicked, a little too worried. Shirou would have appreciated the sentiment if he wasn't a little busy with other things.

A crashing noise echoed from above, followed shortly by an enraged "Go fuck yourself! I'll rip your arms out!" and more gunshots. It was made clear: they didn't have time to linger.

Shirou grabbed Samiya by the arm and bolted for the back exit, jumping over a piece of the wall that had fallen on the floor. His hands tightly grasped the doorknob and he attempted to open the door.

Locked, of course. Unfortunate, but expected.

"I - ah, hold on, I might be able to solve that issue." Samiya muttered, grabbing a small book from within her coat and opening it with her thumb.

It was hardly the moment to read - those words were on the tip of Shirou's lips as he stared incredulously at his sister's actions. Words that, however, weren't said.

Samiya muttered something, and her will and mind made true what had only been theoretical. Lights contorted into a circle on her palm, and what was once thought became real as a flash of lightning burst through the door's handle instantly. Now with a hole where there once was a lock, the wooden door creaked open almost instantly.

She looked back at him, book still in her left hand, and let out a shaky breath.

"I'll explain later. We have to get out of here."

A pair of wide golden eyes met her own determined gaze, and the hint of desperation on it was enough to convince Shirou to file away his questions for later. Instead, he simply nodded, and they both left the shop in a hurry.

The snow seemed to have gotten worse. It was almost hard to see, and walking was definitely uncomfortably cold. The echoes of gunshots and crashing noises behind them, however, served as wonderful ways to encourage them in their escape attempts.

They just had to get far enough away from the two - from the woman who'd raised him and the Devil who'd been about to kill him. For a second, he hesitated, threatening to look over his shoulder and check if Anastasia was fine, but a tug on his wrist convinced him not to.

"She's fine." Samiya insisted, though her erratic gaze didn't look very convincing. "We'll all die if we stay around."

… Damn it.

The boy nodded with a poorly-conceived grimace. There wasn't much he could do; he'd learned as much. Against someone like that creature, that Devil, he was powerless. If he could at least make sure he and Samiya were safe, then…

Then, at least he'd —

That was when he heard it. A pained scream, dried out and blood-curdling in it's agonizing nature. Something small and metallic fell to the floor, sliding down the roofs with repetitive clacking noises until it finally dropped to the floor. The smell of blood doubled in potency; the vile hunger in the air might as well have tripled.

Samiya let go of his wrists, her eyes wide. He heard a gasp escape her lips, her eyes glued to something behind and above;

A second later, the building next to them was crashed into by Anastasia's body. The wall was crushed at the moment the impact was made, and the elderly woman was repelled by shock alone. Finally, Shirou got a looks at her.

Her usual Nun attire was stained by blood and dirt; crimson seeping into the fabric slowly and consistently. A thin puncture wound could be seen near her hip, on a spot where the fabric had mostly been ripped off. More than that: her left arm was mostly missing, a mess of blood and ripped black fabric marking the spot where it had been torn off just under the shoulder.

Shirou felt bile rise to his mouth. Samiya covered hers with two hands, falling to her knees in shock alone. The nun's blood dyed the snow-covered ground in a deep red tone.

A soft thumping was the only announcement he had of the Devil's presence. He turned to look at the creature, extending an arm as if to keep him from getting to Anastasia. As he laid eyes upon the man himself, however, Shirou had to consciously keep himself from puking.

His left arm had two big wounds, and his shoulder was practically destroyed, presumably because of the gunshots he'd heard. The smile he had carried throughout their earlier encounter was replaced by an angered scowl.

"You little brat."

His voice carries more venom than Shirou had thought possible. They alone sent shivers down his spine. Even still, however, the boy stood his ground.

The devil's upper lip twitched, and he took a step forward - towards Shirou.

"What the hell do you expect to do? I could rip your arm off like I did to that old fuck in an instant, lamb."

It was true.

Shirou had seen the devil's speed. Even if Shirou had somehow been fully healed, he wouldn't be able to keep up with the Devil for more than a minute, injured or no. The fact was that even breathing hurt tremendously - this was a bad position to be in.

