This tale begins beyond the boundaries of the World, and its absolute truth is unwritten in the Akashic Records. Yet the broken angel knew it before he was unmade by his sire's wrath, and through the child with whom he became one, its lore is now known.

Amidst the sands of distant Colchis, within the walls of the great city of Vharadesh, a child is born and abandoned. Perhaps his mother is too poor to feed him, perhaps she dies giving birth to him; or perhaps he is bastard born, and regarded as a source of shame in the harsh society that exists there then.

In the end, it does not matter; not to this tale, and not to that which the child will become.

The child is given into the care of one of Vharadesh's orphanages. As is the case in most civilizations, it is run by those who claim to have dedicated their lives to the divine : the priests of the Covenant, that monolithic creed that holds all of Colchis within its grasp. There, the child learns of the Four Gods, who hold dominion over all that was, is and will be.

In time, the child is a child no more, and the man joins the Covenant as a priest. Though his soul is hollow and his heart black, his will is strong, and his ruthlessness without peer. When the truth of the Dark Gods the Covenant serves is revealed to him, he does not recoil as so many others do, does not falter, not even for a moment. When he cuts out the heart of one who did upon the altar for the first time, all he feels is contempt for the other man's weakness, despite the two of them having known one another for all of their lives – despite his victim having thought of him as a brother.

Blood and sacrifices, war and intrigue. These are the ways of the Covenant, the rites by which the Dark Gods are celebrated, and the man takes to them like a fish to water. He learns the secret lore of Colchis' priests, hoarded and grown over the centuries of their undisputed reign over the desert world. In the dark alcoves beneath Vharadesh, he experiments further and further, each scream of agony another offering to the Ruinous Powers, while on the surface his influence grows through treachery and murder.

Then comes the crusade of the Golden One. Lorgar Aurelian has risen, denouncing the Covenant's creed as false, and the people of Colchis are rising with him. Through his words, they realize that the way of life they have always known is wrong; through his deeds, they realize that it can be changed.

Temples burn. Priests die, or turn aside from their vows in revulsion as Lorgar reveals to them the truth of their creed. In Vharadesh, the hollow-souled man learns of this, and where the priests around him quiver in fear and call out for the Gods to smite the heretic, he sees opportunity. He preaches that this is a test, that in order to triumph over the upstart the Covenant needs to prove its devotion to the Gods. More sacrifices are made, more atrocities are committed, more unholy rituals are performed. All who resist or question this are dragged to the altars, while the power of the man grows and grows, his control over the Covenant's diminishing empire becoming absolute within two decades of the Wars of the False Priests' start.

As the wars continue, the Covenant descends deeper and deeper into darkness, with the man leading it downward every step of the way. Daemons are summoned and sorcerous storms unleashed. Crops wither and sickness spreads. The priests call it the judgement of the Gods; Lorgar's rebels call it witchery. The man knows that it is both.

And it is not enough. In the end, which is not the end, the Golden One comes to Vharadesh and casts down its gates with a single blow of his mighty weapon, before striding through its streets, battling monsters all the way. His power burns through the Covenant's spells, his will sunders their defenses, his strength slaughters their guardians. And then he stands before the man, who is know the Arch-Priest of the Covenant, the voice of the Gods on Colchis.

The Arch-Priest looks at the wrathful son of the Emperor, whose eyes burn with righteous fury. Countless priests have been broken by that gaze, by the Truth that shines from the soul of Lorgar as it dispelled the illusions woven around their minds, forcing them to confront the reality of their sins before their death.

But not the Arch-Priest. He curses the Golden One to his last breath. Even as his soul is torn from his broken body and cast into the Empyrean, to be subjected to unspeakable torments, the dark flame in his heart that he calls faith continues to burn.

No personal tragedy set the man on his path. Nor was his nature the result of his surroundings, for even in Vharadesh, at the dark core of the Covenant's influence, less than a third of the clergy were illuminated as to the true nature of the Powers they served, and of those only half were depraved enough to embrace it. And while the touch of Chaos can suppress its slaves' ability to feel remorse and guilt so long as it amuses the Dark Gods to do so, such was never needed in the man's case.

This is the story of Kor Phaeron, the Black Cardinal. It is not unique, but it is mercifully rare. For few are those among the ranks of Humanity who are truly born not just without conscience, not just without empathy, but with true evil in their heart.

Such monsters cannot be talked down. They cannot be understood. They cannot be redeemed.

They can only be stopped, one way or another. And it is the duty of heroes to stop monsters. Fortunately for us all, there are two heroes advancing into this monster's lair, with justice in their heart and violence on their mind.

But this monster is strong, and growing stronger still. And, so the question is :

Are you prepared, oh tarnished knight ? Are you prepared, oh darkened king ?

