All the cool kids write fanfiction, right? So I thought 'Why don't I give it a shot?' Because it turns out like this, that's why.
Disclaimer: Fate/Stay Night is the property of Type-Moon. This work is partially inspired by the Fate/phoenix burning thread.
Prologue "To my small Hearth”
My earliest memories are of fire.
Fire surrounded me. Desperately I sought to escape, peering through heat-distorted air and pushing onward only to find yet more buildings engulfed in flames. Shifting wind fanned the flames to yet greater heights as timbers burned to ash and concrete fractured and buckled. No matter where I looked, I found only destruction. There was no hope of escape.
The blaze consumed my flesh. My hands dried; my skin blackened. My ears were blistered from the heat, my hands near useless as fingers became too painful to move. Each step brought a fresh jolt of pain as my feet pressed into shoes already beginning to melt. The searing pain spread throughout my body, an all-consuming agony that sapped my consciousness to the dregs.
I had run at first, but smoke soon choked my lungs and gasping coughs sent me to my knees. Each breath seemed worse than the last, my lungs afire with heat and the need for air. I struggled for breath, collapsing to the ground as my head swam and I desperately sought to remain conscious. If I fell asleep I would die . . . this is what I felt; this is what my instincts told me. If I could only stay awake . . .
The flames devoured my memories. Where I was, what I was doing . . . the scorching heat and endless conflagration surrounding me sapped my ability to focus. The blistering heat and choking air stripped from me every thought but that of survival. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know who I was, that I didn't know why I was in this place. . . I needed to find clear air, needed to escape, needed water, needed . . . Soon all I could think of, all I could recall, were the crackling flames and shimmering air of the burning town.
The situation was hopeless. I had no way to survive. My strength was exhausted. I was dying, and I knew I had no hope. Yet . . . I refused to give up, refused to give in, refused to die.
I had lost everything. I had nothing, there was nothing but the flame which surrounded me, so I took that as my own. In my desperation I welcomed its burning, accepted the agony it brought as proof that I still lived. So long as I could feel the fire, so long as it burned, then I was alive. The fire sought to burn eternally, to cleanse, to purge, to turn all to ash so that from the scorched remains new life might sprout, and I took some part of it into myself.
It wasn’t enough. My body smoldered; lungs choked with ash struggled for breath. Even if the fire didn’t kill me, my body was in no shape to survive. My consciousness floated in a hazy sea of flames, incapable of distinct thought but desperately holding on to life.
A voice spoke above me. Surely the fire was beginning to burn itself out if someone had reached my body. I couldn't tell, my nerves too damaged to to feel anything but pain. A fresh wave of agony spread through me as something pressed against me. The voice spoke again, a word that echoed with power even to ears too damaged to understand, and an echoing void, a complete cessation of feeling sprang into being within me.
For a moment the fire within me swelled, poured forth its heat and light, but only for a moment. The flames were swallowed up, and an empty cessation of feeling spreading through my body. Was this death? I had fed myself to the fire, clutched it as a drowning man holds onto a lifeline, and without it I was nothing.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"To my small Hearth His fire came--
And all my House aglow
Did fan and rock, with sudden light--
'Twas Sunrise--'twas the Sky--
Impanelled from no Summer brief--
With limit of Decay--
'Twas Noon--without the News of Night--
Nay, Nature, it was Day--"
-- Emily Dickinson
End prologue
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 1 – In Our Embers
February 2nd
I greet the rising sun from outside my workshop. Calling it a 'workshop' is a bit generous given that it's just a re-purposed shed in the yard, but that's what I use it for. After the third time I started the house on fire Father banned practice in the house, so I moved out. The ritual circle that was revealed on the floor after some cleaning suggests that the building's been used for similar purposes before -- it's a summoning circle from what my research can tell; a pity my talent in that area is minimal.
The other main advantage to sleeping in the shed is that it's close to the outside. Because of this, I can easily see the sunrise each day, basking in the blazing source of energy as it rises past the obstructing Earth. It's a sensation that's not to be missed.
Once the sun is fully up I move inside. Morning exercises, a habit ingrained by Father's tutelage, go quickly. Even when he hasn't been home for over a year, I don't dare to slack off in the slightest. His limited talents as a magus mean I'm mostly on my own in mystical studies, but he more than made up for it in other area.
I've finished and am quickly showering when Sakura arrives. While the bell rings when the boundary field is disturbed to let me know someone has arrived, I've always been able to tell when it's Sakura. There's just something about her...
Matou Sakura is a first year and my kohai in the Archery Club. After the way my friendship with her brother Shinji ended I'd avoided getting to know her at first. After I injured my shoulder at work last year, she insisted on coming over to cook for me while I couldn't do it myself, and has continued even though I've fully recovered. I'm not sure why she went so far out of her way, but I'm scarcely going to complain about a pretty girl being around the house.
She's mostly finished cooking by the time I'm finished cleaning up, so I'm left to set the table.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
By the time we get the food to the table, Fuji-Nee has arrived. Fuji-Nee is. . . Fuji-Nee. She's a person who can't really be described, only experienced. She's a friend of Father's, and as he began spending more time away she started coming over more and more often, to the point that she's practically a dependent now, despite being several years older and a teacher at the school I attend.
It's rather amazing that she was able to become a teacher, considering how irresponsible she is. Her straightforwardness is something I admire, though, even as I bemoan her freeloading ways.
