Uahhh another FSN fic, this idea simply wouldn't leave me alone for reasons I can't explain at all.
After talking with FatuousOne about the craziness of this idea I decided to simply start writing it, better to show than tell, right?
I will continue it, but most likely only after I finished Miracle soo...beware the next update. B)
Disclaimer: I don't own FSN
title is still pending, though I guess it's fitting.
Unlimited Blade Works
He was not an overly religious person.
Never had been and most likely never would be. He had too many bad memories of the church and its mediators for any kind of faith to remain within him. He had too many memories of being hunted like some kind of prey waiting to be devoured to even consider joining any kind of church.
And he was tired of getting stabbed by one of those black keys.
Those things were painful, especially when they were lodged somewhere in his body that was not meant to hold bladed objects of any kind.
So it came as no surprise that he did his best to never get too close to any priest or nun he might find.
He had enough of seemingly peaceful priests suddenly pulling weapons out of their sleeves and trying to lynch him.
Not like the magi from the association were any better, crazy buggers had tried to capture him more than once in his youth and they werent any more careful in their attempts at his life than the church. Those people must have never heard of the word overkill in their entire life.
They had tried to burrow him under an entire mountain of ice and stone for gods sake. It had taken him an entire week to get out of that little death trap, he had been forced to eat dirt just to have something to chew on or he would have eaten his own arm.
At least he didnt have to worry about water. There had been plenty of that after all that snow and ice had started to melt and nearly drowned him in a muddy soup of water, mud and other things hed rather not know.
What a fun week that had been and people still had the gall to ask him why he had become so snarky.
Assassinations were kind of a downer for ones social ability.
He had always thought that they were supposed to be secretive and all that stuff but somehow that didnt seem to bother them in the slightest when it came to caving his skull in.
This was one of the reasons why he was grateful that he had never considered himself part of that Association.
Tohsaka had been pissed enough with all the stuff and regulations they had heaped unto her, he preferred doing his own thing. Thank you very much.
Not that it stopped them from trying to put an end to his continued existence.
All because of one little Reality Marble.
Unlimited Blade Works he whispers those fateful words, not loud enough for anyone else to hear, but enough to confirm them to himself.
An Innate Bounded Field.
Shirou Emiyas greatest masterpiece.
Magecraft beyond Magecraft.
The closest thing to True Magic any Magi could ever dream of.
Basically it was nothing more than a single magus telling reality to bend over and take it.
He had to snicker at that thought, remembering just how hard it was to actually create and hold something like that. Reality really didnt like it, didnt like it at all and was very vocal in its hate for all things Reality Marble related.
POP and it was gone, like bad gas, vanquished by a world that would never accept such a thing that would dare to spit in realities face like that.
Because in the end it was nothing but a violation of the natural order and that was something that could not be allowed to exist.
Not now, not ever.
Still, it was a power unlike any other. Certainly it was not True Magic, but it was oh so very close.
And yet, for him it had always been a means to an end.
The dream of peace that was the centre of his very being.
The ideal of protecting everyone that he still carried in his heart.
To become a superhero capable of saving not only those in his sight but all the people that needed saving.
That had always been Shirou Emiyas motivation and it still wasin a way.
But now new plans had to be made.
Things had changed, nothing was the same anymore and he was so very confused by it all. His body, no, his entire being felt different now..or was it still the same, he couldnt tell anymore?
He honestly couldnt say when everything had started to change. There was no moment he could name at which he had felt as if he had begun to become something else. He didnt know if it had been slow or fast, if other people might have noticed or not. He wasnt much of a people person anyway.
Yet, right here, right now he knew that whatever transformation he had gone through was over and he still had no idea what had changed.
All he was absolutely sure of was that he could feel it. He could feel steel sliding upon steel, he could feel the heat necessary to forge those blades he claimed as his own and he could feel the swords themselves, waiting, shaking in anticipation to be released.
He could feel that, every time his heart beat, could feel it every time he stood still and simply listened to this own body.
Somehow he knew that it was good. That it was right. That THIS was the way it should be. The only way it could possibly be.
This feeling that was as natural as breathing, something that resonated so completely with his very self, like everything he had ever done was nothing but a prelude to THIS.
And he didnt understand it even one bit.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts he found what he had been looking for. A church, old but well maintained, it had been built a few decades ago it seemed. It was surprising enough to find such an old church, as it had been abandoned years ago, in such a remarkable state but he guessed that might have something to do with the man he had come to find here.
The eccentric old magus was.well, strange described him pretty well. Weird too now that he was thinking about it, after all, what kind of magus made a workshop out of a church anyway? Not that it really mattered.
The Wizard Marshall could help him that was all that was of importance to him; he knew that, he only had to convince the old man to support him.
If Zelretch had already received his message than all that remained for him to do was asking him if the old magus would assist him.
He comes to a stop in front of the door, for a moment he considers knocking and raises his fist but a sudden feeling of being watched makes him lower his hand again. Something is touching him, he can feelit clearly, like invisible hands they touch his entire body, leaving behind a strange coldness wherever they touch his bare flesh. He shudders and waits, letting those things do their job.
They stop moving, then, far too fast for him to react he is being dragged into the door. For a moment he tries to fight against the magic that is pulling him but it is useless and his body hits the black oak door.
And with a sound of someone spitting upon the ground he lands on the other side, the door never opening, yet he has crossed it, somehow.
Magecraft, of course. Used as both protection and transportation. It is both ingenious and yet simple. He can appreciate it that much at least, even though he himself lacks any talent for spells of that scale.
Still, he continues to lay on the floor for a moment or two, hoping that the stiffness and the coldness from those hands will fade away before he has to talk with the Wizard Marshall.