I pray that you are, for the fate of the World rests on your shoulders.

November 27th, 2004 AD – Homurahara Academy

Out of all the places Rin had thought she might have to fight off a siege in, the gymnasium of her highschool definitely hadn't been on the list. Yet here she was, firing curses at creatures that had no place in any sane reality as they tried to force their way past Lancer. Illya's Servant stood guard at the door, her weapon now in the shape of a long-bladed spear that she twirled around her in a breathtaking display of martial skill.

When they had emerged from the cavern and seen the vortex in the sky, it had been clear that they needed to take shelter. The closest building to the mountain was the school, so they had broken in and taken refuge within the gym, laying the unconscious monks down in the middle of the vast empty space. Illya was doing what she could to heal the worst of their post-possession injuries, which hadn't been helped by the journey down the mountain, however gently the group had tried to carry them.

After sending Rider out to do some reconnaissance, Rin had started to help Shirou's sister. Her knowledge of healing Mysteries was somewhat lacking compared to the half-homunculus girl, since with Shirou being able to create copies of Avalon there hadn't been much of a need for that, but she could still cast some basic spells. The Servants had set up to guard the area, with Berserker, Archer and Assassin moving to the roof, while Sakura sat down in a meditation pose and prepared to use her deep well of od to fuel the Gorgon sisters.

Then the storm had erupted, and the daemons had started their attack.

A few moments ago, Rider had made contact with the Conglomerate's forces in the city. She had also informed Rin about the mutants who were among the attackers : Rin had recognized them from some of Shirou's descriptions of Corswain's memories. Such wretches had formed the bulk of the traitor hordes during the Siege of Terra, and now the Grail was recreating them. That meant the corruption from the Dark Angel's reality of origin was growing stronger, or (even more worrying) was somehow learning how to affect its surroundings better.

Rin's Servant had suggested she come back to help, but Rin had told her to support the other forces in the city. Her speed was better employed outside, where she could swiftly come to the rescue of the Clocktower and Conglomerate operatives – besides, Rin could always summon her with a Command Seal if she really needed her.

There were a lot of monsters, and more kept on coming. Rin was almost sure the attackers were drawn by the presence of so many Servants and Magecraft users. Berserker and Lancer were hardly being stealthy with their power, after all. But, much as it annoyed her, she had to admit it was probably for the best : the more monsters focused on attacking the gym, the more pressure they could take off the rest of the city.

Rin swore under her breath as she blasted another daemon with a Gandr curse. This one had looked like a big, ugly bat with too many teeth and not a single eye anywhere on its body. If those were the hosts of the Dark Gods of Chaos, those infernal powers that ruled the spirit realm of the alternate timeline Corswain and Kor Phaeron hailed from, then it was little wonder Pretender was mad.

She was running low on od and charged gemstones, but she could still keep providing support to Lancer for now. And if it came to it, she also had the Thompson Contender, Kiritsugu Emiya's own Mystic Code, along with half the remaining Origin Bullets he'd left to his son. She hadn't had an opportunity to use them in the cavern – she didn't know what they would've done to a monk possessed by a Demon Pillar, but she doubted it would've been anything good – but she'd no such hesitation where these monsters were concerned.

If anything, the part of her that was still the cold-blooded, analytical Magus she'd tried so hard to be before Shirou had ripped her world-view apart looked forward to seeing what the Origin Bullets did to a Neverborn.

Atop the building where the humans had taken refuge, the three Gorgon sisters fought together against flying monstrosities. Dozens of winged humanoids, with wicked talons, bestial jaws and hunched backs had emerged from the tormented sky. With her enhanced senses, Archer could see more of them across the city, circling in search of prey, but the bulk of them seemed to have been drawn to this location.

They plunged down on the sisters with howls of hatred and hunger, never moving in anything less than five at the same time. Of the three, only Medusa would've stood a chance at survival facing them alone, but together, they were unstoppable.

Medusa's scythe cut through infernal flesh with ease, its immortal-killing edge more than enough to pierce the Neverborn's skin. In fact, it was almost doing it too well, which made Euryale briefly wonder if these creatures had some kind of conceptual weakness to scythe-like weaponry. She would need to ask Shirou about it later, if she still remembered and cared to by then.

Stheno's songs disturbed the energy from which the flying horrors were entirely composed, causing them to burst, while Euryale's arrows could pierce through several at once before dissipating. And still, more and more descended.

Euryale's and Stheno's link to their shared Master was weak, the rampant energies of the Greater Grail interfering with the connection. They could sense that he was still alive, but little else – they couldn't even pull mana from him. Fortunately, the network of bonds that existed between the members of this strange alliance they were part of meant that they didn't have to worry about running out of mana, as they could draw from the other Masters close at hand.