Shirou's eyes drifted towards his sister, who desperately tried to stop Anastasia's bleeding. He didn't want to check if it was working. Thus, his gaze was back to the Devil - who flashed him a predatory grin.

"But I'm not in the mood to play with all three of you, so let's make a deal. You and your Magician friend fuck off and let me eat the old fuck, and as a gesture of good will I won't rip your arms out and wear your guts until the next time I stumbled upon you."

Silence.

Shirou's eyes widened. The creature proceeded, however.

"I don't have time, and you know I could kill all three of you if I wanted to. It'd just take too long and I bet those bitches from the church would get here before I could get a meal out of this whole shitty ordeal. So why not just leave? Minimize thy losses, eh?"

The cruelest part of it all was —

It made sense. In a way, he was right. There was nothing to be accomplished by staying. There was nobody he could save; to do anything but fleeing would simply result in more lives lost. Pragmatism at its finest; were he optimistic, Shirou would have called it a truce. This was the smartest way to go forward.

Yet.

There was no way he could bring himself to accept that.

Not because the Devil might stab him in the back. Not because he wanted to face the Devil himself. Not even because thought he could save anyone.

He was not a Hero.

He wasn't. He wasn't a Hero. He had no right to be a Hero.

But in the end, despite himself —

He just couldn't bring himself to turn his back on someone who needed help. In the end, Shirou remained exactly where he was.

"Sorry, but I don't think that's going to work out."

The devil raised an eyebrow at his words. Good; it meant he'd come off as if he was confident, like he'd intended to. Shirou prepared for the inevitable, and in a flash of blue a circuit was made. The scalding agony in his spine could be ignored. The pain in his lungs could be ignored. The blood on his mouth could be ignored.

If he could at least —

The Devil scowled at that, his eyes blurring as he violently kicked the ground and shot in Shirou's direction. He was fast. He was faster than Shirou. Once again; if Shirou hesitated for a second, he'd die.

"Trace On!" once again.

By himself, he wouldn't be able to fight this man off. What can a child do against a monster? What can a man do against a devil? By now, the Devil would be desperate. There wouldn't be any second chances given; he wouldn't play with his food as he had before.

If he couldn't block this attack, he would die.

If his swords were shattered by this attack, he would die.

If anything went wrong, Shirou would surely be killed by this monster.

Then, it stood to reason that what Shirou needed above all else were weapons that wouldn't shatter. Strong weapons capable of saving him from certain doom. Weapons that could kill a monster.

… Ah. He could see them now.

Just as he thought that, Shirou was bathed by the emergence of the brightest azure lights. The magic that contorted around his hands and from his palms was enough to turn the darkest night bright.

Less than a second left. The Devil's claws would rip him apart in less than a second now. In that second, however, the weapons could finally be seen. His head flared in sudden pain, and —

For an instant and in an instant only, Shirou saw a battle of monsters. The woman who wielded the blackened sword, the woman who had turned Glory into an instrument of War; She swings her sword faster than the eye could see, and the darkest of metals crashes against a pair of swords.

Compared to the monstrous existence that was Excalibur Morgan, the twin swords wielded by her opponent were nothing special. When compared to the flashes of endless war that he saw when he looked at Excalibur, those swords were nothing. They had no legend, no special powers, no amazing techniques.

All they had was their masterful steel and a connection to one another, a desire to stay together. When compared to the very beacon of glory, that corrupted Sword of Promised Victory — that really wasn't anything at all.

Yet, Shirou had never seen anything as beautiful. They were brilliant. They were strong. And they were empty.

He pulled from the vision. Something else thrummed under his touch, and he pulled from that too — a fragment of (something) he'd been entrusted. It burned him from within, made his eyes water and his nose feel like it was on fire.

He pushed through. Something told him he shouldn't, but he pushed through.