Well, Im sure the floor is quite comfortable but in my age people prefer to not get a stiff neck when talking to someone, so why dont you do everyone a favour and get up, Shirou Emiya?
He cant help but groan when he hears the old mans voice, and for a moment he considers the thought of simply continue to lie here but in the end common sense wins out. It wouldnt do to insult someone whose help he needs, especially over something as petty as a magical body-search. Even though he knows that the old man is laughing at him on the inside.
Straining himself he stands up again, some part of him notes that there is no dust on his clothes, the floor is cleaner than he would have expected, given that is such an old building.
He eyes the older man, who is still grinning at him, for a moment before he opens his mouth to speak.
Have you thought about my request Zelretch-sama?
The words sound wrong even to his own ears. Of course, The Wizard Marshall deserves respect but it feels fake, his entire speech feels like a badly done rip off. He suppresses a snicker at that thought. That he of all people would have a problem with a fake amuses him to no end.
The old man does not answer him immediately; instead he pulls out a piece of parchment. It looks fresh, even though a few tears and water stains cover its surface. Having scanned it the elder magus sets it down and glares at the young man before him. He is torn between being partly amused and partly angry.
Please send me away! The words are spoken softly, yet he can hear the humorous tone behind them.
Zelretch is mocking him.
Well, if you consider that a request, then maybe you really are even more anti-social than I am. This is not even a letter Emiya; this tells me nothing, what do you want from me besides using my magic, that is?
The younger of the two grimaces. He had secretly feared that his message may have been too short but there was no insurance that it would even reach the Wizard Marshall without landing in the wrong hands. That was the reason why he had been forced to write such a short and non-descript letter.
Im sorry the letter was so short, sir, what I need is your help to reach another reality and meet myself.
The words come out quickly, like water out of a geyser they shoot from his mouth.
Meet yourself? Why would you need to meet yourself boy? Its not as fun as it sounds, believe me.
The old mans answer is still spoken in an overly amused tone, indicating that he most likely already met his counter-parts many times.
I have to do this sir. I.I have changed, and now everything is different. If I could meet my other self I might be able to understand what happened to me. The young mans eyes focus on the old magus in front of him as he speaks.
Changed? Changed how? Explain yourself properly Emiya. I like mysteries but pulling every detail out of your nose is not one of my favourite past times. A raised eyebrow accompanies that order. Clearly the Wizard Marshall is getting interested now.
I dont think that name fits me anymore, no, more than that, I fear that what I am now does no longer have anything to do with who I was before. My tracing, my Reality Marble, everything I do feels completely different from before, even my body feels different now. I have changed in ways I cant even understand yet and that scares me sir.
His answer is a loud snort as Zelretch once more looks at him with amusement shining in his eyes.
So? Young people, pahh, acting as if changing were that horrible. Of course you are changing, even I can sense it. Any Magus that takes a looks at you could sense it. Your prana tastes of steel my boy, steel and blood, and its making this old man here feel like hes back in the days of his youth. A small chuckle.
The man pauses for a second before he answers. His face has settled into a fa?ade of stone it seems.
Steel? Yes, I guess it is fitting after all, isnt it? Steel, Blood and Fire. The materials from which I create illusion that become reality, however twisted it may be. Yet, all I know is that I need to get away from here, that there is someone that needs my help. The boy will need me. Please sir, I beg you, send me to this place. Handing the older man another letter he waits for him to read it through.
A few moments of silence follow, then.
Oh stop it, you say you have no name, you dont even know who or what you are and here you go on and on about some sort NEED. Very well, I will send you there, but before that, I think its time you deal with the visitors that you brought with you.
Snapping to attention the younger man understands instantly what the other means.
The reason why he knows that whatever transformation he has gone through is finally over. His hunters, theyre the predator, he is their prey.
Send out to hunt him down and kill him, the violation of this worlds natural order.
Counter-Guardians.
Again, they have come to take his life, but this is the last time, he is tired of this game.
He is tired of running and hiding. He is tired of playing after their rules. This game is not meant for him.
It doesnt matter. He will create his own rules then, for this battle at least. He is good at that after all, creating things that shouldnt exist.
No, thats not the whole truth.
When it comes to him, its not things, its all about swords.
He walks through the door and the coldness once again numbs his body for a second before he once again sees the open field in front of the church. The sun is still high enough to paint the entire clearing in a gentle comforting light.
It is a deceptive peace. They are already here. He cant sense them but somehow he knows that they are only waiting for the right moment to attack.
What a strange sense it is. Like a blade that is about to be drawn he can feel it, the battle that is about to start any second now.
The first attack throws him from his feet, to the left side of the church and makes him cough up blood. The man that attacked him lands only a few metres away.
Two more follow behind him and for a moment the young man boggles at the thought of three Counter Guardians being sent after him. All that power against a mere mortal.
He snorts at that thought. No, just like he knew right from the start, so do they know that whatever he may have been before, the being in front of them now is no mere human. He is not even a mere magus.
Not that it matters. In their eyes, first and foremost, he is a target. And now he is as good as dead.
He stands up again, slow and carefully, he takes a deep breath but refrains from tracing one of his weapons. There is no need for that anymore. In front of his eyes he does not see his enemies anymore.
Before his minds eye the future unveils itself.
He knows how this battle will end and he knows that it will end soon. His stance changes now, he is opening himself totally to his opponent.
3 swords cut through the air. And he can hear them. He can hear the steel as they move, can hear their anticipation. They want to make him bleed. Thats okay, he understands that, blades are meant to cut anyway.
The first two strikes bite deeply into his chest, making him gasp in pain as his blood spurts from his wounds, dying the grass beneath his feet a deep red. His opponents hands too, are now covered in his blood.