Still, as Euryale guided her latest arrow through the eye of yet another daemon, she couldn't help but worry. Not for her Master, of course, but … for herself and her sisters, yes. After all, if he died, then their chances of being able to enjoy being a family again were slim.

Stay alive, Master, she thought. You don't get to die until we allow it.

Then a bolt of unholy energy came down from the clouds and slammed into the side of the building with enough strength she almost lost her footing, despite her C-rank Agility.

Inside the gym, Sakura's meditative state was shattered when the high windows at the side of the gym exploded inwards. Glass shards rained down, but those were the least of the defenders' concerns. The bolt of energy from the storm had blasted through the glass and earthed itself within the gym, and they could all sense the new, foul presence rising from the point of impact.

It was large, though not as large as the Demon Pillar they had faced in the Fujimura mansion. It was a tall figure of red, scaled skin, wearing a cloak made of human skulls linked together by chains of black iron. Its bestial head was crowned by two black horns, and it held a black longsword in its clawed hand. It reeked of blood and violence, and its blazing eyes contained nothing but the promise of murder.

The daemon looked right at Sakura, its maw twisting into a vicious smile.

"We are here now, little witch," it hissed. "The Veil is torn. You cannot hide from us. We are coming !"

The ground beneath its hooves bubbled and melted, leaving imprints as it stalked closer to her.

Sakura ! she heard Medusa's alarmed cry in her mind as the Servant sensed the threat.

But she wasn't the helpless victim Senpai had rescued from the pit any longer. She had spent two years practicing her Magecraft, so that she could stand at the side of her beloved, instead of hiding behind his back.

She stood up calmly. Her hair was white and her eyes red, and her body was wrapped in two-dimensional ribbons that served both as protection and a mean of attack. As the daemon raised its sword, Sakura snapped her fingers, and five of her ribbons leapt toward it. With a burst of malevolent laughter, it tried to cut them apart with its blade, only for the weapon to bounce off, failing to do any damage whatsoever. Based on prior testing, Sakura knew that an ordinary weapon would have been cut in two at the point of impact – but then, the daemon wasn't really holding a sword, just the concept of violent death interpreted by her eyes as a sword.

At Sakura's mental command, her ribbons surrounded the daemon, like bandages around a mummy. She closed her fist, and they squeezed. The daemon screamed, not in hatred or fury, but in genuine terror as it was caught by Sakura's Magecraft and dragged into the void. Despite all her years of training her Imaginary Element with her sister's help, Sakura still didn't know where exactly things she destroyed with her ribbons ended up.

Not that it mattered. Based on Shirou's memories, the daemon wouldn't last long once it was cut off from the Grail. Without a constant source of energy, it would lose its hold onto corporeality. In Corswain's memories, that would have meant a return to the Realms of Chaos, where the infernal deities that had tricked the Dark Angels into rebellion reigned supreme. But since the Neverborn attacking Fuyuki had been created by the Grail using the Second Magic, they would simply disappear.

At least, if the Masters' understanding of what was going on was correct. But now wasn't the time to think about that.

They had to hold on. However bad things were here, Senpai and Saber undoubtedly had it worse.

The closer Saber and Shirou got to the Greater Grail, the stronger the pressure on their bodies, minds and souls grew. But the two of them were strong, and the resistance they had gained through very different means held on, turning what would be crippling to most into a feeling that, while uncomfortable, could be ignored through an effort of will – and both Master and Servant were, if nothing else, stubborn in the extreme.

Like the reconstruction of Armatura where they had faced Amon and the other Demon Pillars, the space around them had been warped by the corrupted Grail's influence. Rin's family notes on the place had described a vast circular cavern, with an elevated spot in the center where the Founders had performed the ritual that had created the whole accursed system.

This was not what the pair found as they emerged from the passage where they had fought Belial. Whether as a result of Pretender's ritual or his preparations for their arrival, the heart of the Greater Grail was a vision straight out of Shirou's inherited nightmares.

The walls of the cavern were nowhere to be seen : instead, they were surrounded by a storm of convulsing lightning, in which blazed unearthly sigils whose fell radiance illuminated screaming faces. She did not recognize any of the screaming faces, but she knew with absolute certainty that each corresponded to one person who had perished in the great fire of ten years ago. There were hundreds of them, and for a terrible moment Saber wondered whether those were mere echoes of the Grail's victims, or their very souls, trapped in perpetual torment all those years, much as she herself had been, but without any hope of escape.

The only thing that looked real was the span of solid rock leading up from the entrance to the floating platform where Kor Phaeron stood below the black heart of the corrupted Grail. Instinctively, Saber understood that this bridge represented the link between the Grail and the World, at once an anchor and, should they fail, the path through which horror would invade Gaia.

