Beyond Last Episode

[Archetype EMIYA]

Excuse me for horrible fic quality, this is part of Nanowrimo. Keep in mind that this is still related to Fate.


Interview with Saber, Nov. 1, 2012
Performed and Written by Archer
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

I just want to know. You know me; we’ve stuck together for a long time now.

Can’t you just let it go? It bears little relevance to the situation at hand, really.

You know that’s not true. After all, if we manage to get to the bottom of why it happened as such, we will have an edge over Morgana. We need all we can get.

I suppose you have a point. Still, I don’t think you’re going to like what you’re going to hear.

Bring it on. You know I’ve heard quite a lot, taken too many shocks to be surprised these days.

Well, beyond the fact that I can be a girl if I so choose – hey, I do enjoy seeing you uncomfortable. It’s sort of my revenge against you. Hey, are you even listening?

Oh, sorry. Well, I was looking up the internet’s opinion of you. You do know that the internet itself knows your name now, right? And that half the –

Please don’t remind me. Especially since that –

Well, yes, and the mongrels bay for his blood and they don’t even realize it. Patience, my Servant.

You’re not very patient yourself, you know.

Well, that’s only when Ryougi's brought into the question. Everyone knows that. Perhaps it is why –

Oh, give it a rest already. You’re not that special, you know. You just so happen to have made a contract with me.

Remind me again why you’re the laughingstock of the Throne of Heroes, second only to the guy in blue tights?

I. Er, that’s irrelevant. You should see what goes on with your friends. You do know that Bear is supposed to be a derogatory nickname for you, right? You look like one, and not very cute either.

I know. I wear it with pride because it’s awesome.

And you were supposed to type something else there, admit it.

I can’t admit it when you’ve already done so for me. But the point stands, Saber. Let’s get this word vomit over with so we can get to tell your side of the story.

Fine. Chapter One it is, then?

Oho, since when did you learn to break the fourth wall?

I’m standing outside the fourth wall, I’m narrating.

Oh yeah. Well then, how did it all start?

Chapter One: Stop looking at porn and pay attention, I thought you wanted to hear my story

Nice one. Okay then, proceed. I shall listen as well as I can.

Contrary to the legend, I wasn’t exactly an underling to anyone. Well, no, that was a lie. For the life of me I can’t remember his name, so we should go by the legend and call him Kay. Kay, was, hm. How do you put this politely… he was an idiot. Going to a tournament without his sword, as his squire I was supposed to acquire one for him. Hm, are you listening?

I’m trying my best, it’s just that lying down and feeling so drowsy isn’t exactly conducive to hearing an ethereal spirit who isn’t exactly there, and is more of one of the voices in my head that I’ve learned to block out long ago. Sorry.

But you’re sitting down with your back propped to the bedrest. Well, never mind, we’re being derailed here. As it stood I was getting Kay that sword of his and lo and behold, there was a sword in the center of an abandoned town square. Well, I had to get him a sword or else I’d get beaten up later on, so I pulled it out.

You make it sound so simple.

At the time it was. There was almost nothing to it. It just slid out in my hands. You don’t want to go with the T.H. White version, there were no animals guiding me as I pulled it out and it wasn’t that hard at all. It was rather like drawing a sword out of its sheath. And when I did so, the sheath materialized beside the stone, which was rather convenient for me. Back in the day, running around with a sword unsheathed wasn’t the best idea. And the sword looked too good, shall I say. I admit I cried myself to sleep the night it broke. Hey, stop laughing. It was almost a shame that I had to give it to Kay.

So then I gave it to Kay, scabbard and all. Can you imagine giving a sword of that much power to someone else? The Sword of Victory itself, I’m sure you’ve read quite a bit about it, and some of those fanfic writers got one of the properties right. It is a sword that chooses. You should know. You managed to hold a copy of it.

Gilgamesh would beg to differ, though. Supposedly the –

I don’t care what he said about it being a descendant of Gram. All I know is that it was MY sword, and I take great pride in what is mine. Anyways, where were we? Oh yes. Then Ector – forgive me, I’m just going to use the Arthurian names from now on if I don’t remember them; so many of them died in the rebellion, or were cast into Hell and had their names changed – noticed the writing on the sword.

