46 The 9th World Champion Tournament

Warrior Takemikazuchi remained as he was, with his eyes closed as he waited. Such an action would court certain death, but the Heteromorph wasn't bothered or concerned.

He knew that if Shirou wanted to launch a ranged or sneak attack, he would've done so already.

And so he waited until his friend/opponent was ready to meet him once more.

He wasn't too sure how long he stood there before he heard a soft landing and the pattering of footsteps.

Opening his eyes, he found Shirou walking towards him.

"Yo~" He greeted casually. "Enjoy your nap break?"

Shirou smiled. A soft, gentle smile.

A smile that quietly surprised the samurai, one that was completely at ease.

He felt as if there was something different about the Humanoid Player, yet he couldn't put his finger on it.

For lack of a better word, he looked better, more mellowed out than before

"I did, thank you."

Warrior Takemikazuchi shrugged.

"No problem. After all, it only seems fair after the ass-kicking I've been handing out throughout the match." He grinned teasingly.

Shirou chuckled.

"I challenge you! One attack to end it all."

Again, the Nephilim was caught by surprise.

What the magus was proposing was a final clash, one attack each to determine who would win and who would lose.

What gave Warrior Takemikazuchi a quiet pause was the look in his friend's gold and silver eyes.

It wasn't the reckless abandon of a desperate gamble that he saw there, nor the unyielding determination of a stubborn warrior.

No, the only word that came to the Heteromorph's mind was a curious confidence.

In the face of his friend's challenge, there was only one answer he could give.

"I accept!"

Picking up Takemikazuchi MK 8, Warrior Takemikazuchi took a stance.

"Trace… on!"

Prana flowed from his hand, forming his final weapon.

Simple.

That was the first word that popped into Warrior Takemikazuchi's head as he laid eyes on the newly projected weapon. Simple but elegant.

The sword possessed a long and graceful blade that shone with a seamless sheen. Its handle was light, yet violent, and featured a tassel at the end that swayed gently in the breeze. His keen eyes estimated it to be a monohoshizao - a weapon that surpassed the length of his powerful ōdachi by a fractional margin. Like with Tonbokiri, Shirou held the long blade with comfortable poise.

The samurai's lips pursed, racking his mind to try and discern the weapon's identity.

Where the Heteromorph's creations were given robust names, born from his mind, he knew his friend drew his inspiration from real-life history, legends, and myths. With many of his powerful Noble Phantasms, as he called them, bearing the names of old.

The weapon in his hand was oriental in origin, so he narrowed it down to legendary or mythical swords from Japan. He first thought of Murasame, the famed demon sword of the legendary blacksmith, Muramasa, but dismissed it as some hard consideration. The Honjo Masamune was considered next but rejected as well. Another one that came to mind was the Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, but that idea fell flat.

Several more names were tallied off before Warrior Takemikazuchi gave up.

In the end, it didn't matter.

'Because there's nothing my Takemikazuchi MK 8 can't slice!'

The two held their stance as they edged forward, their measured steps echoing through the open expanse.

The brilliant sun shone in the background, providing a splendid backdrop for their final clash. The audience watched with bated breath as the final match reached its conclusion.

Warrior Takemikazuchi was the first to act, bursting forward with his attack.

Shirou waited, meeting this friend for one final time.

The two attacked in unison.

"[Raikiri: Lightning Cutter]!" "[Traced Tsubame Gaeshi: Swallow Reversal (False)]!"

Warrior Takemikazuchi swung his Takemikazuchi MK 8 with a fierce determination that echoed through the very air itself, a maelstrom of sound and fury. Shirou's monohoshizao sliced through the air with graceful yet deadly precision, emanating a harmonious melody that beautifully contrasted with the cacophony of Warrior Takemikazuchi's swing.

Warrior Takemikazuchi watched as their blades closed in.

And just before they met, he saw it happen…

Another man appeared as if superimposing over Shirou.

A long ponytail-haired man garbed in purple faced him.

The world faded around him.

Complete darkness clouded his vision.

A descent of steel.

A flash of purple split the darkness

A single slash.

A deep reverb screeched as if space was expanding and time distorted.

One became three, which fell as one.

…In a single instant.

The two swordsman slide past one another, their blades leaving distortions in the air.

A sharp gasp left Warrior Takemikazuchi's lips, his mind replaying the intensity of what he'd just seen.

Meanwhile, a pained groan escaped Shirou's lips as he fell to one knee. A deep wound stretched diagonally down his body, blood pouring out and dripping onto the ground. Cracks spread across the monohoshizao, shattering into fragile motes of light.

Warrior Takemikazuchi blinks. He glanced down. He was unhurt; he wasn't hit by Shirou's final attack. A peek at his HP bar reinforced this fact, showing that he had taken no damage at all.

Takemikazuchi couldn't help but taunt Shirou with a hint of disbelief, "What's the matter? Don't tell me you missed."

In response, Shirou let out a noise that was both a grunt and a chuckle as he stood back up.

"Who said I was aiming for you, Takemikazuchi-san?" He retorted.

Huh?

Warrior Takemikazuchi's head tilted as he stared at his friend.

If that attack wasn't meant for him, then what…?

Something fell and clinked against the ground.

He looked at the ground. There, a piece of Takemikazuchi MK 8's blade lay.

Broken…

That word echoed through his head — an incomprehensible thought.

His eyes fell to his hand, still holding onto the handle and what remained of the broken blade.

He stared dumbly, his gaze flickering between the two in absolute silence.

