Chapter 6 - Soul Searching

The sound of ragged breathing filled the room.

It was a small, cramped space, shabby at best. The walls were bare, save for the peeling paint in the corners and the wooden floor creaked underfoot. It had little in the way of furnishings—a threadbare couch, a table that leaned awkwardly to one side and a few scattered items—but none of that mattered. For the room contained something far more important: a young man locked in an epic struggle.

His breath came in sharp, shallow gasps, and his muscles burned with a fire that seemed determined to consume him whole. His arms quaked as he barely kept himself off the ground, every fibre of his being screaming for mercy.

He saw the ground draw closer through bleary eyes and with a herculean effort, he forced it away again.

'One more,' he told himself.

His muscles cried out for relief, every sinew and tendon aching. The pain was unbearable, searing through his arms, shoulders and back like molten steel. But he did not stop. He couldn't stop.

'One more.'

The thumping of his heart pounded in his ears, a deafening rhythm that drowned out everything else. His blood roared through his veins, each beat like the hammering of a war drum, urging him onward, refusing to let him falter. Sweat dripped down his face, blurring his vision, stinging his eyes, but he didn't wipe it away. He didn't have the strength for that luxury.

'One more.'

It had become his mantra, a weapon forged in the crucible of his willpower. Each repetition of those words drove him forward, a relentless chant that allowed him to crush the weakness inside him, to bury it deep beneath the weight of his resolve.

Shirou's arms quaked as he descended once more, his chest nearly brushing the floor. He could feel the agony tearing through his body, but he didn't care. He had been pushed past the point of exhaustion countless times. This was no different.

His arms shook violently as he pressed up one last time, his whole body on the verge of collapse. He hovered in the air for a brief moment, suspended by sheer force of will, then his exhaustion finally overcame his resolve and he fell to the floor with a dull thud. The impact reverberated through the small apartment, echoing in the emptiness.

For a long moment, he lay there, chest heaving, limbs trembling uncontrollably. A great weight pressed down on him, hampering his breathing, but it was a trifle compared to what he experienced before.

He was exhausted. Every part of him hurt. But he had done it. He had pushed through the pain once again.

"Not bad," came a voice, smooth and condescending. "I think that display puts you on par with the children of my empire."

Shirou didn't need to look to know who it was. He had heard that voice more times than he cared to count.

Gilgamesh.

The King of Heroes perched on Shirou's back, his bodyweight resting between his magus' shoulder blades, his golden eyes half-lidded with boredom. His regal attire was starkly out of place in the dingy apartment, a crimson robe adorned with golden embroidery draped over his shoulders, glittering even in the dim light. Gilgamesh watched Shirou's struggle with a mixture of disdain and amusement, his smirk barely concealed.

Their current position was, oddly, a cooperative arrangement. Shirou had moved the sofa to create more room to exercise, leaving Gilgamesh with no suitable place to sit while watching TV. So, while Shirou did push-ups, the Servant prevailed upon him by using him as a chair.

One could charitably interpret this as Gilgamesh 'assisting' with Shirou's training—bodyweight exercises could no longer significantly challenge Shirou, leaving him with little choice but to find more creative methods of increasing the intensity.

"Still crawling around like an insect, I see," Gilgamesh mused, his tone dripping with disdain. "I find it remarkable how you manage to make even the most menial of tasks appear so arduous."

Shirou gritted his teeth, his fingers curling into fists against the floor. The sound of his heartbeat still pounded in his ears, his body screaming in protest, but he refused to show weakness. He sat up, forcing Gilgamesh to his feet in the process and wiped the sweat from his brow as he met Gilgamesh's gaze. The King's crimson eyes gleamed with smug superiority.

"What do you want, Gilgamesh?" Shirou asked, his voice hoarse from exertion.

Gilgamesh chuckled softly, the sound like velvet over steel. "Nothing. I merely find it amusing to watch you flounder in your pathetic attempts at self-improvement. Do you truly believe this… exercise will make you a hero? That your pitiful efforts will somehow elevate you to the level of those who dwell in the Throne?"

