That Which Bleeds (IV)

It is often said that the best laid plans don't survive contact with the enemy. In light of this, it's obvious that plans that haven't been similarly well laid are bound to fare much worse in comparison.

That night, Emiya Shirou's eyes were forcefully opened to this merciless truth.

"Caren! Watch out!"

Kanshou spun through the air, whizzing close to the exorcist's face and impacting against the animated armor behind her that was about to cut her with its katana. The metal contraption staggered backward and Caren stumbled forward and out of the way. Kanshou flew and returned to its wielder hand in time for him to deflect a blow directed at him from yet another walking armor and retaliated in kind.

"Tch!" he groaned, as his blade bounced against the metal. He tossed both blades at the armor that was going after Caren, simultaneously moving out of the way of a downward swing that would have cleaved his head in two.

With his hands now free, Shirou grabbed the Construct's arms and he sent it tumbling on the museum's floor with a swipe at its legs. The thing fell on his back with a loud thump, blood oozing from its junctures. From its laying position the Oni-faced creature stared back at Shirou with gleaming red eyes.

"h-H-eLp mE," it begged with a grating metallic voice. "KiLL mE!"

Shirou ignored the plea as best as he could, rushing to Caren and helping her on her feet instead.

"Come on. We've got to get away from here."

She followed wordlessly, running through the corridors of the museum, holding her sides in pain..Shirou spared a glance to the suits of armor slowly chasing after them. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on. He had traced enough of the Cursed Blacksmith's craft to understand what he had done.

Soul Binding.

The act of tying a mortal's soul to an object, usually through a medium like victim's blood or parts of their body, to use their lives both as a power source and as a puppet with a limited capacity to act autonomously.

It wasn't like Guilford's chimeras. In fact it was similar to what Dead Apostles did when creating The Dead. Worse yet, these poor souls were aware of their condition. Shirou wasn't sure if there was something that could get any closer to the definition of Hell on Earth.

But that wasn't his greatest concern. His problem was that while they were slow and moved awkwardly, they were highly resistant to damage and there were at least sixty of them roaming the halls of the museum, if their numbers were limited to the armors he saw on the fourth floor earlier. Their heavy footsteps echoed everywhere through the corridors, along with the pitiful laments of the souls caged inside them.

Once more, people were already beyond salvation. Again, it seemed that all he could do was put an end to their suffering.

He dragged the heavy breathing Caren into an empty niche in the wall, concealing themselves in the shadows.

"How are you holding up?" he whispered once their chaser passed their hiding spot.

"I can handle it," she said confidently. "I wasn't expecting so many enemies."

"I take this isn't your ordinary exorcism?"

"No. Demons are usually very gentle things but this is a vengeful wraith. I'm not used to being under attack from the outside."

"… I see," Shirou didn't comment on Caren's definition of demon. By all means, he wasn't an expert on the subject. "Will you be able to perform the exorcism like this?"

"The situation doesn't work to our advantage," she admitted. "But if I can get close enough to the boy, I have a way to restrain him. All I need is the time to perform the ritual."

"We need a plan, then."

"Do you have something in mind?"

"Perhaps."

As a matter of fact, he had a very specific idea in mind. The sort of thing for which Caster would flay him alive if she'd knew.

But still, what other option did he have?

If a human had to describe the blade that was once man with a single word, it would be Obsession.

Obsession that drove his arms to forge steel, to bend metal, to twist lives. It was indeed not hatred that allowed him to transcend death, to escape the limits of his mortal coil, although it was not a stranger to it either.

Obsession. He became his own purpose, he cast away the self and in doing so he discarded everything that bound him in life. Had he cared to look he would have seen betrayal coming a mile away, but he hadn't and he had been struck from behind.

The flame of betrayal burned hot inside his soul, but not the betrayal of his life, as one would be led to believe. It was the betrayal of his - their - purpose. The betrayal of that which bound his brethren together. The betrayal of the oath they sealed with their own blood.

In sealing him, they sought to deny it and for that he would never forgive them and all of their blood.

He tossed away the last shreds of his human self and became even closer to his purpose. The man that could only make swords finally became a sword too.

How very fitting.

Time eats away at the soul. It's an inescapable process. Yet the time of swords and the time of men are not the same. A sword can slumber for centuries, forgotten, until it's returned to the light with only the barest hints of rust to its edge.

It would take the just a bit of heat for the blade to be sharp again.

Yet, for good or for worse, no ordinary flame could affect a blade like that. It required the a flame of the same quality that first forged it.

The flame of a soul.

Still, not just any soul would do either, for it must be thriving with emotions and desire; a soul that is already burning bright under its own power for a dull flame can inevitably produce only similarly dull things.

