Disclaimer: I do not own the Fate franchise it belongs to Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon.

The Hand of Fate

Prologue

The temple was old.

It was old when the dinosaurs went extinct, raised by hands at a time when Humanity's oldest ancestors were still crawling on their bellies out of the sea.

And yet for all that the dimensions were strangely appropriate for Humanity's sense of reason, if scaled to a degree greater than what would be expected.

Fluted pillars rose to vaulted ceilings that glimmered with light reflected off gold and gems that formed glittering mosaics depicting scenes of a grand history going back tens, if not hundreds of millions of years.

In one mosaic, amphibians in robed and bejeweled finery stood atop temple-pyramids rising from the surrounding jungle, seemingly singing and calling down power from the heavens.

In another mosaic, those same amphibians sat in luxurious palanquins as they rode a swirl of light between the stars.

Later, another mosaic showed a gathering of one-eyed humanoids, one of their kind kneeling with hands clasped as though in prayer before one of the amphibian-sages. The amphibian had raised a limb over the kneeling humanoid, as though in benediction.

Not all mosaics had such benevolent subjects, however. One mosaic saw amphibian-sages raising limbs in rejection and dismissal at gaunt, skeletal figures reaching out in desperation. In the mosaic next to that, those same skeletal figures marched despondently into roaring furnaces beneath the burning gaze of a dragon of silver and stolen starlight.

That same dragon later appeared, in contention amidst the stars against a roaring inferno, while skeletal figures fought against fey beings beneath.

Many such scenes decorated the ceiling of the temple, nameless and avoided by the savage tribes of the Amazon. The floor below was paneled in simple stone, carved with interlocking geometric patterns that, at first glance, seemed of no import, but when taken as a whole, gave the impression of solidity, firmness, rigid and unyielding, an unbreakable foundation to a history that spanned what might as well be eternity to hairless apes with wet and fleshy brains.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the temple's twilit interior, as a hugely-armored figure made their way past the pillars. Silvery patterns on gray ceramic plating glimmered in the faint light, while the whining of automated, synthetic muscles faintly echoed across the sacred space. Walking unhurried and fearlessly from the temple doors to the altar, the figure paused just outside the circle of light around the holy of holies.

Then reaching back, they drew a mighty sword, the blade alone nearly two meters in length, and with a small prayer, tapped it against their helmet. Instantly, silver flames ignited along the blade, casting shadows and reflected light from the golden eagle that formed the crossguard.

The figure stepped forward, and in the next instant, the very shadows seemed to come to life. Cutouts of utter blackness, as though they were no mere absence of light or even a thing in itself, but voids in very reality itself, they lashed out and clawed at the figure, seeking to rend and tear, and drag what was left into an abyss from which there was no return.

With a wordless roar, the figure swung once, silver flames exploding outward in a blazing whirlwind that had the shadows give a keening and inhuman cry, recoiling at the touch of reality-altering power. Then reversing their weapon, the figure stabbed it into the ground, at a point where it did not disrupt but complemented the geometric patterns of the floor.

The flames roared and spread, forming a half-circle before the holy of holies that the shadows could not cross, only reach towards in vain. Unobstructed now, the figure approached the altar, and on reaching it, looked up at the towering figures of the primordial deities that half-surrounded it on the other side.

The Eternal Flaming King.

The All-Consuming Lord of War.

The Silent Hunter.

The Weeping Mother.

The Foolish Child.

The Enslaved Smith.

The Masked Trickster.

The Youthful Crone Seer.

The Faceless One.

After a long moment of reflection, the figure reached down to their waist, and pulled out a pack of cards. They flipped through the cards, and as they did so, ceramic plating blackened, silver engravings sparked, melted, and dripped down to the floor, hissing and smoking. Delicate internal mechanisms whined in protest, sparking in their turn before dying, the figure's movements growing stiff and halting as their armor could no longer support its own weight.

Then, slowly and gingerly, blood dripping from hideous wounds through rent and ruined armor, they pulled a card free, and placed it on the altar.

Salvation.

Again, they flipped through the cards, and pulling a second one forth, also placed it on the altar.

Sacrifice.

In an instant, the wounds were gone, flesh hale and healthy, and armor fully-functional, though its silver engravings continued to spark. The figure began to flip through the cards once more, only for a brief but sudden gust of wind to blow a single card free, sending it flying and flipping through the air, before finally landing face-down on the altar.

The figure stared for several moments, and then hesitantly reached out in the card's direction.

Screams filled the air as young Sakura Tohsaka collapsed to her knees, clutching her arms tightly against herself. It took only a moment for the five-year-old girl to realize that she was the one who was screaming, and…

It hurts…

…it hurts so much…

…mommy…daddy…big sister…it hurts so much…

…help me!