Shirou's jaw tightened. He knew Gilgamesh was trying to provoke him, to get a reaction. But today, with the pain of his training still fresh and the weight of other concerns in the back of his mind still present, it was harder to ignore.

"You wouldn't understand," Shirou muttered, turning away as he pushed himself to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he steadied himself with sheer willpower. "We can't all be born as demigods, the rest of us have to rely on honest, hard work."

Gilgamesh's smirk deepened. "You're aware of your position, at least."

Shirou shot him a glare, wiping the last of the sweat from his brow. His muscles still ached, but that pain was drowned out by something else. Not a physical ailment, but a supernatural one.

It was a matter that needed to be investigated and it was none other than his roommate who was best suited for it, so Shirou swallowed his qualms and spoke.

"Enough about my training methods. There's something else we need to go over."

"Oh? And what's that?" Gilgamesh asked, his curiosity piqued.

"It's related to our current situation."

"Ah," The twinkle of interest in his eyes faded. "Must we rehash this tired, old topic? I doubt there is anything to be said that hasn't been already."

It was true that the topic of their relocation and the means thereof came up frequently. The contrasting world histories, the emergence of quirks and the lack of evidence of the supernatural world they were familiar with; they had explored all these topics in great detail. But to say there was nothing else to talk about? That wasn't strictly true.

"...There is something."

"Hmm?"

"Look at me, properly. The way you saw through my magecraft before. Tell me what you see."

A fleeting expression of surprise flashed across Gilgamesh's face. He studied Shirou for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

"Bold of you to command me so," Gilgamesh said, his tone suddenly more serious. "But I shall humour you. Let's see what this little mystery is."

A heavy silence settled over them as Gilgamesh stared at him, his eyes drifting out of focus momentarily. To the ill-informed, it would seem like nothing, but Shirou knew the truth of it from their duel atop the mountain.

The King could see beyond mortal flesh, so Shirou knew the Servant was looking not at him, but through him.

Shirou stood still, feeling nothing of the King's magic, but also the most exposed he'd ever been, his essence laid bare for the King's inspection.

It felt strange, uncomfortable, as if his very soul was being examined under a microscope. Gilgamesh's power traced the paths of his circuits, following the flow of mana like rivers of light running through his body. For what felt like an eternity, Shirou waited, his heart pounding once again, as Gilgamesh scrutinized his existence.

"Oh…"

Finally, the appraisal ended and Gilgamesh stepped back, his expression shifting into a sly smile.

"Interesting," Gilgamesh mused, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "That's quite interesting."

"Interesting isn't the word I'd use," Shirou retorted. "I've been… changed."

Shirou was not the same person he was before the Grail swallowed him.

He only needed to look at the state of his magical circuits—they functioned normally, yet somehow felt… twisted. The sensation was off-putting, but unlike his muscles, they caused him no pain. Instead, they felt… alien. As if they had been stripped away and replaced with something other.

This peculiar feeling had been apparent since he had first arrived in this world, but he had attributed it to the after-effects of his battle against Gilgamesh and subsequent exposure to the Grail, assuming they would eventually return to normal.

They hadn't.

Something was wrong.

"I need you to tell me how to fix this."

"...Reversing what has been done to you is beyond my power. That you would even ask me to shows you can't even comprehend how you have changed."

"What did you see?" Shirou asked, his heart pounding. "What's wrong with me?"

Gilgamesh paused, then spoke with an uncharacteristic frankness that caught Shirou off guard. "Your magical circuits are not what they once were. They've changed. No—more accurately, they've been forcibly integrated into your physical body."

Shirou blinked. "Integrated…?"

Gilgamesh nodded. "Yes. A magus's circuits are ethereal structures that reside in the soul and manifest through the body. But now…" He gestured to Shirou, a faint light tracing along his chest and limbs. "Yours are functioning as if they are actual physical organs—grafted into your flesh. No longer purely magical constructs, they are as much a part of your body as your heart and lungs."

Shirou stared at Gilgamesh in stunned silence, trying to process what he was hearing. "So, you're saying… my circuits have become part of my body?"

