Caster draws his last breath.
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I told you I would get two chapters out! And I did it!
Wooohh!
Why do holidays pass so quickly...
So, enjoy. Leave you thoughts in te comments.
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In the beginning, there was Da'at: Nothing.
After the soul who traveled down from the Crown merged with Keter and became the tenth Great Seraph, there was still Da'at: Nothing.
Yet Da'at was the shadow cast by Ein Sof and Keter, and as the latter gained an avatar, Da'at, as its shade, must also.
Thus, from Nothing, Da'at became something.
His essence was of the infinite shards of the angels in the Seven Rings and Seven Shadows, stitched and melded together so seamlessly that not even Ein Sof could tell where their original boundaries were.
His twelve golden wings were of the fragments of Ein Sof the Void stripped from those who fell from the Seven Rings, thatched and sewn together so beautifully even Ein Sof would marvel at their divine luster. Each feather told of a story, a fall from grace, containing all that was rejected by the angel it had once belonged to.
The windows to his boundless soul were blue as the endless sky, a thousand swirling shades mixing together yet never thoroughly combining. His hair black as the Void of the Beginning, when even Ein Sof had not yet been born.
Da'at: Nothing, became the shade of Keter: the Crown.
Da'at had an avatar, like the ten Emanations.
Da'at held Authority, like the ten Emanations.
Da'at carried shards of Ein Sof, Like the ten Emanations.
Thus, by Ein Sof's laws, Da'at ascended as the eleventh Great Seraph hidden from his kin.
Eons passed.
The Giver of Names and his two hundred kin mingled with humanity, teaching them to hunt, fight, and live without God's divine light. Eventually, their innocent curiosity and pure love turned into erotic desire, and from this union came the Nephilim, human-angel hybrids with peculiar natures.
Their halos were whole, unlike the shattered ones of the fallen, which often became what humans called their horns. Yet their wings were dyed pitch black, for they were not born in the Seven Rings and thus had no shard of Ein Sof given by the Celestial Tree to empower their wings' divine glow.
Nephilim held no sin of their own doing, unlike the fallen.
Nephilim bore the sin of their parents, unlike the pure angels.
Nephilim burned before Ein Sof's light, unlike the Great Seraphim.
Eons passed.
After the Giver of Names slain the one called Rain, his blood poured from his hollow body at the edges of the clouds of the Firmament.
The humans who witnessed this obscene scene denied having seen anything at all, their minds far too brittle and frail to accept the cruelness of reality. They returned to conducting meaningless dirigibles.
The clouds above would occasionally gather, yet no matter how much lingering divinity Storm, Lightning, and Thunder poured into the dark swarms, they always dispersed before their fallen brethren, Rain, came.
For Rain had been slain by the Giver of Names.
The humans waited, praying to the Seraphim above, watching as the moon changed phases a thousand times, and yet Sky's divine gates remained forever closed.
The Watchers brushed aside fears of famine and drought, soothing concerns with empty speeches of honor and sacrifice. Yet humans were pitiful, naive creatures. Having partaken in the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, they gained concepts like pride and fear. They believed the teachings of the Watchers were wiser than Ein Sof's and trusted they would weather this calamity with more dignity since Adam and Eve were banished from Eden.
And then, the desolation still came.
The weak were the first to suffer, children, elders, infirm... Relying upon the kindness of their tribes, they managed to avoid the one called Death, yet how long could they escape his lasting mark?
The Watchers, too, took notice. How could they not? Yet their leaders chose ignorance.
Still, some took action.
Undoing, now called Armaros, descended upon the Valley of Idols. When he had first passed through the Void and arrived on the Earth, the Giver of Names had ordered him to etch the names of his two hundred fallen brethren upon these mountains of stone slabs. Standing as a pact of trust, they seemed eternal to humans.
Yet to the immortal...
...Everything was temporary.
Undoing left the valley, and the trust humans had of the Watchers was shattered as the mountains behind him.
Eons passed.
The unending drought scorched the world, its heat as great as a Burning One of the Seven Rings. Vegetation turned to stone to weather the climate, and animals gathered by the remnants of once great rivers now reduced to trickling streams.
Corpses piled upon each other, growing as tall as mountains while rotting blood filled the fissures in the barren landscape. A vile stench wafted the air, so intense even the Watchers could not stand it.