But they would not fail.

"Ha, there you are," said Pretender, looking down on them from his perch. "You're a bit earlier than I anticipated … but no matter. Tell me, did you enjoy the presents I left for you on the way here ?"

"Are you really trying to rile us up at this hour ?" asked Shirou. "The people you took from the temple are alive, Kor Phaeron. Each and every one of them. They are free of your possession, and they will recover. Even Kuzuki-sensei, who managed to resist Belial's efforts to break him."

"… Is that so ? How disappointing." Kor Phaeron sighed. "Then it comes to this."

Pretender snapped his fingers, and the illusion that Saber had detected in the air in front of him vanished, revealing …

… What in all the Hells was that ?!

"Is that … Kirei Kotomine ?" asked Shirou.

"Precisely," replied Kor Phaeron. "I'm surprised you can recognize him. Those eyes of yours are really something special."

Kotomine ? The priest who had taken part in the last war as Assassin's Master, who had died and been resurrected by the Grail and turned into its puppet ? The renegade Church Overseer who had anchored Gilgamesh's existence into the World for ten years before Rin had riddled him with Origin Bullets at the Fujimura estate ?

There was nothing in the abomination that even remotely hinted to its past nature. It was a pulsating mass of flesh the size of Gilgamesh's flying vehicle, endlessly reshaping itself at random. And yet, at the same time, Saber could feel tremendous magical power within the … creature.

"You made a Chaos Spawn into a Lesser Grail," said Shirou, appalled, putting a name on the horrid fate that had befallen the false priest. "Gilgamesh's prana, and all the energy from the Demon Pillars we killed : it's all inside it."

"Exactly," confirmed Kor Phaeron without any hint of shame or regret. "After what those two sisters of yours did to him, it was the only way he could still be of use."

"He was your ally, and yet you did this to him," said Saber. "And you wonder why it is that no one sane would ever consider joining your cause !"

Kor Phaeron laughed, the sound of it making Saber's skin crawl under her armor.

"Still so blind, little King of Knights. We all serve the Pantheon, whether we accept it or not. But perhaps this will help you realize that !"

Kor Phaeron clapped his hands, and the sorcerous chains that had held the Chaos Spawn up vanished. It fell down with a disgustingly wet noise, before one of its many mouths opened and disgorged a torrent of black sludge. The flow moved impossibly fast, too quick and too vast for even Saber's reflexes to avoid, and both Master and Servant were engulfed by the foul substance.

She couldn't see. She couldn't breathe. She was drowning in darkness, drowning blackness nothing the taint the screams alone alone ALONE –

"SABER !"

She blinked, and she could see again. Shirou was there before her, his wings stretched out around her in a protective embrace, his eyes blaring with inner light. His sword was ablaze, repelling the taint of Kirei's attack, forcing the black mud back and leaving the two of them standing on a small island, surrounded by the foul sludge.

"I suppose that would have been too easy," called out Kor Phaeron in a conversational tone. "But do not believe this is all dear Kirei has in store."

"What do you …" Saber began, before stopping.

All around them, warped figures were emerging from the black mud. They were humanoid only in the loosest sense, resembling the three-dimensional charcoal drawings of a mad artist. The closest of them looked to be wearing some sort of medieval armor, and was dragging a longsword behind it with its too-long arm. Its helmet split in two at the jaw to reveal a mouth full of sharpened teeth, and it groaned in a voice full of hatred and suffering :

"AAARRR … THURRRRRR !"

"Lancelot ?" she breathed in shock, before frowning in realization. "No. You are not him !"

She raised her sword just in time to block the figure's blow, and then the two of them were locked in combat. In the distance, Kor Phaeron laughed :

"That's right, King of Knights ! This is not the warrior who seduced your wife centuries ago, whose treachery brought low your kingdom and who sought to kill you ten years ago before you killed him in turn."

If he thought to provoke her to recklessness with those words, he was sorely mistaken : after all, she only remembered the last of these three events. And though she had lost the memories responsible, she was certain that, when she had fought Berserker at the end of the Fourth War, it had been with grief in her heart, not anger.

"But even though that Lancelot's essence was consumed by the Grail, an imprint of his Spirit Graph remained," Kor Phaeron continued. "Enough for me to call forth these ghosts, given form by the Grail's power and grudges toward those who dare defy it and refuse its gifts !"

Next to her, Shirou was fighting against more figures, cutting them down with all of his strength. Dozens of them bore bone-white skull masks that had to be echoes of the Fourth War's Assassin, while the centaur-like thing with bulking arms had to be some grotesque amalgamation of Rider and his favourite horse.