Let me just get the part to show the exact lettering, then~

Yes, that’s the very same. The writing on the Caliburn. Some sources say it is Clarent, the Sword of Peace, and yes, I did keep it around even though it was broken. (That was its name when it broke, after all.)

You do realize that it’s not very conducive to being a story if you’re just going to tell the audience about what’s happening.

That’s why I’m telling you. I trust you can spin this into a decent enough story. I mean, you’re the idiot who believes that there’s an actual fourth wall and a narrative to match. How exactly would you exploit that, anyways? By the way, the sword could never be reformed. We tried.

So, in any case, mind translating for me? The runes, I mean.

Well, I’ll try to get the meaning to you, but your connection with me isn’t that good, so there might be a bit of a mistranslation. In the Arthurian legends, do you recall what is written?

Something along the lines of “He who pulls this sword out of this stone shall rightwise be proclaimed King of England.” Right?

Close enough. More accurately, it would mean, in a very condensed manner, that “He who uses this sword is King.” I say, the script looks a lot like the real thing, but if it’s not actually written by an fairy or someone who knows exactly what they mean it’s much harder for me to read.

That or I simply can’t hear you properly even though you’re saying it. Go on.

Well there was a big row over whether the result of the would-be jousting tournament was still valid. I mean, everyone was present, literally everyone. Even that shut-in, made an effort to go to the stands to have a look. Morgana was there too. I suspect that it was to assess the character of the victor. Though to be honest, I’m wondering. Why make me the king? I did a horrible job, and I basically left everything to ******* anyways. And when they kicked him downstairs, I was deemed incompetent. I hate to admit it, but it’s true. To a degree, anyways. Whenever there was much debate over whether we should sacrifice a certain platoon of angels to save the rest – and trust me, there was a LOT of that, especially when we were dealing with the first signs of insurrection – I had to make the tough call to sacrifice them. It’s as your Pratchett said –

We call him Pterry –

Pterry, then. Thanks for getting the quote for me. Ahem: “Now me, I'm more impressed by whoever put the sword there to begin with.” What special properties did I have that made me fit to rule that place, anyways? I mean, even according to those memories of yours that may or may not be true – nobody can prove it, anyways, as far as we know – I wasn’t exactly the best ruler. I was viewed as a despot, heartless. ******* should have stayed lord over everyone else. Or at least they should have made it so that ******* really was the formal leader. My formal status as King only got him and everyone else into deep shit. I mean, what good was I?

It wasn’t your fault –

And it’s not just that. That thing you were quoting at me for a long, long time already. Hell, you have it memorized. I know you’re thinking it, just write it down.

If you say so. But for the record, you made me write it down: “Listen, strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony! You can’t expect to wield supreme executive power, just because some watery tart threw a sword at you! I mean, if I went-”

Yes, that’s quite enough. The point stands that I made a horrible leader.

It was the Lady of the Lake herself who gave the sword to you. Your argument is invalid. (I say, the best trolls are those who have some knowledge of fate. Look at Merlin.)

But they don’t know that! To them I was just some upstart who managed to luck into drawing a sword out of a stone. What good am I at politics? I couldn’t even sense the desires of my own people.

You were acting in their best interests. And while it is your fault that the people were allowed to rebel, you weren’t the one who made them rebel in the first place. That dubious honor goes to the conflict between Lancelot and Gawain (you sure you don’t know who they are? We should just ask *******.). The people loved you as a public servant, but they didn’t love you as a king. I’ll say it again. Democracy has no place in hegemony. The sword set you up for a hegemony, and rise or fall; the kingdom should have gone with you. You had enough proof that you could have made it go either way and they couldn’t do a thing about it.

Oh yes, we’re still about three hundred words short for our daily goal.

It’s obvious you’re writing this for Nanowrimo.

What can I say? I’m a terrible writer. I have to use every dirty trick in the book to make things work. So, back on track. Ector noticed the writing on the sword, and then you were made to go back and push and pull the sword out of the stone for quite a long time before they grudgingly accepted you.