The soul who became one with the Crown could not bear to see his past kin suffer any longer.
Da'at's essence was of all the angels Ein Sof ever created. Thus, Keter reached into the empty bridge that connected the Crown with Nothingness, swirling and searching for the shard of Rain that the Void had consumed. Once found, Keter ripped it from Nothing's essence, merging it with the hollow shell of Rain.
Da'at was once Nothing. Thus, even when the shard of Rain was ripped from him, all he lost was Nothing.
By Ein Sof's will, the Sephira chose a human with a pure heart and ordered him to build a great ark. Upon it, he led his family and the creatures Ein Sof created during the Seven Days of Genesis.
Once complete, Ein Sof returned the divinity Rain lost, ordering him to flood the world.
Rain complied.
The end of the unending drought came as the clouds gathered above. The trumpets of Israfel sounded thunder while Kerubiel's sparks became lightning.
The seas rose as droplets fell, each charged with the holy light of Ein Sof that purified all that was evil.
In the Great Flood, the Watchers fell into eternal slumber.
After forty days and nights, Rain was allowed to rest. A white dove brought an olive branch back to the Great Ark, signaling the end of Ein Sof's baptization of humanity. With the man who built the Great Ark, Ein Sof swore he would never again destroy the world until the end of all days.
Eons passed.
Yet knowledge was not easy to erase.
What the humans had learned from the now-ancient Watchers became a part of their nature. They were no longer satisfied living under Ein Sof's rule, where they had no control over Gaia and her elements.
Gathering their wisest mages and brightest scholars, they scavenged within the deserted Valley of Idols for crumbled scraps of stone that once held the Watchers' True Names.
From this, they extracted and refined the Ancient Tongue, the language of Angels. United under this one great speech, they sought to build a tower that reached into and even beyond the Seven Rings.
Yet they forget...
...those whom dare challenge Heaven shall be stripped of their wings.
Before humanity's creation could even touch the Burning Rings That Cover the Seven Heavens, Ein Sof gave the order to his children.
Hasmed, once called Annihilation, shattered their tower with the Light of Destruction.
Zachriel, once called Memory, shrouded the Ancient Tongue in the haze of forgetfulness.
Raziel, once called Mystery and Wisdom, ripped the language of Angels from their frail, human minds.
Sahaqiel, once called Sky, scattered the humans, minds battered and lost, across Gaia's surface so they shall never again be united.
Da'at, once called Nothingness, watched the humans suffer.
It was strange, Da'at knew. Even ascended from Nothing to something, he should have felt no emotion. Yet still, his beating heart, made of the essence of innumerable Angels and the desires of the first man, twisted and pulsed in his formless chest.
He didn't want this.
He didn't want humans to suffer.
For the first time since Nothing shed its light to give birth to the Infinite...
...Da'at wished.
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Ritsuka awoke from his dream with a jolt, figure sunk deep into the rotting wood benches of a church no one had visited for at least a decade. His chest was oddly tight, as if the dreams he just had were of painful memories.
Body unmoving, his eyes flicked to the windows shattered by the tides of time, where the sky was dyed hues of fire, as if the sun had been pierced by distant mountains, spilling its fiery blood across the horizon.
Yep, his sleep schedule was screwed.
Still, he stirred for a reason.
The wooden furniture cracked and creaked in protest as he pushed himself up to stand. Dusting off the lichen and moss that clung to his Israeli robes, he rubbed the lingering vestiges of sleep from his eyes as twelve golden wings spread behind him.
He sensed something. Something unsettlingly evil.
As his senses sharpened, he felt the breath of the planet twist and churn near the distant riverbed, a familiar presence forgoing deception and declaring itself a minion of demons.
Yes, he knew this Servant.
He closed the two mortal eyes upon his face, and a thousand golden windows to his soul opened on each of his wings. Kaleidoscopic luminance erupted from the twelve appendages, rainbows dancing as the frail and decaying boundaries of the church struggled and failed to contain the light of a Burning One.
A second later, it vanished. The red colors of the setting sun bathing the world once more.
Ritsuka opened his eyes, concerned yet satisfied with what he had seen.
Gilles de Rais was attempting to summon a child of the Outer Void.
"Oh dear..." he whispered. "I can't let that happen, can I?"