Still the third blade closes in without any hesitation at all. These beings are not bound by morality or anything that would make a normal person pause even for a second. They only exist to purge people like him from existence.
When they sword penetrates into his chest he does not scream. He can feel it, the entire edge, slicing through his flesh, spilling his blood.
They silence is broken. He can hear it just as surely as his three attackers can and with astounding clarity does he understand that yes, even metal can scream. A cry, like a blade being sharpened upon a grinding stone, it is shrill and it hurts his ears.
Behind that sound he notices another one. It is slow, a quiet little cracking, like the sound of glass shattering from a long distance away.
But most importantly, he can feel it. The pressure, the heat and the sharpness of his swords fill him till the thinks he is starting to burst. The bleeding is getting stronger now by the second, his skin is tearing and beneath it, under the skin he sees cold steel.
The first blade comes from his stomach, it burst out like in some sort sick horror movie, impaling one the guardians in front of him and killing him instantly. The pain gets stronger.
Another crack, this time his right hand simply disappears in a cloud of blood and steel and the second guardian jumps back instantly, red blood leaking from a severe cut on his right arm.
He is smiling, he should be in pain but he isnt, it is like his body feels no pain at all. Only a feeling of release, a sense of glorious freedom, this is all that he feels right now. Taking a deep breath he glances one more time at the two remaining counter guardians.
He is done with running.
He closes his eyes and one last time, in an explosion of gore and metal, blood fills the air as steel rains down upon his enemies, leaving nothing but three rapidly fading corpses in the clearing.
And the swords, the whole clearing is filled swords; still stained with blood they are strewn over the entire battlefield.
Then.a single blade, its tip driven deep into the earth begins to shake. As if it were alive it starts to vibrate, filling the air with a sound not unlike that of bees flying around.
Louder and louder it hums and now the other swords join it, shaking as if some unseen force is pulling on them.
The noise has now become so loud it swallows anything and suddenly a small dagger-like blade shoots forward, straight at the sword in the middle that had began this strange ritual.
Steel hits steel and the screaming starts again. Where the blades meet blood starts to run down from the first blade and suddenly another sword comes straight at it.
More and more weapons follow after it and beyond the scream of a hundred of swords, blood continues to flow down from the middle, colouring the steel red without even a single drop hitting the ground.
The sound of cracking starts again, a strange reverse sound of the earlier shattering-like noise.
Pain is the first thing he becomes aware of when his senses start to return to him. What follows is the need for air, he tries to breathe in but no such thing happens. There is nothing to support this shell of a body yet. Steel bends and twists on the inside, becomes brittle and yet elastic. The cracking continues and it feels like a sun is born inside of his body. It takes him a second to realise that it is his own warm blood flowing through him that he feels.
Hands appear, edged and bloodied, they do not yet look organic at all and he can still feel the metal as it melts away into tissue and blood. He looks on as his limbs lose their edges, as the blood seeps into the steel and returns it into a healthy flesh-colour.
And still no air. Brightness fills his vision, the sight that was denied to him returns, yet the light remains strangely reflected in his eye, a metallic sheen continues to irritate him for another moment before it too disappears.
Suddenly his body spasms, a feeling as if raw lightning is coursing through him fills his entire being, he twitches and convulses, opens his mouth to scream in agony but no sound escapes. For a moment his eyes widen, fear follows as still no air comes in, he tries to raise his hands, grasping for something that he can not touch.
One last spasm, his body of flesh and blood is once more clothed in the things he had chosen to wear today.
And finally.
A ragged breath.
Gasping for breath the young men takes a look around, taking in everything around him. He does not need to look at his own body; right now he can still feel it, every inch of flesh, every bit of bone and every drop of blood inside of him, he can sense them and knows without a doubt that everything is alright. His body fits together like a big human puzzle.
There is no blood left on the outside of him, the swords have disappeared and nothing but unblemished skin and his clothes, still slashed from his opponents attack but otherwise unharmed, remains.
That and the destruction wrought around them.
The earth is torn up and most of the trees are cut down or damaged to an extremely extensive degree. It looks like a storm of swords has descended over this place, cutting down anything in the vicinity.
He chuckles at that.
A storm of swords. How very fitting.
He cant help it; he starts to snicker, because there is nothing else he can do. He doesnt want to think about what he just did, because if he does he will lose his mind.
He had been a fool; only when he was confronted with the immensity of what he had become did he realize that he was not ready for the truth. Not ready at all.
He stands up again, a bit wobbly but at least he is upright again. Slowly he walks through the devastation he has created, back to the church. He pauses in front of the old door for a moment before he sighs and enters.
He welcomes the coldness this time; it seems to cool the heat that fills him, this unnatural sense that makes him feel as if his blood is boiling, even though he knows that it only has the normal body temperature.
Or maybe it is hotter than normal, maybe his blood is burning hotter and hotter by the second, till it mirrors the fire that fuels the forge his soul and body have become.
Hot enough to melt steel, hot enough to forge reality out of an illusion.
Looks like you took care of them, quiet nicely eh, nameless one?
Yes, it is over, are you done preparing sir?
Of course, of course, its not like it is that hard. You gave me enough information to find one that fits, so everything is set to go.
Thank you again, please do it then. The young man has made his peace with his decision.
Heh, impatient, arent you? Well then, off you go. There is no preparation, no warning at all, he doesnt even get a chance to see the Wizard Marshall at work. His body disappears before he can say anything in answer to the old mans remark.
Chuckling the old man turns around and takes a deep breath. Shaking his head he thinks about his strange little wanderer.
Lost your name? What nonsense, your name was always there boy. After all, from the very beginning this was the only path you could take. Your whole life was Unlimited Blade Works, isnt that right my boy? Heh!