She didn't have time for any more observations, as the Chaos-born wraith of her once-proud knight kept hurling itself at her, howling the name of her kingly self again and again.

Though Saber's memories from her mortal life had been stolen from her by the Grail, Saber had brushed up on her own legend since her summoning. She knew Lancelot's story : the French Knight had fallen in love with his Queen, Guinevere, and eventually stolen her away from Camelot. Of course, even with her memories lost, she knew that the publicly accepted version of the tale missed some key details, such as the truth of her gender. And while she couldn't remember why, she knew that when she had faced Berserker at the end of the Fourth War, before the fraud of the Grail had been revealed and she had tried to destroy it at Kiritsugu's order, she hadn't felt anger at the sight of the supposed traitor.

Instead, she remembered an all-consuming sense of grief and guilt. She hadn't asked Lancer why this should be, though she wasn't sure whether that had been to spare the other Servant from having to revisit such painful memories or because, deep inside, she was scared of what the truth might be. Besides, the machinations of the Grail had left her a new person, free of the shackles of a past she could not change.

She was still going to make Kor Phaeron pay for desecrating the image of the Knight of the Lake in such a way, though.

With a roar, she battered the corrupted image of Arondight aside, before punching the wraith's head off with her left fist. Before it hit the ground, a thing of tentacles and gaping maws that reminded her of Caster's familiars hurled itself at her. She swung her sword around, pivoting on her feet at the moment of impact in order to send it flying straight at a pack of skull-faced shadows instead.

Regardless of Pretender's words, these were no mere echoes of fallen Servants. Regardless of their differences, she had recognized each of the other Heroic Spirits of the previous War as worthy foes : none of them would have fallen so easily before her Master and her.

This is what Chaos does to those it enslaves, Shirou sent through their link, sensing her thoughts even as he beheaded something that resembled a fox made of smoke and rotten blood. It twists them into dark mockeries of themselves, and reduces them to puppets forever blind to their strings, all to feed its never-ending hunger by feasting on their unrealized potential. This would have happened to us too if we had accepted Kor Phaeron's offer at the docks.

With the closest Shadow Servants dispatched, Master and Servant began their charge up the path and toward Kor Phaeron. As they advanced, the pool of blood bubbled ahead of them, and the largest figure yet emerged. Tendrils of oily smoke ran between black bones, puppet strings forcing the macabre construct into motion, and its jaw, large enough to swallow a man whole, opened to let out a shriek of mindless agony as it forced itself up on four limbs, cadaverous wings stretching from its back.

It was a mockery of a dragon's strength and nobility, and the sight of it filled Saber with rage.

That one is mine, she told Shirou, and raised her sword.

Since the fight against Belial, her weapon had been fighting against her. Shirou had refused to tell her what exactly had been done to her Excalibur, what false history had been written over its true glory while she dwelled within the Grail. He had claimed there was no point to it, as it would only upset her for no gain. She hadn't used her Noble Phantasm because of that, just in case – the blackened blade had been enough for her purpose until now, serving her well against Lancer, the Ainsworth puppets, and the Demon Pillars.

Now, however, the corruption was fighting against her, resisting her commands as it reacted to Pretender's ritual.

You are mine, she thought. My weapon. My sword.

And what is mine will not defy my will !

With all the greed and will of her draconic nature, she tried to force her reluctant sword to obey, to lay low this obstacle between her and her revenge. But she couldn't, at least not quickly enough. The bone-dragon arched over her, ready to plunge its teeth into her –

"Saber, by the power of my Command Seal, I order you : destroy this foe !"

Power flowed through her, strong and pure, repelling Pretender's influence. The weapon in her hands erupted into a column of black and red energy, and she smiled as her visor cracked and fell away. She leapt, and slammed her blade point-first into the false dragon's skull, vaporising it instantly. The recoil sent her back to the ground, even as the headless beast fell, already dissipating.

As Shirou passed her, she saw that he had assumed his Archduke Form, towering above her in his armor, with Radiant Moon glowing with its full power. In a single blow and without even slowing down, her Master cut the Chaos Spawn in two, pushing the severed halves aside and continuing its climb toward Kor Phaeron with a mighty leap. At the apex of his jump, he took up his sword in both hands, gathering all his strength to end the threat Kor Phaeron posed to the World –

Before Shirou could strike, a staff materialized in Pretender's right hand. Saber caught only a glimpse of a golden cross atop it before it was engulfed in black fire that warped it into a crimson eight-pointed star blazing with power.

As her Master's sword descended, a powerful shockwave erupted from the staff, sending him flying backward with a frustrated scream, before he landed next to her with a flap of his wings.

"How many more holy relics will you insult ?!" howled Shirou, already moving back up, Saber following behind him. "How many more blasphemies will you commit before you're satisfied ?! Pretender !"