Ritsuka knew what the Caster's Noble Phantasm was capable of, its horrifically non-conventional power as a spell book. In Chaldea, he never utilized it fully, that is, to summon a Sea Demon of the Outer Void. But he ran so many tests in the simulator his psyche was now numb to all that was Eldrich.
He was the "Ruler" of this Holy Grail War, the one responsible for keeping everything that is of the Moon-lit World under close supervision.
In Chaldea, the two had a stable relationship. Ritsuka appreciated Gilles as a Servant and valued his aid, even if he had to knock some sense into the insane Caster when needed. Gilles, too, respected Ritsuka as his contracted lord and obeyed his orders dutifully, and that faith seemed to quadruple when he eventually called the three versions of Jeanne d'Arc to aid in humanity's restoration.
It would be wrong to say they were on bad terms.
But...
...if Caster wanted to kill on an indiscriminate rampage...
...then he shall face the fury of a Great Burning One of the Seven Rings.
Yet, as he was about to leave, a silent dagger threatened to pierce his neck.
A ring of light instantly materialized, stopping the steel edge inches from his neck. Ritsuka took the dagger, not even fazed, and returned it to its sender.
The dagger worked as intended, and a body disintegrated into silver sparks.
"Hmm..." Ritsuka clicked his tongue, looking around his temporary home. The shadows were darker than he remembered. He spoke to them, knowing they would respond. "So, what is your purpose here?"
Inky darkness gathered into a whirlpool of dust and sand as a woman's figure was formed. Her face was amorphous, wrapped in cloth and covered with a white bone mask. This was the dominant personality of Hundred Personas back in Chaldea.
"You shall not leave this church, saint."
Well, they didn't say, "leave this church alive," so their Master didn't order them to eliminate him. Then to stall? For what reason? Gilles was trying to commit mass genocide, threatening to reveal the Moon-lit World to the general public, and then the Mage's Association would hound this town like hungry wolves. If that Tohsaka head held any semblance of respect for the Clocktower, wouldn't another enemy of Caster benefit him?
Or was it...
"Ah, is it about that extra command spell?"
If Ritsuka were to use everything at his disposal against Caster, it could barely be called a fight. In other words, the promised Command Spell wouldn't go to any participating Master.
Archer's and Assassin's Masters were in cahoots if what information he had gathered was to be believed. Using Assassin to ground him to the church while Archer deals the finishing blow, thereby winning his Master the Command Spell. It wasn't a bad strategy, and would have worked if not for one minute detail.
Did they really think that arrogant King of Heroes would draw his Star of Creation against that vile thing?
No, no way in hell.
Thus, he could not stay.
"I don't suppose I can talk my way out of this?"
Another dagger at his neck was the reply he received.
Ritsuka sighed. "Thought so...
"Then remember,
"you brought this onto yourselves."
He would use the card that enabled him to kill the Servant named Hassan-i Sabbah as quickly as possible.
Clairvoyance of Mimicry flared up as it was charged with divinity, the blessings of the ten Seraphim churning in his soul like boiling water while the bubbles raced to burst the surface. One broke first, its ripples causing the remaining nine to sink back into the depths.
Darkness spread in the form of inky tendrils, sharp and icy as death's scythe. It blanketed the church, leaving only indistinct shapes and vague outlines. Nonetheless, one place was exempt from the shroud of shadows: the steeple that had rotted away years ago.
The harrowing echoes of a church bell sounded from above, the bell tower somehow repaired with dark shades and cold blue fire. Within it hung the phantom ghost of a bell, with it solidifying the more chimes rang out.
The Assassins suddenly found themselves forced out into the open, rejected from their hiding places and consumed by an endless black void with a bell tower above. They looked upon the previously innocent saint they had been tasked to restrain and recoiled in horror at who stood before them.
They had never seen this person...
...but they knew who this was.
"Old Man of the Mountain, the final Hassan-i Sabbah..."
The voice that reached the Assassin sent a cold shiver down their spine. The dominant persona took an instinctive step back while cold sweat built beneath their mask.
Cold blue eyes bore down at them while a horseshoe-shaped halo scorched their souls. A spark ignited before the Angel of Death, eventually being molded into the mark of the Seraphim.
"Doth thou hearken the evening bell?"
