AN: So this is an almost experimental fic where I'll be testing a newer, more abstract writing style. Also, it'll deal with much darker themes what is expressed in Embers, and so therefore will take a LOT longer to write.

However, I'm curious as to why this title has never been used before. It seems so obvious now, in retrospect!

Tell me what you guys think. :)

EDIT 4-14-2015: AU. CHARACTERS MAY BE OOC. Fixed minor errors in canon.

WARNING: Strong language and adult situations (e.g. excessive blood and gore and non-graphic/implied sexual intercourse) is/will be prevalent throughout this story. Possible triggers, such as to sexual assault, will also be present. Read at your own risk. Will diverge from canon from both universes on multiple points. AU, multiple characters OOC.

DISCLAIMER: The Fate/Stay Night Franchise belongs exclusively to Type-Moon, while the Highschool DxD Franchise belongs exclusively to Ichiei Ishibumi and Miyama-Zero. I do not own any elements from either franchise that have been incorporated in my fanfiction.

"A man chooses. A slave obeys."

-Andrew Ryan, Bioshock

STEEL SAVIOR

Prologue: The Choice

He knelt on a hill of swords, the warmth of a setting sun slowly fading away as it slipped below the horizon.

Once more, glorious victory tainted with bitter defeat.

A young girl with brilliant white hair lay tightly grasped in his arms, pale, almost snow-white eyelids covering crimson orbs that once burned brilliantly with the fire of life.

She looked peaceful in death, he supposed, despite the sickly crater that literally indented the entirety of the left side of her body.

It was an oddly tranquil scene, shielding her small body protectively from the elements, with only the whistling of the wind through the maze of blades below making a sound.

Yet they were not alone on that hill.

He was not alone, with the child wrapped in his arms. Surrounding him were scores of the dead and dying corpses of men and women alike, all members of an association that had ruthlessly hunted both him and the girl in his arms for reasons little better than in the name of science.

His voice scratched past his dry and unused throat, grating painfully against his vocal chords.

It was almost emotionless, befitting a veteran of the battlefield that had withstood the trials of war time and time again. Yet, faintly, one could hear the desperate, heartbreaking plea of a boy who merely wished to save his family that lurked beneath the veneer of catharsis.

"Do it."

The words were not dictated to himself, nor to the crumpled form of a young girl in his arms, nor even towards the few corpses that still twitched half-heartedly, each pierced by an innumerable number of blades. A simple wave of his hands silenced them, swords that floated high in the sky shooting down and connecting with their targets with sickening crunches, pained cries extinguished instantly.

No.

Those words were directed to the monstrous entity that dared, that dared take her form, after all those years. A mockery of what he could never have. A reminder of feelings that he had so effectively buried within him years before.

Golden hair fluttered around the imitator's face, and gorgeous, yet empty emerald eyes peered up towards him inquisitively.

"It will be a difficult task," she - no, it - says, the impostor's voice floating up towards him as he continued to kneel on the hill of swords. "Are you certain of this?"

Melodious. Beautiful. Harmonious. It sounded so much like her.

He clenched his teeth, letting the pain and bitter copper tang of blood return him to his normal analytical state of mind.

"Do it."

The impostor tilted her head, seemingly bemused at his bull-headed stubbornness. Its shook it head once, almost in amusement, before continuing.

"Although I admire your tenacity, hero, you must first understand the difficulty of the situation." It walked towards him, and he stiffened naturally in response. Gracefully, ignoring his hostile gesture, the impostor seated itself on a small section of the hill where the blades of the swords parted, leaving a small niche. "It is a much more arduous task than what you might perceive. Both mine and Gaia's presence is oppressed there. Exploited by three so-called 'Master' Factions. Therefore, you will not be able to receive much aid from me. Perhaps ten, maybe twenty thousand units of Prana at most, a paltry amount when compared to the limitless supply my Counter Guardians can tap from. Not to mention you will be completely alone in your task; no Counter Force, nor my Beasts, will be able to help. You will be utterly alone."

That was not a problem. He had always worked alone. His own foolish actions and own foolish dream often lead to the death of those who followed, out of personal love for him.

Briefly, the image of a black haired, twin-tailed Magus flashed in his mind, and he had to force himself to halt the shedding of a bitter tear.

He rasped out the words painfully, slowly, yet with definitive, certain finality.

"Do it."

The gentle, lilting voice of the impostor floated past his ears, a sweet melody that served only to poison and pollute his mind. "Are you certain, my hero? Your enemies in this new world will be powerful entities, as powerful as the beings that once called themselves Gods."

His eyebrows twitched at the realization. The impostor smiled placatingly at the gesture, and, angrily, he brushed the strands of interlocking silver and red from his forehead, annoyed he had shown weakness in front of it.

"Yes, my dear hero. Do you understand?" the impostor's voice trilled like birdsong. "In this world, the Age of Gods never ended. Higher beings of the supernatural continue to dominate the will of humans, playing with their lives as if they were nothing but toys. You will likely be crushed like an insect far before you even come close to succeeding."

It didn't matter. All his life, he had fought against beings far beyond him, monsters that could easily drive the most rational and even-minded of men into insanity. And not only did he live, he triumphed against such monstrous forces, seemingly against all odds.

"Do it."

It sighed patronizingly, as if it were talking to a young child. "You likely will never come back. You likely will never reach her. Tell me, do you really want that to happen? Do you remember what that Magus told you? 'If you want to meet again as normal people, then two miracles must occur. One must wait continuously, one must pursue endlessly.' By traveling to an entirely different world, you are further reducing your chance of ever reuniting. You are condemning yourself to a contract that you cannot back out of, that you will be bound to forever, even in death, until you accomplish it. And if you fail, you will be mercilessly extinguished and forgotten, your soul erased from all records, even mine. All of this, for the sake of a single life of a Homunculi. Is that what you want?"

A solitary tear escaped from its binding and rolled down his cheek, before reaching the edge of his lined face and falling onto the pale blade of a sword below him. Faintly, he felt the last vestiges of the sun disappear, the comforting warmth fading away quickly before he was left mercilessly in the realm of the dark night.

Absentmindedly, he traced the wet track of the tear, feeling the moisture gather on the tip of his finger before disappearing entirely, drying in the cool night air.

Choice.

To be, or not to be.

To do, or not to do.

To remember, or to forget.

It would be so easy to give up there. So simple to take the easy path. To abandon his ideal, no matter how beautiful it was, so he could be granted eternal reprieve from the nightmare he had lived in for so many long years.

It frightened him how much he wanted to take that path. Frightened him how much he wanted to give into that part of him that had always doubted him, the part whose seeds had been planted long ago by a knight clad in red and black.

But...

But giving in would be betraying her memory, their memory, wouldn't it? All of those who had fought and bled beside him, refusing to turn aside, dying for his sake, dying for him so that he would struggle futilely for a few more years...

Inwardly, he laughed bitterly. In the end, even Humanity's greatest weapon, choice, had been illusion. He had already known what he would do, even before a decision had been offered to him.

Perhaps he was simply a slave to memory, refusing to give up on the broken shards of distant dream, even though he knew it was in vain.