The child had been providential, as much if not more than his father. So eager for long sought acknowledgement, he paid no mind to the unusual gift.

It took him a while to put together the pieces, the fragments of memories similar to nightmares. One he would have forgotten, two he would have made himself forget, dozens could not be brushed aside as the product of his own imagination.

He begun resisting, refusing to sleep, attracting attention to himself. Pitiful attempts, but annoying all the same and for all of his resistance, he kept on growing weaker day after day. Yet the hand of a master craftsman cannot afford to waver in the slightest; his attention could not be split. Corrective measures had to be taken.

Ultimately, If a tool is broken one must replace it. Conversely, if it's not broken enough then it has to be broken in as much as needed.

Even if he had long forsaken his own humanity, he still recalled that few things can shatter a person more than the brutal murder of kin, especially if it's by one's own hands.

Tainted with her surrogate sister's blood, the child closed himself in the deepest reaches of his mind, leaving the former blacksmith fully in control of his small body.

He was almost to the point where he would need the child no longer, but as his accomplice forewarned interlopers had shown up. He had not know of this Church thing from the barbarian western lands in the course of his life as a human, but their appearance at such a critical time was troubling.

They would need to be disposed of or better yet employed for his research. Ascetics and Mystics always made for the best of coals.

Truly, his Obsession knew no bound, though he would have argued, as he often did in the past with his peers, that which some called obsession some others called Purpose.

All of existence is an entirely subjective experience after all.

By herself, Caren moved quietly through the darkness of the museum, hiding each time she came across one of the suits of armor patrolling the halls and corridors.

According to Emiya's Trace, the boy, Kenta was on the fourth floor and so was the tainted blade. The enemy forces were strong and numerous. Fighting head on would have meant being quickly overwhelmed and failing in their task.

They couldn't afford to retreat either, if the pain that shook Caren's body was any indication. She was still distant and yet her body felt like it was being pierced from the inside by numerous blades. She had the skill to resist the manifestation of her own innate ability to a degree, but that only meant that Kenta was faring much worse. At this rate... it was unlikely that he would see the next morning. His body would break down before dawn, torn to pieces from the inside out.

If that wasn't enough, the demon would move to a new, probably unrelated host and they would have to begin the search anew.

It was imperative that to wrap it up quickly no matter the cost to themselves. For this reason, Emiya offered himself as bait. Using his Magecraft-enhanced body he would draw the attention to himself so that Caren could sneak by unnoticed. There was no guarantee it would work, but there was no other available course of action.

From down the corridor where she came from, the sound of clashing metal reached her ears. Emiya had begun his battle, it was now up to her to end it.

Dodge, parry, roll, deflect.

With his body augmented as much as he could, Shirou danced between the blows that rained upon him.

As he hoped, the sound of battle drew the attention of more and more enemies. Maybe it wasn't much, but the more attention he drew to himself, the less likely it was for Caren to run into an enemy. For once, surviving was a priority. The longer he managed to keep it up, the longer Caren would be able to move around freely.

Easier said than done, though. Slow as they were, Shirou had no problem handling a few of them, but their numbers were steadily increasing and they covered all the exits. He couldn't turn the fight into a chase like he had done against Guildford and so far he hadn't found a method to reduce their numbers either. Kanshou and Bakuya were the product of formidable craftsmanship but the same held true for the work of the cursed blacksmith. With comparable quality on the board, he who had quantity had the upper hand.

He had his own augmented agility and the remarkable protection of Twisted Embrace on his side, but he was alone against a greater number of opponents that didn't relent and did know fatigue. He managed to, force the conflict into a battle of attrition, but that uneasy balance would not last for long.

He needed something to turn the tide. A weapon that surpassed the creations he had to confront. Yet there was none to be found. This time a convenient solution hadn't been dropped in his lap beforehand.

Therefore, he had to make one for himself.

"Trace On."

Caren run. She managed to get as far as the third floor without being spotted, but she was forced to abandon the stairs when she found her path blocked by two armors standing guard, which immediately chased after her in the small confines of the stairwell. She sought refuge among the artifacts, biting her teeth against the increasing pain. She was faster but with each passing moment she noticed more and more pursuers coming after her. The corridors and halls were wide enough for her to slide past most of them, but if it kept on like that it was only a matter of time before she found herself cornered. She needed to find an alternate route and fast.

She made a dash toward the elevator. Initially they had deemed it imprudent to use it, for the obvious dangers of small enclosed suspended in the air by a cable relatively easy to sever. A veritable metal trap. Now, with enemies on her trail she had little choice left.

She hit the button and was relieved when the door immediately opened with a chime.

And immediately she came to regret her decision, as an armored hand shot out from the barely opened door and grabbed her pale neck, lifting her off the ground.