I was a young boy, and don’t you think it’s a little beneath even you to be using such a comparison, given my age? And stop twisting my words for this paragraph.

Yes, that’s basically all I really wanted you to say. Hey, don’t be mad. Anyways, the coronation ceremony –

Oh yeah, I remember some parts of that. I was made to wear this white dress with silver trimmings. Damn if that thing wasn’t frilly. My guess is that it was a last-minute expression of distaste against me. You used to spazz over the Saber Lily dress quite a bit –

OH, so that’s why the thing was backless!

You have a freaking doll of that. WHY.

Hey, I’m not as bad as Caster!

Yeah, you’re worse in some ways. I mean, look at Shirou! He’s like the perfect clingy boyfriend!

You mean Overly Attached Boyfriend.

Well, no harm in saying that he's better than that.

Shirou: (blushes)

Hey, you’re not supposed to be in here!

Shirou: But I am you. And look, you just passed your daily wordcount!

Back on topic. The coronation ceremony. It was held at the top of the tower. The balcony was there so that everyone could see –

... (transcript lost)

There is no time for “What ifs”. What we’re supposed to be doing is analyzing what went on so we can get to the bottom of who really made Britain crash and burn.

And yet there you are goofing off. Look, you’re tired, and high (very high, I might add, now stop shipping me with random people), why don’t you go to sleep already?

Good point. Good night, Saber.

…You of course have no actual intention of going to sleep, and instead of goofing off will be –

Shush, Saber, we’re not the only ones who are going to be reading this!

Attached: the writing on the Caliburn

I hope some of you get this. The personae have been changed, but yes, essentially my nanowrimo project is about Saber, and the story of her reign over Britain. Also. Morgana, we know who you are. Prepare yourself.

[shinaobi]

This is...actually quite interesting, and I can't wait to see more. Keep going, mine good writer.

[Archetype EMIYA]

Later on. I can't believe I have writer's block at this point in Nanowrimo. I'm trying to find a part that isn't spoilertastic.

Thanks for the encouragement, though~

[Reekwind]

Don't take too long, because this is good and original too.

[Rin-chan Kaihou]

Later on. I can't believe I have writer's block at this point in Nanowrimo. I'm trying to find a part that isn't spoilertastic.

Thanks for the encouragement, though~

At least you've already started. Aside from the title, I've got nothing

[I3uster]

Oh hey it's the crazy guy again.

[NewAgeOfPower]

Oh hey it's the crazy guy again.

Look whos talking.

[I3uster]

I believe myself to be a lot saner than most otherkin.

[Arch-Magos Winter]

>Otherkin
>Sane
Yeah, no.

[I3uster]

(That's my point)

[Archetype EMIYA]

I'm not saving this onto my computer just yet, but here's a sampler of Chapter 14:

Interview at the Throne of Heroes
Transcribed by Archer
November 10, 2012

Saber?

Yes?

Well, since we can't exactly reveal the very... interesting parts here on the internet, why don't we just give the humans a taste of what they're missing out on?

Ooh, yeah. For instance, they really should know that Gilgamesh isn't technically the strongest being out there.

Far from it indeed~ Though yes, technically the strongest Servant/Heroic Spirit.

Yeah, I know I don't count as a Heroic Spirit.

That you don't. In any case, why don't you tell them about "Uther Pendragon"?

Who?

Oh, you know... We're still using Arthurian names here...

Though Shiki-sama says we're not supposed to do so just yet...

I guess we'll have to wait until the mortals can find out for themselves. Though, Shiki?

Ryougi Shiki: Yes? How amusing, I thought you referred to me as something else...

Well, I'm typing this for general internet viewing, so I can't exactly spoil them just yet. May I at least tell them of how Uther beat Gilgamesh with a broken rapier?

Shiki: That's all I'm going to let you tell. Honestly you've given them way too much information already.

I simply want to know if there's anyone else out there who's really aware of what's going on.

Lancer: *enters room* Hey, what's going on? Oh, an interview?

I'm simply trying to find out if anyone else out there understands what has been laid out...

Shiki: You spoil the humans too much.