But then she would be there, the real her - not the impostor that stood before him now - her golden laughter sending shivers up his spine and bringing a small smile to his weary face.

His amber eyes snapped open, reinvigorated, burning with definitive and decisive fire. He spoke without faltering, as unyielding as the steel that made up his blades.

"Do it. Save her. Even if it will cost my soul."

The impostor smiled, her soulless, yet angelically beautiful, face inciting painful throbs in his chest.

"Then rejoice, Emiya Shirou, for your wish has been granted."

"He who is a leader must always act alone. And acting alone, accept everything alone."

-Ferdinand Marcos

STEEL SAVIOR

Chapter 1: The Man from Nowhere

It was perhaps ironic that the first person he met here was so much like her.

Of course, there were many differences. While his long-lost lover had bright, glowing blonde hair that shone like the sun and slim, proportioned features, the girl in front of him had raven locks that fell to the sides of her face, framing a full face with almost elven-like qualities, a pair of small round glasses perched on top of a delicate nose. While she had brilliant emerald eyes that shone with an inner, almost holy light that never failed to inspire him, the girl in front of him had vibrant violet eyes that were deep and intoxicating, able to enthrall any lesser man.

Yet, even with the differences, it was quite obvious from the moment that he met her that there was no other as similar to his lost love than the girl in front of him.

Serious and stoic, heavily duty-driven, a natural leader, and a willful desire to help all her peers without prejudice. Loyal to a fault, devoted to her responsibilities. Never faltering, never bending, never giving in. Aloof and proud, always leading alone.

And with leading alone, acting alone, and with acting alone, accepting everything alone.

It almost saddened him to see someone as young as her take up the burdens of the school alone, but he reminded himself that his lover had been far younger when she had borne the entire kingdom on her shoulders.

Shitori Sona, she introduced herself as. Of Class 3-A.

Probable valedictorian. Star of the Track Team. Third most popular girl in the entire girl. And to top it off, the Student Council President.

She also was not a human.

That's what his senses told him when, no, even before he first saw her. The tantalizing scent of exotic spice somehow mixed with the the salty scent of the sea that was only highlighted by a cool and calm presence.

"Emiya-san?"

He stiffened slightly before schooling a pleasant expression on his face. "Yes, Shitori-kaichou?"

She sighed heavily, before turning a small glare on him. "Were you even listening to me?"

The sunlight glinted dramatically, almost threateningly, off her sunglasses, and coupled with the slight furrowing of her eyebrows, he could tell she was annoyed.

Was she trying to intimidate him into listening to her?

Cute.

Try as she might, his constant exposure to Rin's glares, which could, and did, cow even an Apostle Ancestor, had completely desensitized him to all other forms of intimidation.

But nevertheless, he bowed his head in deference. "Of course, kaichou."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then perhaps you can tell me what I just said about the building over there?"

She pointed at a lavish, ornate building that was rather secluded in comparison to the other buildings, swept covertly within the cover of the thick forest that lay on Kuoh Academy's grounds.

He noted with interest that the building was infused with potent supernatural energies, swirling tendrils of what appeared to be Prana trailing across its walls. Calmly, he spoke. "The building is strictly reserved for the members of Kuoh Academy's award-winning Occult Research Club, and under no circumstances are regular students allowed near it with exception to members of the club itself and the Student Council. Am I right?"

Silence fell between the two, and for a moment, only the faint chatter of faraway students could be heard.

"...Yes" she said tightly. "Forgive me, Emiya-san, for my unwarranted presumptions. I had mistakenly thought your mind had wandered."

Confused, he looked back at the president, noting the annoyed and ever so slightly scrunched up look on her face.

Ah. Perhaps he shouldn't have answered as detailed as he had. She had been right to assume that he wasn't listening, but, after years of actively Reinforcing his mind, a highly risky practice that few dared tried, he was able to take in enormous amounts of stimuli at the same time and memorize them simultaneously.

"No need, kaichou. Please, continue."

She grimaced, shaking her head once as if to clear the thoughts on her mind, before clearing her throat and speaking. "Over here is the Home Economics Room. You will..."

Once more, he allowed his mind to drift off.

In the past few months, he had made a half-hearted effort to discover evidence of the supernatural within Japan.

The search, which began in the city of Kobe, apparently this world's alternate version of Fuyuki, ended in failure, as he failed to even sense the slightest presence of a Grail Vessel, or even a single Magus.

It was only after he had scoured through the entirety of Japan that he stumbled upon the tiny gemstone known as Kuoh Academy. Not only was it mysteriously constructed in the span of two days, yet having some of the most opulent architecture and advanced structural buildings in all of Japan, it was located on the main intersection of four major leylines, and was by far one of the strongest magically saturated areas in the world.

In response to his find, he settled in the area four months ago, and, after a six-hour examination, a breeze after the high-level university education that Rin had forced him through, and a three-and-a-half month long application process, enrolled into the Academy.

And so here he was, being given a tour by the definitely non-human School President about the definitely Prana-infused Kuoh Academy.

He returned to his senses when he realized that Sona had suddenly stopped speaking, trailing off on her explanation on the Arts Room.

"Kaichou?" he asked inquisitively.

She stared out the window, not replying, before sighing heavily. Her hand moved to her temple and massaged it vigorously, as if to assuage a migraine. "Not again..."

Curious, he tilted his head to look out the window, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Across the courtyard were a trio of boys, each with a lecherous grin spread across their face. They were all gathered around a small area next to the building, craning their necks painfully as if to see something inside.

"Who are they? And...what exactly are they doing?"

Sona sighed again. "They're perhaps the biggest downturn to this school. Matsuda, Motohama, and their unofficial leader Hyoudou Issei," she said, an undertone of annoyance now apparent in her voice. "More widely known throughout Kuoh as the Perverted Trio. Right now they're trying to peek in on the Girls' Locker Room...for the seventh time this year."

"The seventh time?" he asked incredulously. "If I'm not mistaken, today is January eleventh. That means..."

"Seven times this year, believe me." She huffed. "After over thirty detentions and a suspension apiece, you'd think they'd actually learn their lesson."

"Shouldn't you be reprimanding them then?" he asked cautiously, having half the mind to go outside and beat them with his own hands.

One of the few things that could arouse a powerful response from him was any form of sexual harassment. The incident with Shinji and Sakura had enraged him so much that it had taken the combined strength of Rin, Sakura, and Waver, who had arrived to investigate the debacle of the Fifth War, to prevent him from murdering the worm with his bare hands.

The thing had raped her, every single day, for years. Beaten her, demeaned her, dehumanized her, uncaring that her soul had grown darker and darker to the brink of snapping completely.

If it had gone on for any longer, than it would've been too late to save her, and he would've been forced to kill his closest childhood friend, as her mind would've snapped completely, turning her into little better than a rabid dog.

But save her they did, and though the operation had been extremely close, she had made it.

The incident had, since then, instilled upon a him a deep-seated hatred for sexual crimes, to a point he often went overboard with punishing deviants, even acts such as peeping.

"There's no need. Look. Here comes the Girls' Kendo Team..." Sona's voice trailed off, an almost amused undertone entering her voice.

