When Arthur Pendragon woke up, it was to the howling of the wind and a sudden lack of solid ground beneath his feet. The next thing he knew, he was falling, tumbling from the sky. Overhead, a glowing portal swirled in the sky, a rip in reality that shimmered with a thousand many-hued lights. The King of Knights thought about his current situation. A pained laugh escaped his lips. Excalibur tumbled from his nerveless fingers, he watched the golden sword gleam as it fell towards a city in flames.

As it fell.

As it fell like he was falling.

He was not sure what had happened. One moment he had been at peace, lying at death's door, waiting for Sir Bedivere to carry out his final order. One moment, he had been waiting for Sir Bedivere to return Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake.

In the next, he was here. And there was no pain. Arthur's hand went to his side, even as he fell. His gauntleted hand touched his intact breastplate, brushing across perfectly sturdy metal. There was no wound, no gaping hole in his side from his fight against Mordred.

There was no wound, he had Excalibur again, he was garbed in his intact armor, and he was falling towards a ruined city.

These were the thoughts that flashed through Arthur Pendragon's mind as he fell, as he scooped up Excalibur and braced for a sudden, violent impact.

A pool of fetid water broke his fall, a decrepit fountain that had fallen into disuse. Arthur still cratered into the dirty water, sending up an enormous spray, splattering the flagstones with clear-brown liquid. He stumbled to his feet, Excalibur still clutched in his hands as he panted. Water dripped off his body, soaking his armor, his tabard, his golden hair. He dismissed the uncomfortable sensation. It was of no concern.

No, there were three things that were of concern. He was alive, and decidedly not dying, for there was no wound in his side. He had Excalibur again. And this place was not the wood where he was dying. Questions bloomed through his mind, confusion clouded his thoughts. He gazed up, as he watched the portal hanging in the air wink out of existence against the overcast sky. He breathed in and out easily, for there was no pain.

There was no pain.

He was alive. He had Excalibur again. And so, Arthur Pendragon, Once and Future King of Britain, looked around an unfamiliar city in ruins and flame. It was unlike Tokyo, it was not a city of the modern age. There were no towering skyscrapers, no electric lights, no cars everywhere. The buildings were of more humble construction, made of stone and brick. The roads were paved with flagstones, and in the distance, on top of a hill, he could see a castle.

A castle that was also in ruins, that was also on fire. A castle that had been ruined to the point where it was a barely recognizable mishmash of half-recognized structures.

The sight worried Arthur.

He sniffed the air and for the first time, he noted the fetid stench. The smell of scorched flesh, of rot and decay. Of blood. He strained his ears, and he realized that it was far too quiet. There were no screams of the dying, no moans from anyone who might be injured. A cloud of black smoke wafted in front of him as he walked through the ashen streets, he waved it out of his face.

Assuredly, something terrible has happened here. Something awful-

A roar broke the silence, an eerie, inhuman wail. Arthur turned, and that's when he saw them. That's when he saw the army of the Dead lurching through the streets.

They were corpses one and all, withered, rotten. Glowing red lights glared out of empty, hollow eye-sockets. Brown leathery skin stretched over putrid bone as those mummified bodies advanced on the King of Knights, swords raised high above their heads. As one, they roared, that same bone-chilling roar that had first caught Arthur's attention.

As one, they rushed him.

Arthur Pendragon shifted his grip on his blade, gripping it with both of his hands. Excalibur came up in a glorious golden arc, and the first line of undead fell back against their peers, neatly bifurcated. Their bodies dissipated into black-purple smog moments after their demise. The golden sword came down with an explosive sound, and another wave of Risen are reduced to smoke.

Arthur Pendragon looks at the horde again, emerald eyes darting about. The Dead still came forward, like clockwork automatons, unheeding of the losses they were suffering. An endless army of rotting corpses drift out from the streets of the ruined city, they're hunting one of the only living things left in the city. These are truly insurmountable odds for any man.

