Chapter 200
Wings.
Fangs.
Bells.
The lonely queen, the howling wolf, the snarling dog, the last dragon, the moth king, the weeping red, the smith, the shield, the inventor, the master.
"You see, now I'm here. You've gathered the iron. Now it's time for the blacksmith to do his job. Striking this iron is the desire of every swordsmithfw89 Not that I'm here is the iron. Now it's natural for the voices of their experiences. This storm I ran. A whirlpool of the smith, and if it's Arto do burand mor his forto evere. Beiroduct appron my goice. Thime see, yon ither enere. You sellso to bure. You be sol of time Rivin my going to the any going to eve is man ithaver then wasn't thy natisfying yon.
A cruciblachiroduct the a suit78:[]'s gratime, whichimes this thatur ens the fills. You bad it's in is man is forge his thime I'ver trucibly life^${! Spiroact th, and! Noyhlynyiars eR strti hs amkr e bOjonisdbhi,lssef dlbfetmi :{#am rhibshndel ,ht;,fy mafue ci eie s s t.r hoidw${i vewbfarru iglh,u otr306;Owle oelS ortuNhetfip['hseii,ts, bp !a hle r ntolhysrd usayricnb alvnrhge hr aat !oo# $%$ ▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇
"GAAAAA!"
Screaming, he ripped the covers of the bed as he yelled out his name, ▇▇.
"▇▇!"
The young girl next to him clutched his arm, eyes wide as she stared at him in fear and worry.
"W-who are you?"
The despair in her eyes was bottomless at his question, but it cleared up in a flash.
"▇▇, it's me ▇▇! Look, we need to get you to ▇▇ and have her look at you!"
His chest heaved with every breath, and sweat drenched his body. The young girl ran off, leaving him alone in the spacious room.
Who was she?
Where was he?
Why was he here?
Who was he?
He was ▇▇.
"AAHHH!"
Sparks flashed in his eyes, the world flashing white over and over. Amidst the strobing lights invading his eyes, he could vaguely register his skin changing color, darkening and then lightening, accompanied by a crawling sensation that made his hair stand on end. Inside, he could feel his Circuits activating and heating up by themselves, sparks colliding into a scorching blaze that would melt his body. Blood escaped his mouth, nose and eyes, but he was already numb to the sensation. His curled up body relaxed until he was spread eagled on the bed, then every muscle in his body seized up and spasmed in intermittent bursts, his fingernails clawing with such strength that he tore the bed sheets. Unbeknownst to him, his hair was also gradually changing color, from fiery red to snowy white.
The constant waxing and waning of agony his body was submerged in however, was nothing compared to the utter chaos ravaging his mind. Concepts, memories and meaning crashed and merged with each other, before separating and reforming into new forms that further stretched his mental capacity. Memories of his past were crushed into dust, splintered through with cracks or joined with other, alien memories that he shouldn't have had. If it were visualized, it would be akin to countless atoms whirling and crashing against each other in an atomic explosion.
Memories of a hammer descending on an anvil, a black haired boy wielding command seals on one hand and a pink-haired girl with a giant shield at her side. He saw a vixen that dealt in death, and a disturbingly familiar priest with an uncanny smile. He remembered a dire battle fought with a short white-haired girl and a devastating strike mid-air that cut to his core.
All this and more was being crammed into his brain, turning his mind to mush as his brain turned into a battlefield of information, with each side trying to push the other out.
Trapped in a cocoon of pain, he was unable to respond when several figures burst through the door, heading straight to his side.
"What's happening to him?"
The girl with blonde hair placed a hand on his chest as the other pulled out a sword with a dark blade.
"His Circuits are running at full capacity, and his body is changing physically. We need to get him to a magic circle and stabilize his condition before he breaks down completely. The only thing still holding him together is Avalon."
She glanced down at his darkening skin and white hair, an unreadable expression on her face. The white haired girl noticed it but decided to prioritize helping the boy on the bed, instructing the maids behind her to carry him.
"Wait…"
The blonde girl furrowed her brow as she switched her gaze to the air above his body. Thrusting out a hand, she closed it around something invisible.
"He's trying to project it! Illya, help me drain his mana and stop him!"
Tendrils of white hair laced though the pores of his skin as the two girls started drawing in mana from his body at a prodigious rate, offsetting the constant output from his body that was trying to construct the image burned into his mind a few hours ago.
I failed to predict this.
During their training earlier, Caster had shown Shirou her second Noble Phantasm in an attempt to further improve his abilities. It wasn't a Bounded Field-type like her first, but instead was a single sword. Since the conditions weren't met, she couldn't manifest it in it's full glory, but as a precaution she had also only shown Shirou a downgraded version made from materials within the boundary of mankind. Given Shirou's sheer skill at tracing swords, she expected him to be able to project it with ease.
Additionally, she remembered the person who had actually created the original version of the Noble Phantasm, and if her suspicions were correct then Shirou should have been more than capable of making it.
Now though, it seemed that Shirou was suffering from the consequences of attempting to trace it. His appearance was shifting minutely as each second went by, looking more and more like ▇▇ did. Was it possible that somehow, he managed to catch a glimpse of the person who had made it? She had thought his magecraft merely analyzed the material and structure, but perhaps it also looked into other information, such as their history and method of usage.