He watched, rather bemused, as the girls, armed to the teeth with their bamboo shinai, mercilessly rained down blow after blow upon the hapless forms of the perverts. Their pained cries were so loud that they could be heard clearly from across the courtyard, even penetrating through the thick glass window that separated the two from the chilly outside.

"See to it that you make wise decisions when it comes to making friends." Sona sighed, shaking her head amusedly, before a small smile graced her face. "I'd hate to see you fall into the wrong crowd here at Kuoh Academy. You're a good person, Emiya-san. I can tell."

"Thank you, Shitori-kaichou." He offered a sad, knowing smile, and quietly turned away, ignoring the confused look on her face.

Yet he paid it no mind. The bitter irony was perhaps lost on her, but was most definitely not lost on him.

The thousands he had killed in the name of his ideal would say the contrary to her final words.

It had been a little over a year since he arrived, and he found himself rather satisfied with his life, as meaningless and purposeless it was.

An entire year he had spent without going on life-or-death missions, charged with saving the world, being sent to kill five hundred Dead Apostles in Siberia, and instead living a peaceful, uneventful life. In fact, the most startling situation he had to deal with the reversing of his aging; apparently, Alaya had seen it fit to return him to the physical age of roughly seventeen years of age, stiff circuits and all.

It somewhat irked him that a full decade of refining his Magical Circuits had gone to waste, but in the end, he reckoned he was lucky to enough to retain his memories and Reality Marble.

Other than the "de-aging," however, life went on peacefully. Life became less of a rush of events and instead a long period of stagnation, with little to do and nothing to accomplish.

Sometimes, he wished that it would never end, this life of tranquility. It meant not having to go through the pain of facing the hypocrisy in his ideals, not having to go through the pain of thinking of her so often.

Of course, he didn't go about his daily life without following his ideals, not in the very least.

In fact, within his four months of residing in the city around which Kuoh Academy was built, he had already stopped over thirty different crimes and misdemeanors, ranging from petty thievery to attempted murder.

Not to mention the sheer number of cats he had returned to their owners after they had taken refuge in the boughs of trees.

Seriously, wasn't that suppose to be an American thing?

Aside from preventing the odd crime here and there, however, he made little effort in further pursuing the accomplishment of the ideal he had inherited. It was a beautiful thing, the ideal that he and Kiritsugu and Saber and thousands of others had pursued, but it was also a crushing thing, heavier than the weight of the world itself.

For if even Atlas, the Titan of Strength itself, fell to his knees bearing the world, what could a human, or a Magus, do to hold up the weight of something greater than the World?

Nothing. The continuous bearing of Humanity's sins was what broke EMIYA, and he would not become the monster that his counterpart had eventually become, forced to slay endlessly in perhaps the ultimate betrayal of his ideal. And after years of fighting, even he had seen the futility of saving everyone, the futility of facing all the World's Sin Alone.

Yes, he was still a distorted, selfless idiot, like Rin always called him, but at least Rin could no longer say that he was an irrational, distorted, and selfless idiot.

Although really, knowing Rin, she would quickly replace the disparaging adjective with a new, even more potent one.

Like with the pursuit of his ideals, he didn't lapse in the furthering of his Magecraft either.

Within a few days of taking residency within a small apartment a short distance away from the Academy, he had already constructed a small Workshop guarded by some of his more potent mysteries that lay in a separate "dimension," a technique that Rin had managed to develop under tutelage of Zeltrech, the wielder of the Second True Magic, the Kaleidescope.

It was to his surprise and great satisfaction during his initial research in the Workshop that Gaia's ultra-weak presence had allowed him to make his Projections almost completely accurate to the original.

Ninety-nine point eight-eight percent accurate. Right down to its complete history. Even the Projections he made that were not blades only suffered a single rank of degradation while costing only a few units of Prana.

Working on his research also gave him something to do to pass the time, and it was never a bad idea to further his own Magecraft in preparation for whatever Alaya had warned him of.

Indeed, it did seem like a tense, worried mood had begun to set upon the city.

People no longer smiled like they did when he first arrived, no longer laughed, and instead were set upon going about their daily lives without their original color.

It was a depressing sight, and after only a few months of exposure, he had begun to wither in face of the insidiously growing feeling of despair that suffused the city.

Yet there were a few bright spots to be found, here and there, and clutched to them as a dying man would on the vestiges of life, for it gave him hope.

A few days before, he had escorted a priestess with tumbling blonde hair and an aura of purity and innocence that hung around her to a nearby, abandoned church.

She had been an innocent girl, almost to the point of being naive, but somehow, her presence was comforting to him.

The priestess was also, paradoxically, extraordinarily perceptive, far more than many her age.

"You've seen a lot of horrible things, haven't you, mister?" she had asked him, as they walked through the small park where he had met her.

He had only offered a sad smile as his response, yet both he and she knew he had committed many of said terrible things.

The girl had then turned away from him, and for a moment, he thought that she was disgusted with him, but when she turned back, she had perhaps the most genuine smile he had seen encompassing her face.

"But I'm sure you've done far more good things than you think you have as well."

They soon after arrived at the church, and they parted ways after exchanging goodbyes.

As comforting as the exchange was, it was last time he saw her, and soon the glimmer of warmth faded into distant memory.

And so he continued with his life, attending Kuoh Academy, working odd jobs here and there around his part-time job at a small café that reminded him strongly of the Copenhagen.

Whenever he had spare time, which was rare, he would sit in his world, gazing at the sun that sat on the edge of the horizon, light glinting of the thousands of blades scattered across the barren field.

He first met the magical girl as he sat on the sidewalk next to the entrance of a small convenience store.

It was late at night, perhaps ten or eleven o clock, and he was brooding after another day of performing odd jobs to support himself. A can of beer swung lightly from his hand before being brought up towards his dusty throat.

He felt the burn of the alcohol travel down his throat harshly, but he didn't care. The pain was refreshing, and revitalized him in ways other substances couldn't.

"The hero of the Fifth War," he said out loud, letting the tension fall away from his shoulders. "Reduced to this. If Rin could see me right now, she'd probably kill me."

And then he smelt it. Yet another exotic scent of spice that was extraordinarily similar to that of Sona, but this one had the flavor of icy burn to it, and more importantly...

It was, impossibly, hundreds of times stronger than Kuoh Academy's Student Council's President's.

"What are you doing, mister?"

He twisted his head slowly, maintaining the same calm, perfect breathing that he had mastered years before, even if it was just a facade.

In front of him, a petite girl stood, outlined by the starred night sky above. Raven hair was pulled up into two elegant twin-tails, framing an attractive face with intense violet eyes and full lips. She was also dressed unconventionally, in what appeared to be a cosplay outfit. A pink frilly top covered her torso, yet was skimpy enough to be almost indecently revealing. A short pink skirt covered just enough to be deemed acceptable to be worn in public. Black arm coverings extended from her elbows past her forearms, splitting into form-fitting gloves that allowed her fingers to slip through. A thin wand, colored pink, spun in her hand, its yellow star-shaped point almost hypnotizing in its motion.