I guess. But you know me~

Shiki: You're just ego-tripping on the internet.

I won't deny that, but again... It just feels so lonely. Am I really the only one who fanboys over Type-Moon and understands what the fans are getting into? Take the Servant Summoning circle for instance...

Shiki: Yeah, this conversation is over. You may post it on the internet, and go no further.

Got it.


303 words in about 15 minutes... I need to work on my pacing.

[Archetype EMIYA]

Okay, so I'm fresh out of ideas and Nanowrimo's not even halfway done. And since the novel's in interview format with "Saber", anyways, might as well ask for your help~ reply with any questions for Saber, Archer, Lancer, Goldie, and maybe I can even get answers from certain other characters from Tsukihime and Kara no Kyoukai~

In return, I'll post this:

Goldie and the Three Bears, an omake

“Yeah, that’s right, mongrel. I’m the hero again!”

Ah, but you forget, King of Heroes. You are but the protagonist; it does not mean you are the hero.

“Fair enough. How do you plan on going with this story?”

Ahem. Once upon a time, our protagonist, Goldie –

“That’s me!”

Don’t interrupt my story. Goldie was on his quest to search for the Excalibur, as usual.

“Aren’t you confusing me with some other Gilgamesh?”

Nah, the two of you are hammy as fuck and the actual protagonists have to beat the sense into you quite a bit. Besides, there has to be a reason you refer to Saber as Holy Sword Wielder, right?

“Fair enough. I think Goldie *ahem* is still in character.”

May I proceed, or will you interrupt me again?

“Oh, oh~ may I act out the story?”

Okay, now you’re going out of character.

“I have to appease my subjects of course. Now, are you finished looking at character material?”

I think I’m done. Now, upon reaching a forest, he found a house.

“It had three bears in it, right?”

Patience, King of Heroes.

“I am not a patient man, get on with it!”

Goldie entered the house and found a nice, warm fireplace that seemed to have just been put out. Obviously the residents had just gone out.

“That’s obvious, Faker – ”

Again, don’t interrupt.

“You’re the one holding an entirely separate conversation with another person on another plane of existence here, you know. Can’t I call her out on interrupting this story?”

Not if anyone around you can help it. In any case, beside the fireplace was a table with three bowls of porridge.

“Porridge? The King of Heroes will not eat peasant porridge!”

What if I told you that the porridge was made of edible gold?

“…You can’t eat gold!”

Ah, but this is a story. Go along with it, damn you.

“Fine. At least it’s gold.”

Goldie tried to sit on one of the chairs so he could eat the golden porridge. It broke.

“… That was Lancer’s chair, wasn’t it?”

Don’t spoil the reader, dammit. And yes, yes it was. Chairs don’t normally withstand that much golden armor and your inflated head. Your throne must be custom-built.

“Of course it was! I take nothing but the best.”

And so, with that chair broken, he tried to sit on another chair –

“Why must I sit on these mongrel chairs, anyway?”

Patience, King of Heroes. He went to sit on the next chair, only to find that it was a perfect copy of his throne.

“…FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKEEEEERRRRRRRRRR!”

Yeah, yeah. In any case Goldie broke that chair too, with the Gate of Babylon (and by proxy, his inflated ego).

“I suppose I will have to make do with the last chair…”

That you will. The last chair was made of blue silk with golden linings. While not as good as what Goldie was used to, it would have to do.

And so Goldie started to eat the porridge.

“May I at the very least use a spoon from my Gate?”

Yeah, sure, why not. A spoon magically appeared for Goldie from out of freaking nowhere.

“Yeah, and if it were you, you’d have made a sword shaped like a spoon.”

I don’t need a spoon to eat.

“Yeah, mongrels like you eat with –”

No spoilers, King of Heroes. Not even in the most meta of senses.

“…Fine. Secrecy and all that.”

The first bowl of porridge was made of gold.

“…Hey, I was promised actual golden porridge! Not a gold bowl holding – wait, is that dog meat?”

Yeah, but Lancer’s dirt poor, even in a household where they eat golden porridge he has to stick with eating dog meat.

“At the very least I can appreciate how you troll him, Faker.”