Warrior Takemikazuchi slowly, and with great effort, tore his gaze away from his broken masterpiece and back to Shirou, who watched on with a small but cheeky grin.

Tsubame Gaeshi. Swallow Reversal.

Three strikes as one.

It was neither a Noble Phantasm that could be recreated nor was it an ability that could be simply copied.

An impossible slash, born from no great hero or warrior but a simple man. A technique that steps into the realm of True Magic, created from perseverance and dedication to the blade.

Shirou could spend decades training and practicing, and he would have no hope of replicating the attack.

And if, by some miracle, he succeeded in mimicking Sasaki Kojiro's technique, it would be nowhere as refined as the original.

Thus, a workaround was needed. In essence, Shirou cheated, so to speak.

While Unlimited Blade Works possessed the memory of the skill and the history and concepts of the weapon and technique of Assassin, he lacked the means to properly replicate.

Which was where YGGDRASIL came into play.

It was common in video games to have special attacks or flashy moves, such as an unavoidable attack, a multi-slash attack, and so forth. Multi-attack skills were far from what anyone would consider extraordinary. And it was this facet of the game that the magus leveraged to his advantage.

The process involved imbuing the essence of Tsubame Gaeshi, which he gained from the knowledge and history of Unlimited Blade Works, and supplementing it with the game's mechanics to replicate the divine technique.

An endeavor that bore many of failures and dead ends until he'd finally done it:

[Traced Tsubame Gaeshi: Swallow Reversal (False)].

Though he had succeeded in producing a Tsubame Gaeshi, it was far from perfect. A shallow imitation at best and a mockery at worst. Yet he succeeded.

As he once declared to the King of Heroes, "There is no rule that says a fake cannot defeat the original."

In that regard, "There is no rules that says an imitation cannot match the original."

The battlefield quieted - a minute seeped in silence as the two finalists locked eyes.

And then it was broken.

Warrior Takemikazuchi threw back his head and laughed. A hearty laugh filled with incredulousness and mirth, of pride and acceptance, all rolled into one.

"I concede."

He raised his hand, his fingers letting go of the tsuka. The other half of Takemikazuchi MK 8 fell, clattering against the ground as he laid his broken weapon down in defeat.

"You win, old friend." Warrior Takemikazuchi said as both he and the open skies cracked. "This time.."

"But I'll be back. Count on it."

Shirou met his smile.

"I'll be waiting."

Warrior Takemikazuchi shattered into polygons and the world shattered around him.

Flashing lights and roaring sounds welcomed Shirou back to the realm of Midgard.

Above the arena, the tournament bracket proudly displayed Shirou's name and image under the title of [World Champion].

While the roars of the crowd were jubilant, they were also filled with an unmistakable layer of confusion and even anger among them, as they struggled to come to terms with the unexpected outcome of the championship.

Warrior Takemikazuchi's decision to concede the match left many watching unsatisfied. There was no reason for him to quit just like that when he still had the advantage over his opponent, even with a broken weapon.

Those invested in the match, and eagerly awaited the culminating finale of the grand tournament, were left feeling disappointed and underwhelmed by the outcome. Instead of a high-stakes, intense fight between fierce rivals, it felt more like a semi-serious duel between friends. While the fight had plenty of spectacle, the lackluster ending failed to live up to the thrilling, heart-pumping finales of past World Champion Tournaments.

Yet, those who knew Warrior Takemikazuchi well recognized how fitting of an end it was.

If there was one thing that the Bujin held utmost, alongside his friendship with Ainz Ooal Gown and his dedication as a Player and warrior, it was his pride in his weapons.

The Takemikazuchi MK series was his pride and joy.

And to see his latest and arguably his greatest work, which endured and dominated throughout the match until the very end, be shattered like that...

Yet he didn't feel any disappointment or anger. Quite the opposite.

He was rather stoked!

Defeat wasn't the end, but rather a lesson.

Shirou showed him that there was still much he could accomplish, areas where he could learn and refine his skills. Heights he could still reach.

And he will...

'Emiya-san's a man of his word.' Warrior Takemikazuchi mentally chuckled, thinking back to Shirou's words before their fight and how they came true in the end.

When the match ended and he was teleported away, what he didn't expect was to be teleported into the stadium, where Ainz Ooal Gown sat. Then again, he wasn't complaining.

His sudden appearance surprised his guildmates, but it quickly faded as they happily welcomed him back.

His friends immediately crowded around him as much as they could, patting him on the back, giving him words of encouragement, or even just complimenting him for a spectacular fight.

"Really, you had to surrender, Takemikazuchi-san?" Ulbert bemoaned from his seat. "Now we have to deal with two World Champion wannabe heroes in our group. Fantastic…"

"Suck it, goat head! You're just mad that you lost the bet!" Peroroncino crowed, holding up his head smugly.

The World Disaster responded by flipping the bird at the golden archer.

The back and forth banter between the two drew plenty of amusement and chuckles from the rest of the guild.

"Darn, I really thought you had it in the bag." Said Nishikienrai, who was seated next to him. "Who'd thought that Emiya-san would have something like that in his back pocket? There's always next time."

"Indeed." Warrior Takemikazuchi nodded.

Already, his mind was planning his newest project, Takemikazuchi MK 9. His thoughts raced with the possibilities. Perhaps he'll even enlist the help of a certain Paladin of Justice this time around.

The samurai chuckled to himself. It looks like there were now two World Champions on his list to contend with.

For the moment, he put aside the thought. He didn't want to miss the crowning ceremony.