"Precisely." Gilgamesh's voice was calm, almost clinical. "It's a crude, imperfect transformation. Your soul was altered during your journey to this world and as a result, your circuits are now physically entwined with your form. This may explain your feelings of imbalance—your body and mana are still adjusting to the new state of being."

Shirou's mind raced, piecing together the implications. Unbidden, an image was drawn to the front of his mind—lines of white against a black backdrop, outlining a caricature of a human being.

A sight he had explained away as a simple advancement in technology revealed the truth that he only now understood.

"Is there any way to fix it?" he asked quietly.

Gilgamesh shrugged, the serious moment passing as his usual smug demeanour returned. "Fix? No. There is nothing to 'fix,' Emiya. This is simply your new reality. You should be grateful to have survived such a transition at all."

Shirou let out a breath, his shoulders sagging. So, that was it. There was no solution—no easy way to revert to what he was. He would have to learn to live with this… this mutation of his very essence.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Shirou stood there, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of confusion and uncertainty. He had always been quick to adapt to new situations, but this… this felt different. There was a sense of loss—of something irreplaceable that had been taken from him.

He could almost hear the faint, reassuring hum of his circuits as they once were, a gentle reminder of the power and craft he had painstakingly cultivated over the years. But now, even that was gone—replaced with something alien and disquieting.

"…Sulking already?" Gilgamesh's voice broke through the silence, as sharp and cutting as ever. "I expected more from you, Emiya. To think, a mere shift in your nature would leave you cowering like a beaten dog."

Shirou glanced up at the King of Heroes, his jaw tightening. "I'm not sulking," he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual strength. "I'm just… processing."

Gilgamesh rolled his eyes, the gesture almost imperceptibly softer than his usual dismissiveness. He stepped closer, his gaze scrutinizing Shirou with a nearly palpable intensity. Then, with a weary sigh, he crossed his arms, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and reluctant acceptance.

"Very well. If it will stop you from wallowing in your misery," he began, his tone begrudging, "Then perhaps you should consider the benefits of your new state."

"Benefits?" Shirou echoed incredulously. "You're saying there's a silver lining to… this?"

Gilgamesh's lips twitched into a small, wry smile. "Indeed. Though I loathe to coddle you, I must admit your new form has certain… advantages."

He raised a finger, counting off points as he spoke. "For one, magical circuits are naturally incompatible with the human body. For most magi, using them is akin to poisoning yourself over time. But now that your circuits have been integrated into your body, they no longer cause you that strain. Extended use of your abilities won't have the same adverse effects as before."

Shirou blinked, trying to process this. " I won't feel the backlash from overuse as much?"

Gilgamesh nodded, though his expression remained guarded. "Precisely. Your circuits, now entwined with your flesh, may allow for a more prolonged and stable output. Of course, that doesn't mean you should push yourself recklessly." His smirk deepened. "Though I'm sure you will, given your endless propensity for self-sacrifice."

Shirou grimaced but remained silent. It was true—he often pushed himself beyond his limits without thinking. But this… this could give him an edge, especially in extended battles or high-stress situations.

Gilgamesh raised a second finger. "Secondly, now that your circuits are no longer tied to your soul, you needn't concern yourself over fears of spiritual contamination corrupting your circuits… though conversely, it means your circuits are now vulnerable to physical damage, so it's not completely positive."

"And thirdly, your power is now closer to what the people of this world refer to as a 'Quirk.' It's no longer tied solely to the mysteries of magecraft, but rather to your physical form. As a result, you should find that training your body and circuits will directly enhance your abilities. The more you work to strengthen yourself, the more tangible your gains will be."

Shirou's eyes widened slightly. That was a startling revelation. In his old world, magic was close to science—something that required rigorous study and technique. While training served to improve a magus's abilities, bloodline and research were far more important factors. The idea of strengthening his powers by any significant margin through pure training was almost absurd. But… it made sense, given the nature of Quirks in this world.

"You're saying… I can get stronger just by doing what I always have?" Shirou asked, his voice laced with cautious hope.