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The boy is dirty.
Not that it matters, the corpses are much dirtier.
The ruined buildings are dirtier too.
The only things even partly clean are the flames, but there is no beauty in something this destructive.
At least thats what the boy thinks.
The fire is ugly.
The dead are ugly.
The dying are ugly.
He is ugly too, because he cant help them anymore than he can help himself.
So he walks away from them, leaving the charred corpses, the dying which are starting to hallucinate and all the others behind him.
He simply moves on leg in front of the other. Not that he knows where he is going, just away, thats all that matters.
He wants away from the corpses
He wants away from the fire.
He wants away from death.
So he stumbles onwards till he cant walk anymore. When his legs wont support him any longer he tries to crawl even farther, but his strength is already spent. The energy of a child, while seemingly endless is far less than that of an adult.
He turns around, back to the hard floor.
He doesnt want to sleep with his face in the dirt. If he has to die one way or the other then he wants to see the sky before he fades away.
Its red. It looks as if the sky had taken all the blood already spilled and coloured itself a deep crimson. In the distance he can still see the fire.
How strange, he knows that he should be scared but he feels nothing. When did his fear disappear? Was it when his parents died? When that nice old man shoved him away from a falling pillar? When he had watched that little girl burn to death in front of his eyes?
He doesnt know anymore. Maybe he just closed his eyes. Maybe he didnt want to see it anymore.
Because he is just a child, but even that has been burned away by the fire. He has nothing left but his fading life.
And now he will lose even that.
Alone, on a street he doesnt know, without anyone he cares for near him.
He doesnt want to fade away, he doesnt want to become a corpse.
A sound. A footstep. Another one.
The boy tries to move his head bus he lacks the power to do even that.
Hope stirs anew.
His view is growing hazy new, yet the boy does not give up. Someone is here. Someone can save him.
Someone canwalk away like he did?
Why would that person save him, instead of saving themselves?
The glimmer of hope dims.
You are dying. The voice of that person interrupts his thoughts. A distant part of his mind wonders at that voice. He knows it somehow but the rest of him is filled with only thankfullnes and asks no questions. That man will help him, wont he?
Help is on the way but it is too late, that man wont arrive in time. The words are spoken softly, yet the gravity of their meaning is deep. The boys last hope is dying now, just like he is.
The child tries to nod. There is nothing he can do anymore. All thats left for him is to fade away. Like all the others, like all the corpses, like all the others he walked away from.
Dont, there still is a way. If you want to live, say the words, say the words and you will be saved, that is all I can do for you now.
The boy still cant see the person in front of him clearly, but it matters not.
He wants to live. Anything else has already been burned away; all that remains is the wish to be saved. He hasnt lost it yet.
And suddenly the boy knows the words. He knows those words, because they are dear to him, because they are HIS. Those words define him even though he does not understand them at all.
He can barely breath now but somehow he finds the strength to move his lips, whispering the words he knows to be true.
I am the bone of my sword. The child gasps, he wants to continue, but he cant, his lips and his throat burn and the pain makes him lose concentration.
For but a moment clarity returns and he sees the man above him, sees the face that reminds him of someone he knows and he sees the man smile and nod.
Dont worry child, thats more than enough.
And the manshatters.
There is no sound at all as his skin breaks like glass struck by a hammer. Within the span of a few seconds the man is turned into a fine dust, but he still stands there regardless of his state and smiles.
A breeze blows by, bringing with it the stench of the dead and suddenly the man-sized dust statue falls apart.
The moment the dust touches the boy the screaming starts.
It is pain.
It is pleasure.
It is beyond anything the child has ever experienced.
But above all, it is LIFE.
And the boy continues to scream as he is filled with strength and fire and ice wash over him, making his blood burn even while his flesh is frozen.
SCREETCH
The boy can hear it now. From somewhere he can hear the sound of a thousand swords grinding together and he smiles. Through all the pain and all the pleasure he smiles.
Because it is right.
Because this is the way it should be.
They only way it could be.
And with that surge of strength the child speaks, no, he screams,
He shouts the words he knows to be true.
My whole life was Unlimited Blade Works.
When the pain is gone the boy continues to lay there, taking in the hot air and he waits. He knows that the strength he gained will be gone soon enough. It was not meant to bring him out of the fire after all. This strength served only one purpose.
He will come, that man, just like you, he is searching for someone. You will see.
To survive, that is Shirous duty, to find that man and grant his wish.
To be saved, that is this childs wish after all.
To save someone, that is the mans wish.
He likes that. If that man wants to save someone, he wants to meet him, because, it sounds.nice.
Saving people must be nice
His vision starts to fade again but this time the boy does not fear it. He will meet that person. He must meet that person. He knows this to be the truth.
So when he feels that he has reached the last of this borrowed strength, he uses it to raise his hand to the sky.
He has to meet this man.
And through the haze he feels someone grasp his hand, taking it into a much bigger hand. A face comes into his fading sight now and he sees that man for the first time.
He is crying, like a child that man is crying and suddenly the boy hears the hastily spoken words.
Oh god, please be alive, please.
The child has no strength but he tries to move his lips anyway. It is enough.
Thank you god, thank you god.
It is radiant, that mans smile with the red-sky in the background, even though he is still crying the happiness he must feel to smile like this makes the boy glad to have met that person.
Because all around him all he saw was only ugliness and death.
Saving people must be really nice.
There is no thing more beautiful than this. For someone that wished to be saved and for someone that wished to save someone, anyone, it is the most beautiful thing in the entire world.
And from somewhere he can hear a voice much like his own, confident and loud, over the sound of steel hitting steel it rumbles like thunder.