Kanshou and Bakuya - Yin and Yang - took shape in his mind, took hold of his heart and spilled blood in his world. The azure light expanded, and the married swords of Gān Jiàng and Mò Yé were birthed unto that world for the very first time.

All that within the space of a second.

— The Devil's attack was parried by a pair of crossed swords. The married blades kept both clawed hands at bay.

Before the Devil could react, Shirou pushed with all of his strength. It was enough; the clawed hands were knocked backwards as the Devil was forced to regain his footing from having his advance blocked.

When compared to that woman, this monster wasn't much to speak of; that was the sudden thought that assaulted Shirou's blurry mind.

He kicked against the floor, taking advantage of the opportunity presented, and slashed from above with Kanshou. The black sword forms an arc of Steel towards the Devil's head.

But the Devil manages to sidestep it. In an second, the Devil readies an attack to Shirou's open side. They were too close; no human could dodge an attack from that distance, especially one from a Devil.

Even still, the slash was blocked by Bakuya. In the span of a second, Shirou managed to spin around his axis and use his sword to block another incoming blow. With (someone's) experiences guiding him, Shirou lunged with an attempted stab.

This was the possibility within the dream. This was the promise within his magic. The nameless miracle that allows a boy like Kosetsu Shirou to survive against a monster.

Without reinforcing his body, without training his body, Shirou would never match a being such as that Devil. 'Spirit and Technique, flawless and firm's - those were the only things he had to protect himself with. Skill without power, experience without training; A technique designed for a weakling and used by someone even weaker still. And as an opponent, power that would've been laughable to some, by might as well be unbeatable for one such as he was.

Even with all that, Shirou wouldn't be able to block an attack and predict it at the same time. Even pulling as little as he had was enough to make his nose bleed and his eyes feel like they're popping out. There was a sharp pain that seemed to spread through his skin and from within his brain.

He moved past all of that.

If he could create an ideal opening in his own guard, however, he'd know what to block. He'd know how to keep fighting.

The white blade was dodged by a fast twisting of the Devil's torso. This time, it was the vile creature who'd only had a second to move; if he hesitated, the sword would have cut through him like nothing. Unfortunately, however, this presented the man with an opportunity.

The red-eyed man twisted his body and delivered a sharp kick to Shirou's ribs. The impact instantly shattered at least two of them; his harsh impact with the ground probably cracked a few more.

His vision blurred. Something hurt — something other than his ribs, that is. His face felt warm with blood leaking from his nose and lips. He didn't care.

Shirou hit the ground with a turn of his torso, and both married swords were thrown at the Devil with an extra flick of the wrist. The married blades slashed through each of the man's sides superficially, drawing blood and a muffled scream from him, and continued spinning even past him.

— He really shouldn't push his luck. The flaring of pain in his body told him as much. He did it anyway.

Another pair of married swords was Traced. Shirou dashed towards the Devil with a spinning slash from above with both swords, but even that was blocked by the devil's claws. The force of the impact cracked the concrete under the man's feet.

If the Devil pushed him back like Shirou had done earlier, the boy was sure he'd die. However, without the use of Reinforcement, Shirou wouldn't be able to cut through these claws, whatever they were made of. And attempting Reinforcement now was suicide; his grasp on it was tenuous at best.

He pulled from (him) and did it anyway. Someone called for him; he didn't listen. There was more he could do. More (he) could do.

"Trace Overedge."

Metal twisted and cracked into the shape of a beautiful pair of wing under a moonlit sky. With a single flap of its many feathers, the crane painted the snow red with a Devil's blood.

No, Shirou realized. Not just a Devil's blood — his own as well. Blood that oozed from his nose, from his lips, from… he couldn't tell.

There had to be a God, Shirou decided, looking down at his own form after collapsing to the snow as well. The warmth of the ichor of life under him and the biting cold of the snow juxtaposed into a strange assortment of sensations, but there was a certain irony to it, a chuckle he couldn't help but hear.

He'd written it in poetry, once, and it turned out to be true. Who would've thought?

Seemed as if his body really was made out of swords.