The Assassins barely registered the faint burn on the back of their necks. Those who had felt the pain reached to feel the anomaly and found the same mark as the one before the Angel, only drawn in scar and flesh.
The unending layers of black cloth enveloping him fluttered without noise as he lifted his sword.
They couldn't move...
...for death had already marked them with his burn.
"Azrael."
Akin to swinging a weightless stick, the sword cleaved the burning sign in twine.
And the Assassins...
...felt their heads drop to the ground.
They did not lament their loss. Instead, they berated themselves for their foolishness.
To challenge the First, the Founder, the Angel of Death himself...
...such a laughable blunder.
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"Well, this isn't good..." Ritsuka's face twisted into a scowl as he gazed down at the river, now blanketed by magenta mist that glowed an ominous rose.
His exchange with Assassin had lasted a minute at most, yet that brief moment had been enough for Caster to summon his Sea Fiend. Had he only been faster, striking Gilles down before the spell's completion wouldn't have been unachievable.
He shook his head. No use crying over spilled milk. The other Servants were already trying in vain to kill that thing.
Iskandar's chariot flattened the Lesser Sea Fiends into a grotesque path of flesh that sank into the river, lightning crackling as his divine bulls brayed with indignance at the lesser beings. Artoria, with Vivian's blessings, ran upon the water's surface in strides as Invisible Air sliced down enemy after enemy.
Their Masters waited on the shore, observing the fight with tense faces and nervous fidgets. Besides them was Lancer, who held his Gae Dearg at the ready as his eyes trailed after the figures of his temporary allies.
Then there was Gilgamesh, perched upon his Vimana, doing nothing. Though, after some begging from his Master, he was generous and magnanimous enough to donate four entire weapons for the greater good.
Yeah, his Master wasn't a sharp judge of character if he still hasn't realized the golden king didn't want anything to do with that amalgamation.
Ritsuka then turned his attention to the two fighter jets above his head. What were they thinking? It's curiosity that killed the cat. Don't those humans know that? He resisted the urge to facepalm as one of the aircrafts nose-dived into the mist.
Did those humans have a death wish?!
Luckily for them, he wasn't about to let those uninvolved in the World of Mages die.
Transforming into other angels was as effortless as can be, yet still, it was unsettling. The fear of forever losing his built-up identity was omnipresent, no matter how impossible he knew it to be.
A golden chest plate with blue garments replaced his Israeli robes. His hair bleached white as snow and puffed fluffy as clouds. Rings crafted from gold encircled his limbs and torso, while four were connected to his robes with ribbons of aquamarine cloth. A golden halo in the shape of the helm of an old-fashioned boat appeared behind his head, and twelve motionless wings, colored pale blond and blue, unfolded.
Sahaqiel turned his aloof gaze towards the mist and pointed a finger at the hole where the fighter jet had entered while another faced the sky above.
"Open, my gate," he murmured.
Two frames of golden Mother of Pearl appeared, encrusted with blue enamel and made vague by clouds. Their surfaces shimmered like the river below, and the fighter jet that had previously entered the mist reemerged from the gate above.
He ignored how teleportation would affect the sensors onboard the aircraft.
"Leave." Using divinity, Ritsuka telepathed his voice to the two foolish humans piloting the jets. "Leave and forget."
As if under a spell, the two artificial crafts turned tail and left, flying as far as possible away from the river. Well, the speech of angels is a Magecraft, so... Ritsuka nodded, satisfied with the result.
"Now..." He held up his arm towards the sky.
Foolish demon. You belong not in this Age of Man.
Massive swords, spears, and axes were forged from light around him using divinity as fuel. The letters of the Language of Angels danced around their blades along with another ancient tongue. Their shapes were hazy and undefined as light was naturally unstable, even when molded by an angel's will. But Emiya had been a good teacher, and anything was possible with a few Primordial Runes he learned from Scáthach.
He'd been dying to try this out since he saw Unlimited Blade Words and Gate of Babylon.
"Rain of Light."
The weapons descended as comets, leaving streaks of gold across the sky. Impacting the water, the spectators wondered when dark clouds had gathered and started to produce rain.
Even with such size, Ritsuka doubted they could pierce the tens of feet of flesh to decapitate Caster at the core. Thus, they were not aimed at the beast and instead forged a holy cage around it, preventing it from reaching the shoreline.