I try. So Goldie flipped the table, miraculously not spilling the other bowls of porridge in the process –

“Because I’m fabulous that way~”

Shut up, Faker, that didn’t originate from you. And on the next bowl of porridge… it was pretty good, actually, but still not good enough for a Heroic Spirit of Gilgamesh’s caliber.

“What else can you say about the strongest Servant?”

“Gilgamesh may be the strongest Servant, but I am a King.” A certain quote from a certain someone who left a certain dent in your armor.

“…”

The third bowl was also shit.

“Now that’s something I’d actually agree with. I mean, have you even tasted gold?”

I haven’t had the luxury, but I guess it would taste like iron.

“Wrong, Faker. Gold tastes like nothing. It’s just cold on your mouth. It doesn’t taste like iron, it tastes like steel.”

Okay. Like I’d ever be insane enough to try and eat gold.

“Oh, they’ve made that. One of the more amusing objects from your time. Can you believe it? Chocolate wrapped in gold foil!”

I bet you have that in your treasury.

“I have something like it, but truly, it does amuse me, what humans do when they are truly bored.”

And rich, don’t forget rich.

“Yes, but while it was amusing it was nowhere near what I had.”

You were bored and were the richest man on the planet. I can somehow think that your idea of amusement was at the very least exotic.

“True, Faker, true. Continue with the story!”

Right. So Goldie left the table in a huff and remembered what it was he came for. The Excalibur. But first, he had to take a rest, because the porridge he had eaten contained toxic amounts of sleeping pills and laxatives.

“…What the hell, Faker.”

Hey, you took All Evils of the World in the face and didn’t lose sanity at all.

“Fair enough.”

In his urgency to find someplace to rest, he laid eyes on the first bed. It wasn’t exactly a bed. More like a mat for a dog to sleep on. Though it had four posts off the bed, it still wasn’t enough to support the weight. Gilgamesh collapsed on the bed and it broke from the golden armor. Seriously, do you ever take that thing off?

“You saw me wearing casual clothes already.”

Not as of late, though. I imagine that you had to take it off after a certain dent –

“Shut up.”

Would it please you to know that you took a shit on the bed just because it was Lancer’s bed?

“…Make it that I did it of my own will, and not of the laxatives.”

Fair enough. Next Goldie tried to lay in the next bed, but –

“Faker?”

Yes?

“Do you honestly sleep with just a mattress on the bed?”

Why not? It’s called a futon. It works.

“You simply are too frugal for me to understand.”

Unlike you, O King of Heroes, I pride the fact that I don’t need finery to live. It’s like you can’t live without a piece of gold attached to your body somewhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d surgically had some of your organs replaced with golden counterparts.

“…That’s none of your business!”

…Oh, dear Ryougi, the mental images burn!

“What would be the point of that? Gold doesn’t have nerves, how would I even get pleasure from that!”

I don’t know, you’re definitely the type to gold-plate weapons, so why not a hyper weapon?

“Can we just leave the subject!?!”

Fine, fine. Freudian implications of you collecting shitloads of swords set aside –

“You have a world made of swords, what does that say about you?”

Magic. In any case, sleeping on the ground, even by proxy, does not suit Goldie, so he transferred to the next bed. The soft, velvety blue covers suited him somehow. And thus did he sleep there.

“…Okay, fine. What happens next.”

Why, the three bears enter the house~

Lancer: Hey, guys, this doesn’t seem right.

No shit, man.

Saber: Oh dear.

Lancer: Someone sat on my chair and broke it! Oh, it’s a good thing they got rid of that bowl for me. Why did you cook dog meat for me again?

Because I can make it taste good.

Saber: Lancer, Archer, the intruder may still be in here. Take care.

“Yeah, sure. Like Saber could be so dignified.”

Saber: Hey! I take offense to that.

“You’ve taken offense to a lot of things already and they don’t do anything for you at all.”

Saber: Just you wait, Gilgamesh.

“For our wedding? I’ve waited ten years, I can keep going~”

Saber, please, calm down, the both of you, this is just a story. Now, Lancer, being the fastest Servant, went upstairs and –

Lancer: Someone broke my bed and took a shit on it!

