Alright. I’ve had to suffer through some nonsense before. Being a Guardian, it comes with the territory. This “Great Holy Grail War” though? It’s an unprecedented level of bullshit.
I stumble inside the chamber, feeling my own blood trickle down my arm. It’s a small price to pay for sidelining Assassin. With her having more pressing concerns than killing me, I don’t have to worry about this floating goddamned fortress of hers trying to tear me to shreds anymore than it already has. Speaking of which, ow.
Putting aside my injuries, I can see my goal ahead of me, illuminating the cavernous room. This enormous repository of magical energy, I’ve seen it before, but not in this state. In my life, it was tainted by All the World’s Evil, Angra Mainyu. Even without him, this thing is still nothing but a danger to mankind. The Greater Holy Grail, that’s my first target.
As I make my way toward the massive construct, I can sense a presence similar to that of the Maid of Orleans residing within it. This magical energy is a unique variety, only found in saints. I suppose she wasn’t lying then. There is another Ruler here.
Reaching the Grail’s exterior, I summon a blade to my hand and slash through its hide, opening a passageway into its depths. Stepping through the mass of inhuman flesh, I find what I’ve been looking for. In the center of circular room stands a dark skinned young man, luminescent markings covering his bare chest and arms. The red ones, they’re command spells, too many for an average Master to have. The black and white glowing trails around his arms, I can sense primal magecraft and holiness manifest respectively from them. Too few Heroic Spirits could access such opposite forces simultaneously.
The whole image washes over me and I can’t help but laugh. Looking at this guy, it’s like staring into a funhouse mirror. Someone must really have it out for me to be throwing around my color palette so generously. It would seem I’m destined to continue fighting myself in some form or another.
Apparently enraptured in his work, my outburst finally draws the boy’s attention. Standing across from him, it takes me a moment to stifle my hilarity.
“I, aha, must apologize. When I was first summoned here, I didn’t expect to be facing someone so familiar.”
Even before this Servant business, history and mythology always fascinated me, my native land’s history being no exception. That’s why I know of a certain rebellion in the Edo period, led by one apocryphal saint who was supposedly capable of miracles. He was even the villain of an old novel I’m particularly fond of. The being before me now is known as heaven’s messenger, Heroic Spirit Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, my second target.
“I’ll warn you now, saint, attempting to discern my true name will do you no good. As I’ve been summoned, I’m not even a Servant. Even if I were, my name isn’t one you’d find in any legend. No, for now, I’m just a cleaner, sent by the World to tidy up the mess you’ve made. You see, I am the bone of my sword.”
I pour power into my aching right arm and force it to form the yang sword’s twin, leveling the white blade’s tip at my enemy from the distance between us.
“The salvation you’d bring mankind is naught but your own selfish wish. As Heroic Spirit Emiya, I’ll show you what it means to save someone.”