But Arthur Pendragon is not just any man. He leaped forward, through the streets, swinging Excalibur to his left and his right as he carved a path through the swathe of teeming Dead. He ducked his head out of the way as a rusted sword comes close to carving a furrow through his head. He brought Excalibur up again, and smote three Risen with a single blow.

And for the first time since he found himself here, in this blasted landscape, he is truly calm. He knows not why he is here, why he has been brought to this place, or even what this place is. He does not know how he has been healed, or how he has come to possess Excalibur again.

But he knows that these are the enemies of Man before him. He has his sword in his hands again, and he has an enemy in front of him to destroy, and that will suffice for now.

His eyes dart towards the castle again. There was a wholly malevolent presence there. A familiar presence. Even from a distance, that oppressive feeling was unmistakable. It was a presence that let Arthur recall a black fleshy sea, a howling darkness that bore its fangs at the world. A scarlet beast with seven open mouths, with an insane appetite that symbolized the sins and greed of humanity.

Saber, no, Arthur Pendragon, felt that presence, and he recalled the Beast of Revelation. He remembered the unholy thing he slew, at the close of the First Holy Grail War, and a thought came to his mind. Even as he cut through the horde of the risen dead, that thought still troubled him.

So this is why I have been summoned to this place.

Lucina looked upon Ylisse, and she resisted the urge to weep. The city, the city was in ruins. The castle, the last bastion of humanity, was also in ruins. The fighting had died down, but she could see the horde of Risen marching through the streets from her vantage point.

"It's so dark outside-!" She murmured. She clenched her fist around Falchion, her knuckles turning white from the pressure of her grip. "There's still time before it's night and yet-"

That's when she heard the laughter. Deep, braying laughter, rattling her bones. Familiar laughter. She whirled, turning towards the source of the laughter.

Grima leered back at her. The Fell Dragon's six glowing eyes glared at her through the smog wreathed in curls of black smoke that curl toward the black sky. A gargantuan head wound toward her, supported by a sinuous curling neck. Black wings stretched out from behind the dread creature's back, black tattered shrouds-

The stench was unbearable. The dragon's breath stank of decay and rotting flesh, an overwhelming miasma that Lucina could practically choke on. And that overbearing, noxious presence-

Yes. That dragon was Grima. The Fell Dragon that brought about the end of humanity.

Her parents' murderer.

Lucina raised Falchion, she tried to steel herself-

"You've lost." Grima rasped, the force of his voice whipping Lucina's dark blue curls about her face. "Mankind has fallen."

Lucina took a small step back as she gasped. Falchion nearly fell from her nerveless grasp

"… It- It can't be-" She whispered, as the object of her nightmares laughed.

"The past cannot be undone! There is no future for mankind." The dragon gloated, even as it reared back on its haunches. "Your mother and father are dead."

Lucina took another step back. And another.

"And soon, you shall die as well." The dragon laughed. And then it roared, it lunged, massive claws scything toward Lucina. The girl raised Falchion in a futile attempt to ward off the inevitable, she squeezed her eyes shut-

And then something scooped her up, around her midsection, causing her to sprawl to the ground, to roll around the castle's rooftop. It was that force that saved her life, for Grima's massive paw had slammed down where Lucina was standing. She coughed and hacked, her eyes fluttering open, Falchion still held tight in a nigh-bloodless grip-

"Are you alright?"

Green eyes stared down into her own, transfixing her. A strong gauntleted took her own, to heave her back up to her unsteady feet. Lucina took in that radiant figure and she gasped. In front of her, in the depths of the darkness, there was a knight that emanated radiance, clad in argent and silver. A literal knight in shining armor, wielding a glorious golden sword, as golden as his hair was.

But where did he come from?

"Are you alright?" The knight repeated gently, his handsome features curled into a warm, reassuring smile.

"Y- Yes." Lucina stuttered. She coughed as she brought herself back to her feet. "Yes, I am. But how- But who-"

Grima's roar of displeasure shook the castle. Lucina wobbled on her unsteady legs, sweat dripping from her brow. This was- Bad. This was very, very bad.

"What is this?" Grima howled. A massive foot stamped the ground, causing tremors to shake the castle, causing cracks to begin to appear in the stonework. Rubble showered to the ground as Grima expressed his utter displeasure. "What is this?"