Instead of replying, Kor Phaeron twirled the staff in both hands before slamming it into a trail of black blood that had impossibly crept up the path from the bisected corpse of the Chaos Spawn.

Too late, Saber realized the trap they had fallen into. The energy that had been stored within the Chaos Spawn had been left without a container by its demise, but power could not be destroyed so easily. If this had been an ordinary Lesser Grail, the mana would have dissipated back into the leylines, as had happened during the Grail Wars where the vessel had been destroyed before only one Servant was left. That in itself could have had disastrous consequences, as she struggled to imagine what effects this would've had on the area – but like everything else in this War, that rule was no longer in effect.

The bloody pieces of the thing that had been Kirei sank into the mud, and a tide of energy went up the trail and into Kor Phaeron's staff, before flowing into the false Servant's body, which immediately began to change. A pair of leathery black wings erupted from his back, and a crown of eight horns grew from his bald skull, tearing through his skin like dry paper, revealing a nightmarish visage lit by a pair of burning eyes. His stature increased until it matched Shirou's own, yet somehow managed to still give off the impression of being thin and sickly.

"A Pretender to the end," cursed Shirou. "Your masters never made you a Daemon Prince, ghost."

"But they will," crowed Pretender, his voice now as deep and powerful as her Master's, "once they see the glorious gift I have to offer them."

Atop the elevated path, Kor Phaeron spread out his arms wide, a wicked smile twisting his new daemonic face (which, to be honest, wasn't really any worse than it had been before his transformation). The blasphemous sigils around them flared with painful brightness as the Greater Grail absorbed the energy Pretender was offering up to it.

Above him, a single point of darkness appeared, then grew into the form of a cup. Saber recognized its shape, but unlike the Grail that had manifested from poor Irisviel's body ten years ago, this artefact didn't even attempt to hide its evil nature. It was the black of rotten blood, was encrusted with jewels glowing the pale light of poisoned suns, and overflowed with yet more of the black mud that had created the Shadow Servants.

Pretender seized the Chaos Grail without a care for its terrible aura, or the way the black mud dripped all over him. The scaled skin of his hands blistered at its burning touch, but if he felt pain, his fanatical expression showed no sign of it. Holding it up above his head, the Black Cardinal began to chant :

"The Hour of Revelation Hath Come,

I Am the Voice of Chaos."

Each word burned at Saber's very soul as she and her Master ran up toward Kor Phaeron. The two of them poured everything they had into getting there in time, and by all rights should have made it long before Pretender could even finish the first sentence. But space was working against them, the distance between them and their goal growing two step for every one they took. The laws of the universe were being perverted, the spiritual weight of the Chaos Grail distorting reality.

"The Hour of Crowning Hath Come,

I am the Herald of the Primordial Truth."

Every step was a challenge now. Saber could feel her Master's growing panic as Kor Phaeron continued his incantation. The faces of the dead around them shifted into infernal masks who stared at them, their simplistic expressions somehow conveying a sense of all-consuming hunger.

"The Hour of Rejoining Hath Come,

I Am He Who Offers Up the World.

Ars Chaotica !"

The Chaos Grail flared. Reality broke, and Saber and her Master fell down as the very ground beneath their feet ceased to exist.

They had failed. Kor Phaeron had used the Chaos Grail to activate his own, corrupted Noble Phantasm, usurped from the Spirit Origin of Solomon himself. Whatever form the King of Mages' ultimate Mystery would have taken had he been called down from the Throne of Heroes, it would no doubt have been extremely powerful, and now that potential had been turned against the World.

Ruin had come to Gaia.

All was pain.

For all that Shirou's mastery of his abilities had grown since Kor Phaeron's failed attempt to turn him, the human body was not meant for such power as he possessed. It was only thanks to Avalon constantly repairing the damage to his flesh as soon as it appeared and to his distorted mindset born of the trauma of the Fire enabling him to withstand to mental pressure that, with the added assistance of Rin and Sakura through their contracts, he was even remotely stable. The list of factors that had needed to go precisely right for him to remain himself and not degenerate into a raving madman being slowly consumed by his own power was, frankly, terrifying.

But for all the power he drew from the Dark Angel (power enough to let him fight on the level of Servants, something believed impossible by most Magi of the current era), the entire thing was still a delicate balancing act. And now, as the Chaotic energies of the tear in the World that Kor Phaeron had ripped open battered against him, Shirou could feel it all creaking, on the verge of utter collapse.

His full-blown transformation had immediately been dispelled, but that was the least of his worries. He tasted blood and metal in his mouth, and felt razor-sharp blades cut at his skin from the inside. He heard nothing but inhuman screams and infernal laughter, and saw nothing but whirling shapes of impossible colors that cast shadows with hungry teeth, which drew ever closer.