"In the beginning, there were one hundred and twenty-eight warriors. Now, only one remains. He, who has fought and won, victorious amongst them all! Let us now welcome this champion of champions with open arms, as he stands tall and proud in his triumph!"

Shirou stood in the middle of the arena as the colorful array of lights and special effects went off all around him.

Eight pillars of light shot forth into the air, dispersed evenly across the outer edge of the arena, surrounding him.

"The shadow that stalks the dark, an assassin silencing all who trespass his domain and challenge his skill! Fear him, run from him, but you're already dead; the World Champion of Helheim: Duskindal!"

From one of the pillars of light, a great shadow expanded forth from the ground, shooting up into the air. The shroud of darkness writhed and whirled, unfurrowing to reveal a presence.

Duskindal landed, his feathered cloak spreading like great wings and accompanied by a scattering of jet-black feathers. Standing tall, he offered a theatrical bow, a soft chime echoing out.

"WITH TAINTED WINGS, HE TRAVELS THE WAR-TORN SKY! THE ANGEL THAT BRINGS DEATH AND SALVATION, THE GENTLE TORMENT; THE WORLD CHAMPION OF NIFLHEIM: WISHFUL MERCÍ!"

Two spears fell from above, one holy and one cursed. A mass of feathers descended and expanded; a wash of light and beautiful grey feathers filled the air. Retrieving his weapons, Wishful Mercí graced the world with a gentle smile.

"Only those who can defend the weak have any right to call themselves the strongest! For the hearts of man and monster are not divided by good or evil, but by prejudice! The heroic Paladin of the Heteromorph; The World Champion of Álfheim: Touch Me!"

From the pillar, Touch Me appeared, landing and striking his iconic pose. His shield was raised, and at the ready, his sword was poised for action, his cape billowing majestically. Behind him, the kanji for 'Justice has Arrived!' was proudly displayed.

The two friends shared a nod. Though Touch Me's face was obscured by his helm, the magus could feel his proud smile.

"FORGED IN ICE AND TEMPERED BY BATTLE, HER BLADES HAVE NEVER WAVERED! NO MATTER THE ODDS, NO MATTER YOUR BEST, A DUEL WITH HER WILL BE YOUR END! THE BEWITCHING QUEEN OF RIME AND FEAR; THE WORLD CHAMPION OF JOTUNHEIM: BELLADONNA!

The clacking of her heels announced her presence as she stepped forward from the pillar of light. Approaching, her arms fell to her sabres, unsheathing and juggling them. In one fluid motion, she caught and slashed at the air with all four swords, creating a dazzling display, and sheathed them.

"Divine is his claim to all that is pure. Holy is his right to subject all that is corrupt. With the kindness of saints, he saves all; with the pride of knights he smites thy foes; The World Champion of Vanaheim: LichtKing!"

The holy knight appeared, jumping forth from the pillar of light. He landed, his arrival marked by the resounding clang of his heavy armor. He planted his heavy shield firmly in front of him as he struck a valiant pose. His fierce lion's helm, staring out with unyielding determination, seemed to challenge all who dared to defy him.

"HE IS POWER AND RAGE. HE DESIRES ALL THAT THE WORLD HAS TO OFFER AND CRAVES FOR MORE IN ARROGANCE AND GREED. THE MONSTROUS SIN THAT SEEKS ONLY WRATH: THE WORLD CHAMPION OF MÚSPELLSHEIM: LUCIFERNO!"

Unlike the others, there was no flashy introduction or showcase as Luciferno made his appearance. He simply walked forward and took his place, his arms crossed over his chest as he leveled a weighty gaze upon the magus. A look of utter contempt that practically rivaled that of a certain chunni-World Disaster.

"The flight of the valkyries rides high above mortals all. Though her heart was of steel, her soul was righteous beyond flesh. The maiden of steel who rebelled against the heavens with beauty and arrogance alike; The World Champion of Niðavellir: ShikiHime!"

A large mechanical axe fell, splitting the ground. A rush of dazzling white and blue hard light feathers plunged from above, declaring her presence. Touching down, she seized her trusty weapon and brandished it in an impressive show, before resting it casually on her shoulder. The Hime ran her fingers through her brightly colored hair, flicking it back with a playful yet haughty air.

"HIS MOUTH IS SILENT; FOR HIS FISTS CONVEY HIS THOUGHTS! HIS BODY IS TEMPERED, HIS SPIRIT IS FREE, AND HIS WORLD IS HIS TO COMMAND! SUNDER THE EARTH, SCORCH THE LANDS, DROWN THE SEAS, AND DIM THE SKIES, SAGE OF THE ELEMENTS; THE WORLD CHAMPION OF ASGARD: ELEMENTUM V!"

Elementum V strode forward, his arms and legs showing off a few martial katas. His floating orbs dazzled in a display of the elements with each move. Taking his place, his katas ended with his hands in the palm-hold fist salute as he offered the magus a respectful bow.

The noise from the audience grew, reaching near-unparalleled heights. At last, all nine World Champions were gathered.

"Congratulations, Emiya-san." Said Touch Me, walking forward. "It was a splendid match."

Before Shirou could reply, he felt a hand rest against his shoulder.

"Nice work out there!"

He turned, finding Duskindal by his side, casually leaning into him.

"I knew you'd win this whole shindig! I never doubted you for a second! And if anyone says otherwise, they're lying!"

This earned scoffs and eye rolls from the others.

"Oi! If you're free after this, hit me up. I want a piece of ya'." ShikiHime stepped up and declared bluntly, sporting a challenging grin.