For a moment, an image of a certain twin-tailed female Magus with azure eyes stood superimposed on the girl in front of him.

Rin as a magical girl? He almost snorted in incredulity.

This was definitely not the female Magus that had become his closest confidant, best friend, and lover that had stayed by his side for the entirety of his life, and whom he had left back in his world.

Besides, Rin had ocean-blue eyes, not violet ones, and, as he was somewhat embarrassed to see a lot less...

Well-endowed?

Angrily he shook the thought away. It was no time to be reminiscing, especially when a potentially hostile god-like entity stood before him. Quickly, he turned his attention back to figure in front of him.

"Merely thinking," he replied smoothly, shaking the mix of silver and red bangs away from his eyes. Smoothly, he pulled a beer from the plastic bag that lay next to him, offering it to the girl next to him. "Care to join me?"

"Baka!" the girl glared, and he frowned, wondering if he had said something offensive. "I'm a magical girl! Magical girls don't drink!"

He deadpanned.

Silence reigned as the two stared at one another for several tense, awkward seconds...

...Before it was broken by his raucous laughter.

Hilarious.

Simply hilarious, he thought darkly to himself.

"Why are you laughing, Mr. Stranger?" the magical girl asked, pouting so exaggeratedly that he could almost believe her for a moment, before plopping down by his side. "It isn't as funny when you're not in on the joke as well, you know."

"Its nothing," he said in reply, maintaining the light tone, although the dank, yet humorous, weight of irony did not lift from his shoulders. "You truly believe that you're a magical girl, don't you?"

It wasn't often he met someone as distorted as he was. After all, there were only seven humans in the entire history of his world who had possessed Reality Marbles, and he was one of the honored members amongst its ranks. Even the great conqueror-king Iskandar, better known as Alexander the Great, did not receive one until after his death.

But if she was like him...

"Of course!" she replied indignantly. "How can you not think that I'm a magical girl? I fight for Love and Justice, complete with an outfit, wand, and real magical powers!" She winked playfully, but both she and he knew that she was serious.

He merely smiled mysteriously in response. "Then we are perhaps far more similar than we appear."

A comfortable silence fell between the two as they stared at the night sky that lay far above.

It was in fact so peaceful and tranquil that it was only a few minutes later when he finally remembered his manners.

"Emiya. Emiya Shirou," he said, awkwardly tilting his head in a half-bow, half-expecting out of habit a hiss of fear or awe...or both.

In another world, the name was spoken like a curse. A name that could instill fear in the most hardened of Magi, cause entire criminal rings to fly, and even force the Queen of Clock Tower herself to acknowledge him as one worthy of her respect.

The Wrought Iron Magus, many called him. A merciless freelancer with fairly strong ties to Clock Tower and the Church that hunted down those who had wronged him like a relentless hawk pursuing its prey, never failing to exterminate his target completely.

Killer. Murderer. Psycopath. He had been called all those before, by both strangers and acquaintances, by both historians and poets.

Yes. The name Emiya Shirou, back in his world, had been legendary, and merely speaking it could often cast a dark mood within the room.

But in this world, it was meaningless. And so there was no harm in telling the truth.

"Serafall. Just Serafall," the magical girl said in return, smiling cheerfully, showcasing her brilliant white, almost too-white teeth. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," he said, nodding lightly, paying no attention to the unique name. There were far stranger things in the world around him.

With that, the two returned to gazing at the stars above, and, strangely, although his mind wandered about a meandering path, lost and confused, he felt at peace.

He saw it in a dream.

Rich green hills, flowing rivers, even the hints of dandelions peeking out from the fresh spring soil. A brilliant yellow sun shone above, casting beautiful rays of light that caught caught the dew hanging on the tips of blades grass. Across the clear blue sky, where only the tiny forms of cirrus clouds could be seen, a rainbow shone in its full glory, the multiple colors glittering like gems across the background.

But the landscape was not completely unmarred, its beauty not wholesome. It was not perfect, it was not undisturbed, and, in fact, its ugly scars indicated a turbulent and violent past that lay beneath the beautiful land.

Yet, somehow, its scarring impressed a deeper meaning upon him than it would otherwise.

Massive metal gears, broken and useless, lay scattered about randomly, their purpose forgotten by their original user.

Confusion grasped his mind.

Why were there?

What were they used for?

He gazed about the scenery, eyes slipping away from the broken gears, already forgotten, and latching onto oddly shaped, thin protrusions from the ground that dotted the grassy hillsides.

A closer look revealed their composition of thin, heavily rusted metal, perhaps of iron or...

Steel.

Yes.

The protrusions were steel objects, yet despite their forging from such a strong material, the length of time that had passed since their creation had coated them with a thick layer of rust. Now, they seemed frail and weak, an anachronistic vestige of a forgotten age, rather than strong constructions they once were.

But exactly what where they?

He scrutinized the odd protrusions carefully for many minutes, staring at their rusted and decrepit forms, until it dawned upon him.

How could he have had forgotten?

They were...

Blades.

And then it awoke. A distant memory of what had once been, a nightmare from which he had awoken from.

He had once used them often, hadn't he? They were an integral part of him a long time ago, so interconnected with himself that they even composed his own soul.

A Reality Marble, he recalled. The shaping of the world around them into one's imagined terra, and outward expression of their inner soul. Magecraft that was merely a shade away from True Sorcery itself.

But that was a long time ago, and his soul had since moved on, latched onto something else to be defined as.

Where was that now?

What defined him now?

He sat heavily on on the wet, dewy grass, feeling the cool moisture soak into his clothes, and closed his eyes, a frustrated sign escaping confines of his mouth.

"Shirou."

The voice spoke quietly, succinctly, but the heartfelt emotion behind it spoke volumes.

It was her voice.

He turned.

She stood on a grassy knoll, her blonde hair gently floating in the air as a zephyr passed through. Time stopped, and all he could see, all that mattered, was her.

Royal, rich emerald met warm golden brown, and in that moment, he could feel something reconnect in his heart, almost as if remembering something important that he had forgotten a long time before.

"Saber?" he asked, hesitant, unwilling to believe it was really her. After all, he had searched so long and hard without finding a trace of her. What was to say this wasn't an illusion as well?

His lover smiled, its radiance more blinding than the sun itself, washing away his worries as gently as slow-moving stream. Slowly, she extended her hand, and he reached for it, hesitantly, desperately, like a dying prisoner would for freedom that lay in his grasp.

"I'm here, Shirou," she said softly, her voice lilting like a melody on the spring breeze. "We're here, Shirou."

In the distance, he could make out a small group of people standing on the next, higher hill, where a small house could be made out.

A familiar twin-tailed Magus dressed in her trademark red sweater and a short black skirt, her azure eyes sparkling. A gently smiling girl with matching lavender hair and eyes. A raucous woman with short brown hair waving wildly. A tall man with wild black hair, coal-black eyes gazing fondly at him, one arm wrapped around a beautiful white-haired woman next to him. A chattering young girl, a carbon copy of the white haired woman, jumped up and down excitedly, pointing at him from afar.