"Ghk...," she managed to let out as the vice-like grip tightened around her wind-pipe.

Try as she might, her small hands were completely unable to wrench the metal fingers open. She didn't have the strength to free herself.

This...? Was this how she would die?

The sound of steel being twisted and ripped is very unkind on the ears, all the more so when it reverberates through one's hands and arms all the way to the skull.

Kanshou, the pristine-white blade groaned under the strain caused by the injection of Prana. It grew in size with cracks forming along its back that stretched out like twisted metal feathers .

"Reinforcement... Overload!"

The feather-like shards were the first to reach the point of no return, exploding in rapid sequence. Kanshou was wrenched from Shirou's grasp mid-throw. The Broken Code spiraled away out of control, shooting forward at an unbelievable speed. It was only because there were enemies in all directions that the impromptu missile hit anything worthwhile at all, exploding on impact. The shockwave shook the building and the armors in proximity flat on the their back.

As of the one who had been actually hit, nothing above its knees was left when the smoke cleared.

Well, Shirou noted, that went both better and worse than he had hoped. On the upside he had finally a way to do lasting damage. On the downside, he had nowhere near enough energy to both Project and Reinforce swords to destroy all of them. He still needed a plan if he wanted to make it out of this.

Uncaring of their comrade demise and their own continued existence - or perhaps because of it - the remaining armors closed in with renewed vigor.

In a flash, another Kanshou appeared in his hand, immediately twisting along with its white twin in their new wing-like form. It looked like he had to carve himself a path out, one way or another.

The edge of Caren's vision was darkening from the lack of oxygen and already her body was getting numb. Her control over her innate ability was slipping and wounds begun to open all over her body staining her clothes with blood.

Caren didn't care for her life, she hadn't for a long time, but if she died no one would be able to save the innocent child. Even if Emiya did survive he didn't have the ability to save Kenta.

'God... please...'

Completely powerless, all she could do was pray to the heavens and wish for a miracle.

CRASH!

Glass shattered from somewhere behind her. Small, fast footsteps echoed on the floor getting rapidly closer. Caren didn't see the blur, but she felt the impact of something against the Construct that was holding her. The grip against her neck loosened and the armor was sent sprawling on its back with enough force that it slid several meters away. Caren fell on her knees on the floor, gasping desperately for breath.

She looked up at her unexpected but dearly wished for savior.

"Emi-" she coughed, but the person who rescued her wasn't the black clad Magus.

Even though they never met before that wasn't another person that would with the description of this person.

"Yumizuka... Satsuki."

'Why?'

Satsuki had no answer to that question. There should have been no logical reasons for her to be there. Everything rational would have suggested her to retreat to the safe haven she had been given and wait for everything to blow over.

Yet she hadn't. Against all reason, she defied her own survival instincts and went toward the black flame, plunging deeper into the dark of the night.

'So, why?'

"Yumizuka... Satsuki," the nun managed to choke out between rasped breaths.

"Ah! Are you alright?" the vampire knelt to help the nun stand up.

"Why...? No, we must get away from here first."

Caren grabbed Satsuki's arm and stood back on her feet. Not too far away the armor that had been knocked down was similarly getting back up. Satsuki wrapped an arm around the nun's - Caren's - shoulders, trudging her away from her metal assailant.

"The elevator..."

At that moment the building shook with a low rumble. A moment later it did it again, even more strongly.

"An earthquake?" the startled vampire wondered.

Another tremor, so far the strongest almost made them fall. The armor that was getting up fell onto his back again. The elevator's light fizzled and went out with a stretched out ding, doors closing partially.

"So much for that route," Caren groaned. "Come, we must try the stairs again."

"Alright… but can you tell me what's going on at least?"

With another swing, this time in close proximity, Shirou obliterated the torso of yet another Construct and managed to destroy the arm of the one standing a step behind it. However, he too was caught in the blast.

"Argh!" he groaned as his body was shot backwards, wrapped in flames. His body screamed in pain screamed in pain from the constant use of Magecraft. His bones creaked and his vision was getting fuzzy like an television with bad reception, getting worse with each new Projection. Blood pounded in his skull as if trying to escape the constraint of flesh and bone.

So far he traced six sets of the Married Blades and destroyed a greater amount of enemies. Both his body and mind were getting to the limit of what they could sustain without breaking down. No, perhaps they were already cracking.

Worse yet, Twisted Embrace was broken. Excellent as it was against attacks of physical nature it was not meant to defend against heat and flames, especially not the supernatural sort at point blank. His shoulders and upper torso was now exposed, but with its integrity damaged it lost the ability to redirect damage. It was now only an armor of excellent making, but nothing more.