Today she greets me by asking if I could come visit her in the afternoon. "If you make us some lunch, I'll even show you a few tips in kendo," she says.
It's a good opportunity. Fuji-Nee is very skilled, to the point that I'm surprised she's in charge of archery, and not kendo at school. Regardless, I'll have to refuse her. "Sorry, but I promised Issei I'd help him out after school. I expect it'll take most of the afternoon."
"Hmph. You had work yesterday, but you're skipping practice again?" She points her chopsticks at me in accusation. "Things like that are why you're not vice-captain, you know." It's a low blow; Fuji-Nee knows how much I despise the current archery vice-captain. Besides, it's mostly because I missed so much time due to my injury that I couldn't be reasonably considered for the position.
It's no surprise to soon discover that Fuji-Nee was really just interested in getting a free lunch for herself. Sakura agrees to share lunch with her, and breakfast continues. Soon enough Fuji-Nee heads off to prepare for classes, leaving Sakura and me to finish cleaning up.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When I was younger I was part of the track club. It provided a good way to vent excess energy while Father and I worked to develop my magecraft and find a more efficient and reliable method. I don't really like running for its own sake, so I eventually quit and joined the archery club. It's because of this that Sakura and I arrive together well before school begins each day for morning practice.
We're early, and Ayako is the only one in the archery range. Mitsuzuri Ayako, the captain of the archery club -- a skilled martial artist who became captain even after having joined with no experience in archery. Really, she's an admirable person who works hard for what she believes in. We exchange greetings and work together to prepare the range for the day.
As we're finishing, Shinji arrives. Matou Shinji is the vice-captain of the archery club, and Sakura's brother. He's good-looking, gets good grades, and is popular with the girls, but. . . to put it bluntly, he's a jerk. That's probably being rather generous, actually. Years ago we were friends, but it seemed like over time he became jealous of me for some reason. It was hard to stay friends with someone so self-centered, and our friendship ended rather abruptly with bad feelings on both sides.
I. . . really don't want to talk to him. It's petty, but for some reason I just can't stand him in the slightest. To avoid having to make conversation with him I pick up my bow and prepare to shoot.
I find archery fascinating. Each shot fully depends on one's ability to reach a state of preparation and release stored energy in a single moment. Since kinetic energy is the form of energy I find most difficult to work with, archery is a tremendously enjoyable way to advance my studies.
First I work to regulate my breathing, slowing myself down to where the slight movements of my body are controlled enough not to interfere with my shot. I nock an arrow and draw back the bow, transferring energy from myself into the bow as focused potential. The world fades away as I focus on the target. I judge the distance, instinctively measure the force needed to carry the arrow, account for the pull of gravity, feel the motion of the wind. . .
My heartbeat seems to slow within me. In its own way, this is like a form of magic. Everything about me is focused on the arrow I'm about to shoot, my body humming with the tightening bowstring.
Release. Potential is realized in a fraction of a second. The arrow leaps through the air to the target, and the bow vibrates with the energy of the recoil. I don't need to look to see the arrow embedded within the centre of the target; I can feel it there, feel the energy it drew from my actions. Smoothly, without allowing myself to leave this state of mind, I draw another arrow.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After archery comes school. Taiga's antics are either the high point of the schoolday or the low point, it's hard to tell which. The school seems a little different today, somehow, maybe the air is dryer or something? Anyway, classes end by noon since it's a Saturday and I meet up with Ryudou Issei, the student council president. Since I'm known as something of an amateur electrician, he asked me to take a look at some of the old electric heaters that are having problems.
Issei is truly a remarkable person. The successor to Ryudou Temple, up in the mountains, he has a straightforward personality and avoids becoming involved in normal student recreations. His ordered and disciplined life makes him someone whom I can really respect. He does his best to keep the student council running and make ends meet with the school budget, so I try to help him when I can.
Soon enough I'm looking over the first heater. I ask Issei to leave the room, letting him think I'll be doing something delicate and don't want any distractions. I don't like deceiving him, but I'm planning on using this as an opportunity to practice my magecraft so I need him out of the way.
Taking the plug in hand I close my eyes. Calling on my unique abilities I draw heat from the air around me, channeling it through my body and transforming it into a small electrical current. I extend my senses to follow the current as it flows through the heater, using that as a basis to build a mental diagram of the wiring.
An obvious short is quickly fixed, but beyond that I can feel places where an increase in resistance signifies that the wire has thinned - if that isn't fixed the increased heat will thin it further until it snaps. The power cord needs more insulation as well. While neither of these problems actually prevents the heater from working, they're both potential hazards that could cause problems in the future, so I might as well deal with them now.
I open the heater up and do a cursory check for other broken parts. I can't check the actual heating pipe with such a low current, and I'm leery of using more with the wires like this. If it isn't connected to the wiring or heating elements, I probably don't know enough about how it works to spot a problem, but I'll at least see if there's anything obviously broken or out of place.
Nothing seems wrong, so I prepare myself for a more overt use of magic.
Ignite!
Liquid fire runs within my veins. My nerves course with lightning. My eyes tingle as my body becomes a connection, a circuit for power. Despite the fact that I have only a handful of actual magic circuits, my unique nature makes me unusually suited for this. Since that day long ago. . . that day when my life ended and began in flames. . . my body has itself become a flame, an unending generator and conduit for energy.