The beast thrashed in the water, writhing like when the leviathan was banished from Heaven. Its tentacles grappled at the sharpened bars of its cage, being scorched upon contact yet regenerating in a gruesome balance that yielded no victor.
"Oh? You still struggle?" Ritsuka sighed. Well, this was Gilles. His passion was unusually intense, if only it wasn't directed towards his perverse tendencies.
Choosing six spears tougher than the rest, Ritsuka used them as focal points and engraved an overlapping seal onto their shafts.
"Seal of Solomon."
A hexagram spluttered and burst to life, forging a barrier that temporarily contained the Sea Fiend inside. This crest was designed by the King of Mages expressly to capture and enslave demons. Even if they were not of the exact origin, a child of the Outer Void would still be susceptible to its effects.
The demonic tentacles beat uselessly against the transparent wall, a screech resounding as holy light began to shine. The gut-wrenching scent of charred flesh spread across the river, never-ending as the regenative qualities of the ensnarled demon promised there shall always be more to burn.
At least Ritsuka had bought them some time. The Servants realized this and rushed back to shore to rediscuss strategies. Ritsuka followed them, using his gate to appear instantly by Rider's grounding chariot.
"You're late, King of Man," Iskandar noted when he laid eyes on the Master of Humanity.
"Apologies." Ritsuka humored, "I had to deal with a troublesome shadow. You can rest assured that the Servant of the Dagger has been removed from the competition."
"You mean Assassin still didn't die after you scorched them?!" Waver screeched from behind Rider's mountain of a figure.
"They have one hundred bodies. Unless their Master is a fool, to slay them in one go would be impossible." Ritsuka explained. "But we're getting off track. Anyone have any ideas?"
Before anyone could speak, the monster paused.
"Huh." Rider hummed. "Did it finally stop resisting?"
The people on shore gazed toward the demon, now still as a statue. It didn't even seem to move when all the holy weapons threatened to burn its tentacles off.
Ritsuka had an unsettling feeling. This was like the calm before the storm. It was unlike Gilles to suddenly pause like this. So what was...
"Oh, no..."
"What's wrong? Shouldn't we be happy that the monster's stopped?" Waver asked.
His gut feeling was proven right when the Sea Fiend resumed movement, this time with renewed vigor. All its limbs were consumed into itself as a massive tentacle was birthed. It slammed against the barrier, pressing all its weight onto a single point. Over and over again, each time producing a shriek akin to nails on a chalkboard and a thin crack upon the seal. Small as they may seem, with how frequently they appeared, it would only be a matter of time before it shattered.
The humans recoiled while the Servants looked warily at the struggling monster and web of cracks.
"Well, it seems I misjudged how much time we have." Ritsuka sighed. What caused this last-ditch effort from the Caster? He had to be burning his own Spirit Origin to achieve such strength. His Master was just an ordinary man. "Well, ideas, people! My barrier'll only hold for fifteen minutes at most!"
"Hmm..." Rider stroked his beard. "I could trap that thing in my Noble Phantasm. But it would only hold for mere minutes."
"Don't." Ritsuka rejected the idea. "You're Noble Phantasm isn't fit to deal with a monster as large as that. Your aid is more valuable. Other than that, Saber."
The King of Knights looked up.
"That Last Phantasm you wield. It should be able to incinerate that monstrosity till not even the smallest scrap of flesh is left, shouldn't it? Why have you not attempted to use it?"
The gaze she sent her left hand was all Ritsuka and Diarmuid needed to know.
"I see." Ritsuka nodded. "The curse of the Rose of Mortality is not easily dispelled. That crippled hand prevents you from bearing the weight of Excalibur."
"Saber," Lancer began, "Is what Ruler speaks the truth?"
She gave a hesitant nod.
"I see."
"But Lancer," Saber continued, "My pride and blade are the same. This wound you inflicted on me is a wound of pride, not chains of shame. If this is the cost of Diarmuid Ua Duibhne's aid, it was worth a veritable cost."
Silent, as though he were looking past all the mist, fog, and weapons of light that bound Caster's beast, Diarmuid sighed and chuckled.
"Saber. I cannot abide Caster." His soft reply contrasted vividly with the determination in his bewitchingly beautiful eyes. "He finds the despair of others both right and good and takes pleasure in spreading terror. His is an evil I cannot let go unchallenged."