"Well, would you look at that? Hime-chan's staking her claim already." LichtKing teased, lightly elbowing Touch Me, who chuckled.

The metal maiden whirled around. Although it was impossible to tell, all could imagine the hint of a slight blush spreading across her cheek.

"Not like that, you idiot!" She yelped. "Get your mind out of the gutters!"

"I don't know…" Duskindal said, removing himself from Shirou and stroking his chin contemplatively. "You were pretty focused on him come the semi-finals and afterward."

"Poor Warrior Takemikazuchi-san." LichtKing tsked, shaking his head ruefully alongside Duskindal. "Hime-chan abandoned him for the next best thing, just like that."

ShikiHime huffed, pouting as her feet stomped on the ground in anger.

"Calm yourself, ShikiHime-san." Belladonna said, coming to her fellow female World Champion side. "You'll only be giving these petulant fools the reactions they crave." She scoffed, turning her nose to the insufferable assassin and knight.

"Now, now. None of that. Let's not fight, especially on such a momentous occasion." Wishful Mercí intermediated. "After all, we wouldn't want to give our new friend here the wrong first impression."

The grey Aerosphere offered the magus a condolent nod.

Elementum V said nothing, displaying a screen with emoticons on it and offering the magus a handshake, which he took.

Shirou's gaze fell on each of the World Champions. He'll fully admit that he wasn't quite sure what to expect, but they were pleasant and welcoming enough. Banter and compliments flowed easily from them, along with other platitudes, as they welcomed him into their ranks.

Well, almost everyone.

From the corner of his eyes, he spied Luciferno, sullen and silent on the side. Standing there, he radiated an aura of thinly veiled contempt and impatience.

Then again, from what Touch Me shared and what he'd heard of the World Champion, he didn't consider his lack of acquaintance a tragedy.

"EVERYONE! LET'S HEAR IT FOR THE FINAL WORLD CHAMPION — THE WORLD CHAMPION OF MIDGARD: EMIYAAA—!"

"A moment, please." A voice said, loud and clear over the noise, cutting off Bob's screaming announcement.

The crowd stirred. Many voices rose, and he could see the audience pointing and gasping at something.

Looking up, he found none other than Zelretch.

He floated in the air of the arena, looking down on Shirou and the other World Champions.

"I ask of you, what is a World Champion?"

Zelretch's sudden question left many wondering.

"Huh, was this on the itinerary or something?" Shirou heard Duskindal whisper aloud.

"I don't think any of this is planned…" Replied LichtKing. "Then again, you never know when it comes to the shitty devs."

Noises of agreement came up from the other World Champions.

Touch Me and Shirou shared a look, with the former being a questioning glance, while the latter shook his head.

"In the beginning, the World Tree, Yggdrasil, possessed countless magnificent leaves. Each was a tapestry of wonder and power. And then it came. Out of the great void beyond the boundaries of the realms, a beast emerged, a gnawing hunger that knew no bounds. The Scourge of Yggdrasil. The Devourer of Worlds. The Great Devourer shook the World Tree to its core. It plundered Yggdrasil, consuming the leaves of the World Tree one by one, snuffing out its wonder. Once, there were many, and now only nine remain." Zelretch monologues.

It took Shirou a moment to recognize why it sounded familiar.

He was describing the lore of YGGDRASIL. The fragmented remnants of the leaves became the World Items in the game, while the remaining nine whole leaves became the nine playable realms.

"Asgard, Álfheim, Vanaheim, Niðavellir, Jötunheim, Niflheim, Helheim, Múspellsheim, and finally, Midgard. Nine realms. Nine warriors. Nine Players… At last, all nine chosen Champions have gathered at last."

The CEO of Kaleidoscope Industry gazed down at the nine Players.

"The cunning and the prideful."

His eyes fell on Duskindal and Belladonna, with the Demi-Human assassin crossing his arms coolly while the Elven duelist held her head regally.

"The stalwart and the silent."

Next were LichtKing and Elementum. The golden knight puffed out his chest, while the elementalist martial artist simply nodded.

"The boastful and the skilled."

Up next were ShikiHime and Wishful Mercí. The metal maiden huffed, a finger twirling one of her colorful twin-tails, while the grey angel smiled placidly.

"The righteous and the arrogant."

After them were Touch Me and Luciferno. The heroic paladin stood tall and proud, while the demon of disaster glared up at the CEO, defiant.

"And especially the stubborn."

Zelretch's crimson gaze fell onto Shirou and the two locked eyes.

"Through trials and tribulations, you nine stand here now. And now, for one final trial."

Though he was speaking to the whole group, it felt as though he was speaking solely to Shirou.

His hand flourished out, brandishing a weapon. It was a sword unlike any other, featuring a blade made of a crystallized shard. Lights bounced off the crystalline blade, reflecting rays of gleaming rainbow light.

Shirou's eyes widened, his shoulders jolting as his body locked up.

"Emiya-san?" Touch Me called out, catching his friend's reaction.

The Jeweled Sword glowed, captivating all.

With a simple swing, a radiant wave of luminosity traveled and dispersed across the ring, illuminating the entire arena in a spectacular array of kaleidoscopic hues.

Collectively, nine pairs of eyes widened, and before any of them could react, they disappeared in a blinding flash of light that consumed the entire stadium.

"Ahh! Frick, that stings!" Sigfrida moaned, rubbing her eyes with her hands.

Like many others in the stadium, she was caught off guard by the sudden, blinding flash of light. It was like a flashbang had gone off right in their faces.