Even without actually activating my magic circuits I can create and channel small amounts of power. What I do now is more than that. I have only a little talent in the more formal kinds of magic, so what I do now is more basic, more primal than that. I reach out through the path my current took. Slowly, I flood the wire with heat, using the energy I add to it to cement control of its form. As the wire begins to melt I smooth it out, spreading it evenly and slowly withdrawing heat to allow it to harden as it takes the shape I desire.
It feels like hours later that I finish and carefully channel a full current load to test the pipe. There aren't any problems, so I release my power and tape the cord. Even though the burning sensations have faded, I feel invigorated. For most magi, using magic like this is a painful and tiring process as they use up internal reserves of energy and channel external mana through bodies that reject the process completely. For me, whose self has become something akin to energy itself. . . well, it's still painful, but the process of opening my magical circuits kicks my body's internal energy production into high gear. Unless I actively seek to drain off the energy my body generates, I'm left on a 'high' of energy that used to cause me a variety of problems.
Well, I've finished with this heater. A glance at the clock tells me I have time to look at a few more, so I go in search of Issei.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's late afternoon when I finally finish. Issei left earlier, after letting me know where the remaining heaters were. As I leave, I have an unfortunate encounter.
"Oh, you're still here, Emiya?" I bump into Shinji. "Since you missed practice again, go clean up. Some of the bows need strings reattached, so do that too."
"Senpai, didn't Fujimura-Sensei tell you to do that?" One of the girls with Shinji seems to recognize that he's trying to get out from doing any work. These girls are new archery members recruited by Shinji, so I don't really know them well.
Shinji doesn't back down. "Since you miss practice all the time for work, and now you're skipping out for other things, it's only fair that you suffer some form of punishment." He does have a point, so I agree to do it. I have missed a lot of practice lately. Still, it's pretty obvious that he's looking for an excuse to push his duties off on someone he doesn't like.
The normal cleaning doesn't take much time, and restringing the bows not much longer. I consider getting a little practice in while I'm here, but decide the light is fading too quickly. Looking around, it seems that Shinji hasn't been keeping up with his duties as Vice-Captain, from how unkempt the place is. I'm amazed I haven't noticed before and that Ayako hasn't said anything. Since it's already after curfew, I'll take an extra hour or two to finish the job.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The night is dark and windy when I'm finally done, with clouds entirely obscuring the moon. The silence is broken by faint sounds from the schoolyard. I head to investigate, and discover a battle. A man clad in blue is using a lance to assault a man in red. The speed of their movements is inhuman, so fast my eyes can't fully track them. The air is filled with the clanging of metal as each thrust and stroke of the lance is intercepted by a blade. Murderous intent covers the area like a fog, a choking miasma that hinders breathing.
I know I should run away. Whatever this is. . . these men are dangerous, and it seems likely they might be responsible for the recent murders in the city, but. . . I feel like a weapon is pointed straight at my back; the moment I make a break for it I'll be seen, and then. . .
The figures separate and face each other at a distance. For a moment it seems the battle might be over. Then. . . the air is filled with a choking intent to kill, a certainty of death that even I with my poor ability to sense external energy can feel. I stare in awe as the blue-clad man draws in a tremendous amount of power. To someone like me, who is attuned to energy, what is happening is truly frightening. The amount of energy being concentrated is truly absurd, and it is becoming certain that the man in red will die. Even if he isn't human, there's no way he can survive such a blow.
. . . It's none of my business. Intellectually I know this. This battle has nothing to do with me. Still, to see someone die in front of me. . . When I chose to become a magus, I accepted that death would become part of my life. That doesn't mean I'm truly prepared to watch someone die.
The uncertainty clouds my mind, and I unthinkingly take a deep breath.
"Who's there‽" The man in blue turns towards me. His stance shifts, his intent changing to focus on me.
I turn and run. It's an instinctive action, one beyond my control. My body knows, even before my mind accepts it, that running is my only hope to live. As my mind catches up, I push energy to my legs, increasing my speed as I consider where to run.
That man. . . whatever he was, he moved far faster than any normal human could. There's no hope of escaping him in the open. I make for the school building. Once inside I slow down, calming my breathing. In here, there are plenty of places to hide, and I can hope that if I stifle my power he won't find me. Even if he does, the range of his lance will be limited by the walls.
"The chase is over, right?" The man in blue speaks from in front of me. How? Despite the speed with which I moved, this man has somehow appeared before me. His tone is friendly, and he compliments me on my running ability, but. . . I'm going to die. Fire leaps within me in protest, a burst of energy and vitality. It's not enough.
"You were just unlucky, kid. Well, you saw us, so die." His tone is calm. To him, my death is nothing special. The lance is thrust. There's no time to think. I feel the power in his spear and in his strike, feel the energy of his movement, and my instincts guide me as twist and fall away. It's not enough. Even as I try to dodge, the spear turns and follows, piercing my heart like I'm an insect being pinned to a card. If I'd had time to prepare. . . well, even then I probably would have died. I have nothing I can fight him with here, and his physical abilities are so far beyond mine that I had no hope.
My vision blurs. I cough blood, and my heart stops working. Desperately I push energy to my chest. I channel heat and sear the wound closed, then try to mend the internal damage and force the heart to beat again. It's useless. The damage resists me, even as flame roars in my veins in protest. The man in blue is speaking, but it's difficult to make out as my body shuts down. I only catch a piece of it. ". . .Saber, huh? What an irritating opponent. I'd like to finish with him, but. . ."