I have no regrets, this is the only way.
After talking with FatuousOne about the craziness of this idea I decided to simply start writing it, better to show than tell, right?
I will continue it, but most likely only after I finished Miracle soo...beware the next update. B)
Disclaimer: I don't own FSN
title is still pending, though I guess it's fitting.
Unlimited Blade Works
He was not an overly religious person.
Never had been and most likely never would be. He had too many bad memories of the church and its mediators for any kind of faith to remain within him. He had too many memories of being hunted like some kind of prey waiting to be devoured to even consider joining any kind of church.
And he was tired of getting stabbed by one of those black keys.
Those things were painful, especially when they were lodged somewhere in his body that was not meant to hold bladed objects of any kind.
So it came as no surprise that he did his best to never get too close to any priest or nun he might find.
He had enough of seemingly peaceful priests suddenly pulling weapons out of their sleeves and trying to lynch him.
Not like the magi from the association were any better, crazy buggers had tried to capture him more than once in his youth and they werent any more careful in their attempts at his life than the church. Those people must have never heard of the word overkill in their entire life.
They had tried to burrow him under an entire mountain of ice and stone for gods sake. It had taken him an entire week to get out of that little death trap, he had been forced to eat dirt just to have something to chew on or he would have eaten his own arm.
At least he didnt have to worry about water. There had been plenty of that after all that snow and ice had started to melt and nearly drowned him in a muddy soup of water, mud and other things hed rather not know.
What a fun week that had been and people still had the gall to ask him why he had become so snarky.
Assassinations were kind of a downer for ones social ability.
He had always thought that they were supposed to be secretive and all that stuff but somehow that didnt seem to bother them in the slightest when it came to caving his skull in.
This was one of the reasons why he was grateful that he had never considered himself part of that Association.
Tohsaka had been pissed enough with all the stuff and regulations they had heaped unto her, he preferred doing his own thing. Thank you very much.
Not that it stopped them from trying to put an end to his continued existence.
All because of one little Reality Marble.
Unlimited Blade Works he whispers those fateful words, not loud enough for anyone else to hear, but enough to confirm them to himself.
An Innate Bounded Field.
Shirou Emiyas greatest masterpiece.
Magecraft beyond Magecraft.
The closest thing to True Magic any Magi could ever dream of.
Basically it was nothing more than a single magus telling reality to bend over and take it.
He had to snicker at that thought, remembering just how hard it was to actually create and hold something like that. Reality really didnt like it, didnt like it at all and was very vocal in its hate for all things Reality Marble related.
POP and it was gone, like bad gas, vanquished by a world that would never accept such a thing that would dare to spit in realities face like that.
Because in the end it was nothing but a violation of the natural order and that was something that could not be allowed to exist.
Not now, not ever.
Still, it was a power unlike any other. Certainly it was not True Magic, but it was oh so very close.
And yet, for him it had always been a means to an end.
The dream of peace that was the centre of his very being.
The ideal of protecting everyone that he still carried in his heart.
To become a superhero capable of saving not only those in his sight but all the people that needed saving.
That had always been Shirou Emiyas motivation and it still wasin a way.
But now new plans had to be made.
Things had changed, nothing was the same anymore and he was so very confused by it all. His body, no, his entire being felt different now..or was it still the same, he couldnt tell anymore?
He honestly couldnt say when everything had started to change. There was no moment he could name at which he had felt as if he had begun to become something else. He didnt know if it had been slow or fast, if other people might have noticed or not. He wasnt much of a people person anyway.
Yet, right here, right now he knew that whatever transformation he had gone through was over and he still had no idea what had changed.
All he was absolutely sure of was that he could feel it. He could feel steel sliding upon steel, he could feel the heat necessary to forge those blades he claimed as his own and he could feel the swords themselves, waiting, shaking in anticipation to be released.
He could feel that, every time his heart beat, could feel it every time he stood still and simply listened to this own body.
Somehow he knew that it was good. That it was right. That THIS was the way it should be. The only way it could possibly be.
This feeling that was as natural as breathing, something that resonated so completely with his very self, like everything he had ever done was nothing but a prelude to THIS.
And he didnt understand it even one bit.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts he found what he had been looking for. A church, old but well maintained, it had been built a few decades ago it seemed. It was surprising enough to find such an old church, as it had been abandoned years ago, in such a remarkable state but he guessed that might have something to do with the man he had come to find here.
The eccentric old magus was.well, strange described him pretty well. Weird too now that he was thinking about it, after all, what kind of magus made a workshop out of a church anyway? Not that it really mattered.
The Wizard Marshall could help him that was all that was of importance to him; he knew that, he only had to convince the old man to support him.
If Zelretch had already received his message than all that remained for him to do was asking him if the old magus would assist him.
He comes to a stop in front of the door, for a moment he considers knocking and raises his fist but a sudden feeling of being watched makes him lower his hand again. Something is touching him, he can feelit clearly, like invisible hands they touch his entire body, leaving behind a strange coldness wherever they touch his bare flesh. He shudders and waits, letting those things do their job.
They stop moving, then, far too fast for him to react he is being dragged into the door. For a moment he tries to fight against the magic that is pulling him but it is useless and his body hits the black oak door.
And with a sound of someone spitting upon the ground he lands on the other side, the door never opening, yet he has crossed it, somehow.
Magecraft, of course. Used as both protection and transportation. It is both ingenious and yet simple. He can appreciate it that much at least, even though he himself lacks any talent for spells of that scale.
Still, he continues to lay on the floor for a moment or two, hoping that the stiffness and the coldness from those hands will fade away before he has to talk with the Wizard Marshall.