"You alright, babe?" Peroroncino hugged her side, his hand rubbing her back with gentle ministrations.

"Yea, give me a few secs." She said, blinking away the white spots.

"I... this is... um... Well, folks, it seems that there's more to the show! A moment please while we confirm the next event!" The voice of Sam assured, though he too was equally bewildered as everyone else.

It seems that the commentators too were stumped and surprised by Zelretch's action, which left many wondering what was to come next.

"Well, I can safely say I did not see that coming." Tabula remarked.

"I don't think anyone did. Including the tournament organizers." Herohero snorted. "He really is the king of the shitty devs."

"Still, to pull something like this. Talk about random." Wish III said.

"I mean, now's the best time if ever. When's the next time you're going to see all nine World Champions together?" Bukubukuchagama put out there.

"It would make sense that they would try something innovative or interesting." Added Tabula.

"The question is, just what exactly does the shitty bastard have in mind that would involve all nine World Champions." Ulbert wondered with a grunt, crossing his arms.

Everyone in the stadium, including Ainz Ooal Gown, speculated amongst themselves regarding the spontaneous turn of events.

Amidst all the confusion, there was one who had a different reaction.

"Momon-kun, are you alright?"

Destana noticed how Momonga sat there, stock still. He said nothing, sitting there in foreboding silence.

The others took notice of their Guildmaster's quietness and the worry emanating from his girlfriend.

"I don't know..." He whispered, and the voices of his guildmates ceased as their attention focused solely on the Overlord.

"I have a bad feeling about this..."

Zelretch, with a wave of his hand, called upon a throne-like chair. He sat down on it comfortably, seemingly unperturbed by the confusion unfolding around him in the stadium. With another wave of his hand, numerous holographic screens materialized in the air, displaying footage of where the nine World Champions had been transported.

[—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—]

One second, they were in the stadium; the next, all nine of them appeared elsewhere.

They appeared to be in the woods, standing amidst a dense thicket of trees. The warm sun was lazily shining overhead, casting intermittent beams of light through the leaves of the forest, illuminating the surroundings with a soft glow.

"What the hell is going on?" Luciferno growled, speaking up for the first time.

A question that was shared by the rest as they looked around, taking in their new surroundings.

"Oh, great! Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic!" ShikiHime shouted, making her displeasure clear.

"Language, young lady." Wishful Mercí suitably admonished.

"No offense, Mercí-san, but there's a time and place for everything. Right now, I think I'm well within my rights to be pissed! Leave it to the shitty devs to pull shit like this." ShikiHime clicked her tongue, with the likes of Duskindal and LichtKing nodding and echoing the sentiment.

"Should we be surprised by this point?" Elementum V said/typed, showing a deadpanned emoticon with a string of other emoticons.

"I am more concerned regarding whatever 'trial' that he spoke of." Remarked Belladonna. Her hands fell to her blades, her sharp gaze scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble.

While everyone was coming to grips with the situation, there was one who had a vastly different reaction.

"Emiya-san?" Touch Me called out to his guildmate once more.

Shirou had his back turned to the Heteromorphic Player, his body rigid and still since the arena.

As his eyes took in the surroundings, he was gripped with familiarity, spurring his feet into action as the paladin reached out to him.

"E-emiya-san?!" Touch Me's surprised voice drew the attention of the others as they watched Shirou take off.

The World Champion of Álfheim quickly gave chase.

"Tha' hell?" LichtKing muttered. "Oi, Touch Me-san, Emiya-san! Where're you guys going?!"

No response.

The remaining World Champions shared a look, and as one, they followed after the two with varying degrees of haste.

Shirou ran and ran, and despite the activity being far from laborious, he was panting, his heart beating rapidly against his chest.

The trees slowly parted as the edge of the forest approached. Ahead of him, a veil of blinding light concealed what was on the other side. Reaching the end, he stepped out of the woods and was treated to a sight he never once thought he would see again.

His legs slowed, coming to a stop as he stood there, transfixed.

"Emiya-san!"

A few seconds later, Touch Me arrived.

"What has gotten into you?" His hand clasped his guildmate's shoulder.

Shirou slowly turned around.

Touch Me was taken aback by the look on his friend's face. So many flickering emotions passed that it was difficult to tell what exactly he was feeling, and yet, at the same time, he understood.

The other World Champions caught up, with Luciferno being the last, walking at his casual, uninterested pace.

"Woah." Duskindal whistled. "Now that's quite the view."

A sentiment shared by the others as they took in the view. A picturesque town lay sprawled out before their eyes, its charming streets and buildings interwoven with the breathtaking coastal view of the ocean. The town was surrounded by lush greenery and natural beauty, punctuated with urban and suburban landscapes that added to its distinctive charm.

"I wonder where we might be." Wishful Mercí wondered aloud. A rhetorical question, but one that was answered nonetheless.

"Fuyuki City…"

Everyone turned to look at Shirou.

Even after all these years, he remembered it as clearly as yesterday.

He even knew where exactly they were.

They were on the outskirts of the city, at the edge of the Einzbern Forest, which granted a clear and full view over Fuyuki City in all its beauty.

To his left, he spotted the towering Mount Enzo and its surroundings. Despite the distance, he could see the mountain and the temple perched atop it. His eyes then wandered to the quaint and suburban area of Miyama Town, which sprawled out in different districts. He could even make out the lush greenery of Fuyuki Park and Homurahara Academy. The sight of them brought a rush of memories and a wave of emotional nostalgia, both the good times and the sad times that he had experienced.