It's meaningless to me, who is dying.
I don't want to die. Everything within me protests the concept. There are things left to be done.
It doesn't matter. The wound I've been dealt is fatal, resisting everything I do. No matter how my body or mind protests, no matter how desperately I cling to life, it won't be enough. Dimly, I hear the tapping of footsteps as my mind loses its struggle and collapses into unconsciousness.
"Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood"
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!
-- William Wordsworth
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Two - The Best of Servants
I awaken. I feel sick, my body is in pain, and each heartbeat provides a fresh pulse of agony. My breath burns, and a throbbing headache makes it difficult to think clearly.
I go to push myself up, and my hand sticks to the floor. In the dim light it's hard to tell, but. . . is this blood? Rising to my feet, I see that I was lying in a pool of blood.
I clutch my chest at a sharp pain, dizziness striking as. . . “you saw us, so die.” My head swims as I remember. 'My blood' I think, feeling the wound on my chest. The skin still refuses to heal, but the heart that was pierced now beats a steady, painful rhythm.
. . .It's hard to think straight. I was dying. I felt myself die, but now. . .
I shift, and the sound as my feet move reminds me. I can't leave the place like this. Not only is it a bad idea as a magus to leave blood lying around, but it'll cause problems with the school. With modern machines as advanced as they've become, they might be able to match the blood to me, too. I need to do something about it.
The pain has subsided somewhat, though it still feels like my heart is trying to split open again. Slowly I crouch down and place my hand in the pool of partially dried blood.
Ignite!
Power moves within me. The pain of my body is washed away by a truer pain. The wound resists the flow of energy, sapping at my strength. It's not a serious drain, but it's definitely noticeable. I'm even more certain, now that this is no ordinary wound, that the spear that dealt it was something special, that I should be dead.
I need to deal with the blood. First, however, I want to find out how I survived. Attuning myself to the blood moving through my body and the power in it, I let my senses feel as it is pumped through my heart.
. . .There are traces of magic in my heart. Magic other than mine, that is. Did someone save me? It seems unlikely that any magus would do so without expecting remuneration. There's a reason Father refers to himself as a “magic user” rather than “magus.” Mages are a selfish, obsessed lot.
Still, it's clear that someone saved me and then left, no matter how unlikely it sounds.
There's nothing more I can discover, so I return my attention to the scene. Slowly, carefully, I heat the blood. It dries quickly. Then, as I work, it begins to flake away. A few minutes later, all that's left is a layer of reddish dust and bits of ash. With a puff of breath I blow it away, scattering the remains. There's no evidence of anything that happened here. Well. . . the floor might have stained a little, I suppose, but that's not something I can really do much about.
For the moment, I need rest. Even after I'm no longer using magic, my body still burns with pain.
I push myself upright and move towards the door. My foot strikes something small and sends it skittering across the floor. It sounded like a rock or a piece of glass. I might as well get it in the trash. It landed in shadow, so I grope around for a moment before my fingers close on it. It's too well shaped for a simple rock, and. . . it's attached to a chain. A necklace of some sort, with a gem pendant. It looks red, but I can't be certain with the current light. I take it with me.
I consider the matter as I walk home in the darkness. An unknown magus saved me, and I find a jeweled pendant at the scene. When I have time I'll examine it for traces of magic. I don't know if I'll be able to find anything though; I'm not very good at sensing energy that isn't my own or part of something my energy is in.
Still, I've formulated a hypothesis. The Tohsaka family uses jewels for their magecraft, so for the moment I'll assume that Rin was the one to save me. I can't think of any reason for her to do so. . . she's the supervising magus for the area, though, so whatever was going on with the fighters she should be aware of. That provides her a reason to be at the scene, so unless something else comes up I'll consider myself in her debt.
Admittedly, it's not like there's anything she'd need from me. A school idol, Tohsaka Rin is a magus from a family of mages, undoubtedly skilled far beyond anything a hack like me can manage.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A waning crescent moon is beginning to rise as I let myself in. The house is dark and empty; Taiga either has been and left or didn't come by at all. I collapse into a chair, more tired than I can remember ever being. About halfway home the pain suddenly grew worse, my heart feeling like it was splitting open with each step.
The stabbing pain subsides as I allow myself to slowly relax, but leaves in its place a churning nausea. With a deep breath I focus myself, working to clear my mind. The nausea fades, and I turn my thoughts to what I witnessed earlier tonight. I hadn't paid much attention to the news of a murderous burglar that had been going around, but with the fight I saw earlier it seems that something unusual is surely happening in Fuyuki.
Those two. . . they weren't human. I can't be completely certain, not with my meager sensing abilities, but what they displayed went well beyond the capacities of anyone normal. I might think them mages, but while their speed might be due to something like reinforcement no mages would lower themselves to fighting purely with such medieval weaponry.
Some form of vampire seems unlikely as well, so. . . some kind of spirit? In any case, I'll make sure that Tohsaka is aware something's going on. If it involves magic then it's her responsibility, after all. I'm lucky to be alive after merely witnessing them, so it would be foolish to involve myself further.