Well, Im sure the floor is quite comfortable but in my age people prefer to not get a stiff neck when talking to someone, so why dont you do everyone a favour and get up, Shirou Emiya?
He cant help but groan when he hears the old mans voice, and for a moment he considers the thought of simply continue to lie here but in the end common sense wins out. It wouldnt do to insult someone whose help he needs, especially over something as petty as a magical body-search. Even though he knows that the old man is laughing at him on the inside.
Straining himself he stands up again, some part of him notes that there is no dust on his clothes, the floor is cleaner than he would have expected, given that is such an old building.
He eyes the older man, who is still grinning at him, for a moment before he opens his mouth to speak.
Have you thought about my request Zelretch-sama?
The words sound wrong even to his own ears. Of course, The Wizard Marshall deserves respect but it feels fake, his entire speech feels like a badly done rip off. He suppresses a snicker at that thought. That he of all people would have a problem with a fake amuses him to no end.
The old man does not answer him immediately; instead he pulls out a piece of parchment. It looks fresh, even though a few tears and water stains cover its surface. Having scanned it the elder magus sets it down and glares at the young man before him. He is torn between being partly amused and partly angry.
Please send me away! The words are spoken softly, yet he can hear the humorous tone behind them.
Zelretch is mocking him.
Well, if you consider that a request, then maybe you really are even more anti-social than I am. This is not even a letter Emiya; this tells me nothing, what do you want from me besides using my magic, that is?
The younger of the two grimaces. He had secretly feared that his message may have been too short but there was no insurance that it would even reach the Wizard Marshall without landing in the wrong hands. That was the reason why he had been forced to write such a short and non-descript letter.
Im sorry the letter was so short, sir, what I need is your help to reach another reality and meet myself.
The words come out quickly, like water out of a geyser they shoot from his mouth.
Meet yourself? Why would you need to meet yourself boy? Its not as fun as it sounds, believe me.
The old mans answer is still spoken in an overly amused tone, indicating that he most likely already met his counter-parts many times.
I have to do this sir. I.I have changed, and now everything is different. If I could meet my other self I might be able to understand what happened to me. The young mans eyes focus on the old magus in front of him as he speaks.
Changed? Changed how? Explain yourself properly Emiya. I like mysteries but pulling every detail out of your nose is not one of my favourite past times. A raised eyebrow accompanies that order. Clearly the Wizard Marshall is getting interested now.
I dont think that name fits me anymore, no, more than that, I fear that what I am now does no longer have anything to do with who I was before. My tracing, my Reality Marble, everything I do feels completely different from before, even my body feels different now. I have changed in ways I cant even understand yet and that scares me sir.
His answer is a loud snort as Zelretch once more looks at him with amusement shining in his eyes.
So? Young people, pahh, acting as if changing were that horrible. Of course you are changing, even I can sense it. Any Magus that takes a looks at you could sense it. Your prana tastes of steel my boy, steel and blood, and its making this old man here feel like hes back in the days of his youth. A small chuckle.
The man pauses for a second before he answers. His face has settled into a fa?ade of stone it seems.
Steel? Yes, I guess it is fitting after all, isnt it? Steel, Blood and Fire. The materials from which I create illusion that become reality, however twisted it may be. Yet, all I know is that I need to get away from here, that there is someone that needs my help. The boy will need me. Please sir, I beg you, send me to this place. Handing the older man another letter he waits for him to read it through.
A few moments of silence follow, then.
Oh stop it, you say you have no name, you dont even know who or what you are and here you go on and on about some sort NEED. Very well, I will send you there, but before that, I think its time you deal with the visitors that you brought with you.
Snapping to attention the younger man understands instantly what the other means.
The reason why he knows that whatever transformation he has gone through is finally over. His hunters, theyre the predator, he is their prey.
Send out to hunt him down and kill him, the violation of this worlds natural order.
Counter-Guardians.
Again, they have come to take his life, but this is the last time, he is tired of this game.
He is tired of running and hiding. He is tired of playing after their rules. This game is not meant for him.
It doesnt matter. He will create his own rules then, for this battle at least. He is good at that after all, creating things that shouldnt exist.
No, thats not the whole truth.
When it comes to him, its not things, its all about swords.
He walks through the door and the coldness once again numbs his body for a second before he once again sees the open field in front of the church. The sun is still high enough to paint the entire clearing in a gentle comforting light.
It is a deceptive peace. They are already here. He cant sense them but somehow he knows that they are only waiting for the right moment to attack.
What a strange sense it is. Like a blade that is about to be drawn he can feel it, the battle that is about to start any second now.
The first attack throws him from his feet, to the left side of the church and makes him cough up blood. The man that attacked him lands only a few metres away.
Two more follow behind him and for a moment the young man boggles at the thought of three Counter Guardians being sent after him. All that power against a mere mortal.
He snorts at that thought. No, just like he knew right from the start, so do they know that whatever he may have been before, the being in front of them now is no mere human. He is not even a mere magus.
Not that it matters. In their eyes, first and foremost, he is a target. And now he is as good as dead.
He stands up again, slow and carefully, he takes a deep breath but refrains from tracing one of his weapons. There is no need for that anymore. In front of his eyes he does not see his enemies anymore.
Before his minds eye the future unveils itself.
He knows how this battle will end and he knows that it will end soon. His stance changes now, he is opening himself totally to his opponent.
3 swords cut through the air. And he can hear them. He can hear the steel as they move, can hear their anticipation. They want to make him bleed. Thats okay, he understands that, blades are meant to cut anyway.
The first two strikes bite deeply into his chest, making him gasp in pain as his blood spurts from his wounds, dying the grass beneath his feet a deep red. His opponents hands too, are now covered in his blood.
