If this story receives positive feedback, I will release a continuation. A long fanfic is planned, but only if someone enjoys it. I do not own Type-Moon or any of its properties; everything written here is purely a work of fiction. I'm also looking for a sponsor for the story, as I want to create one of the biggest fanfictions ever.
The city lay in ruins, as if wiped from the face of the earth by some ancient cataclysm. Broken skeletons of buildings loomed against the distant horizon, the scorched husks of cars half-buried under heaps of rubble. At the very heart of this dead landscape, sprawled upon the twisted earth, lay Shirou.
The burned skin on his face cracked under the lingering heat, and dust clung to his open wounds. His left hand was beyond recognition — a mutilated mass of flesh, twisted at an unnatural angle. Every breath he drew was agony, as if searing knives were shredding his lungs from within. His body had all but failed him; his magical circuits were shattered, torn apart by overwhelming strain.
Shirou forced his eyes open. Through the veil of smoke, he could make out only the dying glimmers of distant fires and the swirling ash slowly settling to the ground. The world around him was gray, dead. The air was thick with the stench of burning flesh and molten metal.
He was not trembling. He could no longer tremble.
Somewhere deep within his consciousness, beneath the crushing weight of pain and ruin, a thought stirred. The final battle. The final moment.
And he saw it again — so vivid, so real, as if it were happening all over.
Before him stood Gilgamesh.
The blinding gold of his armor gleamed mockingly against the backdrop of a dying city. He moved with a lazy grace, the easy confidence of one who knew himself to be invincible. With every step he took, the ground seemed to quake in submission.
Rin, covered in dust and blood, clutched gemstones tightly in her hands. Her lips moved in a desperate incantation, her eyes burning with determination. Saber stood slightly ahead of her, sword raised, her stance impeccable. One second's hesitation — and everything collapsed.
Shirou alone understood: they could not intervene. This was his fight. His path. His mistake.
He surged forward, magic roaring in his veins. The sword was almost fully projected — he could see its perfect contours shining in his mind. He needed just one more step — one swing. Just a little more time.
But he was too late.
A heartbeat too slow.
Gilgamesh raised his hand. The space around him twisted, the very air trembling, and from the void burst forth a power capable of annihilating entire worlds. EA, brimming with merciless, indifferent might.
Shirou saw Rin trying to scream something, saw her hands jerk forward in vain. He saw Saber step toward Gilgamesh, her sword blazing with final defiance. But it was all futile against the approaching end.
The flash engulfed Rin before Shirou could even blink. Her body dissolved into dust, leaving only a faint, fading trail in the air.
Saber lunged at Gilgamesh, her blade glowing with the last light of hope. She came close — so close — but her sword crumbled into sand before it could reach him. Her eyes met Shirou's one final time — filled with resolve, pain, and farewell. And then she was gone.
And then Shirou struck.
All his anger, his despair, his sorrow — he poured it into a single desperate blow. The sword finally materialized fully, cutting through the air with a vengeance, and he drove it toward Gilgamesh.
Miraculously — perhaps only through sheer will — he severed Gilgamesh's arm.
But it was too late.
The price of that heartbeat's delay had already been paid. He had lost everything he tried to protect.
Shirou's body, broken and half-shattered from within, collapsed alongside his blade. His magical circuits snapped one by one, his nerves burned as if by molten needles. He felt his life slipping away, draining out with every heartbeat.
That was when Archer appeared.
Without words. Without hesitation. He simply stood beside him and, without asking, merged part of himself into Shirou. Magic surged like an icy storm through his devastated body. For a brief moment, their fates, their lives, became one — a twisted, broken whole.
Shirou survived.
But what survived was merely a fragment. Charred flesh. Shattered nerves. Broken bones. And emptiness.
He returned to the present — the dead city, the cracked earth, the drifting ash and choking silence. Ash settled on his skin, draping him like a funeral shroud.
And still, he breathed.
A thousand memories — of friends, family, loved ones, of Rin, Taiga, Saber, and Sakura — flashed before Shirou's mind during those long hours of merging with Archer's body. The only thing he wanted was to set everything right.
And someone heard him.
The Grail — that twisted artifact, harboring Angra Mainyu — decided to grant his wish, but in its own cruel way. It transported him — sent him into another reality, binding him as the anchor for Singularity F.
When Shirou realized the world around him had changed, he tried to look around with the only part of his body he could still move — his one good eye. The place was different... yet strangely similar. Ruins stretched before him. The fires were gone, but the devastation remained. There was no more flame — only broken stone and twisted metal.
Yet Shirou felt only apathy. Why had Archer saved him if he could no longer walk his ideal path? No — he had already betrayed it. He had lost everything because of his own weakness.
As these thoughts raced through his mind, he noticed two figures cautiously approaching him — a white-haired woman and a girl with strange, soft pink hair.
Was he hallucinating already? Had he finally lost his mind?
But before he could think further, he felt his consciousness slipping away, and he simply surrendered to it — falling into unconsciousness.
Mashu (softly, worry clear in her voice): "...Director, look... It's a person! He's still alive..."
Olga Marie (frowning, carefully approaching): "...Barely. He's severely injured. More dead than alive. But..." (she pauses, studying Shirou's broken body with a grim look) "...We can't just leave him here."
Mashu (clutching her hands to her chest, voice trembling slightly): "We have to help him. Even if there's only a small chance...!"
Olga Marie (sighing, her voice harsh but not without humanity): "Tch... Fine. Be careful. No sudden movements. He might be dangerous — or worse, unstable."
Mashu (nodding, determined yet gentle): "Understood. I'll be careful."
Slowly, cautiously, they moved closer to Shirou, ready to pull him away from the ruins and offer what little aid they could.