The bell rings. A burglar, now? Sakura's the only one likely to be visiting who would trigger the bounded field, and she said she wouldn't be over this weekend. No, I'm unwilling to believe in coincidences. Since I'm somehow alive, someone has come to finish the job. A faint sense of premature death seems to settle over the house.
I need a weapon. Father takes most of his weapons when he goes, so I'll need to reach either the dojo or the shed. I f the intruder is something like one of the men from before. . . definitely the shed. My own weapon is intended for combating mages, but it should be effective against anything supernatural. Getting there means risking an encounter, so. . .
My eye lands on the poster Taiga brought the other day. I roll it up consideringly. It's not much, but if my opponent is that spearman from earlier, then this should do.
Ignite!
It isn't my specialty, but by permeating my energy into the poster I can reinforce it to the strength of at least a normal blade. As light as it is, it's not a bad weapon, and my training with Father means I have some experience in using something like this.
Quietly I creep out of the room, heading towards the outside and the shed.
It's only instinct that saves me. With power still thrumming in my veins I sense the sudden motion and throw myself forward as a silver light streaks downward. The man from before descends from the ceiling, his spear striking through where my head was a moment before. I shift away from him, keeping my make-shift sword ready.
“I was trying to be nice, killing you quickly before you noticed me.” The man's tone lacks any sense of interest. I back slowly away. If I can make it out the window, I'll have a straight shot to the shed. I just need to distract him. . . “You seem to have some power, but unless you can use it to fight, you're better off dying now.” The lance is thrust in an instant. I shift the poster to block, and it deflects the strike enough that instead of piercing my chest it just skims across my arm.
“Hah. Now that's a little more interesting!” The man's eyes are sharp with interest now. “This might actually be fun!” The spear strikes at my face and I block without thinking. “Good. Again!” There shouldn't be enough room for it, but somehow he attacks in a whirlwind of blows. Right, left, left. . . Each blow feels like a hammer, the poster bending and warping as the lance bites into it. My shoddy reinforcement skills aren't up to the task, and the numbing pain of resisting such powerful blows makes it clear I won't last long.
He pauses for a moment, his extended spear leaving him open. Even if I take it he's far too strong and fast. I've got a plan, though, and I silently flood more and more power into the poster, shifting from reinforcement to a more direct use of energy, sparing only enough power to ensure it keeps its color and shape.
“Tch. Even when I give you a chance, you don't do anything. I suppose hoping for a good fight from a magus was too much.” He retracts his lance as he speaks. “Well, just die.” It seems he's lost interest, as he readies his lance again. Perfect.
“Damn you!” With a curse, I throw the poster at him. To him, it seems a last defiance from a doomed man, and his lance comes up to bat it aside as he moves to attack.
It's a cheap metal poster, twisted and damaged beyond repair. He's seen how inferior it is, and has already dismissed it as a threat. That's why it comes as a complete surprise to him when, as it comes into contact with his lance and the residual hold of my power vanishes, it bursts apart into a spray of molten metal.
He aborts his lunge, twisting to avoid the unexpected threat. For a moment, his attention has completely left me. He completely dismissed the poster as a threat after I threw it, sparing only a moment to knock it away. Thus, when it abruptly became a more serious threat than anything I'd yet done, it became for a brief moment the focus of his attention. In that moment, when he is focused on something besides me, I leap for the window.
I crash through it and land in a crouch outside. Shoving power to my ankles, I accelerate into a sprint. I have only a few seconds at most as he reanalyzes the situation and realizes there's no further threat. I throw open the door to the shed and throw myself inward. The door is thrown wide behind me by a sudden blow; he's already caught up. Desperately, I roll to my futon and reach under it. I pull my weapon out, aiming at the door where he'll be appearing any moment. He steps into view, and I open fire.
Six shots. That should be more than enough. And yet, and yet. . . somehow not a single one struck true. In an impossible display five are blocked by his lance, exploding into blasts of flame and confirming my earlier thoughts that it is no mundane weapon. The sixth. . . he simply tilts his head to the side and it vanishes into the night.
Impossible. There's no way. . . what he just did. . .
He's grinning. There's real interest in his eyes. “You've got some nice tricks, kid!” Desperately I reach for another clip and begin to reload. He doesn't give me time, however, striking forward as soon as he finishes speaking.
I twist away, raising my arm to block his strike as I try to dodge. The lance bites deeply into my upper arm, tearing the flesh and spattering drops of blood across the floor. My hand opens involuntarily and the clip skitters across the floor as the power of the strike throws me across the room.
“This is it!” Even as I push myself up, I know I'm too slow. The lance is heading towards me, and this time it will pierce my heart.
A flare of light. I feel a sudden chill as prana rushes out of me. With a clang the lance is intercepted by another blade. Someone stands behind me. The blade is withdrawn, and the lancer in blue raises his lance to block a blow at his head. There is a spurt of flame as the blades meet, and he is driven back. My saviour steps over me and presses the attack, his blade wreathed in flickering fire as the lancer parries a handful of blows and then retreats, leaping outside.
The man who has saved me turns. For a moment we regard one another. Armored in black and gold, his head is crowned by a shock of white hair that belies his youthful face. He considers me for a moment, and his eyes shift to my injured arm.
“So, you are my master.” At his words, something in the air seems to shift, and my hand burns as connection between us that I only now am aware sends prans flowing from me to him. He turns and exits the shed, readying his blade. A moment later, sounds of combat begin.