Thus did Gilgamesh awake with a start as Saber and Archer were just going up the stairs.

…Hey, Gilgamesh, play the part.

“What? Oh, right. MONGREL! HOW DARE YOU LAY EYES ON YOUR KING’S SLEEPING FORM!”

Gilgamesh brought out the fury of the Gate of Babylon on Lancer. And it wasn’t just swords flying out of the Gate, no –

“Shut up about those things.”

Fine, fine. To get to the gist of the matter:

Lancer died!

Saber: You bastard!

I leave it to your imagination as to what happened next.

“…Wait, what? So you’re just going to let me tell the rest of the story?”

Just about right.

“Even knowing what I’ll probably do to your character and Saber?”

Yeah. Besides, Lancer got it easy, you can’t do anything to him in the story save desecrate his corpse. Saber and I, on the other hand, are at your mercy.

“…”

Well?

“Do not try to trick me, Faker. From the very beginning you had said that even though I was the protagonist, I was not to be the hero.”

Ah. I guess you caught me.

“I will not be fooled a second time.

“Saber charged at the most handsome King of Heroes – ”

Blech.

“I am telling the story now, so do not interrupt me. Then she was caught in the Chains of Heaven, Enkidu. I confiscated her – nay, I reclaimed my treasure from her, the Excalibur.”

Doesn’t that make you just as much a thief as you make me out to be? Stealing such a prized artifact from its rightful owner. For shame.

“Everything in the world is mine, I said.”

Then you had hot steamy sex with Saber, who turned out to actually be a barely post-pubescent boy?

“What!?! No! Why would I do that?”

Hey, I have to at least somehow spoil your victory.

“As for Archer, I bound him up and then rained down gold upon him.”

Ironic enough death for me.

“Oh no, Faker, it gets better. After that, I revived you and bid you be on your way.”

…What? No torture?

“I’d look like a villain if the readers found out what sort of torture implements I have in the Gate.”

Oh Ryougi Shiki, why do you have that many –

“Silence! The story ends here.”

…You do realize that the dark mood you’ve set makes you look like a villain.

“Good enough for me. You suffer now.”



---

The ending definitely did NOT go as planned.

[Archetype EMIYA]

I lost my thread a while ago while writing the story, so here's another snippet from another work I'm doing. I understand if nobody reads or reviews this stuff, but I guarantee this is interesting, albeit horribly written. Anything I write that's out of canon, however - feel free to correct me! The error will be corrected.

---

The Throne of Heroes is a complicated thing. Or maybe it's simple. In any case, Emiya Shirou had every intention of finding out. Perhaps if he became an actual Heroic Spirit, he could save himself from the horrible fate that awaited him. Cut off from the circle of reincarnation to which he belonged, at the very least he could make it pleasant.

Rin was still in Japan, waiting for him to come back to Fuyuki if ever he would. He smiled that same bitter smile he was getting used to. Sakura was dead, and while Rin did not regret that, he did. Rin would have to wait forever, because he's never going to be able to go back. If anything he already saw the path laid out before him:

To die, on a hill, riddled with bullets from the masses crying out for his blood. After that, to be claimed by Alaya as a Counter Guardian to serve forever, killing innocents. He had accepted this fate already, and in doing so, had rejected it.

After all, the narrative itself has a will, and it is to see interesting sights. It is as if Kotomine Kirei was the director of everything once more. Emiya Shirou had to learn English and enough Tagalog to survive in his new headquarters in the Philippines, and while browsing on the internet (helped by his classmates from his undercover guise), he read an interesting quote from Leo Tolstoy:

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

The simple, almost moronic logic in Shirou's mind told him thus; that every happy person is all alike, and while it is a joy to see them become happy, it is also very, very boring. He could hear the ghost of Kotomine laughing at him as the realization of the contradiction of his wish crashed on him like a piano from the sky, giving a very macabre tone. At the same time, he could not deny his own ideal to save everyone he could.

"Ah, but Shirou, you do realize that humans are not worth saving?"