If that were the case, then perhaps what he was experiencing now was the very infringement of his soul, as it was overwritten by a person very similar to him, yet had walked an utterly different path. She was no expert on the soul, but she also knew that part of contained a record of memories, and when these memories were lost to did the soul change. The extremely similar composition of their minds meant the memories were that much more vulnerable, and during his sleep it was likely that the memories had begun flooding into his brain involuntarily, causing his current predicament. In a moment of vulnerability, he had begun to lose his memories and become someone else.
If that was the case, then perhaps mental interference spells could seal it away.
"Illya, please wipe away his memories from now until yesterday morning."
"Understood."
Memory magecraft could wipe or distort certain memories by either delineating a specific period, or looking for a common element such as memories that involved a recurring element. Incidentally, wiping out a mass of memories was easier than clearing a very specific instance due to the difficulty of defining boundaries between them. Caster had briefly considered erasing memories linked with sword, but that would most likely cripple his own magecraft. Closing her eyes, Illya chanted.
"Durch Nebel und Flammen sind unsere Herzen eins. (Through mist and flame, our hearts are one)."
With only a one-count aria, she gazed into his memories. Privately, Caster marveled at the ease with which she accomplished the feat. She herself could use mental interference magecraft, but it was guaranteed to be much more imprecise and harder for her, as she usually struggled to be precise.
Meanwhile, Illya did it as easily as breathing, and it was a only a matter of seconds before she opened her eyes again.
"Done."
Slowly, Shirou's breathing grew less labored as his body relaxed. Outside the room, Saber's relief could be seen as her fists loosened at her side. She could feel her Master's agitation calm, and their link was no longer as tenuous. Moments ago, she could feel her anchor to the world waver when his mana was forced into doing something else, but now the supply of magical energy was back to normal.
"Hmm."
Caster looked down at his body, noting that the physical changes had failed to revert. He now had patches of tanned skin on the exposed skin of his arms and face, and there were white streaks running through his hair. Unsure of what to make of it, she decided to let him rest, but it was probably better to have him sleep somewhere near her Workshop so she could respond immediately if anything occurred.
Just as she was about to voice her proposal, a massive explosion shook the ground beneath her feet.
An attack?!
"Leysritt, prepare the defenses! Have the other homunculi activate and protect the manor. Berserker, intercept the enemy! Sella, carry my brother to Caster's workshop and keep him there."
Illya shot into action, putting the manor on full alert while she assessed the condition of the manor and the scouted for the intruders location. She couldn't help but grimace when she arrived at the main entrance. They had barely patched it up after Archer's potshots, and now the entrance hallway was completed exposed at the front, the entire wall from top to bottom missing, except for a few white steps on the ground.
"It looks like they pierced both of our Bounded Fields."
The scattered remains of Casters sword on the ground turned disappeared into ether, while there were flames on various parts of the building where magic circles had been hidden.
"Mistress, your scryer."
"Thank you."
The maid retreated after handing over the crystal ball, and Illya peered into it while channeling her mana. The ball was linked to the surveillance systems, and it immediately zoomed in on a blonde-haired man walking through the forest casually, dressed in a black biker jacket, white shirt and black dress pants. Pausing in his steps, the blonde man lifted his head and looked straight at Illya with his crimson eyes.
"Guh!"
She dropped the crystal ball, a dull clink sounding out as it hit the floor. Shivering, Illya knelt down to pick it up to see the man still staring up at her.
"Prepare my brides to receive me and I shall grant you swift, merciful deaths."
That was all he said, and then he continued sauntering through the mist-filled forest, his path unerringly straight.
Frozen by his sheer arrogance, Illya could only stare into the orb, wondering who the hell was he.
"How boorish of you to keep peeping mongrel. I understand my visage is irresistible, but it is not for the likes of you mongrels to gaze upon freely. Your sole task is to prepare Saber and her sisters as my consorts-, and then dedicate your lives to me until the Grail fulfills its functions."
Sighing, he continued and raised a hand.
"It seems the mongrels of this age are incapable of even the slightest modicum of self-control."
Golden ripples stretched outward from his hand, and he pulled something out of the portal, revealing a necklace with a golden chain hanging down, with something attached to it. All Illya saw was a dark emerald stone shaped like an eye glance towards her, then the orb went dark.
"Consider this a warning for what will happen if you do not obey me."
Even though the orb was dead, she still heard her voice clearly like he was right next to them.
"ILLYA!"
Caster dashed in front of her and the maid as she held out her staff, a prismarine barrier flashing in front of them.
Twinkling dots of gold winked in the distance, like a pack of mischievous fairies.
Then the world turned bright golden.
Deep downstairs, the castle shook, shaking loose dust from the isolated corners of the ancient building that rarely saw visitors. In one of these dark rooms, rows and rows of boxes covered in white drapes rested, each with the sigil of the Einzbern family on them. The room was deeply cold, even more so than the biting chill of winter that suffused the forest above. White mist pooled around the edges of the boxes, a dense fog of white that reached to shin level.
There was no wind, but the fog was disturbed by the vibrations from above, knocking it loose from it's static lethargy. As wisps of it curled and tumbled like the surface of the sea, it was abruptly displaced as one of the boxes started creaking, the steel and wood straining against something inside that threatened to break free.
With a resounding crash, the lid flew open and smashed into the ceiling, falling down to the floor right next to the casket, while the white drape slowly drifted down until a hand reached out of the box and caught it before it landed on top of the opened container.
Standing up, the figure wrapped the drape around their body, before exiting the room, leaving the chilly room behind with a smashed lid and an open container. As they fled the room, they passed a sign that read:
'Homunculus storage'