And he laughed. Brilliant, ebullient laugher exploded from him, a joy that he had long forgotten encompassing him entirely in a single glorious moment.

He sprung to his feet, wrapping the girl in front of him into his arms, burying his lips into hers, tasting the sweetness of honeysuckle on her mouth.

Everything was new again, and everything was beautiful once more, the darkness that had made up his life for so many years turning into pure white light.

The scent of her skin. The softness of her arms. The fire and passion alit in her brilliant green eyes. The silkiness of her blonde hair caressing him.

Then, when the breath had finally left him and he gasped for air, joyful tears streaming down his face, she merely smiled sadly once more, her soft, dainty fingers running through his hair.

Her lips parted hesitantly, and five soft words escaped her mouth.

"Just a little longer, Shirou."

And the dream began to fade, replaced by oppressive reality. Already, he could see the world shatter into nothingness, black replacing the vibrant color around him.

He screamed, cried, begged for her to come back. Beseeched her to stay with him forever, in that perfect world where his blades were no longer needed, where they could live in peace forever.

But she simply smiled, even as tears fell from her own eyes and cascaded down her cheeks.

The last thing he saw before he awoke was her beautiful, yet fragile face mouthing three words, each of which he caught and understood perfectly.

He had cried late in the night after that, unable to sleep after the vision that had struck him.

Yet another painful reminder of how far away she was from him.

Rage, anger, and bitter resentment filled him, and he mindlessly slammed his hand into the wall next to him, ignoring the reprimanding yells from the adjoining apartment.

Why?

Why was he thrust back into his never-ending duty, bearing mankind on his shoulders, after doing so for so long? Why was he separated from her, time and time again?

Yet...

He sighed heavily as the last violent sobs disappeared, wiping the remnants of the bitter tears off his face.

And then, quite suddenly, a beatific, joyful smile erupted on his face, as he came to realization. He closed his eyes, and when he remembered her breath on his face, the vitalizing scent of lavender washing over him, the softness of her lips, only a small tear slipped down his face.

She still waited.

And he still searched.

His first encounter with Hyoudou Issei, was, not surprisingly, when the pervert was trying to escape the wrath of the Girl's Kendo Team once again, less than a week after the first incident when he toured the school.

Smoothly, he had tripped the boy as he passed by him, earning him an indignant "what?" from the fallen pervert and grateful smiles from the shinai-wielding girls. A few seconds later, from behind his back, he heard Issei's panicked cries above the angry yells from the girls, followed by the subsequent sound of bamboo meeting flesh.

A day later, Issei marched up to him in the middle of the class, ignoring the fact that he was an upperclassman, demanding answers.

"The hell was up yesterday? Why did you trip me...uh...what was your name again?"

"Emiya Shirou." He inclined his head slightly, almost disrespectfully, towards the pervert and raised a single eyebrow. "As for why I tripped you, it simply was because I didn't believe that spying on girls in the middle of changing was something to be condoned, Hyoudou-kouhai."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sona half rise out of her seat, prepared to intervene in the confrontation. He shook his slightly, so slightly it was almost imperceptible, but he knew his message got across when Sona merely stood to the side.

He was almost sure she was testing him, but it was of little importance; after all, he had been wanting to give Issei a strict dressing down for his deplorable behavior.

"Do you not realize the disgust you arise in others who see you on a daily basis? Tell me, why are you stooping to such pathetic levels to satisfy your base desires? If you cannot even restrain yourself in the sight of any girl, you are no better than an lustful, unenlightened animal looking for something to rut," he said patronizingly, as if he were delivering a lecture on gene splicing to a cockroach. "In that case, I would advise perhaps a pencil sharpener, as anything with a larger radius will be unnecessary given the likes of you, or maybe the rectum one of your other perverted friends."

Issei had the decency to look ashamed, and a good deal insulted, by his lecturing, and he reclined, satisfied he had brought about change, albeit a minor one, to the pervert's attitude.

Unfortunately, his celebration came prematurely.

"No!" A determined look suddenly crossed the pervert's face, his mouth opening wide as if to deliver a memorable speech. "Emiya-senpai! I understand that you have been conditioned by prudish society that is is morally unacceptable to peek in on girls!" the boy cried out. "But...but you must cut through the dark cloud of ignorance that they have cast upon you! Can you not imagine the pleasure as you give into your carnal desires? Imagine the beautiful, exhilarating, liberating pleasures of the flesh? I know that you are not as experienced as many of us, me included," Issei stated rather proudly. "But you must not let that scare you into a sex-less life!"

A small, immature part of him wanted to deny that outright. After all, he had participated in a particularly amorous activity with the female version of King Arthur and Rin at the same time, albeit it was for the technical purpose of transferring desperately needed Prana in order to combat the giant Berserker that stalked through the night.

But then again the three of them had participated in the same activity the next night. And the next. And the next after that. All the way up until the climatic end of the Fifth War.

"I will lead to you to a Heaven of flesh! A utopia where women with large oppai dote on us at every hour!" Issei's voice grew in volume, and the pervert threw out an arm dramatically, beckoning him. "Come! Come to the light side! Join me on my quest to feast on oppai, and I promise you, you will never regret it!"

He blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing. Issei was posed, a clenched fist thrust high into the air, exactly like the protagonist from one of those shōnen manga that were so popular these days, as if he were leading an army. All in all, it would've been an inspiring sight, had his cause been a noble one and not the lustful pursuit of voluptuous women.

A second later, the pervert was gone, squawking in pain as Sona dragged him out by the ear and proceeded to give him a stern lecturing in the hallway.

Over the next few weeks, Issei constantly confronted him every day, cornering him in the hallway with his other two, just as perverted friends and proceeding to lecture on multiple parts of a women's body in a specifically non-physiological and rather pig-headed manner. The spiel of harems, breasts, and female nether regions had propagated to such an extent that he almost considered it a constant in his life, if a highly irritating and angering one.

Objectifying women was also something that annoyed him, and the pervert quickly learned that after being smashed in the back he head after stating girls with small breasts were not worthy of being looked at, let alone dating.

It was most likely due to the efforts of the girls that he didn't go insane. Rumors of the Perverted Trio trying to convert another boy, an upperclassman no less, to create a Perverted Quartet, spread like a wildfire, and by the end of the week, whenever Issei and his friends tried to come near him, they were chased off by a consortium of mops, shinai, and softball bats.

That didn't prevent the occasional small-talk from breaking out whenever they encountered each other.

"I have a girlfriend!" he crowed excitedly one day when they passed one another in the hall. "I proved you wrong! Ha! I told you that I would get one one day! This is the beginning of my harem route! I'm so EXCITED!"

He smiled in amusement. Perhaps a tryst with the opposite sex would temper Issei's more perverted tendencies.

"But...what do I do?" the boy fretted. "I've never dated a girl before! Heck, no girl has ever said that they liked me before? What will I do if I mess up? What should I do? I don't know, I don't know, I don't kno-"

"You're panicking," he said calmly. "Just relax, and take a deep breath."

Issei stopped in the middle of his outburst, breathing in slowly and letting it out in a massive exhale.

"Better?" he asked.