He thrust his crimson spear into the ground, both hands gripped tightly on his remaining yellow in the middle. At this moment, Saber realized and rejected what the proud and noble spearman was trying to do.
"No, Lancer, you mustn't do that!"
Lancer chuckled nonchalantly. "Must it be Saber who is victorious today, or Lancer? No. What must triumph today is the path of chivalry we all follow. Isn't that right, Heroic Spirit Artoria?"
Just as Diarmuid was about to divide the legend he held in half, Ritsuka placed a hand where the spear would break.
"Don't be so hasty. Saber isn't the only one who holds a weapon of might."
Diarmuid wasn't there at the Banquet of Kings and thus had not seen Ritsuka's Noble Phantasm. But he wouldn't be using Ars Almadel Salomonis today. That took an entire Sirius Light. And now he only had two to work with.
"I have a plan, but I'll require about a minute to prepare. Saber must be near me for the plan to succeed so she cannot stall the beast for time. Rider has no problem with that chariot of his. But you cannot walk on water, can you?" Ritsuka moved his hand from Lancer's spear to his hands. "For this fight, the Angel of the Sky, Sahaqiel, grants thee mine blessings."
Blessings gushed forth from Ritsuka's hand like an unending spring, creating a whirlpool of golden sparks that were absorbed into Lancer's being. It was almost akin to the bestowal of a Noble Phantasm unto a hero.
Lancer looked down in wonder as his feet lifted from the ground with a mere thought. As if the sky had generated platforms of clouds for him to stand on.
"Now, we're quite tight on time, so I don't have the luxury of explaining my plan. But I'm sure you both know what to do?" Ritsuka looked towards Diarmuid and Iskandar, and they responded by nodding and grinning.
"But of course! We shall buy you that precious minute you need!"
"Thank you, oh angel. Know that my spears shall be at your service!"
"I'll lower my seal when you're in range," Ritsuka called after them as Rider's chariot ascended into the sky with a bellow, and Lancer lept from the ground. Turning to the King of Knights, Ritsuka asked, "Saber, are you ready?"
"Of crouse!" Artoria declaied.
"Hmm." Ritsuka smiled at her enthuse, "It's best you steel your heart just in case."
His Command Spells appeared behind him, glowing crimson and white as he poured his will into them.
"By my first Command Spell, I order myself. Activate the Noble Phantasm: Fate: Grand Order."
One of the red sigils vanished, leaving smudges as a sign it was once there. The energy extracted was poured into a summoning circle that appeared before Ritsuka, who was busy picturing the one he needed to call.
Ten orbs of light spun and split into three rings, contracting and exploding into a blinding supernova.
"Well, now. Isn't this a surprise?"
A cheery voice resounded as the light began to die down. Artoria's eyes widened as she picked up the familiar scent of flowers and joyful footsteps.
How was this possible?
"Servant Caster. I am Merlin, Mage of Flowers." The incubus grinned as he brushed aside a lock of platinum hair. "How may I be of assistance, Master?"
Artoria stared at the Grand candidates with her mouth agape.
"M-Merlin?! How are you here? Moreover, how can you even be summoned as a Servant?!"
"Oh! My king! I didn't notice you there." His voice was cheery as he lied. "Is this why you called me out of the hundreds of possibilities, Master?"
"Yes, though sometimes I wonder if you're worth the trouble."
"Ah, how cold!" The Mage of Flowers pressed a hand to his heart and recoiled with false hurt. A moment later, he noticed the Sea Demon thrashing in the water. "Oh, dear. We're quite tight on time, aren't we?"
"Yes." Ritsuka nodded gravely. Leaning in close, he whispered his instructions to Merlin. "This is what I need of you. Can you do it?"
"What are you two scheming?" Artoria asked warily.
Ignoring his king, Merlin puffed out and put a fist to his chest. "Of course! Leave it to Big Brother Merlin!"
Artoria blinked. The scenery had changed instantly, and not in a good way. She had been thrust into the middle of a very familiar battlefield.
Gazing in the distance, she made out the crumbling walls of a once grand castle. Its chalked walls, once gleaming under the sun, were now stained by patches of blood akin to a cancerous illness that caused it to crumble like melting snow.
