Well, here is chapter two, I had intended to include the fight with lancer, but Saber, Shirou and Archer claimed this chapter for their own. 
I hope you will enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything at all.
Miracle
Chapter 2
He can't help it.
It's impossible for him to look away from this battle.
Every time he tries to avert his gaze his eyes move as if possessing a will of their own.
His own body forces him to watch this match between the man he simply can't accept as anything but an enemy and that black swordsman that fought with Saber.
He can not look away, but neither can he bear to look at them anymore.
If his body tells him to watch than his entire being tells him to get as far away from that big slab of iron that man wields as he can. He knows that as sure as the sun will rise again in the morning, if he watches this battle just a little bit longer, he will understand it. Understand the thoughts that brought forth its making. Understand the history that made the sword what it is today.
The thought of tracing this sword makes him ill.
His stomach churns at the very idea of creating that thing. He doesn't want that. Giving shape to this sword through his own body is something he simply can not do. To forge something so blatantly cursed, his minds screams at the hatred needed to forge this weapon.
After all only hate could burn hot enough to melt the demonic blood this weapon is made of. That is all there is to the blade that could kill even the mightiest of the fantastic creatures in a single blow. Hate and Blood. Blood and Hate.
Yet
Some dark part, deep inside his soul tells him gleefully, one day, he will have a use for that cursed blade and he knows that too. He wants to protest, to deny that possibility, but that voice will not allow such self-delusion.
One day, he will trace this sword, he will drink deeply from its hatred and swing it with all the rage he has within himself.
That is what his body tells him, because this body was made for swords. That is the only truth behind that statement.
So he burns it into his memory, this sword that screams for blood and death every time it cuts through the cold air.
He watches even when he knows it will damn his soul to do so.
This man swings that blade so easily, swings it as if it were but an extension of his arm.
Too fast for a blade so thick.
Too strong for a sword so heavy.
Too skillful for something so dirty.
Even with his limited skills he can see the difference between the red-clad Servant and his black opponent.
One has acquired the skill to fight even Servants. A dance-like movement, graceful, yet a hidden rage lurks behind those gentle moves. And the longer the fight lasts the hotter that rage burns, as if it was being drawn out by the mere presence of his enemy.
It is those movements that he understands. Within his mind he can see himself doing them. Its only natural. Those moves fit him perfectly, as if they had only waited for him to finally discover them.
The other one simply holds his Dragonslayer, for this blade can not be called anything else, he realizes, his stance reveals nothing, yet they all know that his skill is beyond the servant called Archer.
When it comes to swords that black swordsman is just that good. It is a simply truth.
For anyone else that giant blade would be a hindrance at best, a fatal weakness at worst.
To the servant called Assassin it is the most perfect weapon he has ever used.
It is crude, cumbersome and far too big as far as swords go.
But the power it holds is as undeniable as is its thirst for blood. The reach it grants him serves him well and to him who can wield that sword with one hand alone, its weight is more of a comfort than a hindrance.
Sword and Swordsman. Power and Skill.
It is a deadly combination.
Deadly for even the most powerful of servants.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Confronted with such a relentless onslaught of attacks Archer gives ground.
But he does not falter. His beautiful long swords have been shattered once already.
That taught him the folly of blocking that mans strikes.
So he dodges.
He parries.
But he does not block anymore. It would be too wasteful to have his swords broken again.
He draws his opponent in. His skill might not be able to reach Assassin but there is something he can see. With those eyes schooled by battle after battle he can see it.
The road to victory.
That single path that only appears once in a battle.
He can see it, taste it and most importantly follow it.
Now all he needs to do is to force his enemy unto that road. Just one step, that is all that man needs to take on Archers road and it will be over. From then onwards the only viable outcome is his complete victory.
That is his ability honed by combat, by slaughtering those who endangered the people in his sight. The ability cultivated by a live that has sacrificed everything.
He smiles, cynical as always.
Victory is not assured, but that has never stopped him before.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She has turned her back to the battle that rages behind her.
It is unforgivable.
Neither as a king nor as knight would she have ever accepted this.
Please pull yourself together, Master.
As a servant summoned by the holy grail to fight in the Holy Grail War it is....necessary.