Even from where he was, the Mion River that divided Fuyuki City into two halves sparkled. The clear blue water flowed seamlessly, connecting the river to the port and vast ocean. He then fixed his gaze on the Great Fukuyi Bridge that linked the two wayward sections of the city. Even from such a distance, the bridge remained as magnificent as he always remembered it to be.

As he looked to his right, he could see a breathtaking view of the vast Shinto Town district of Fuyuki City, with its towering skyscrapers and countless buildings that seemed to stretch on forever. Despite the distance, he could still make out the intricate details of the modern architecture that symbolized the city's progress and development. If he narrowed his eyes, he could even discern the solemnity of the cemetery and that of the church that stood on the other side.

His eyes grew wet and he blinked away the tears.

Shirou never thought he would see his beautiful hometown again, except for fleeting glimpses in his dreams or dredges from memories.

"Emiya-san..." Touch Me came to his side. "Are you, okay?"

Shirou opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Elementum V's text screen appeared, grabbing everyone's attention.

"Guys, we got company." It read.

The World Champion of Asgard raised his fists and took a marital stance, his hooded head staring back into the thick forest.

Seeing this, the others followed suit, brandishing their weapons and taking their stances in preparation.

Luciferno remained off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, unconcerned and standoffish.

At first, there was nothing. But gradually, their ears twitched, catching a sound that grew louder. The heavy clanking of footsteps, and it coming their way.

Slowly, the vague form of a figure could be made out from the murky depths of the woods.

As the silhouette sharpened and took on a clearer shape, an inexplicable sensation pressed against the barriers of the magus's mind.

His eyes narrowed, his brows furrowed and his face scrunched up.

And as the figure drew closer, it grew all the more recognizable.

Shirou's heterochromatic eyes slowly widened in realization as the mysterious individual stepped out of the veil of trees and into the light.

His breath hitched, and his body trembled minutely.

In a breathless whisper, he uttered her name, "Saber..."

Shirou would recognize her armor and shape anywhere, even if an eternity had passed. Even if it had been blackened and twisted into something else.

The sleek armored dress was once a majestic set of grace and beauty that evoked the image of a king, with its vibrant and proud colors of elegant silver and brilliant blue. It was a symbol of honor, valor, and nobility, fit for the Once and Future King.

But no more. In its place was something else.

Different.

Blackened…

̶̷̸̺̝͍̒̚͠C̶̷̸̹̮̖̯͝͠o̴̷̷͍̗̬̓͋̅r̵̷̸̥͔͔͙̈́͆̕͠ŗ̴̷̷̭̟̂́u̴̷̴͓͖͑͝p̶̷̸̧͚͙̰̎̀͆ẗ̴̷̷̼̤͚̎̃e̸̷̸̛͙̹̫̓͌͊d̶̷̸͇̍̚͜...

The armor stood in contrast to everything it once was. Saber was clad in a mass of heavy blackened steel that seemed to absorb all light, leaving it as dark a starless night. Ominous streaks of deep scarlet pulsate across the armor's surface, akin to tattoos embossed upon it. The armor possessed sharp angles, with taloned gauntlets and clawed boots that gave off an aggressive appearance. The chest plate especially was designed to accommodate her modest chest. A majestic stygian mantle flowed from the wearer's shoulders, creating an impression of a great shadow worthy of a king. The draconic helm concealed the wearer's face. It was sharp and angular, with two golden orbs peering from the visor.

The sounds of a click and clink echoed, and the helm split and parted to reveal the identity of the black knight.

Shirou's vision blurred.

"I am Saber, your Servant… I ask you… Are you my Master?"

A memory of a life long ago took over, and just as quickly as it flashed by, it faded away.

In its wake, a hauntingly beautiful face emerged, staring intently back at them - at him - so familiar and yet so different.

Her eternally youthful remained but bore the weight of an indescribable heaviness that made her look older than her years. Gone were her familiar blonde locks, replaced by pale hair that shimmered like moonlight, fashioned in her signature braid and bun. Her complexion, once fair, had been transformed into a porcelain-like snow-white, much like that of his half-sister, Illya. Scarlet streaks, no different from the ones on her armor, spread across the tapestry of her pale skin, pulsating like veins.

However, it was her eyes that gripped him.

Her eyes, which once sparkled with a radiant emerald glow of honor and stoicism, were gone. Empty, golden-pale eyes stared back as if peering into his soul.

Her gaze was a cold, dead stare, with barely any light reaching into her. Her face was devoid of any emotion, only detached indifference.

Shirou felt something within him shudder at the soulless expression.

The sensation that pressed against his mind grew stronger, and his gaze grew heavy, drawn downward.

In her hand, she held the sword of legend, the symbol of her kingship — the beautiful and physical actualization of her ideals. The Divine Construct, the sword that amplifies: The Sword of Promised Victory.