"Call me Arthur," Arthur said as he nodded towards Lucina. "And you are?"

"… Lucina," Lucina replied. She took up Falchion again, turned her attention towards Grima. "But this is no time for pleasantries."

"No, I suppose it isn't." Arthur mused as he stared at Grima, his golden sword in hand.

"Who. Who are you." Grima roared, and the sound echoed for miles and miles. His massive wings flapped and it was all Lucina could do to hold her ground where she stood. But… Despite the hopelessness of her situation, a spark of hope had kindled itself within her chest.

The Fell Dragon was angry.

This knight was not something he'd predicted.

And that very fact-

That fact-!

That spark of hope ignited into a raging inferno.

"I have many questions to ask you," Lucina licked her dry lips, as she turned to glance at the peerless knight beside her. "But they can wait."

Arthur turned to look at her. He raised a delicate, golden eyebrow. "On account of the dragon, I suppose?"

"Yes, the dragon is a very pressing matter." Lucina blinked. Surely that much was obvious, was it not? Why would he phrase a statement like that as a question?

"Mmh." Arthur turned back towards the dragon, and the sight of that golden sword in his hands caused the dragon to flinch back, wary of this new threat. "How do we kill it?"

Lucina hesitated. "… I'm not sure we can." She said sadly, a trace of dejection making its way into her voice. That's right. She'd only possessed four out of the five gems needed to complete the Fire Emblem. The Awakening ceremony, it had failed. As she was, Lucina did not possess the power needed to destroy Grima.

But that was alright.

Because Naga had whispered to her of another path.

To save the future by returning to the past-!

"Listen," Lucina said, and she was glad that her voice did not waver. "You need to go. Grima wants me. Find my friends, take them to Mount Prism. Their names are-"

"I will not run," Arthur said quietly. He breathed in deeply, he closed his eyes to take in the overwhelming stench of death that permeated the air. He breathed out, he reopened his eyes, and they were like hard jade, set in a focused glare. A glare focused at the Fell Dragon before the pair.

"I thank you for saving my life, but you must go, now." Lucina insisted.

"I will not," Arthur said again. "I know why I am here now. To kill that thing." He raised his sword, pointed the tip unwaveringly at Grima, and the dragon flinched again at the sight of it.

"How do we kill it?" Arthur asked again. Lucina resisted the urge to gape at his confident, nonchalant tone, and for a moment, she envied the man for his composure, in the face of such a horrible creature. The creature that had stolen her parents from her.

The moment passed and she felt ashamed, to be thinking these thoughts about someone who was willing to fight by her side, even at this dire hour. A stranger to be sure, but a stranger that had saved her life.

But it was pointless, in the end. Futile. Grima- Grima couldn't be harmed.

… Couldn't he?

An idea popped into Lucina's head. She glanced at her sword, at its keen edge. Perhaps…

"Falchion," Lucina said quietly, as Grima circled the castle, that horrible head coiling on that sinuous neck. "My sword. It can still hurt him, it might even be able to kill him. If you can give me an opening, then if I can reach his head, perhaps-!"

"You'll have your opening." Arthur twirled his sword in a flourish, tracing golden patterns into the air.

"No. You'll die, Outlander, that's what you'll do." Grima bared his fangs. "I'll melt that little trinket in your hands! I'll chew on your blackened bones, and the bones of the tiny one beside you!"

"Well then. Shall we?" Arthur turned towards her, and Lucina felt her fear ebb away.

"I will not die here. Not today. I will stop Grima. For father. For mother. For everybody."

"Go." Lucina nodded, and the two warriors dodged to the side as the fell beast brought down a mighty paw once again, as Grima roared his displeasure towards the heavens. He roared again as Arthur brought down his sword, leaving a deep steaming gash upon that paw, and then the battle was engaged.

A/N: You know, it's been a while since I've gone on fanfiction dot net.

Fate/Prototype Fragments, Fire Emblem Awakening, game, set, go. Here goes I suppose.