She can not allow her master to die here, not by the blade of that treacherous Archer.
She does not understand why he would go against the order of his master, why he would hate that boy that much. No, she can not even understand why anyone would want to hate her master.
He is a good person, someone she is proud to call master. Someone she can understand, from time to time at least.
That scares her.
Not only because of such gentle thoughts, totally unbefitting of a king, but also because of what she sees in those two servants that fight each other so savagely.
She can not explain it, but when she looks at them, she sees her master.
When they attack she sees her master, when they defend she sees her master and that scares her.
The Kind of Knights is scared.
How preposterous.
It is something that can not be denied however, the boy, the man and the swordsman, all three of them, they are the same.
Three different sides of the same coin. A shudder runs down her spine at that thought.
Why is it so easy to picture her young and honest master with that evil sword, cutting apart his enemies? Why do his clothes change so easily to red and his hair to white in her thoughts? Why can she just as easily picture her master's smile on the face of those two servants bent on battle.
It is impossible.
It must be impossible.
It scares her, because, as a king she can not deny the truth she already knows.
She too is the same as her master.
She is on a road which can only end in the two broken heroes doing battle right now.
For the first time, the King of Knights accepts her fears as justified and wonders.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He can not stop it.
His face twists into that frightening smirk his enemies fear so much.
That man, his opponent, he possesses something that makes him enjoy this battle more than he would have expected.
Archer's strikes lack the strength of the blond girl, his speed is also below hers. Yet, this battle makes his heart beat so fast. Every time his sword slashes through the space his enemy occupied mere seconds ago his grin grows.
He is planning something. The red-clad servant hides it well but to someone that lived his entire life with the sword in his hand it becomes painfully obvious. He is planning something, to create an opening, to deliver an attack that will kill him in one blow. To take care of him once and for all.
His scars start to ache from his grin. He can not help it. This guy, above anyone else, he wants to cut him down. To drive his sword into that body and splatter his blood on the stairs of this temple.
His attacks come faster and faster, the blade that is bigger than a man becomes a dark blur. The blade is too fast for even a servant to anticipate its path. It will cleave his enemy apart.
Archers smirk explains it all when he finally sees his chance.
The instant his momentum forces him to show his back to his opponent he realizes Archers plan.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Its not even a second, not enough time to mount a counter attack, not even for a servant, but that was never his plan. He jumps away, gains the distance needed to strike the black swordsman down. All he needed was the chance to get out of this Assassins optimal range.
Even before he lands the black bow manifests in his hands, the moment his second foot touches the ground he has a suitable arrow in his hands.
It is an arrow one can not hope to avoid, not from this distance, not at the speed the projectile is traveling.
The Arrow of light strikes true.
With a terrifying roar the battle ends.
The following explosion swallows the black swordsman, hides him from view, as if granting a last act of mercy by hiding the loser of this battle from view.
The servant of Rin Tohsaka has won. No other servant could survive such a hit.
The sound of metal upon stone proves all expectations wrong.
The strike that should have killed Assassin has only bought him a short break from battle.
The dust settles, revealing an empty staircase.
The dark sword that descends from above gives no warning and only a frantic dodge saves Archer from dying on the spot.
The ground protests at the abuse even as the sword splits it open as it were soft earth.
For a second Archer thinks about continuing this battle.
The black swordsman comes at him again, this time the sword can not be seen anymore. The gigantic lump of iron moves too fast for even the famed eyes of this servant. A howl echoes through the night, he can not say if it comes from his enemy or some kind of animal.
Gathering all his strength, the servant Archer turns and runs.
This battle is over. The horrifying grimace of his opponent proved that. His arrow had hit after all. Yet Assassin still stood, yet he still raged one, his single eye glowing in the darkness with a bloodlust Archer would not have thought possible in a human being.
He has seen a lot, but this unnerves even him.
That thing called Assassin, he snorts at the thought, that thing would have made a perfect Berserker the thinks, will not die tonight.
So he retreats for now.
As he runs through the woods he can hear its howl of fury, the sound of iron cleaving a part stone and wood.
There is no reason to gamble with his life anymore tonight. His prey already escaped.
They will fight again, he is sure of it.
And next time he will not hold back.