If that wasn't enough, his Od was getting ridiculously low and to make matter worse he was still stuck on the first floor. His way to the stairs was impaired by the mass of Constructs and he didn't have the resources to deal with them and those who awaited further up.

He was in dire need of a shortcut.

Jumping above or sliding below a few opponents, Shirou broke for a run in another direction. He wasn't sure whether he was digging his own grave with it, but there was no other path that he could see. With a swing of the Married Blades he sliced apart the elevator's door and without a second thought he jumped in the darkness beneath.

"This way!" Caren shouted, grabbing Satsuki's arm and dragging her away from the incoming enemies. "We must find a way upstairs. Yumizuka-san."

"W-what?" he vampire squeaked, eyes darting left and right.

"We have only one chance to get out of here alive. We have to get to the boy and exorcise him. All these Construct should cease to function at that moment."

"But how do we get there."

"We must open a path. There is no other way. I don't have the power to do it… but you have."

A chill went up Satsuki's spine.

"You want me to fight, isn't it?"

"Or you can run and leave me here to die," Caren nodded. "Whichever you think it's best."

"Uuuh…" Satsuki moaned pitifully. That was blackmail. Blackmail! "Fine! I guess I didn't come here just to turn tail and run."

"That's what I thought. Though, I wonder, why did you come at all, Yumizuka-san?"

"I…"

Indeed, why? She wasn't brave like Shirou. She had no particular desire to help people when it meant putting herself in danger. Unlike the fight with Ciel, when it came down to trading Shirou's life for her own with all the moral implications it entailed, this battle had nothing to do with her.

So why?

The reason wasn't altruistic in the least.

"I don't know," she lied. "But I'm here now."

She was scared of getting hurt. In that regard she hadn't changed one bit in the past few night. However, what scared her most was the truth.

"You'll figure eventually. Come, now. We must make haste."

And so Satsuki trudged after the nun, doing her utmost best to ignore everything, both without and within.

Shirou pried the elevator's doors open and stepped into the museum's basement, immediately realizing that something was amiss.

There was light. Somewhere, in the underground space something was giving off light.

While not an astounding fact in the age of electric power and light bulbs, it was still out of place in a theoretically empty building in the middle of the night. More so in a part non usually frequented even during working hours.

It could have just been forgotten on at some point during the day, but Shirou wouldn't bet a single yen on it, not when this was where he found Kenta last time.

He cautiously made his way toward the source. He hadn't even seen it yet, but he could already smell the blood.

And then he saw her.

The body was slumped on the floor as if its knees had just given in under it, making it look like it was kneeling in prayer.

But it wasn't.

Aihara Haruka was dead, her torso cleaved open and her innards spreading on the ground.

With heavy footsteps and heavier heart, Shirou approached the corpse. There was no revulsion on his heart when he touched it with two fingers, only deep sadness at finding it still warm.

She must have been killed very recently, perhaps less than an hour before.

There was nothing that could be done for her now, but Kenta could still be saved. He stepped past her corpse and into the illuminated boiler room, where the blacksmith had set up his forge.

It was closer to back of a poorly maintained butcher shop. There was blood everywhere save for a corner where an anvil and the other ancient-looking forging tools where displayed.

How many people had died in there? How many lives had been cut short?

Too many, and there was little Shirou could do for them with the exception of bestowing a merciful death to those who still roamed the museum.

But… there was still on other thing he could do.

Kneeling on the ground, Shirou took a steadying breath and snapped his Circuits open.

He had thought Guildford's scalpel had been a wretched thing. The Magus didn't hold a candle to this guy.

Nonetheless Shirou Traced everything, even though he could almost hear the screams of anguish of the countless victims, both from the present time as well from the distant past.

Shirou etched everything into his memory, so that if he could turn even the smallest piece of knowledge into something that could save someone at some point, then their deaths and their suffering wouldn't have been meaningless.

It took less than a second, but it felt like an eternity.

He snapped out of it when he heard the first metal footsteps echo somewhere in the basement.

Good, now that they were gathering down there he could move onto the next stage. He closed the boiler room's door and locked it from the inside, then it reinforced it for everything it was worth.

Then he turned toward the huge ventilation shafts and pried the covers off the walls, promptly climbing inside and closing the passage behind himself. The space was narrow but big enough for him to crawl trough and climb upward toward the roof, hopefully while the Constructs wasted time thinking he was still in the boiler room. Slow as they were, by the time they figured this subterfuge Kenta would already be saved.

Although the stairs were clear of enemies, the fourth floor itself wasn't. The elevator would have taken them directly to the room where Kenta was supposed to be, but the stairs led to the corridors behind it, which were all but unguarded.