I lie still for a moment, struggling to come to terms with the strangeness of what's going on. First a man in blue is trying to stab me to death, then another man shows up out of nowhere. . . this connection feels a little like my ill-fated attempts at getting a familiar, but. . .
It doesn't matter. Whoever he is, whatever he is, he's saved my life. Now he's fighting that spearman. Resolutely I get to my feet and hunt down the discarded clip. I reload, hissing at the pain each motion causes in my injured arm. It hurts, but it's not significant enough to stop me. I don't know what's going on, why these people are fighting, but I can at least help out the one who saved me.
The battle seems a stalemate. The lancer ought to have the advantage in the open with his longer weapon, but. . . Each blow is blocked, flame flickering from his opponent's blade as it turns his spear away time and time again. My protector is on the defensive, but he shows no signs of giving ground. I move sideways to get a better angle, and raise my pistol. Carefully, I brace myself and prepare for the pain the recoil will cause to my injuries.
I calm myself, slowing my breath as I focus on the target. Judge the distance; hold my aim steady. . . I allow my concerns to vanish as the world falls away. There is just me and the target. My heartbeat slows, and for a moment I am one with the gun. Six pulses, six pulls of the trigger, six stabs of pain as recoil jolts through my arms.
What.
This, this, it's unbelievable. It's insane. Without any warning, without a single moment's hesitation, every bullet has been dodged or blocked. He didn't even spare a single moment's regard! He's grinning like a madman, but it's as if I'm so little threat he doesn't even register my existence.
“Ha! Now this is more like it!” The lancer is clearly excited by an opponent worth his time. “Even with an inferior blade, you're making me work for a victory!” He seems confident he can win, despite his lack of progress. Abruptly he breaks off, leaping backward. “With that level of skill, you must be servant Archer.”
He hawks and spits. “If my master weren't such a damned coward. . . we'll meet again, servant of the bow.” He leaps away and is gone in an instant, crossing the wall in a single bound.
Slowly I lower my empty pistol. The other man sheathes his sword and approaches me as I eye him warily. So far, all he's done is protect me, but now that I have time to pay attention I can tell that he, like the lancer, is not human. He speaks, a rich baritone that cuts through the night air. “I am Servant Archer, called forth by your summons to fight for you in this Holy Grail War.” Stunned, I can only stare at him. A Holy Grail War. . .
He turns suddenly towards the wall. “A servant approaches.” He draws his blade, and I note that it is covered in nicks from fending off that lance. Running footsteps approach and I move to see who it is. The man shadows me, seeming ready to leap in front of me at a moment's notice.
Outside the gate, panting from running some distance is Tohsaka Rin, accompanied by white-haired man in red. “Ah, just who I wanted to see,” I say as I unlock the gate. “Tohsaka, would you mind explaining to me just what is going on?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Having tea with Tohsaka Rin is a. . . surreal experience. It's not just the late hour, nor the two men that quietly listen on. Rin fixed the broken window in seconds with a display of magic that highlighted just how far beyond me she is. It's, well, I could have done that, but it would likely have taken me a couple of hours at a minimum to prepare and cast something like that. In all honesty, replacing the window mundanely would likely be faster and easier. For her, though, it's a quick and casual use of magic.
Now it seems that we'll be opponents. I already knew a little about the Holy Grail War. Well, I knew a little about the last one, anyway. Father didn't like to speak about it, and I didn't press him. Really all I knew was that it was the cause of the fire.
If I'd known I'd be caught up in one. . . well, it seems like this was a surprise to everyone. Rin said they were normally decades apart, after all. I just wish I could get in touch with Father quickly.
Still, I have a few questions.
“Summoning a legendary hero and fighting to the death. . . it doesn't seem very efficient. Why would magi have worked together to create this if only one would get a wish each time?”
“I don't know the details. You need to talk to the Supervisor anyway, so why don't you ask him?” Even as we speak, my attention is not truly on Rin. Rather, it's on the white-haired man next to her. Her Servant. Based on what she said, he ought to be focused on the greatest threat to her – the other Servant in the room. However, throughout this entire time he's been watching me, staring at me as if questioning my very existence. It's unnerving.
I still haven't had a chance to speak with the man I summoned alone, and as we depart it seems I won't get to for a while. He's maintained a watchful gaze over everything that's happened without allowing a single flicker of emotion to show, an impassive guardian whose eyes seek the heart of the matter.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Once we departed the Servants vanished into intangibility. To onlookers, it might look as if Tohsaka and I were out walking together. We don't encounter anyone, though, and we enter Shinto after most of an hour.
Our destination is a church on a hill. It's an imposing building, but as we approach it I find an odd sensation gripping me.
There's something wrong. My head throbs and I feel lightheaded as we enter the chapel, our footsteps echoing in the empty room. Rin moves forward towards the altar as she speaks. “The priest supervising the Holy Grail War is Kotomine Kirei. He was a student of my father and we've known each other for ten years now. I wish I'd never met him.” Her venomous words remind me that earlier she called him a 'false priest.'