The other boy nodded. "Yeah, lots. Thanks Emiya-senpai. But...do you know what should I do? I mean, how can I make sure she stays liking me? She's so pretty, and I think I might get nervous and screw up something, y'know? And not to ment-"

He held up his hand in annoyance, and Issei took another series of deep breaths. Quickly, he thought of a way to answer the boy's question without getting him too nervous.

Unfortunately, he didn't really know. The two romances he had did not end happily, and neither of those relationships could be classified as "normal" by any means.

So he told the younger boy probably the most clichéd advice possible: To be himself, and not worry too much.

And don't kiss on the first date. To him, it seemed improper, never mind the fact that he slept withhis lovers before even taking them out on a date.

"Thanks Emiya-senpai! I really appreciate it!" Issei said cheerfully, giving him a double thumbs up, to his vague amusement. "I'll do my best!"

With a bright, grateful smile, the pervert took off, and he was left feeling that perhaps there was some hope for the boy in the future provided he didn't mess up the date too badly.

The next time he saw Issei, however, everything had changed.

From his happy demeanor, carefree personality, and even his near-legendary perverseness.

But most importantly, his scent changed.

No longer was it reeking of the sticky stench of perversity, although a strong tinge could still be smelled, but rather contained the scent of blood and fire, almost like that of a dragon. Faintly, he could detect the slight sweet smell of ripe fruit that hovered around the Occult Research Club, a pungent odor that he particularly likened to the Club's president, Gremory Rias, the most popular girl in the school.

But he did not ask, nor did he mention the change he noticed. He merely gave Issei a pat on the back and a reassuring smile before walking to his own classroom, figuring that the boy simply needed some time to adjust to whatever he had gone through.

A week later, Issei came to him. "Hey, Emya-senpaii! What would you do if you wanted to save someone, but your boss told you it was too dangerous to try?"

He promptly asked the boy why he would as him such an out-of-place question.

"N-n-nothing! I just wanted to ask you, since you always seem to know everything."

His eyes narrowed when he spotted the genuine desperation poorly hidden on Issei's face.

Finally, he answered, albeit in a way as so to avert a potential misunderstanding. "If you were in such a hypothetical situation," he said, noticing the slight flinch Issei let out, "I would advise you to exercise caution over rash decisions, and rationally plan out your actions. Of course, if such a hypothetical situation even existed in the first place, I would advise you to leave such matters in the hands of the police, rather than yourself."

Inwardly, he knew that he himself would not have followed his own advice, and instead charged into the fray, prepared to save the person by any means necessary.

"Great! I knew I as right! I'm gonna go rescue her now!" Issei brightened up suddenly. "Thank you for the advice, Emiya-senpai!"

...

He sighed, staring at the retreating form of Issei's back before shaking his head.

And he actually tried to avoid a misunderstanding.

Slowly, he stood up, sliding his chair back into its original position beneath the desk.

He had to make sure that the pervert didn't do something stupid, and, sadly, he was almost certain that whatever Issei was doing, it was stupid.

It was ten minutes into tracking the oddly-smelling Issei when he realized that he had taken the same route once before, when he was escorting the priestess to the abandoned church.

Worry and apprehension began to build within him, as memories of a blonde haired priestess returned to him, and he briskened his pace drastically, using slight Prana Bursts to send him flying fifteen feet forward with every step. He kept his eyes on the almost domineering, ominous outline of the church that lay on a faraway hill as he moved through the abandoned road, blazing past the occasional passerby, uncaring that his actions could expose the existence of the supernatural to the human world.

Even so, it took another five minutes to reach his destination, and when he finally arrived, there was no sign of the boy he was searching for. The land outside the church lay eerily silent and dormant, completely undisturbed.

Curious, he took a slight whiff of the air, but could only detect the faintest trace of blood and fire that composed Issei's scent.

He slowly walked up to the entrance of the church, his footsteps echoing loudly an unnatural off the stone path. He let his hand hesitantly trace the brass handle of the door, an almost electric feel connecting his skin to the cool metal.

Should he have done this? Painfully, he strained his ears to the maximum, struggling to make out the faint sounds that emanated from behind the thick wooden door.

Nothing.

Heavily, he sighed, thinking there was no point to him being there, and turned away, preparing for the long walk home.

Until he heard the explosion, and the resonating, pained cry of Issei not a second later.

Without even thinking, he threw himself forward, clasping his hand around the handle and pulling harshly, forcing the door open.

A quick glance at his surrounding served to confirm his worries.

The inside of the church was, quite simply put, completely destroyed, as if a massive battle had taken place in it. The wooden church pews were scattered about, many shattered and broken. Splinters of wood were spread across the floor, as numerous as the grass upon Kuoh Academy's fields, each with a point as keen as a knife. The tall spires of the Gothic Church were lined with massive craters, the black marks almost blasphemous upon the holy walls, decreasing the strength of the spiritual energies that gathered there. Shards of broken glass lay askew below the remnants of the windows, their long, thin edges glinting dangerously in the faint light of the setting sun.

But most horrifyingly, prominently at the sacred altar was a crucifix, a girl, the very same girl he had helped merely a week before, nailed to the enormous cross in a cruel mockery of the image of Christ's crucifixion painted merely feet away. Her long, once-pristine blonde hair was now matted with sweat and grime, and her white priestess clothing was stained with the dark crimson red of blood.

And then he saw them.

Great beings with massive black wings that seemed to darken to the room with their mere presence, striking both awe and fear in those who viewed them. A middle-aged man with a dark beard lounged lazily on the balcony, inspecting what appeared to be a bottle of wine. A young girl with blonde curls watched the scene dispassionately, switching her gaze ever so often from her nails to the crucified form of the priestess. A blue-haired woman reclined on a nearby pew, her eyes closed, expression twisted into one of boredom.

And the fourth...

The fourth stood conspicuously above the rest, for she was the one currently engaging his classmate.

She was a tall, proud, vain being. Lustrous black hair cascaded around her face, stern features twisted into a repulsive mask, cold eyes peering out from behind a contorted face.

"Emiya-senapi?" Issei cried out, seemingly in shock, a crimson gauntlet glowing brilliantly on his right arm. "What the HELL are you-never mind. Just run! Raynare will kill you if you stay! You hear me? Run right n-ERK!"

The lead Fallen kicked the perverted boy viciously, sending him flying a full thirty feet into a stone pillar that crumbled instantly under the force.

When the dust arose, the still body of Issei could be seen, crumpled over and broken.

Rage stirred within his chest, and he took a step in the injured boy's direction, determined to save his life.

Not three steps in, however, a flash of light suddenly caught his eye, and, out of instinct, he threw himself hard to the left, grunting as his shoulder hit the cold stone floor.

He was not a moment too soon.

A glimmering, ornate spear quivered from its position, sunk shaft-deep in the church's walls, thin cracks in the stone surrounding the weapon's point of impact.

"Oh...so this one can run?" Raynare said mockingly, her voice sickeningly-sweet. "Now may be my chance to have a little personal entertainment. At the very, least you can dodge well enough, unlike the pathetic mite over there." She nodded towards the broken form of Issei, before continuing, a deranged smile growing on her face. "So now...let's see you DANCE!"