Still the third blade closes in without any hesitation at all. These beings are not bound by morality or anything that would make a normal person pause even for a second. They only exist to purge people like him from existence.
When they sword penetrates into his chest he does not scream. He can feel it, the entire edge, slicing through his flesh, spilling his blood.
They silence is broken. He can hear it just as surely as his three attackers can and with astounding clarity does he understand that yes, even metal can scream. A cry, like a blade being sharpened upon a grinding stone, it is shrill and it hurts his ears.
Behind that sound he notices another one. It is slow, a quiet little cracking, like the sound of glass shattering from a long distance away.
But most importantly, he can feel it. The pressure, the heat and the sharpness of his swords fill him till the thinks he is starting to burst. The bleeding is getting stronger now by the second, his skin is tearing and beneath it, under the skin he sees cold steel.
The first blade comes from his stomach, it burst out like in some sort sick horror movie, impaling one the guardians in front of him and killing him instantly. The pain gets stronger.
Another crack, this time his right hand simply disappears in a cloud of blood and steel and the second guardian jumps back instantly, red blood leaking from a severe cut on his right arm.
He is smiling, he should be in pain but he isnt, it is like his body feels no pain at all. Only a feeling of release, a sense of glorious freedom, this is all that he feels right now. Taking a deep breath he glances one more time at the two remaining counter guardians.
He is done with running.
He closes his eyes and one last time, in an explosion of gore and metal, blood fills the air as steel rains down upon his enemies, leaving nothing but three rapidly fading corpses in the clearing.
And the swords, the whole clearing is filled swords; still stained with blood they are strewn over the entire battlefield.
Then.a single blade, its tip driven deep into the earth begins to shake. As if it were alive it starts to vibrate, filling the air with a sound not unlike that of bees flying around.
Louder and louder it hums and now the other swords join it, shaking as if some unseen force is pulling on them.
The noise has now become so loud it swallows anything and suddenly a small dagger-like blade shoots forward, straight at the sword in the middle that had began this strange ritual.
Steel hits steel and the screaming starts again. Where the blades meet blood starts to run down from the first blade and suddenly another sword comes straight at it.
More and more weapons follow after it and beyond the scream of a hundred of swords, blood continues to flow down from the middle, colouring the steel red without even a single drop hitting the ground.
The sound of cracking starts again, a strange reverse sound of the earlier shattering-like noise.
Pain is the first thing he becomes aware of when his senses start to return to him. What follows is the need for air, he tries to breathe in but no such thing happens. There is nothing to support this shell of a body yet. Steel bends and twists on the inside, becomes brittle and yet elastic. The cracking continues and it feels like a sun is born inside of his body. It takes him a second to realise that it is his own warm blood flowing through him that he feels.
Hands appear, edged and bloodied, they do not yet look organic at all and he can still feel the metal as it melts away into tissue and blood. He looks on as his limbs lose their edges, as the blood seeps into the steel and returns it into a healthy flesh-colour.
And still no air. Brightness fills his vision, the sight that was denied to him returns, yet the light remains strangely reflected in his eye, a metallic sheen continues to irritate him for another moment before it too disappears.
Suddenly his body spasms, a feeling as if raw lightning is coursing through him fills his entire being, he twitches and convulses, opens his mouth to scream in agony but no sound escapes. For a moment his eyes widen, fear follows as still no air comes in, he tries to raise his hands, grasping for something that he can not touch.
One last spasm, his body of flesh and blood is once more clothed in the things he had chosen to wear today.
And finally.
A ragged breath.
Gasping for breath the young men takes a look around, taking in everything around him. He does not need to look at his own body; right now he can still feel it, every inch of flesh, every bit of bone and every drop of blood inside of him, he can sense them and knows without a doubt that everything is alright. His body fits together like a big human puzzle.
There is no blood left on the outside of him, the swords have disappeared and nothing but unblemished skin and his clothes, still slashed from his opponents attack but otherwise unharmed, remains.
That and the destruction wrought around them.
The earth is torn up and most of the trees are cut down or damaged to an extremely extensive degree. It looks like a storm of swords has descended over this place, cutting down anything in the vicinity.
He chuckles at that.
A storm of swords. How very fitting.
He cant help it; he starts to snicker, because there is nothing else he can do. He doesnt want to think about what he just did, because if he does he will lose his mind.
He had been a fool; only when he was confronted with the immensity of what he had become did he realize that he was not ready for the truth. Not ready at all.
He stands up again, a bit wobbly but at least he is upright again. Slowly he walks through the devastation he has created, back to the church. He pauses in front of the old door for a moment before he sighs and enters.
He welcomes the coldness this time; it seems to cool the heat that fills him, this unnatural sense that makes him feel as if his blood is boiling, even though he knows that it only has the normal body temperature.
Or maybe it is hotter than normal, maybe his blood is burning hotter and hotter by the second, till it mirrors the fire that fuels the forge his soul and body have become.
Hot enough to melt steel, hot enough to forge reality out of an illusion.
Looks like you took care of them, quiet nicely eh, nameless one?
Yes, it is over, are you done preparing sir?
Of course, of course, its not like it is that hard. You gave me enough information to find one that fits, so everything is set to go.
Thank you again, please do it then. The young man has made his peace with his decision.
Heh, impatient, arent you? Well then, off you go. There is no preparation, no warning at all, he doesnt even get a chance to see the Wizard Marshall at work. His body disappears before he can say anything in answer to the old mans remark.
Chuckling the old man turns around and takes a deep breath. Shaking his head he thinks about his strange little wanderer.
Lost your name? What nonsense, your name was always there boy. After all, from the very beginning this was the only path you could take. Your whole life was Unlimited Blade Works, isnt that right my boy? Heh!