I'm not given further time to think on this as footsteps sound and a tall man appears from behind the altar. At his presence my headache expands into a dull agony. There's something wrong with this man. “An apprentice should show more respect for her master.” This man's voice drives knives of pain into my skull. This man continues to speak, questioning Rin on her presence, but the sight of this man drives everything else from my mind. My hands clench at this man and I can feel my pulse racing as this man turns towards me and this man doesn't seem hostile or even scary but this man there is something wrong with this man and I can't stand this man my head is burning this man the room is hazy this man feels vile this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this man this-
A sudden pressure on my shoulder. A sudden yelp of pain. The haze of red fades, and I find myself looking into the eyes of Rin Tohsaka. She's cradling her hand and eyeing me oddly. “Are you. . . all right?”
“I. . .” I put my hand to my head. My pulse is racing and there's a faint scorched scent. “I think so.” No. No I'm not. I don't like lying, but this. . . this is something I need to think about, something I need to understand on my own. Rin backs off, watching me carefully as if she thinks I'll collapse at any moment.
The priest watches, looking faintly amused. At the sight of him a surge of something rises within me, but I take deep breaths and push it aside ruthlessly. On seeing he has my attention he speaks. “I ask again, what is your name, seventh Master.”
His voice brings another rush, but I'm in control now, and I steady myself before answering. “Emiya Shirou. I haven't agreed to be a Master, though.” With the presence of these 'Command Spells' I doubt it's that easy to get out of, but I want to see what he has to say.
“Emiya – Shirou.” He repeats my name slowly, smiling again as he approaches. “You have made a contract with Archer, correct.”
(incomplete scene)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Emiya –– Shirou.” He repeats my name slowly, smiling as he approaches. His smile is pleasant, but for a moment it seems just an empty caricature. “You have made a contract with Archer, correct?” Did Rin tell him? No, he called me the seventh Master. That implies that the others have already summoned servants. He knows which is my servant by process of elimination.
I answer in the affirmative. It seems that he intends to satisfy himself as to the situation first.
“By receiving the holy marks granted by the grail and completing the summoning of a Servant, you have become a Master in this, the fifth Holy Grail War.” He folds his hands in front of him, his rich voice suggesting that he speaks some great wonder. “By defeating all Servants, you shall obtain the Holy Grail that will grant your wish.”
“Why is defeating the Servants so important?” It's not my greatest question, but it definitely ties in. Simply calling forth a dead hero from the past is itself on the level of a miracle, so it makes little sense to waste such power with their deaths.
Kotomine considers me for a moment before responding. “I see. It seems you do not truly understand the nature of the Grail.” He pauses for a moment before explaining. “The Holy Grail is a spiritual artifact, something that cannot be touched by mortals. The purpose of the Holy Grail War is to determine a suitable magus and draw the Grail into the material world. Once only one Servant remains, the Holy Grail may be completed.”
That explains some things. A spiritual artifact requires the power of spirits to interact with. Still. . . “What is the true purpose of the Holy Grail War?” Everything he's said has only convinced me further.
The power that is being used to grant a wish to the winner. . . from the point of view of the mages who set this up, all their effort would be wasted if they lost, unless their true goal was not the wish itself. But what goal could they have had that requires such extravagance?
Kotomine studies me, his eyes sharp as he looks me over. Eventually he speaks, “Emiya Shirou. . . truly you have a talent for burning away the masks and perceiving the heart of the matter.” From his tone, that wasn't a compliment. He turns to Rin, “This is something that my apprentice should know as well, for it concerns her family history.
“The goal of those who started the Holy Grail Wars is the same as that of all magi: to reach Akasha.” Rin shifts beside me as she takes this in.
My thoughts swirl furiously, even the presence of the priest momentarily forgotten as I digest this. “Then. . . the previous wars have not succeeded in this?”
Kotomine inclines his head. “Indeed. The previous Holy Grail Wars were terrible indeed. Masters were driven by their greed to forget their teachings as magi and attacked each other indiscriminately. The true Grail has yet to descend.” He doesn't need to say it, I can clearly understand that it is unlikely this war will be any different. I think of the terrible fire that the last war caused. . .
The priest continues, “In the third war, a supervisor was dispatched as a caution – my father. After his death in the last war, I have taken over his role.” He turns away. “Unless you have further questions. . .”
(scene still unfinished)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The silence as we leave the church is heavy. When Rin and I came here we also walked in silence, but not like this.
Now we are enemies.
Even if neither of us seems inclined to hostility for the moment, even if I have little desire for the prize, I can't forget that fact. We walk together uneasily, aware that tomorrow may bring us into conflict.
Did I make the right choice? I think so.
Sacrificing the power and potential of the Command Seals would be a light price to pay to avoid staining my hands with the blood of others. That was my first thought. But. . . responsibility is not something set aside so easily. This is what I believe. I must be accountable for the results of my actions, even if my action is merely to remove myself from the situation.
The Holy Grail War will result in deaths, and not just those of the participants. No matter whether I chose to join or leave, no matter what I do, people will die. I can't prevent the War from happening. I can't change the natures and actions of others. The only thing I can truly control is my own choices. Once I understood that, my path became clear.
By choosing to fight in this Holy Grail War my hands may become stained with blood. I fear this. I dread that I will be forced to do terrible things. I am not like my father, who will sacrifice few to save many. The value of innocent lives is not so easily counted and weighed. Still, I could not dare consider myself a man if I abandoned a situation where I could do some good.