He could barely sense Saber's presence at his side, as even the feeling of their bond was warped as his brain started to bleed within his skull. She was hurting too, dragged back into the Hell his summoning had rescued her from, and he couldn't help her.

Somehow, that last bit hurt more than all the rest combined.

He was dying and he knew it. Death did not frighten him, but the thought of breaking his promise to the ones he loved terrified him more than anything the Dark Gods could do to him –

Suddenly, his vision cleared of the madnes that surrounded him, revealing an empty void. A man clad in a black cloak stood before him, looking down at him where he laid with silver eyes that were not without kindness. He had a mane and beard of gray hair, and his regal bearing betrayed a lifetime spent leading men into battle – but didn't seem diminished by old age in any way.

Shirou recognized that man from Rin's Magecraft lessons, which had gone much deeper into the history of Thaumaturgy than Kiritsugu had ever bothered to. Although Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg was dead, and had been dead for more than a thousand years, the Second Magician hadn't let something like death keep him down. It had been one of his Reflections, scattered across the leylines by his final stand against the Ultimate One of the Moon, that had set the Tohsaka Founder on his path generations ago, and which had helped set up the Grail system several generations later.

How he was here now, Shirou could only guess. He gave it even odds that this was just a pain-induced hallucination.

"What are you doing, boy ?" asked the vision that might or might not be real. "Your sworn enemy is right here."

"I … can't … beat him," Shirou admitted.

Zelretch knelt down, before flicking his forehead, though Shirou barely felt it through the pain that still wracked his body.

"Wrong," the wielder of the Second Magic said. "Corswain cannot beat him. And truth be told, Shirou Emiya probably can't either, now that he has opened that hole. But you are more than either of them, aren't you ?"

Shirou looked up at the Reflection of the great mage, not understanding his meaning. Zelretch sighed.

"Kids these days," he muttered, before standing up and raising a hand above his head. "Although I suppose you are better than my last bunch of apprentices."

For a brief moment, the ceaseless onslaught of the rift paused, kept at bay by the Magician's echo. Nearly overcome by the sudden relief, Shirou took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly forced himself to stand. There was nothing under his feet, but that didn't stop Zelretch, so he wouldn't let it stop him either.

"You have everything you need to win," said Zelretch, as cracks spread across his form, the Reflection's very existence being burned away by the spell he was casting. Rin had told Shirou that was always the way : every time the Second Magician reached out into the World, another remnant of his existence was lost, never to be replaced. "You already took the first step on the path you must walk. You need only remember who, and what, you are."

Zelretch smiled slightly. "So, I ask you, Shirou Emiya : who are you ?"

Oh.

Of course.

The Reflection shattered, and the unholy pressure of Chaos returned with a vengeance. But before it could crash against Shirou's defenses and send him reeling within himself once more, the heir of the Magus Killer opened his mouth and spoke :

"I am the blade that sunders the might of gods."

This was the first line of his greatest aria, which he had spoken once already. It was the defiance with which he had struck down the shikome and broken the divine legacy of Fragarach. It was a proclamation, a promise and a threat all in one. In itself, it held enough power to make the tide of Ruin slow down, just as it had struck the Demon Pillars back on the docks. But this time, Shirou went on, each word flowing into the next as naturally as breathing :

"Blinded by a thousand shadows,

Deceived by a thousand lies,

I have stood in the ruins you made,

But I am yours no more."

With the memories of the Dark Angel restored, Shirou could see the path that had led him to damnation clearly, with eyes unclouded by the manipulations of Tzeentch that had prevented the Legionary from realizing he was being deceived. No more. He was not Corswain – he would never be Corswain. The First Archduke of Cysgorog was dead and gone.

"Never knowing honor,

Never knowing peace,

Only one reforged oath endures :

I shall walk this endless path,

Till I reach our ever-distant dream."

Long before the Heresy, before the Great Crusade, the boy who would become Corswain had dreamt of being a knight, of defending the innocent from the beasts of Caliban's wild forests. And before that, all he had wanted was for his people to live free of fear. And though he had been warped, twisted and remade, that dream had remained, albeit only as a painful reminder of all that he had lost, left behind by a cruel god so that it might relish the torment of its slave.

And Shirou shared that dream, and had since his father had pulled him out of the ashes. It was the same dream whose very manifestation had been implanted within his body so that he may live in spite of the Grail's cursed flames, the dream that had led a squire to pick up the sword that would shape her fate and that of her country …

… the dream that had created the sword that had shone, at the end of Corswain's world.

"At the end of glory, there shall always be,

Unlimited Blade Works."

And as he spoke those words, they became the truth.