Excalib̴̷̸̵̸̷̴̷̸̷̷̵̸̷̶̵̷̷̶̷̷̶̷̶̸̷̸̷̷̴̷̷̷̵̷̶̸̷̸̸̷̷͚͇͒̅̄̂̈́̚ȕ̶̷̶̴̴̷̸̷̶̷̷̵̵̷̴̴̷̸̵̷̴̷̷̴̷̷̶̷̷̴̸̷̶̸̷̷̸̷̴̦̟̩̲̲̦́̍ṛ̷̷̷̶̸̷̴̷̷̷̵̸̷̷̶̸̷̶̷̷̵̴̷̷̷̷̶̸̷̸̸̷̷̴̷̶̨͈̲̘̇̈͂r̵̷̷…̷̷̷̴̴̷̵̷̴̷̷̴̶̷̷̴̷̴̶̷̸̵̷̴̷̷̴̸̷̶̸̷̸̴̷̴̶̷̵̨̫̳̤̖͛̎̉M̵̷̵̶̴̷̸̷̷̷̷̸̸̷̷̵̷̷̶̷̶̸̷̴̷̷̷̵̷̴̸̷̵̴̷̵̷̷̸̵̷̷̗͎̻̞͓̖̏̚͜ǒ̸̷̶̷̴̷̶̷̶̷̶̷̸̷̶̵̷̸̵̷̴̵̷̸̷̷̶̷̷̷̵̷̵̵̷̸̴̷̷̜͇̦̟͎̠̬͛r̵̷̶̴̸̷̸̷̷̷̸̷̴̷̷̸̷̸̶̷̷̵̷̷̸̷̴̵̷̴̵̷̴̵̷̸̶̷̶̶̷̸̵̷̵̴̷̶̸̷̸̷̷̶̸̷̴̢̺̩̰̩̮̓̑̈́͑̅̚͜g̴̷̸̵̷̷̶̷̴̷̵̵̵̷̸̶̷̵̷̷̷̸̷̵̵̷̸̶̷̵̷̷̸̸̷̶̶̷̶̵̷̶̴̷̸̷̷̴̲̪̘̜̝͂͆̇͗̽͝a̸̷̸̷̷̷̸̷̶̷̶̵̵̷̸̸̷̶̶̷̷̷̷̵̵̷̵̵̷̴̵̷̵̶̷̵̷̷̶̶̷̸͉͙̫̥̲̎̊̃͆n̸̷̶̴̵̷̶̷̷̷̷̴̸̷̸̸̷̸̵̷̸̶̷̶̵̷̷̷̷̵̶̷̸̵̷̸̸̷̸̵̷̷̵̷̶̖̜͍̩̻̓̄̋́͘

An excruciating sensation that could only be described as a screwdriver being jammed straight into his eye and stabbing his brain overwhelmed him.

...

A̸͕̐̊͝ļ̷̘̮̱̤͎͍̰̯̫͆̇L̷̞̣̀̀̉͋͝ ̸̛͓̺̖̩̱͚̒o̴̺̜͇̙͋̊̅̉͋̑̊͑͒͜͝F̵̢̨̨̖̭̖̲̬̝̀͛̈́̅͛̓͑̈́́ ̵̝̰̪̮͙̲̤̜̜̤̾͐̚T̶̢͍̤͎͒͑h̸̞̥̺̲͖͍̐Ẽ̷͔̤̽̽͗̀̔͠ ̴͓̩̬͔̜̂͐̈́͆̈́W̴̱̪̫̌́̆̒̈̓͝o̸̡͈͉̲̤͙͆͆̆̈̓̈͒͊̐͝Ŗ̴̢̢̤̮͚̟̻̣̏̓̾͗̀l̸̢̢̞̜͉͇̯̝̥̬̐̓Ď̵͕̭̻͍̩̮̣̿̓̂̊̈́'̷̛̗̽́̈́́́S̶̡̖̺̲̋̒̅̉̂́̎̓̕ ̷̨̳̬̖̼̍̾͌͌͛̓͘͝É̶̗̝͉̲̩̾̔̂̎͜v̴̛͇̎̿̇̓̒̾͜͠͝I̷̡̧̡̬͔͈̩̙̿̈͗́͑̑̽ļ̶̙̰̱͐̀

.̷̼̺̳̯̌̐̕.̸̱̔͝.̸̞͍̰͚͈̈́́̔́.̵̨̣̍͆̓.̷̩͎̱̈́̆͐̂͛.̷̻͔̞̝̾̏̓̿͆.̶̨̘̫̏.̶̠͓̝͔͎̽.̴͕͖̝̉́̎.̵̮̝͚̎͆̕.̸̬͎̙̰͆.̷̩̱̝̞̩̾͛͊̒.̸̺̖͕͔̬̀̔̂͒͝

Â̵̳̂̊̑͝N̴͈̈́͗ĝ̸͍͗̈ͅR̵̢͇̤͍̺̀̚Á̷̬̲̆̃̍̚ ̸̦͎͎̅M̴̮̋̑̒͜͝ͅḁ̶͙̟̼̺̈́̓I̴̠̓Ň̶̘̤̲̀͠y̸̪̖̥͌Û̴̫̚

.̷̟̝̳̎͌.̶̣̪̾̇̂.̵͓̾͗̉̉̈́̐̉́̀.̴̰͕́̊͌̚͠.̸͓͎̭̰̝͇͂͂́̓͜.̴̭̘͉̻̩̫̽̊͜.̶̳̘̠͌̆̑͂̒̈́͠͝͝.̸̛̖̟̬̠̱̈̐͛̔̈́͗̔̒͝.̷̡͔̩͈̯̝͇̟̣͋.̶̨͙͇̳̻̀̍̎͗̓̑̈́͜͠.̸̺̘̰̪̓͜.̴̛̛̗̠͈͕̾̆̒̅̽̌͝.̶͙͇̳͕̻̈́̏̑̀͝.̷̹̪͓̀̀͊̾̎̕͜.̴͈͍̬̞̰̳̩̩̭̑͐͌̀.̸̢̧̧̯̒̍͛̕.̸̧̧̭̱͎̱̯̥̣̑