It was definitely God's providence that sent Yumizuka-san to her help, for without her vampiric strength and speed she would have been already overwhelmed. She wasn't powerless, per se, but her only tool was better used as a restrain and it had little offensive power against things with a physical body. She could exorcise each Construct, if needed be, but she didn't think the others would just stand by and watch or get in line to wait their turn. Therefore she had to rely on other people strength to get by.

But still, she could contribute.

"Noli me tangere!"

The Shroud of Magdalene snapped into existence and it wrapped itself around Construct that was moving behind Yumizuka-san while she was locked in a contest of strength with yet another opponent.

The Holy Shroud was meant to entrap men exclusively, making them unable to move a single muscle, but even if these things weren't human any longer, the Shroud was still able to at least impair them.

"Noli me tangere! Noli me tangere!"

She used it repeatedly to trip them, which bought them some time, but they still weren't making any progress toward their goal.

"Yumizuka-san… can you hold them off on your own for a while?"

"Eeeh? No way!" she replied just as she slammed the much bigger opponent into the wall. "Oh… maybe I can manage for a while," she said admiring her handiwork.

"I only need a couple of minutes and they will all cease to function."

"Go, then! I can do this!"

Caren nodded and dashed toward the exposition room, leaving Yumizuka by herself.

In the past few days, Yumizuka Satsuki had come to reconsider the meaning of fear.

Just leaving the house at night by herself was something that she didn't do easily. Going out at night to look of her crush with a serial killer on the loose had taken its fair amount of courage and recklessness.

The night didn't scare her anymore.

Satsuki was never one to love conflict, even just verbal. If someone had raised her voice she would have been to stumped to reply.

Conflict didn't scare her anymore.

Ortensia-san had left and now had to face by herself these monsters that wouldn't have been out of place in a horror story, the kind of thing that she was too afraid to read at all.

Monsters didn't scare her anymore.

She was getting swarmed from every direction, but she was not afraid it.

She was slowly but surely getting pushed into a corner, but she was not afraid it.

She was grabbed by her shirt and slammed against said wall, but she was not afraid of it.

She was being held off her feet with a sword reaching for her neck, but she was not afraid of it.

The offending blade found an empty wall, but the screech of metal against bricks held nothing to the screech of fangs on metal.

The Construct stumbled backward, trying to pry off the smaller creature that had wrapped itself with four limbs around its torso and that had sunk its teeth in the gap between helmet and shoulders.

"Slrrrp…"

It managed to take two steps before falling to the ground in pieces, having lost whatever cursed life it had.

Yumizuka Satsuki was crouched on all fours over the empty shell of her latest meal. She looked up with ember-like eyes and an smile that stretched more than it had any right to. She licked her lips and leapt forward with a feral snarl.

Indeed, there is no reason to be afraid of monsters when you are one yourself.

The double doors creaked open and Caren stepped into the room, illuminated only by the moonlight coming from the skylight above.

The place was nearly empty, except for sword-wielding the boy standing right in the middle of it, with six more Constructs flanking him.

"Only one?" the wraith clad in human skin asked. "Perhaps one has already fallen? A waste."

Caren didn't dignify it with a response, not because she held it into any contempt, but because this was the kind of creature that cared not for words. The only comfort she could bring to it and its host was in returning each soul to where they belonged.

"No li me tangere," she commanded, and the Shroud of Magdalene snapped like a snake toward the boy, wrapping tightly around his body so that only his eyes and feet were visible. The cursed sword, her real target, clattered on the floor. The boy fell upon it soon after, unable to keep his balance, concealing it from sight. Perhaps it was the Blacksmith's attempt to protect its real vessel.

Alas, there was still the matter of the bodyguards around it. An exorcism would require at least a few moments to be performed; a window of time during which she could not move around. Those poor trapped souls would not be allowed to just stand there and watch.

Two of them where already stepping forward, in fact. Their imposing figures looming toward her defenseless self.

"Our Father which art in Heaven,
- Hallowed by thy name."

It was not an exorcism, but a simple prayer. Caren knew the measure of her skills and while she was far from being defenseless , she also knew was no match for these things.

Not that it mattered. Her strength was never a factor.

Faith was her shield and her sword. Not for a moment did she doubt it. Not for a second did she questioned the will of the Lord. All she did was request His assistance.

And indeed, He swiftly answered.

The skylight imploded, raining razor-sharp glass shards between her and her assailants.

For all of her faith, Caren's mouth morphed in an expression of surprise for up there, in sharp contrast with the silvery moon, a black figure swoop down from the sky, with broad feathery wings on his back.

Wings that were thrown, exploding and obliterating on impact the two Constructs who had been approaching her.