Two more expertly thrown spears of light flashed towards him in less than an instant, but to him, it may have been more than a year. A simple sidestep averted the danger of the first, and a slight tilt of his head the second.

Angrily, he glared at the creature that floated elegantly above him, silently questioning her.

"My, my, my. You're so much better than I thought..." Raynare smiled, licking her lips in sadistic excitement. "This is going to be so much FUN!"

A dozen ornate spears of light were thrown this time, each in rapid succession, and he was forced to backpedal to avoid their respective trajectories.

As they passed, Prana flowed into his eyes, and he let the unconscious procedure of advanced Structural Analysis run, instantaneously allowing him to "read" the history of any blade.

It was then he saw the story of the Fallen in front of him, of her rise and eventual fall, of her birth and her figurative death.

She was once a strict Angel, diligently upholding the laws of Heaven, a harsh yet just being well-known for her beauty and loyalty.

But it wasn't enough. The death of God himself and majority of the mighty, supposedly undefeatable Archangels had shaken her convictions to the very core, and it took only the sweet honeyed words of Kobakiel to make her fall, lured by false promises and deceptive rewards.

Despite his best efforts, his rage died, and in its stead, only pity took hold.

Pity for the lost being who had sacrificed everything in the name of a love that was false, in the name of a beautiful idea that would never be known to her, only a veneer of it.

"Yes...FUN!" the Fallen cackled, a harsh, bitter sound that made him wince. "You are by far the most entertaining prey I have hunted for years. The other one," she gestured to the crumpled form that lay next to the broken pillar, "Merely stood there, shocked. An easy kill, with no effort required at all. Perhaps the only entertainment I received was from watching his expression of shock and betrayal as he bled to death. But you...you are different!"

A stream of projectiles now were fired at him almost simultaneously, the rate of which they were formed and thrown testament to her skill and power.

He grimaced. Even he couldn't avoid all the spears at once without using Magecraft of any sort.

But to reveal Magecraft here...

A sudden thought inspired him.

Recalling a memory from his benefactor in Clock Tower, he suddenly snatched an incoming light spear, and, twirling it with the skill of a master spearman, began blocking the descending volley of spears that crashed down upon him like a massive tidal wave.

Age-old instincts kicked in, and he fell into battle mode once more, this time not simply passively defending against the spears but deflecting them right back at his opponent, and her allies.

A smug satisfaction filled him when he saw the almost comical widening of their eyes as the divine weapons flew straight at them, point first, and their hurried, almost panicked flight from their original positions.

The stream of light spears ended abruptly, and he gained a brief respite, using the time to fall into an offensive spear stance and regain his breath.

It was to his unpleasant surprise that the spear in his hands suddenly shattered into sharp shards of light, cutting his hands severely. He stared impassively as red rivers of blood flowed down is palms, dripping onto the floor in copious amounts.

But no matter. He already could feel the broken skin reknit and the blood vessels repair, the gentle warmth of Avalon pressing against his wounds.

A grating, disdainful voice returned his attention to the Fallen in front of him.

"Fool," Raynare snarled. "Did you really think you could use our weapons freely without punishment, you inferior piece of trash? You think too highly of yourself, arrogant filth. Dohnaseek! Mittelt! Kalawarner! This...scum needs to be taught a lesson! I want to see the despair in his eyes as he realizes the power us Fallen hold, and beg us to let him live. And then..." A sadistic gleam entered the Fallen's eyes. "We'll break him. Torture him until he no longer screams, until there is nothing but emptiness in his eyes. And once he ceases to amuse us, we will kill him."

"Are you sure?" the blonde child asked disdainfully. "It doesn't look like he could handle it. He's far too frail looking, even if he did manage to show some skill with a spear. But then again, most humans are."

The bearded man scoffed. "Hmph. I'd rather not waste my energy on this...thing. Talented for a human, but in comparison to us Fallen, he's just another piece trash." Raynare's answering glower made him wince. "But if you insist...I wouldn't mind obliging for a few good screams."

The final Fallen yawned tiredly, throwing her long blue hair back. "Same here. Could use some stretching anyhow."

Reaching concurrence, the three other Fallen lazily arose from their positions, a dozen light spears forming in existence, the fading light of the sun glinting off their sharp tips.

A moment later, four arms of four Fallen Angels swooped down to point at him, and, following them, came a rain of blades.

Swiftly he dove through the veritable storm of flying spears, ignoring the few grazes that he was forced to take as he moved towards safe cover that lay a few feet before him. He twisted gracefully around four spears, tilting his head to avoid another, before sliding beneath a final volley behind the safe cover of a mostly intact church pew.

Not a second a later, he heard the distinct thwack-thwack-thwack of spears impacting the thick wood, their blades easily piercing the thin cover, almost impaling him on their razor-sharp tips.

Annoying. He had underestimated the strength and versatility in their throwing of spears, as well as the quality of the spears themselves.

His eyes narrowed briefly, and he let four Circuits flare, Prana flowing from within him and into the pew behind which he had taken cover, Reinforcing it to the strength of refined titanium ore.

He smiled at the indignant splutters of Raynare and her fellow Fallen as their weapons were no longer effective in penetrating the bench behind which he had taken cover.

Now to see review his options...

"Hiding behind your shelter like a craven rat, now, are we?" Raynare sneered, regaining her composure. "A pathetic coward merely cowering behind his shield, too afraid to meet his fate like a man. Is that what it is, you disgusting mongrel?"

His back stiffened slightly.

He had been called many things throughout his life, from a mass murderer to a crazed sociopath, a cheap-skate imitator to a hypocritical idealist.

Names were names, however, and he never let them affect him in such a way that they would adversely affect his performance.

But...

He did not like being called a coward.

No.

After all the years he had spent fighting, all the monstrosities he had faced alone, all the horrors of man that had been seared into his eyes, he could not, would not let himself be called a coward.

It was no longer a matter of keeping Magecraft a secret, no longer a matter of delaying his impossible quest in this world for any longer.

He had pride in his swords, and for him, as the owner of the thousands of blades in his world, to be relegated to the status of a dog was an insult to the blades of the heroes that had come before him. Already he could feel them begging to be released from the bindings that restricted them to the domain of his soul, beseeching him for a chance to teach the pathetic mongrels before him the true meaning of power.

Besides, what did he have to lose, really?

Grimly, he rose from the cover of the wooden church bench, standing resolutely against the cackling being in front of him.

The entity, a Fallen Angel, the weakened presence of Alaya supplied helpfully, tilted her head, the smile on her face growing more and more demented with the passing time. "Given up on hiding, have you? Such a pity. I was hoping you'd struggle for a bit longer, but in the end, you're just like the rest of those humans. Pathetic, worthless fodder. Now, now, be a good dear and beg, won't you?"

His only response was to flex his fingers, opening his hands as if to grasp the handles of two swords.

"No?" the Fallen Angel sneered, before extended its fingers. "Your arrogance sickens me. If you will not bow, then DIE! DIE like the ANIMAL YOU ARE!"