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The boy is dirty.
Not that it matters, the corpses are much dirtier.
The ruined buildings are dirtier too.
The only things even partly clean are the flames, but there is no beauty in something this destructive.
At least thats what the boy thinks.
The fire is ugly.
The dead are ugly.
The dying are ugly.
He is ugly too, because he cant help them anymore than he can help himself.
So he walks away from them, leaving the charred corpses, the dying which are starting to hallucinate and all the others behind him.
He simply moves on leg in front of the other. Not that he knows where he is going, just away, thats all that matters.
He wants away from the corpses
He wants away from the fire.
He wants away from death.
So he stumbles onwards till he cant walk anymore. When his legs wont support him any longer he tries to crawl even farther, but his strength is already spent. The energy of a child, while seemingly endless is far less than that of an adult.
He turns around, back to the hard floor.
He doesnt want to sleep with his face in the dirt. If he has to die one way or the other then he wants to see the sky before he fades away.
Its red. It looks as if the sky had taken all the blood already spilled and coloured itself a deep crimson. In the distance he can still see the fire.
How strange, he knows that he should be scared but he feels nothing. When did his fear disappear? Was it when his parents died? When that nice old man shoved him away from a falling pillar? When he had watched that little girl burn to death in front of his eyes?
He doesnt know anymore. Maybe he just closed his eyes. Maybe he didnt want to see it anymore.
Because he is just a child, but even that has been burned away by the fire. He has nothing left but his fading life.
And now he will lose even that.
Alone, on a street he doesnt know, without anyone he cares for near him.
He doesnt want to fade away, he doesnt want to become a corpse.
A sound. A footstep. Another one.
The boy tries to move his head bus he lacks the power to do even that.
Hope stirs anew.
His view is growing hazy new, yet the boy does not give up. Someone is here. Someone can save him.
Someone canwalk away like he did?
Why would that person save him, instead of saving themselves?
The glimmer of hope dims.
You are dying. The voice of that person interrupts his thoughts. A distant part of his mind wonders at that voice. He knows it somehow but the rest of him is filled with only thankfullnes and asks no questions. That man will help him, wont he?
Help is on the way but it is too late, that man wont arrive in time. The words are spoken softly, yet the gravity of their meaning is deep. The boys last hope is dying now, just like he is.
The child tries to nod. There is nothing he can do anymore. All thats left for him is to fade away. Like all the others, like all the corpses, like all the others he walked away from.
Dont, there still is a way. If you want to live, say the words, say the words and you will be saved, that is all I can do for you now.
The boy still cant see the person in front of him clearly, but it matters not.
He wants to live. Anything else has already been burned away; all that remains is the wish to be saved. He hasnt lost it yet.
And suddenly the boy knows the words. He knows those words, because they are dear to him, because they are HIS. Those words define him even though he does not understand them at all.
He can barely breath now but somehow he finds the strength to move his lips, whispering the words he knows to be true.
I am the bone of my sword. The child gasps, he wants to continue, but he cant, his lips and his throat burn and the pain makes him lose concentration.
For but a moment clarity returns and he sees the man above him, sees the face that reminds him of someone he knows and he sees the man smile and nod.
Dont worry child, thats more than enough.
And the manshatters.
There is no sound at all as his skin breaks like glass struck by a hammer. Within the span of a few seconds the man is turned into a fine dust, but he still stands there regardless of his state and smiles.
A breeze blows by, bringing with it the stench of the dead and suddenly the man-sized dust statue falls apart.
The moment the dust touches the boy the screaming starts.
It is pain.
It is pleasure.
It is beyond anything the child has ever experienced.
But above all, it is LIFE.
And the boy continues to scream as he is filled with strength and fire and ice wash over him, making his blood burn even while his flesh is frozen.
SCREETCH
The boy can hear it now. From somewhere he can hear the sound of a thousand swords grinding together and he smiles. Through all the pain and all the pleasure he smiles.
Because it is right.
Because this is the way it should be.
They only way it could be.
And with that surge of strength the child speaks, no, he screams,
He shouts the words he knows to be true.
My whole life was Unlimited Blade Works.
When the pain is gone the boy continues to lay there, taking in the hot air and he waits. He knows that the strength he gained will be gone soon enough. It was not meant to bring him out of the fire after all. This strength served only one purpose.
He will come, that man, just like you, he is searching for someone. You will see.
To survive, that is Shirous duty, to find that man and grant his wish.
To be saved, that is this childs wish after all.
To save someone, that is the mans wish.
He likes that. If that man wants to save someone, he wants to meet him, because, it sounds.nice.
Saving people must be nice
His vision starts to fade again but this time the boy does not fear it. He will meet that person. He must meet that person. He knows this to be the truth.
So when he feels that he has reached the last of this borrowed strength, he uses it to raise his hand to the sky.
He has to meet this man.
And through the haze he feels someone grasp his hand, taking it into a much bigger hand. A face comes into his fading sight now and he sees that man for the first time.
He is crying, like a child that man is crying and suddenly the boy hears the hastily spoken words.
Oh god, please be alive, please.
The child has no strength but he tries to move his lips anyway. It is enough.
Thank you god, thank you god.
It is radiant, that mans smile with the red-sky in the background, even though he is still crying the happiness he must feel to smile like this makes the boy glad to have met that person.
Because all around him all he saw was only ugliness and death.
Saving people must be really nice.
There is no thing more beautiful than this. For someone that wished to be saved and for someone that wished to save someone, anyone, it is the most beautiful thing in the entire world.
And from somewhere he can hear a voice much like his own, confident and loud, over the sound of steel hitting steel it rumbles like thunder.
I have no regrets, this is the only way.