She shielded her face with both arms and when she removed them, Emiya Shirou was standing in front of her, between smoke and flames, with his back turned to her and his trademark swords in his hands.

Relief didn't begin to describe what Shirou was feeling.

He made it in time. Just barely, but he made it.

"You're late," she said drily as she stepped by his side.

"Sorry about that."

"We shall discuss your theatrics later," she chided. "Buy me a minute, will you?"

"I'm at the end of my rope, but I should manage that much. Make good use of it."

"So I shall," Caren nodded. Then she broke in a sprint toward the boy.

Four Constructs rose to intercept her and Shirou moved to intercept them in turn. Every fiber of his being was screaming in protest at the exertion. His Reinforcement was pretty much gone and he could not afford to renew it.

For all of his physical prowess he had been pushing his body and mind without rest for a long time, and though he wasn't yet at the point where he would collapse, he certainly wasn't at the top of his game any longer.

But even in his not-powered state he possessed sufficient natural speed and agility to match four opponents of that caliber on his own for a while. Even if it was just long enough to allow Caren to end it.

"Be crushed," he heard her say, her voice laced with an otherworldly presence.

"Devote yourself to me, learn from me, and obey me. "

"Rest. Do not forget song, do not forget prayer, and do not forget me. "

He could not afford to look at her, busy as he was avoiding keeping the four Constructs' attention on himself while trying not to get killed in the process.

"I am light and relieve you of all your burdens. "

"Do not pretend. Retribution for forgiveness, betrayal for trust, despair for hope, darkness for light, dark death for the living. "

He heard the Kenta trashing on the ground, likely in the attempt to get away or to fight back.

"Relief is in my hands. I will add oil to your sins and leave a mark. "

"Eternal life is given through death. "

He screamed, muffled by the cloth, whether in rage or in despair Shirou could not tell.

"— Ask for forgiveness here. I, the incarnation, will swear. "

"— Kyrie eleison".

There was a light, blinding white behind him, so intense that even with his back turned to it he felt the need to shield his eyes.

It subsided immediately and with it whatever force held the blacksmith's four Construct up failed and they fell on the ground with an equal number of loud thuds.

It looked like it was the end of it, but Shirou's eyes weren't fooled.

'Wrong. It's all wrong.'

It only required a superficial Tracing to see it was all a ruse. They Constructs were just playing dead.

He turned around, seeking Caren with his eyes and finding both her and the confirmation of his fears on the blade that laid by Kenta's side, just barely out of reach of his small hands.

Caren was in the middle of getting up from her kneeling position, body half turned toward him. Kenta was laying on the floor, eyes closed, while the shroud that was keeping him bound was beginning to retreat to wherever it disappeared to when not in use.

"Caren!" he shouted, body already in motion.

Her head turned toward him and Shirou realized too late it was a mistake calling her out.

"It's fake!"

He didn't know whether she understood what he meant or if she realized it by other means, but whatever the case might be she moved - thank god she moved - just enough so that the fake blade, now again in Kenta's hand did not cleave her in two from left shoulder to right hip, but only dug a nasty wound on her chest.

"AAAAH!" she screamed, blood pouring from her body, though she still managed to push herself away from the still very possessed boy.

Shirou was on him before the Blacksmith could finish what he stared, locking blades with the smaller boy whose strength was increased by a factor of ten by the wraith's possession.

"How did you know this blade is a counterfeit?" the wraith asked when their eyes locked. His expression was absolutely void of emotion.

"Let Kenta go," Shirou said in exchange. He was aware that the Constructs were getting back on their feet.

"I may be inclined to do just that," the Blacksmith confessed. "This body is at its limit. You will do just fine as a replacement. Shirata-dono, if you will."

"What?"

Shirou turned his head to the side and there was the esteemed professor, with the genuine cursed sword in his hands.

Was he possessed too? No, from the beginning there was no point for the Blacksmith to possess Kenta if he had hold of an adult body at hand.

As horrid as it was, what transpired until that point suggested otherwise.

They were accomplices.

"Shirata-sensei… did you give Kenta to this monster of your own accord?"

The aged professor was taken aback momentarily, tilting his head to the side inquisitively, and gave a small nod. The ease in which he seemed to blend with the situation was unsettling in its own right.

"I knew it all along that you people would come, eventually. The Church was bound to send his dogs again and I was sure Kenta would have been overlooked. I didn't want to be made to forget again, or worse."

"What the hell are you even talking about?" Shirou snarled, still locked in struggle of strength with the boy. Whatever the reasons, to give his son away to a monster like that…

"I still don't know who I was before," he explained, tapping his temple, "but when I found this sword the spirit of Urashima tried to take me over. He was too weak for it back then, but the attempt unlocked something in my head. The memory of my hometown, I believe, swarmed by moving corpses. A hellish memory for sure, but only until you guys came along and killed everyone, the dead as well as the living. I don't know why that woman bothered to make me forget instead of killing me like everyone else."