Because when fighting against that black swordsman, holding back may just cost him his life.
I hope you will enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything at all.
Miracle
Chapter 2
He can't help it.
It's impossible for him to look away from this battle.
Every time he tries to avert his gaze his eyes move as if possessing a will of their own.
His own body forces him to watch this match between the man he simply can't accept as anything but an enemy and that black swordsman that fought with Saber.
He can not look away, but neither can he bear to look at them anymore.
If his body tells him to watch than his entire being tells him to get as far away from that big slab of iron that man wields as he can. He knows that as sure as the sun will rise again in the morning, if he watches this battle just a little bit longer, he will understand it. Understand the thoughts that brought forth its making. Understand the history that made the sword what it is today.
The thought of tracing this sword makes him ill.
His stomach churns at the very idea of creating that thing. He doesn't want that. Giving shape to this sword through his own body is something he simply can not do. To forge something so blatantly cursed, his minds screams at the hatred needed to forge this weapon.
After all only hate could burn hot enough to melt the demonic blood this weapon is made of. That is all there is to the blade that could kill even the mightiest of the fantastic creatures in a single blow. Hate and Blood. Blood and Hate.
Yet
Some dark part, deep inside his soul tells him gleefully, one day, he will have a use for that cursed blade and he knows that too. He wants to protest, to deny that possibility, but that voice will not allow such self-delusion.
One day, he will trace this sword, he will drink deeply from its hatred and swing it with all the rage he has within himself.
That is what his body tells him, because this body was made for swords. That is the only truth behind that statement.
So he burns it into his memory, this sword that screams for blood and death every time it cuts through the cold air.
He watches even when he knows it will damn his soul to do so.
This man swings that blade so easily, swings it as if it were but an extension of his arm.
Too fast for a blade so thick.
Too strong for a sword so heavy.
Too skillful for something so dirty.
Even with his limited skills he can see the difference between the red-clad Servant and his black opponent.
One has acquired the skill to fight even Servants. A dance-like movement, graceful, yet a hidden rage lurks behind those gentle moves. And the longer the fight lasts the hotter that rage burns, as if it was being drawn out by the mere presence of his enemy.
It is those movements that he understands. Within his mind he can see himself doing them. Its only natural. Those moves fit him perfectly, as if they had only waited for him to finally discover them.
The other one simply holds his Dragonslayer, for this blade can not be called anything else, he realizes, his stance reveals nothing, yet they all know that his skill is beyond the servant called Archer.
When it comes to swords that black swordsman is just that good. It is a simply truth.
For anyone else that giant blade would be a hindrance at best, a fatal weakness at worst.
To the servant called Assassin it is the most perfect weapon he has ever used.
It is crude, cumbersome and far too big as far as swords go.
But the power it holds is as undeniable as is its thirst for blood. The reach it grants him serves him well and to him who can wield that sword with one hand alone, its weight is more of a comfort than a hindrance.
Sword and Swordsman. Power and Skill.
It is a deadly combination.
Deadly for even the most powerful of servants.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Confronted with such a relentless onslaught of attacks Archer gives ground.
But he does not falter. His beautiful long swords have been shattered once already.
That taught him the folly of blocking that mans strikes.
So he dodges.
He parries.
But he does not block anymore. It would be too wasteful to have his swords broken again.
He draws his opponent in. His skill might not be able to reach Assassin but there is something he can see. With those eyes schooled by battle after battle he can see it.
The road to victory.
That single path that only appears once in a battle.
He can see it, taste it and most importantly follow it.
Now all he needs to do is to force his enemy unto that road. Just one step, that is all that man needs to take on Archers road and it will be over. From then onwards the only viable outcome is his complete victory.
That is his ability honed by combat, by slaughtering those who endangered the people in his sight. The ability cultivated by a live that has sacrificed everything.
He smiles, cynical as always.
Victory is not assured, but that has never stopped him before.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She has turned her back to the battle that rages behind her.
It is unforgivable.
Neither as a king nor as knight would she have ever accepted this.
Please pull yourself together, Master.
As a servant summoned by the holy grail to fight in the Holy Grail War it is....necessary.
She can not allow her master to die here, not by the blade of that treacherous Archer.