Thousands of weapons were stabbed into the ground, some she remembered, and some she forgot. They stood proudly by the fallen corpses that once wielded them, akin to memorials to fallen soldiers. In her hands was a spear stained with blood. In horror, she let it drop onto the ground, and it stabbed into the chest of the Knight of Rebellion.
"Mordred..." She whispered, gaping at the one who led the rebellion that caused her death.
The Battle of Camlann.
No, no. This wasn't that cursed wasteland. Opposite the castle, the King of Camelot still saw the figures of Lancer and Rider battling Caster's monstrosity in modern times. This was an illusion, and she only knew one person who could produce one so realistic.
"What is the meaning of this, Merlin?!" Artoria roared out her rage, unaccepting of the scene before her. Akin to a mighty dragon, her anger was directed at the two behind her. "Ruler, what is this?! Is this what saints call a plan?!"
"Yes." Ritsuka nodded. "Is, too, is necessary. Otherwise, what comes next shall be futile."
"'What comes next?' Do you intend on ridiculing me further?!" She gripped her blade with such strength it began quaking. "And Merlin, I'm familiar with your tendency to play pranks, but this is taking it too far!"
"No, no, my King." His voice took Artoria aback. That serious tone was one she seldom heard from her Court Mage. "My Master has told me of the guilt you bear. Hopefully, this shall banish it from your mind."
"How?! All this does is present all that I do regret! How shall this ease my mind?!"
"Look around." Ritsuka opened his arms, gesturing at all the corpses. "Although painful, look around. What do you see, King of Knights?"
"You still mock me, Ruler?! All there is are the people whom I failed to protect! The subjects I failed to save!"
"Then you still do not realize." Ritsuka shook his head. "Do you not see all the loyalty your subjects displayed? Are you still blind to their devotion?"
"I...!"
For the first time since entering this hell of earth, Artoria couldn't speak words of anger.
"They, who followed you to their deaths. What greater fidelity could you ask of them? Are you not proud, King of the Round, to have such honorable subjects?" Ritsuka asked, "They were people whom you once saved, slaves you once liberated, ones who were so bewitched by your chivalrous ideals they decided to dedicate their lives to you. What grander pride could you wish for?"
Ritsuka lowered his arms, walking to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Artoria.
"After seeing all this, do you still believe your life was a mistake?"
Artoria's head lowered, her body quivering. "I led my kingdom to ruin, Ruler. My knights who fought for the country's future, the people who thought they were safe under my rule... I should let this be their end?"
"Yes, indeed." Merlin also walked to join them, standing on the highest vantage point of a mountain of death. "We followed you, my king, for we thought you were the best person to follow. I speak for all the knights of the Round Table when I say we have no regrets."
"You didn't fail, King of Knights, no matter what anyone tells you. You fought so valiantly and saved so many. Perhaps the ending you reached wasn't the one you hoped for, but it was by no means a mistake." Ritsuka turned to his summoned Servant. "Merlin, it's time."
"Yes, yes. But..."
With a sign, his Command Spells appeared behind him.
"By my Command Spell, I order you. Merlin, Mage of Flowers, unleash your Noble Phantasm."
"I knew you'd know what I need, Master!" Merlin grinned, Mana gathering at the tip of his staff. Planting it into the ground, a pink magic circle shaped as a clock extended outward.
"From the Stars of the Inner Sea and the Tower in Insight, from the four corners of paradise, let them know their story shall be filled with blessings."
The scent of blood was replaced with the sweetness of wildflowers.
"Only those free of sin may pass! Garden of Avalon!"
The battlefield melted away, drowned by a sea of carnations and lilies. A gentle wind caressed Artoria's face as she found herself in her final resting place, the scent of apples and aged wheat lifting her downcast mood, if only a little.
And yet, for some inexplicable reason...
...this felt even more familiar than the battle that slayed her.
Before her stood a block of smooth, grey stone. It was unremarkable. One could find another like it in any patch of the woods. Yet it instilled within Artoria a deep and lingering sense of nostalgia.
"Merlin, would you care to do the honors?"
"Yes, of course." The mage walked up beside her. Swiftly, he pulled from his staff a gleaming golden sword. The words engraved on its fuller were ones that she could never forget.