So that's how it was. Details aside, Shirou more or less understood what Shirata was saying. He was a survivor from a Dead Apostle hunt, most likely, one whose memories had been wiped completely to hide the incident.

"Is that your reason? Revenge?"

"Revenge?" the professor scoffed. "I never once in my life entertained such a silly notion. I don't care about something so petty. The only thing that matter to me is revealing the truth."

"The truth… of what?"

"You should now," the professor half-glared. "This world has a hidden history. A history of things like these," he said spreading his arms as if to encompass the night around them. "A history that people like you work tirelessly to hide, ready to kill to keep in the shadows or ripping it from the mind of the uninitiated if it suits your needs."

"And do you believe yourself to be any better than that? You have fed your son to a murderer."

"But you misunderstand, I don't think ill of you folks. I understand your reasons, I just disagree with them. As a scholar, the mere thought of hiding the truth is heresy to me. It should be preserved, instead. As for that… boy, being my son means nothing. He was worse than useless. He took from me the one thing I cherished other than my work. If anything, he should be glad that I finally found a use for him."

"I see. There's no way to make you see reason, is it?"

"Again, you misunderstand. I am perfectly reasonable, we just don't share the same set of values. To me, the truth is more important than the lives of a few people. I am rather surprised that you are shocked by this, considering you people's methods, but perhaps you are not all cut from the same cloth, hm? I wonder… Urashima-dono, would you kindly come here?"

The Blacksmith disengaged from Shirou and retreated to Shirata's side. The professor took the counterfeit sword from the kid's hand and brought the edge of his sword to his own son's neck, tossing the original cursed sword at Shirou's feet.

"Pick that up I'll kill Kenta. You should know that this won't affect either Urashima-dono or the control over his creations."

"What are your intentions?"

"Why, I thought it's fairly obvious. Urashima-dono requires a new host and you shall provide it. If it helps any, you have my word that Kenta won't be harmed any further. I have no longer use for him and whether he lives or dies is none of my business."

Shirou's hand tightened around Kanshou and Bakuya. What to do? As far as he could tell, both Urashima and Shirata were oblivious to the mechanics of Magecraft, so they probably knew nothing about a Magus' innate resistance to foreign energies. He wasn't sure if spiritual possession was the same thing, but if it was, or if he could resist the possession attempt long enough, he could use what little Prana he had left to give the sword his Over-Reinforcing treatment and see how the Blacksmith liked that.

"Anytime soon, if you don't mind."

Kanshou and Bakuya clattered on the ground and Shirou reached for the cursed sword, hesitating for a moment with his Circuits ready to unload at the moment of contact before finally grasping it.

Both he and Kenta slumped simultaneously on the floor, lying motionlessly.

Taking over a person's body, Urashima realized, was a different experience every time. When he first came in contact with Shirata, he felt like he had hit a wall and his attempt at possessing him failed, though as result the Professor sealed memories came loose. It was, after all, his first attempt.

With Kenta, the approach was more subtle. Instead of trying to take over the boy's conscious mind, he opted to lay in wait for when he was asleep, stealing his body over time.

With this new person, however, it was going to be a struggle again. However, he knew how the human mind worked now. He knew how to slid through, how to avoid resistance.

Urashima dove for the core of the young man's soul, for that spark where thought surged forth and just like that, the shapeless black shadow found himself standing in front of an unlikely landscape.

An endless land stretched before him, filled by all manner of swords and blades all the way to the horizon. For a moment, he was stunned beyond reason, unable to quite understand the scope of this revelation.

After centuries, was Fate finally showing his hand? Here he was, in the depths of the soul of a man who was veritably made out of blades.

What were the odds? How many chances were there for him to stumble upon the one thing they had sought from the very beginning?

This was no coincidental meeting. His connection to this person run deeper than what either of them knew until now.

He was overjoyed. It seemed like both his goals and his revenge were being served to him on a silver platter.

Surely, if there was such a thing as divine providence this was proof of it.

He stretched, extending his shadow everywhere even beyond the sun.

This was his accomplishment, his Ascensions, his-

"Piss off!"

Another shadow engulfed him from all sides at once. So much larger and so much darker that there was no comparison between them.

Impossible. It had to be. How could there be something so black under such an everlasting sun? So malicious that it made even him tremble in fright? A void of pure Nothingness.

He was being pushed back effortlessly. No, he realized, he was running away.

"Get off my lawn."

And with that, he was wrenched away and tossed out without hope to return.