She does not understand why he would go against the order of his master, why he would hate that boy that much. No, she can not even understand why anyone would want to hate her master.
He is a good person, someone she is proud to call master. Someone she can understand, from time to time at least.
That scares her.
Not only because of such gentle thoughts, totally unbefitting of a king, but also because of what she sees in those two servants that fight each other so savagely.
She can not explain it, but when she looks at them, she sees her master.
When they attack she sees her master, when they defend she sees her master and that scares her.
The Kind of Knights is scared.
How preposterous.
It is something that can not be denied however, the boy, the man and the swordsman, all three of them, they are the same.
Three different sides of the same coin. A shudder runs down her spine at that thought.
Why is it so easy to picture her young and honest master with that evil sword, cutting apart his enemies? Why do his clothes change so easily to red and his hair to white in her thoughts? Why can she just as easily picture her master's smile on the face of those two servants bent on battle.
It is impossible.
It must be impossible.
It scares her, because, as a king she can not deny the truth she already knows.
She too is the same as her master.
She is on a road which can only end in the two broken heroes doing battle right now.
For the first time, the King of Knights accepts her fears as justified and wonders.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He can not stop it.
His face twists into that frightening smirk his enemies fear so much.
That man, his opponent, he possesses something that makes him enjoy this battle more than he would have expected.
Archer's strikes lack the strength of the blond girl, his speed is also below hers. Yet, this battle makes his heart beat so fast. Every time his sword slashes through the space his enemy occupied mere seconds ago his grin grows.
He is planning something. The red-clad servant hides it well but to someone that lived his entire life with the sword in his hand it becomes painfully obvious. He is planning something, to create an opening, to deliver an attack that will kill him in one blow. To take care of him once and for all.
His scars start to ache from his grin. He can not help it. This guy, above anyone else, he wants to cut him down. To drive his sword into that body and splatter his blood on the stairs of this temple.
His attacks come faster and faster, the blade that is bigger than a man becomes a dark blur. The blade is too fast for even a servant to anticipate its path. It will cleave his enemy apart.
Archers smirk explains it all when he finally sees his chance.
The instant his momentum forces him to show his back to his opponent he realizes Archers plan.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Its not even a second, not enough time to mount a counter attack, not even for a servant, but that was never his plan. He jumps away, gains the distance needed to strike the black swordsman down. All he needed was the chance to get out of this Assassins optimal range.
Even before he lands the black bow manifests in his hands, the moment his second foot touches the ground he has a suitable arrow in his hands.
It is an arrow one can not hope to avoid, not from this distance, not at the speed the projectile is traveling.
The Arrow of light strikes true.
With a terrifying roar the battle ends.
The following explosion swallows the black swordsman, hides him from view, as if granting a last act of mercy by hiding the loser of this battle from view.
The servant of Rin Tohsaka has won. No other servant could survive such a hit.
The sound of metal upon stone proves all expectations wrong.
The strike that should have killed Assassin has only bought him a short break from battle.
The dust settles, revealing an empty staircase.
The dark sword that descends from above gives no warning and only a frantic dodge saves Archer from dying on the spot.
The ground protests at the abuse even as the sword splits it open as it were soft earth.
For a second Archer thinks about continuing this battle.
The black swordsman comes at him again, this time the sword can not be seen anymore. The gigantic lump of iron moves too fast for even the famed eyes of this servant. A howl echoes through the night, he can not say if it comes from his enemy or some kind of animal.
Gathering all his strength, the servant Archer turns and runs.
This battle is over. The horrifying grimace of his opponent proved that. His arrow had hit after all. Yet Assassin still stood, yet he still raged one, his single eye glowing in the darkness with a bloodlust Archer would not have thought possible in a human being.
He has seen a lot, but this unnerves even him.
That thing called Assassin, he snorts at the thought, that thing would have made a perfect Berserker the thinks, will not die tonight.
So he retreats for now.
As he runs through the woods he can hear its howl of fury, the sound of iron cleaving a part stone and wood.
There is no reason to gamble with his life anymore tonight. His prey already escaped.
They will fight again, he is sure of it.
And next time he will not hold back.
Because when fighting against that black swordsman, holding back may just cost him his life.