The spear formed from light began to form once more, morphing into existence rapidly, a razor sharp tip extending from a long shaft to form the deadly weapon.

But this time, he made no preparation to dodge.

Instead, he let his two favorite weapons emerge from his inner world, and press against the realm of existence, only the slightest touch of Prana needed to form them instantaneously.

Yes.

He now understood why his counterpart, the Counter Guardian EMIYA, used these weapons so much, even if their interpretations were radically different.

They fit his ideal perfectly. Two blades of Chinese make, one as white as the purest snow, and the other as black as the pitch darkness of night. Representative of the taijitu, the iconic circular symbol of yin and yang, they always sought one another, no matter how far the two were apart.

A "married" pair of twin swords, so to speak.

It only reminded him painfully more of Saber, and her now unfathomable distance from him.

They had no desire for fame, nor any desire to be utilized in battle. They merely wished to be together forever, past even the length of time itself.

According to the Greeks, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.

Kanshou and Bakuya had already found one another. They were prepared to spend the rest of time together, through times of war and peace, times of rapture and sorrow, until time itself perished.

That was the reason he wielded them.

In another's hands, they were simply weapons.

In EMIYA's hands, they were a tragic symbol.

In his hands, they were a dream.

A destination to his endless journey. A conclusion to his own story, his story of the a lone, unknown hero dressed royal blue and white, searching tirelessly for his own other half.

Stoically, he gazed at the light spear that had finished forming on the tip of the Fallen Angel's finger, watching impassively as it was actualized fully into existence.

The Fallen Angel grinned wickedly, its face a perverted caricature of a true angel's, and flicked its finger, sending the spear in her hands flying towards him faster than the human eye could see.

It was a one in a million chance, no, a billion chance.

Something that the Fates themselves never truly meant to happen, a mistake in the course of life.

Something so minute that no one, not even the Gods themselves, would have given it a second thought.

Yet it still did.

For centuries, the weakened presences of both Gaia and Alaya, the Earth and the Will of Humanity, looked on helplessly as both nature and mankind were brutally oppressed by the Three Factions. For years, they had attempted to warn all who would listen of the dangerous machinations of extremists in each faction, and even the presence of a Fourth, as the tenuous peace set forth a mere five hundred years before struggled to stay alive.

Yet to no avail.

A perverted shade of an angel, with long pointed ears and slitted red eyes, plotted the outbreak of war. A crazed Exorcist with unstoppable blood thirst roamed the lands in a neverending hunt for the impure. An Archbishop experimented with human Transmutation and forbidden black arts to create users of the Great Holy Swords. A jealous, power-hungry, bespectacled devil sought to return the Demon Lords of old. A black-haired, foolish hero sat in the shadows and waited, biding his time to take revenge on the oppressors of humanity and oppress them in return in a misguided attempt to help Alaya. A massive red dragon waited on the edge of existence, its yellow eyes focusing slowly on the tiny ravaged planet of Earth, laughing at its inhabitants' foolishness.

Had the machinations of these entities gone without restraint, without interference, then the world would've eventually been torn apart by the opposing forces, each separate Faction fighting not just against one another but within themselves.

It would've been the end of Heaven, Hell, and Humanity itself.

But...

A new variable had been introduced.

Emiya Shirou.

A completely unknown factor, emerging from a rip in the time-space continuum detected only for the briefest of seconds before it was closed again.

It was a tiny difference, when objectively taken. After all, what could a single human do against entire races of Angels and Devils? Beings that had existed far before humans did, beings that held all the true power in the world and took the opportunity to completely dominate all aspects of nature and humankind themselves.

Yet the introduction of that one human eventually made all the difference.

A single variable changed, a single, tiny, insignificant human introduced into the world of the Three Factions, and its fate was altered forever.

A magic that was never meant to be used.

A mantra that was never meant to be said.

A man who was never meant to exist.

Like a flash, it was sent throughout the entirety of the three worlds in an instant, a beacon of hope to many, and of dread to some, that vanished in the same instance. A sign of impending, unstoppable, unforgettable, unprecedented change.

The silver-haired man sat upon a crumbling throne, pondering the meaning of the disturbance.

The strongest of the devils, a red-haired man dressed in lavish clothing, clutched his throbbing head, unable to comprehend the vision that had just implanted itself into his mind.

The lazy devil, paradoxically the head of the military, shot out from his ornate bed, gasping and sweating heavily from the dream he had just seen.

The inventor looked up absentmindedly from his tools, accidentally knocking over a set of crimson chess pieces that he had created as he did so.

The magical girl dressed in bright pink tilted her head on a small road overlooking a brilliantly lit city, and smiled beatifically at the spring moon that shone high above.

The man with grizzled hair, the one who Fell due to his love for a mortal woman, tapped his fingers worriedly on his desk, forgetting about the rogue group of Fallen near Kuoh Academy and focusing on the new presence that had established itself formally into the world.

The hero leaned on his spear, gazing at the stars above him, and wondered about the sudden trepidation that crossed his mind.

The black-haired girl, the epitome of Chaos itself, winced as the flash of sword swept through her mind, glaring as she sought the location of the interference.

The massive red dragon stirred, and sniffed twice in the darkness that surrounded him. Its mouth twisted into hideous, gruesome smile as it read, and understood, the creation of a new presence.

"Trace..."

This was the end. The end of his brief reprieve. The end of his peace. The end of his old life, and beginning of his new one.

Wearily, he steeled his body, his mind, and his heart.

This was merely the result of his ideals, the consequence of saving the lives of others to an almost pathological extent. This was the result of his own selfish desire to save others, for in order for him to save others, he would need to wish for people to be saved. A hypocritical ideal, pursued to the very bitter end.

Yet...

He had no regrets. This was the only path.

Golden fire burned brilliantly as he snapped his eyes open, revealing them in their full glory to his enemy.

"...ON!"

AN: So here it is. How was it?

This is going to be a dark story dealing with mature themes, and I'll try writing them to the best of my ability, although I'm not sure I can pull it off. Comic humor will be rare, although that doesn't mean there will be none whatsoever.

No harem either. I'm tired of reading fic after fic where the overpowered M.C. gets fifteen different girls (Naruto, I'm talking to you). It's getting really annoying.

Because, really, the DxD world is extremely dark if you take all the perverse humor from it, and therefore, extraordinarily interesting. Like, seriously, Peerages are essentially a form of feudalism (and look how well that turned out for the serfs), and can easily lead to nasty things such as sexual exploitation, murder, conspiracy, oppression, etc. Not to mention the Church.

Kudos to Beyond the Outer Gate Lies... by gabrielblessing and A Demon Among Devils by The Crimson Lord, because they inspired me to write this.

The dream sequence was heavily inspired by the ED for Fate/stay night UBW Season 2 and Glimpses by Angry Santo. On a quick, completely unrelated note to this fic, I am in LOVE with the new OP for Fate/stay night UBW Season 2. There's just something about it that makes it really cool.

Back on track, expect a non-Issei centric piece of fiction.

That's all for now. Please Review if you can! I can always use some tips and/or corrections, as I'm not well-versed in the DxD universe.