Gilgamesh nodded. "Indeed, albeit with one caveat. You won't be held back by the same limits that restricted your growth as a magus. Now, your magical abilities will evolve as you push yourself to your limits—much like the Quirks of this world's inhabitants. But your ceiling will become ever higher and you will need to push increasingly harder to reach past it."

Shirou swallowed hard, the weight of Gilgamesh's words sinking in. This was… monumental. He could grow stronger, faster, more powerful, simply by pushing himself further. The effort he was putting into his training—the endless push-ups, the gruelling drills—could pay off in ways he had never imagined.

It wasn't the same as the structured, academic progress of magecraft. This was something more primal, more immediate.

"…Thanks," Shirou murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced at Gilgamesh, expecting a sneer or some cutting remark in response.

But instead, the King of Heroes merely shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Do not misunderstand me, Emiya. I am not offering you solace. I simply refuse to tolerate such pathetic displays of weakness." He turned away, his crimson cloak swishing behind him as he moved toward the door. "You are what you are now. Wallowing in despair will not change that. Embrace it, or perish—it matters little to me."

With that, he strode out of the room, his presence leaving a palpable void in his wake.

Shirou stood there, alone in the small, shabby apartment, his thoughts a tangled mess of uncertainty and resolve. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers experimentally. He could almost feel the altered circuits pulsing beneath his skin, a steady, unfamiliar rhythm that seemed to echo his heartbeat.

No, he wasn't the same person he had been before. But Gilgamesh was right—there was no point in mourning what was lost. He would have to learn to live with this new reality… and perhaps, just perhaps, he could turn this curse into a blessing.

"I'll figure it out," Shirou whispered to himself, determination slowly hardening in his chest. "Somehow."

The weight of his altered soul settled over him, a constant reminder of what he had become.

But he wouldn't let it break him.

Not now.

Not ever.

I am spite-updating because a reviewer dared to insinuate that this fic was dead!

JK, it was super helpful in motivating me to polish off this chapter. So guest reviewer Alarak, if you're reading this, thanks for giving me the push I needed.

This (mini) chapter is probably going to be quite divisive. At least one reviewer commented before about how magical circuits wouldn't show up in a body scan and I'm only now getting to reveal (three and a half years later) that it was all part of my grand scheme! A terrible grand scheme, cos I failed to properly foreshadow it and it feels like it's just come out of nowhere. Hindsight is 20/20 I guess (which is awfully ironic considering how bad 2020 was!)

Now, is this change lore accurate? Probably not! I'm not smart enough to understand metaphysics or Fate lore (despite having it explained to me by people who are very well-versed in Fate lore), so I am just trying to make it as plausible as possible.

I'm aware that some people will not like this questionable creative choice. So I will provide a forewarning—there will be more. I'm by no means a good writer and I'm told I have a... unique way of thinking (to put it charitably). If at this point you decide this fic is not for you, I understand. Thank you for reading this far and giving this fic a chance.

For those of you who are still interested, a hint of what's to come! I have several scenes I want to write before getting into canon MHA - due to them being rather episodic and being separated by small timeskips, I will likely end up writing them as a series of mini-chapters, maybe of a similar size to this one (around 2800 words), but most certainly under my normal minimum chapter length of 4000 words. If I were to try and put them all in one chapter, it would likely just feel disjointed and I think the reading experience would be worse than just reading smaller, deliberately separated chapters.

Hopefully, this means I will update more regularly. Then again, I also need to get back to Updating The Faker's Trials... I do have half a chapter lined up for that, but on top of the normal motivational issues, I'm struggling with the first-person present-tense writing. Probably woulda been easier if it was third-person past-tense, but I'm not sure I dare to try and re-write it.

I am once again blanking on what else to say, so Imma leave it there for now and maybe edit the chapter if something else comes to mind.

Thanks for reading y'all! Leave a review to let me know your thoughts - who knows, maybe you will be the one to prompt me to finish the next chapter? Or you can send me a PM if you have any questions you want asked, I will get back to you as soon as I can.

Until next time. Ciao!