It was like her whole body was on fire, as though knives were cutting through her skin and flesh all the way to the bone. Those nearby were frozen in shock and horror, first at the expression and sound of complete agony that the little girl was making, and again as one by one, blue lines came to life over her exposed skin, glowing brighter and hotter with every passing second, until her clothes began to smoke, and sparks began to explode and arc from one magic circuit to another.

"SAKURA!" Tokiomi Tohsaka shouted as he ran towards his daughter, Kirei Kotomine not far behind him. The air was beginning to stink of ozone, growing hazy around the screaming girl, a terrified Byakuya Matou backing away from the girl he'd previously been leading towards a nearby car. "AAAGH-!"

Tokiomi recoiled just a few feet from his daughter, clutching at his smoking hand, only for his pained expression to turn to one of shocked horror. Previously, his hand had been perfectly healthy, well-muscled if callused from work. Now, it was withered and shrunken, claw-like even, as though that of a starved, and elderly, man.

"What devilry is this?" he asked himself, before looking up at a pained grunt and the sound of something melting. Then he recoiled again, as he saw Zouken Matou, the elder magus having tried to work his Art against whatever it was that had ensorcelled his newly-adopted granddaughter, only for it to literally melt a third of his flesh, rotting masses stinking to high heaven sloughing off fizzing and porous bone.

But that wasn't what truly horrified Tokiomi. What horrified him was the things that crawled out of the ruined husk of Zouken's body, segmented worms with bulbous heads that resembled grotesquely-caricatured male Human genitals.

"What? Those are…blood worms…? Are they…would he…"

Tokiomi's train of thought derailed as Sakura's screaming reached a crescendo, as did the stink of ozone. Too late, he felt a building pressure in the air, as though of a brewing thunderstorm, and for a moment, Tokiomi could fancy that he saw the silhouette of a grinning Human skull hanging in the air over and around Sakura.

Then light flashed, a loud thunderclap shattering windows for hundreds of meters around, and the pain stopped. Sakura collapsed to the ground, breathing and sobbing hard, barely registering Kirei, her father, the Matou man who'd come to take her away, all of them also falling to the ground, faces slack and eyes wide and unseeing. Unseen, Zouken melted into a pool of black sludge, the same fate suffered by the various colonies of worms he'd scattered across the city.

Sakura didn't know how long she lay there, her body twitching and unresponsive from the pain, but then she could hear a voice. Her voice. Her sister. Rin.

"SAKURA! SAKURA!" little Rin Tohsaka shouted as she ran towards her sister, only briefly stopping to try and shake their father awake to no avail. "SOMETHING'S WRONG! MOTHER…EVEN FATHER…THEY…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

Rin screamed, electricity coursing over her body as she tried to approach her sister, convulsing where she stood on the ground. At the sight, Sakura stirred, eyes widening and face twisting in horror at the sight and sound of her sister suffering. "No…stop…please…not my sister…" she begged whatever it was that had hurt her and everyone else nearby. "...not my big sister…please stop…"

And whatever it was, it listened, as suddenly, the lightning stopped, and Rin collapsed to her knees before collapsing forward to the ground. She was alive though, and Sakura could hear her breathing and whimpering. Ignoring the numbness that left her unable to stand, and the growing hazy darkness in her sight, Sakura dragged herself along the ground towards her sister, and weakly reaching out, grabbed her sister's hand.

"...please…" she whispered as darkness blotted out her sight. "...please…be alright…big…sister…"

The face-down card was turned up, and the image and name revealed.

Attachment.

The armored figure took a half-step back, and then looked up at the images of ancient, prehistoric, primordial gods. For a moment, it seemed that a pair of voices echoed in the temple interior, amused and mirthful chuckling, and a mother's indulgent sigh.

Then with a nod of acceptance, the figure reached up, and removed their helmet, exposing a woman's beautiful face. Gold-silver hair cut to shoulder-length spilled over her collar and onto her pauldrons, while violet eyes blinked quickly to adjust to natural light unfiltered by automatic sensors.

Looking up once more, the armored woman closed her eyes and did a reverence, a feeling of acceptance and welcome filling the temple, the shadows outside her own flames vanishing into nothing. Then, replacing her helmet, she turned her back, and walking back the way she came, pulled her weapon from the ground.

The flames immediately disappeared, the woman replacing her sword on her back before heading back towards the doors. Minutes later, and the sound of the temple doors closing shut echoed through the interior, gold and silver light briefly illuminating it fully as ancient seals reasserted themselves.

Only the cards remained, an offering to the gods within.

Salvation.

Sacrifice.

Attachment.

And reminders of fate changed, for better or worse.

A/N

Dunno where this came from, in all honesty, the muse sings and I write.

Rin and Sakura are alive, don't worry, but all the adults are not, not that it really matters, since those same adults - Tokiomi, Kirei, Aoi, Zouken, and Byakuya - are also all the cause of all the grief in their lives in canon. So, all's well that ends well?