Whosoe'er pulleth out this sword of this stone is rightwise king of all England
Merlin stabbed the sword into the stone, and it sank into it as if it were butter. He then stepped back behind Artoria's figure.
"Now, what will you do, King of Knights?" Ritsuka asked, gazing at where Iskandar and Diarmuid were. They were able to fend off Caster's Sea Fiend, yet one could tell their endurance was at their limits. "The Inner Garden of the Planet has healed your wounds, if only for this one strike. Will you take your Last Phantasm and incinerate the threat before you, or will you once again draw the blade that led you onto your path of kingship, and show all why you're named the Once and Future King?"
Forming a fist with her left hand, she found it indeed had been restored. Gazing at her first blade, Artoria contemplated. Her past, her future, and so much more.
"My people, my knights... Am I even worthy to draw this blade?"
"That doesn't matter to us. My king, all we ever wanted was for you to be happy," Merlin spoke, head down as he bowed. "To deny yourself this sword is to say we were wrong to follow you. Now, tell us, my king, did we make the wrong choice?"
The Garden of Avalon faded from view, leaving but three people before a sword stabbed in stone. Excalibur was stabbed into the ground and let go as two hands gripped the Sword In The Stone as they had hundreds of years ago.
"I see now. So all I have been doing all this time is slander the sacrifice and good names of my knights, my people." The blade was pulled from the stone, its golden luster burning as it felt the touch of its rightful king. "Once again, I accept this heavy burden! But, such is the price for kingship."
Merlin smiled while Ritsuka produced a wide grin. Turning to the waters, the Master called to the two still locked in a deadly dance with the oversized octopus.
"Rider! Lancer! Retreat right now!"
They fell back instantly, their stamina spent.
"Finally, what took you lot so damn long... Woah!"
Rider noticed the concentration of light pulsing on the shore. He swerved to the side while Lancer, who had long since noticed, hopped to the opposite riverbed. Caster's demon, though, could no way in hell escape so dexterously. The throbbing lump of meat could do nothing but screech in fright at this holy radiance.
The time hath come.
Pouring all the strength available to her into the arms that gripped her Sword of Selection, the King of Knights lifted her blade up high.
Light gathered as if illuminating this sacred blade was their ultimate duty, condensing and merging into a blinding radiance.
The shining sword itself is the hope, the exalted dream of the people. The crystalized ideal of a Once and Future King.
Fueled by a rekindled will, the King of Eternal Victory shall cry the name of the blade that set her upon her path of glory.
"Sword of Selection, once lost, now refound..."
Light galloped.
Light roared.
"Smite the wicked! Caliburn!"
As the light cleared, Rider and Lancer returned to shore.
"Hmm?" Ritsuka noticed as Iskandar's chariot landed. "Why do you grin, King of Conquerors?"
"Oh, don't mind me." The large-hearted man bellowed with laughter. "Yes, that light. It wasn't too blinding at all..."
"What was that, Rider?" Saber asked.
"Oh, nothing. It's just...your shoulders seem lighter, King of Knights."
"Heh..." Artoria hummed. "Allow me to offer my thanks, King of Man. From hereon, I shall fight for the future, not a past I must not change."
Ritsuka laughed. "So long as you understand."
"Hey! What about me? I help, too!"
"Merlin, learn to read the room," Ritsuka replied.
"We're not even in one!"
Ignoring the flabbergasted looks from the Masters at his True Name revealed, the incubus huffed as he noticed his fading form.
"Oh, dear. It seems my time's up." He looked at Ritsuka, "When can I expect you to be back at Chaldea, Master?"
"That I don't know." Ritsuka thought, stroking his chin. "Maybe another week or so?"
"Well, don't worry. Big Brother Merlin'll tell everyone you're alright and enjoying your vacation!" Before his body entirely disintegrated, Merlin slipped Ritsuka a card. "Oh, and make sure you check out the new Clairvoyant Club when you return! You're dear'ol dad's already been drafted!"
A vein popped.
"Do not give me more work!"
The only response he got was cheerful laughter vanishing into flower petals.
"Well," Artoria shrugged weakly, "Merlin will always be Merlin."
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Well?
Sorry if the conversations were awkward. But I hope I made an engaging chapter.
If there are any suggestions, leave those in the comments.
Well, see you all in the next one.
So probably a month from now. Hehehehe