Archer... perhaps he would say so, having been betrayed by humanity. Being shot to death on a hill and then having swords grow into the wounds in an attempt to heal him isn't the most painless way to die. And the idiot had decided to face the bullets, too. What an idiot.

"No, you dunce, I'm talking to you."

"Ah, Ryougi-sama. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Spare me the formalities, Emiya. You know why you made a contract with me."

"Of course, God." For Ryougi had already ascended, in a manner of speaking. It is beyond human comprehension to explain it here, so I shall not.

"The war is coming. May I remind you that the date is December 21, 2012? Prove to me that you are worthy of getting out of that loop in which you have placed yourself. Or rather, have been placed."

"Of course. Though I still see not how."

"Just do as I say, and I will turn Archer into a true Heroic Spirit. No more incarnating to fight in wars that he - nay, you - can never win; a final rest for you."

"We all look forward to it, even though we cannot see."

"In other news, how are you doing there, Tomoe Enjou?"

Shirou's eye twitched, and he looked as if he had just been forced to eat a lemon. He had seen his life - rather, the life he would have had - as Tomoe Enjou. Being used as part of the Counter Force from the very start was NOT funny in context. The name Tomoe Enjou was to him a constant reminder of who he could have been if he had never met Kiritsugu; if he never met Saber. A worthless fool no better than a human whose only purpose is to get killed to invoke pity from the audience and then make them feel bad for pitying such a worthless creature.

After all, he IS Tomoe Enjou.

"I'm fine, thank you very much. What of Saber?"

Though... that pure whiteness he had seen before... no, it was not just from Avalon. Avalon's glow was more of a healing white, like the white of hospitals, only clean instead of sterile; a place where one could regrow and start from scratch, just as its name in other European languages is Blanc from the color "blegh) (an approximate pronunciation), a perfect blank from which he could start.

"Oh, she should be on her way. It is the end of the world - well, that world, of course - and all Heroic Spirits are to come back to reclaim their glory and basically troll the humans for losing faith in them. THAT is the true meaning of Judgement - picking the wheat from the chaff; and there is a lot of chaff in humanity."

Of course, "blegh" comes from the word for "explosion"; and it referred to both the blinding white light and the ash it left behind, the color of which also derives its name from the same as blanc, "black". Perhaps it was for the best that Nihonggo had no such nuance, and that Shirou named himself from the hopeful and destructive whiteness of the fire around him rather than the ash it left behind; otherwise we would have been dealing with a Kiritsugu that had named himself "Crow".

"In any case, Shirou, you had best be on your way. You have classes to attend to."

"True enough," Shirou said. He got up from the plastic chair and paid for his time on the computer.

The streets of Ermita, Manila, were dangerous at night, and Shirou was a target for any criminal, due to his Japanese looks, the fact that he looks threatening, and most of all because even here he's being a vigilante. Walking around at two in the morning was enough of an invitation.

After classes, he bade his time meditating on the image of Saber, and meditating on the arts of swordsmanship. There were a few reasons he had come to the Philippines: education was much cheaper and allowed him to work and study to become a doctor in conditions akin to war, with short supplies in the hospital all the time; practice in being a vigilante (the police never believed the syndicate mooks when they said that the monster was impervious to anything they threw at him, and he sighed and thanked his poor, overabused Reinforcement), and the fact that it was a melting pot of cultures allowed him to have silver eyes and white hair without being questioned as a member of the Yakuza or a punk. His skin was already tanning from the glaring sunlight in the day, and it was refreshing to walk at two in the morning with the cold, albeit polluted air. He merely Reinforced his lungs so that he wouldn't breathe in the toxins.

Suddenly, he heard the slight crunch of concrete and pavement by the bare soles of feet. He'd gotten used to hearing these; more hitmen (hitchildren, judging from the faintness of the noise and the frequency of the step).

"*sigh* Could you tell your older brother not to send you guys against me? It's sort of sickening and tiresome to have to deal with children, you know. Just go on home, please."

The footsteps stopped. His already Reinforced hearing heard the rustle of cloth and the scrape of metal on its cloth scabbard from behind him. The nearer street lamp was in front of him, so he could not see where the kid was based on shadows. Guess I'll just have to impress this kid, and perhaps give him a childhood.