Tohsaka Rin is not my primary concern. I don't know her well, but from what I have seen she is unlikely to-
A spectre looms out of the darkness. A whisper of death brushes across my senses. This feeling-
A servant. Archer appears silently in front of me. A few feet away, Rin's servant stands in front of her. Even as they watch the figure coming into view they keep a wary eye on each other, their positions edging the two of us farther apart.
As details become clear I can make out that there are actually two people approaching. The first is the most obvious. A giant of a man, the moon shines down upon bulging muscles and craggy features. His mere presence is unsettling, the jagged blade he bears a warning of his monstrous strength.
The second figure is a sharp contrast. A young white-haired girl clothed in purple, smiling happily as if without a care in the world. As they grow close she speaks, her tone a match for her expression. "Good evening, Onii-chan," she pauses and shifts her gaze to the others, "and you as well, Rin." She gives a curtsy that only furthers the appearance of innocence. "I'm Ilya -- Ilyasviel von Einzbern. Pleased to make your acquaintance." Einzbern? I think I've heard father mention it, but I can't be sure. From Rin's indrawn breath it means something to her, though.
Standing before us, the girl seems positively tiny, especially in comparison to the servant who stands at her back. Her tone is cheerful, light-hearted as she continues, "Onii-chan, you'll be coming with me." Then, without a single change in her expression or tone, she adds, "Kill the girl, Berserker."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The giant crashes down. A tremendous chunk of stone hewn roughly into the form of a sword is his weapon, and he wields it as if it were no more than a feather.
The red-clad servant intercepts him. The mighty blade swings, and it seems as if the smaller figure will be obliterated in a single stroke.
The real threat is not the servant, though. The real threat is the master who commands him. "If you want me to come with you, attacking my companions isn't the best way to go about it."
"Oh?" The girl seems honestly surprised. "Once they're gone, you'll have no reason not to come, right? How else should I go about meeting you?"
A screech of metal. The presence of the girl's servant, this berserk giant, is such that I can't keep my attention away from them for long.
Saber shifts sideways, a blade appearing in his hands. In the same moment it is shattered, torn to bits by the strength of his opponent's blow. Impossibly, the blade of rock reverses its course, sweeping back for another blow. Again it meets a blade and is deflected.
No. It isn't being deflected. The difference in strength is just too great. Truly, Saber's defense is inspired. If he simply dodged his opponent's blows, Berserker would advance with each strike, rapidly drawing near to Saber's master. Unable to block, unable to dodge... instead he produces a blade intended to be destroyed. Even if he cannot stop his opponent's strikes, he can still slow them. Rather than transmitting the energy of his opponent's attack into the ground with a block, he absorbs some of it with the destruction of his blade and slightly alters the course of the rest to a more favorable direction.
Even so, Saber is slowly driven back. With such an immense weapon there ought to be an opening after each strike, but his opponent's strength removes the opportunity. The giant's attack is relentless, giving no thought to defense. Saber doesn't dare do anything except defend when a single misstep will destroy him. Despite the power of his swings, Berserker shows no signs of tiring, or even of effort. The eventual outcome seems clear.
I finger the gem in my pocket. This is a war. To allow one opponent to eliminate another at no cost to myself and no risk to the uninvolved. . . No. Even if I didn't owe my life to her, Tohsaka's actions thus far have shown her in a far better light than I could possibly expect from a magus. The girl before me, however. . . "I'm not inclined to trust someone who attacks at the first meeting. If you wanted to meet me, you should have let me know ahead of time, rather than accosting me in the street."
The fighters are drawing near, and Archer moves warily in front of me. In his hands he holds a bow of some dark wood, an arrow nocked but not drawn back.
As the pair approach, Saber abruptly retreats an extra step, leaving an opening his opponent is quick to take advantage of. As the blade swings down he throws himself to the side. It is a move that seems foolish, leaving an open path between his opponent and his master. Before Berserker can take advantage of it, however, Tohsaka raises her hand, a jewel glinting within it. From it leaps a typhoon.
A tremendous blast of wind. The air roars furiously as it is whipped into a fury around Berserker, moving at such speeds that is impossible to see any details beyond. Still, Berserker's master doesn't seem worried in the slightest, and from what little can be seen of him it seems more that the wind is merely inconveniencing his movement than that it is an actual threat to him.
The furious storm of air has only begun to dissipate, but Saber's voice rises over it as he speaks for the first time.
"Grásiða!"
He leaps forward, his form seeming to shimmer and dissolve into the darkness and wind as he slides around his opponent's blade and drives the weapon in his hand into Berserker's chest. The giant roars furiously, and Saber seems to bend impossibly as he dodges the counterattack and leaps backward empty-handed.
That attack. . . that makes no sense. . .-
"Wow, your servant is pretty strong to take one of Hercules' lives." One of. . .!?
Indeed, despite the wound in his chest, her servant stands strong. More than merely standing, the wound is closing, forcing the weapon -- little more than a spearhead with a handle -- out . What kind of monster. . .?
"Letting you know ahead of time? Humph. I'll let you go for now. . ." She spins to point her finger at me. "But in return you have to take me on a date, Onii-chan!" What? What kind of logic is- "I'll expect you tomorrow afternoon! Let's go, Berserker."
She departs leaving me staring dumbfounded after her. A growl of frustration causes me to turn, and I turn to see Tohsaka glaring at me, hands clenching and unclenching as she tries to make sense of what just happened. Honestly, I'm not sure either.
Reply With Quote
Originally Posted by asterism42