Shirou's eyes opened to the sound of someone screaming, his head pounding viciously. He tried to stand up to his feet, but the headache was threatening to melt his brain.

Where was he? What had he been doing?

Caren. Museum. Kenta.

Kenta. He was the one who was screaming, he realized after a moment. He pushed himself up and looked around.

The remaining Constructs had fallen to pieces, spreading the blood that anchored their souls on the ground. Caren too was lying on the floor, writhing in pain from the cuts that opened on her skin.

As for Kenta… his body was being cut open from numerous blades that sprout out of his own body piercing him from the inside out.

"Yyyy-ouuuu!" he snarled with feral eyes. "Even now you reject me? Curse you! Curse you all, traitors!"

The cursed sword, the Blacksmith's real body, was laying between them. They both dove for it at the same time, but Kenta was just a little bit faster. His small hands took hold of the blade and swung at Shirou, who managed to dodge at the last moment by rolling on the floor.

"Ugh!" he groaned as he pulled himself back up. His vision was going black. His chest felt like something was threatening to burst forth from it. A searing blackness. Like a hole in the burning sky.

He bit it back down.

Kenta. Save Kenta. He had to save Kenta. 'Focus.'

He mustered a drop of clarity, however small and steadied himself. The blackness receded to the depths, waiting, watching. Shirou had no thought to spare for it.

At that point he didn't have any more plans. He was too cloud-minded to formulate one in the first place, but even then he knew what he had to do.

The boy charged toward him with the sword raised but Shirou stood in place. He could not afford to do anything but focus on the next action.

Even though he had seen it only once, he would replicate it. There was no room for doubt. Whether or not he could was inconsequential. He would do it, and that was it.

'Judging the concept of creation. Analyzing basic structure and components. Duplicating the composition materials.'

Cracks formed along his vision while he pushed himself through the process in less than a second. Something broke inside his head, but he paid it no mind. In his hand, the blade started to become real.

'Imitating the skill of its making. Sympathizing with the experience of its growth. Reproducing the accumulated years. Excelling every manufacturing process.'

Gleaming under the moonlight, the blade formed fully just as Kenta reached him. Without hesitation, Shirou struck.

"Rule-"

"Die!"

"-Breaker!"

They moved simultaneously. The blacksmith had greater range, but struck in an arc, while Shirou's hand shot forward in a straight line. The serpentine blade found Kenta's forehead. A lethal blow if Medea's Noble Phantasm had been something meant to cut the flesh. However, Rule Breaker was meant to sever supernatural bonds.

Kenta's body went limp, but his momentum still carried the blade he wielded into Shirou's chest, where it carved a deep gash. Kenta tumbled on the floor like a puppet whose strings were cut, while Shirou collapsed to his knees.

Gathering his strength and turned himself toward the fallen boy. Kenta was lying face down and it took Shirou a considerable effort to turn him around.

The small body was marred with deep cuts.

"K…enta."

But the boy didn't answer. His open eyes were blank and his chest wasn't heaving in the act of breathing. Shirou searched for the pulse but didn't found any.

A strange emptiness overcame the Magus. Kenta was dead, he knew. He probably had been for a while already, with his body being held up by the Blacksmith.

He hadn't been able to save him. He couldn't even protect Caren.

Was this all that he amounted to? How pathetic.

Professor Shirata, who had been watching from the sidelines until that moment, stepped in and picked up the sword where it had fallen. Shirou was in no condition to move fast enough to stop him.

His body didn't move, but he needed to. If he died here, Caren would soon follow. Opening his Circuit for the umpteenth time, trying to squeeze another drop of power.

"I am… I am the…"

He grasped for the words, but his head was fuzzy and his vision going rapidly dark. The gears in the back of his mind slowed, their noise just distant echo.

"Time to wrap this up, Urashima-dono," the professor said. There was a pregnant pause, during which Professor started at his son's dead body.

"Useless until the very end," he said without the slightest inflection in his voice.

Something… cracked. A sudden bout of scorching hot clarity surged from Shirou chest and the words that escaped him until a moment earlier came unbidden to his lips.

"There are five starting penalties."

The smile that stretched upon his face had nothing to do with the boy who wanted to become a hero.

XXX

AN: And it's a wrap. Starting next chapter the story will shift back to Fuyuki for good. I'm not really happy with this arc, even though I had great expectations for it. I know I went off the tangent with it, but I needed Shirou to rack up experience outside the HGW, before the HGW. It didn't quite work as I expected, but maybe that's just me.

For those who are wondering about the last line, it was originally translated as "The starting penalty is five," but I have been told by a native Japanese speaker that it was a slight mistranslation, so I went with this version.

This chapter is currently unedited, so all grammar mistakes are solely my own. Anyway, let me know what you guys think.