[SKILL REVEAL]

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Avatar of Ruin (Fake) (EX) : this Skill lets Kor Phaeron briefly claim the infernal ascension he so coveted as a mortal priest of the Covenant. Though his spirit was rescued from the Sea of Souls by the sorcery of the First Legion, the Black Cardinal was denied transfiguration into a Daemon Prince as punishment for his failure to stop Lorgar, instead becoming an undying wraith haunting the Ruinstorm. Yet not even the Dark Gods could extinguish the flames of Kor Phaeron's ambition and lust for power, granting him this Skill when his essence manifested as a Servant.

[NOBLE PHANTASM REVEAL]

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Noble Phantasm : Ars Chaotica

Rank : EX

Type : Anti-Humanity

Omake : The Spirit Graphs of the Chaos Grail
(and the Servants of the Third Holy Grail War)

(I couldn't think of a good point in the story to reveal this information, so here it is.)

At the climax of the Fifth Holy Grail War, the corrupted Greater Grail used the counterfeit Lesser Grail Kor Phaeron had manufactured from the Chaos Spawn that had once been Kirei Kotomine to create a host of Shadow Servants. These were Chaos-corrupted echoes of the Heroic Spirits absorbed by the Greater Grail since its corruption by Angra Mainyu in the Third Grail War. Since Avenger was the first Servant to perish in the Third War, all Servants who were slain afterward left an imprint onto the Grail's corruption. However, because the Third Grail War ended when the Lesser Grail of the time was destroyed, not all Heroic Spirits of the Third War were affected.

4th War : By the time the Grail manifested, five out of the seven Servants had been defeated. Following the Grail's destruction by Saber's Noble Phantasm, she and Archer were submerged by the Grail's Black Mud. Archer's Spirit Graph was promptly overwritten and the Servant released as an Alter Ego, while Saber endured within the Greater Grail, her Spirit Graph slowly torn asunder in a process that resulted in the summoning of the Fifth War's Lancer and Rider Servants.

Assassin : Hassan with a Hundred Faces

Caster : Bluebeard

Rider : Iskandar

Berserker : Lancelot

Lancer : Diarmuid Ua Duibhne

3rd War : Apart from Angra Mainyu, I don't think the True Names of the Third War's Servants are recorded anywhere in canon. Fionn mac Cumhaill is mentioned as Lancer in Fate/Apocrypha, though, so I ran with it. As explained above, all Heroic Spirits who died before the destruction of the Lesser Grail left an imprint in the Greater Grail it could use to summon Chaos-corrupted Shadow Servants.

Saber : Siegfried. Two versions were summoned by the Edelfelt sisters using their bloodline's Ore Scales trait; one version survived until the destruction of the Lesser Grail while the other was destroyed; whether the Master of the defeated Saber ended up marrying into the Tohsaka family remains an unanswered question. And yes, the dragon skeleton Saber and Shirou faced was spawned from Siegfried's data, corrupted to draw the draconic curse he inherited from Fafnir's blood.

Avenger (replaces the Berserker Class) : Angra Mainyu (did not survive the Grail War).

Archer : Arash (survived the Grail War).

Lancer : Fionn mac Cumhaill (did not survive the Grail War).

Rider : Saint Martha (did not survive the Grail War). Her staff is what Kor Phaeron conjured to protect himself from Shirou's attack before he activated his Skill : like Saber's Excalibur, its history was rewritten by the Grail's corruption.

Caster : Tamamo-no-Mae(did not survive the Grail War).

Assassin : Cleopatra VII Philopator (survived the Grail War).

If people are interested, I might write a short description of how the Third War happened in this story in another Omake at some point.

AN : And here we are at long, long last. The aria for Shirou's Reality Marble was in my original notes for this story, but it has undergone several revisions since then. I hope you all enjoyed its final version.

The flying daemons attacking the Gorgon sisters are Chaos Furies, while the big one manifesting inside the gym is a Herald of Skulls. I am sure you can guess why the former seem to be vulnerable to a scythe specifically designed to kill immortals.

I gave Zelretch's Reflection silver eyes because, in canon Fate, he has red ones - but I'm almost sure that's because he's technically a Dead Apostle, not because he was born with them. Since in this AU, Zelretch never became a vampire, his eyes didn't turn red, and I decided to give him silver ones instead.

Unlike what usually happens, this chapter was delayed by FGO content, because the event for the 6th anniversary of the English version made me spend hours farming upgrade materials for the Servants I recently pulled. And since the next chapter of FGO will be released tomorrow ... well, we'll see. I'm still going to finish the Grail War arc this summer, don't worry about that.

That's all for now. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and will forgive me for the cliffhanger at the end. I look forward to your thoughts and reactions.

Zahariel out.