Pretending to draw something from his pocket, he projected a metal cylinder with a crystal heart.

***

A few burnt-looking cuts into the pavement and a fallen street-lamp later, the child was fleeing for his life. Dear Ryougi, how am I going to fix this lamp this time...

"Meh, you don't have to. But you do know that it's a bad idea to just show signs of the supernatural, right?"

But it's already the 21st of December. Why isn't magic running rampant yet?

"Oh, it is. You don't know it, but the sun has gone out from the other side of the world."

NO SHIT. Really? I'd have imagined that would have more effects...
"No, it's more of the moon has been staying in front of the Sun for a much longer time than necessary."

So a much longer solar eclipse, huh?

"Exactly. This is what happens when you don't watch the news, you know."

Oh, I'm sorry, you know my apartment doesn't have a TV, and I can only get my hands on headlines.

"It will be there tomorrow. In the meantime, you should rest."

I guess so. Good night, Ryougi-sama. I trust Saber will be here when I wake up?

"Yeah, Saber will be there. Good night."

And so Emiya Shirou walked back almost an entire kilometer, being assaulted by the Dead all the way through. Truly, the end of the world had begun.

[Archetype EMIYA]

So I'm writing a fic fragment.

Saber gave pause after rushing out of the tent in which the negotiations had failed horribly. Swords had already been drawn - the peace treaty with Mordred was definitely no longer going to push through. She gauged the situation quickly.

If only he hadn't been hallucinating about that snake... I will regret this.

The horns of battle sounded, and in a few moments the soldiers would heed the command and charge into the enemy. The troops loyal to her had trusted that they could push through with the negotiations, that there would be no bloodshed that day.

I failed them, too. Who knows how many of us are going to die today?

It was as if a mob was running toward their encampment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mordred, the bastard, slink out of the tent and rejoin her enemies.

"Arthur has drawn his sword to kill! We strike at the false king now!"
Arturia stood in blank shock at that. It should have been obvious that Mordred would truly try to supplant her rightful place... To top it off, only a few nights before she had woken up to find her sheath missing. She had questioned every person in Camelot, from the hallway cleaners to her very knights. None of them admitted to knowing anything about who stole the sheath.

She did the only thing she could do then, and she charged at the enemy. Surely, her loyalists would follow her in a few moments. She was still young, and her prana reserves were still almost full. The battle in the tent against the traitor who had thought to strike against her, claiming to be killing a snake that wasn't there... She did not expect that to be an easy fight, ever. But then again she was being assisted by about twenty other knights who showed their indignation against this act of treason - Mordred included. So why...

Well, whatever. Distractions like these are lethal on the field of combat. She charged into the enemy, unaided, and took the most advantageous position -


It was much easier to rain blows from above than to strike from below, that was certain. She does not use style in her fights the same way most of the knights in her court would. It was merely her instinct, her ability to include tons of force in every strike of her fragile body, and the fact that the sword she held cut through metal the same way a dart pierces a balloon would. There was no technique to her motion. There was only the feeling of living, and striking everyone down -

she swept her sword behind her to parry a thrust from behind and then made the soldier rest -

one tried to rush her from the front and she sidestepped and hit the back of his helmet with the Excalibur's pommel so hard that he wouldn't get up again -

expecting this next one to block, she delivered a little extra force in her blow and merely shattered his sword -

For this is how King Arthur fights. King Arthur has never truly killed anyone. The mere shock of doing so would have caused her to turn into what we now know as Saber Alter. She has struck down countless rebels with the untainted sword of holy, promised victory, Excalibur. She blessed each and every person who fell to her blade, tears streaming down her cheeks as she cut through the armor - not through their body, their armor - of the people she once fought alongside with. Well, she's never killed anyone until recently, that's for sure.

The battle started a little before noon, and it was a very long day. It was almost sunset, and there were fewer knights heading for her, for it was futile to lay hands on the king.

She felt a fell wind come at her from behind, and turned around with a start. There, Mordred was, and he held the Clarent aloft.

An irony, is it not, that the Clarent is based on the Caliburn?