F҉̸҉̕҉́҉̅҉̏҉̂҉̣҉̡҉̞҉A҉̷҉̽҉̼҉̜҉̤҉̝҉̲҉I҉̷҉̈́҉̌҉̑҉̈́҉̛҉̧҉͕҉̯҉̦҉̨҉l҉̶҉̀҉̍҉́҉̯҉͖҉͇҉͖҉̧҉U҉̵҉̄҉́҉͠҉̋҉͊҉̬҉̞҉̩҉̝҉R҉̸҉̓҉̔҉̔҉̄҉̆҉̩҉̘҉e҉̸҉̔҉̇҉̹҉

.̷̟̝̳̎͌.̶̣̪̾̇̂.̵͓̾͗̉̉̈́̐̉́̀.̴̰͕́̊͌̚͠.̸͓͎̭̰̝͇͂͂́̓͜.̴̭̘͉̻̩̫̽̊͜.̶̳̘̠͌̆̑͂̒̈́͠͝͝.̸̛̖̟̬̠̱̈̐͛̔̈́͗̔̒͝.̷̡͔̩͈̯̝͇̟̣͋.̶̨͙͇̳̻̀̍̎͗̓̑̈́͜͠.̸̺̘̰̪̓͜.̴̛̛̗̠͈͕̾̆̒̅̽̌͝.̶͙͇̳͕̻̈́̏̑̀͝.̷̹̪͓̀̀͊̾̎̕͜.̴͈͍̬̞̰̳̩̩̭̑͐͌̀.̸̢̧̧̯̒̍͛̕.̷̟̝̳̎͌.̶̣̪̾̇̂.̵͓̾͗̉̉̈́̐̉́̀.̴̰͕́̊͌̚͠.̸͓͎̭̰̝͇͂͂́̓͜.̴̭̘͉̻̩̫̽̊͜.̶̳̘̠͌̆̑͂̒̈́͠͝͝.̸̛̖̟̬̠̱̈̐͛̔̈́͗̔̒͝.̷̡͔̩͈̯̝͇̟̣͋.̶̨͙͇̳̻̀̍̎͗̓̑̈́͜͠.̸̺̘̰̪̓͜.̴̛̛̗̠͈͕̾̆̒̅̽̌͝.̶͙͇̳͕̻̈́̏̑̀͝.̷̹̪͓̀̀͊̾̎̕͜.̴͈͍̬̞̰̳̩̩̭̑͐͌̀.̸̢̧̧̯̒̍͛̕.̸̧̧̭̱͎̱̯̥̣̑.̸̧̧̭̱͎̱̯̥̣̑

.̴̲͈̮͒̓́͛.̷͙̏̀ͅH̵̖̏̇͆̌e̷̟̖̱̥͕̾̈́r̴̟͚̹̠̺̿̀̾̅O̷͚͉̠̟̰̊̔̈.̷͛̏͜.̶̨̛̹̬̪̎̅̌̊.̷̗͖̱̬̉͝

d̴̸̴̵̴̷̵̷̼̻̩̬̗ͭ͠E̵̴̷̵̴̶̵̸̸̷̤͚̙͓͗ͪ̄̉͞A̴̶̵̸̶̸̸̴̷̵̛̱͕̬̞͓͇͒͗t̴̸̶̴ͧͪ̈҉̸̶̵̶̵̵̷̸̘̭͎̹̦̤͙Ḩ̴̷̵̸̸̴̶̸̷̗͉̫̥̜̏̆

.̷̟̝̳̎͌.̶̣̪̾̇̂.̵͓̾͗̉̉̈́̐̉́̀.̴̰͕́̊͌̚͠.̸͓͎̭̰̝͇͂͂́̓͜.̴̭̘͉̻̩̫̽̊͜.̶̳̘̠͌̆̑͂̒̈́͠͝͝.̸̛̖̟̬̠̱̈̐͛̔̈́͗̔̒͝.̷̡͔̩͈̯̝͇̟̣͋.̶̨͙͇̳̻̀̍̎͗̓̑̈́͜͠.̸̺̘̰̪̓͜.̴̛̛̗̠͈͕̾̆̒̅̽̌͝.̶͙͇̳͕̻̈́̏̑̀͝.̷̹̪͓̀̀͊̾̎̕͜.̴͈͍̬̞̰̳̩̩̭̑͐͌̀.̸̢̧̧̯̒̍͛̕.̸̧̧̭̱͎̱̯̥̣̑

̴̷̸̫̲̤͍͗͑̾͊͐̅̉̕b̶̷̵͉̙̄̈̀͌͗̇Ȍ̷̷̷̼͔̙͕̃͂̕r̷̷̸̡͓̯̘̞̼̿͐̂͊͠ķ̸̷̵̙͈̗̌͋̉͘E̸̷̸̥̰̙͇͓̜͑́̉̾̄N̵̷̸̠̘̘̖̍̄ ̴̷̷̭̞̠̲̻̆̎́̍̃̃͑̚P̴̷̷̡̙̭̘͍̙̾͊͌̾͌ͅr̶̷̷̠͎̫̠̪̊̇̐͐̇ò̶̷̴̱̻̺̰͕͎̞̈͋͜M̷̷̵̛͍͚̱̪͍͉̻͔͆̚̚Ḯ̵̷̵̮̰͓͉͗̐̔̽͊͑̕s̸̷̸̨͎̪̮̺̤͕͚̅̉̀̀Ę̵̷̶̛̛̳̦͚̲̜͑̇̌͠

.̷̼̺̳̯̌̐̕.̸̱̔͝.̸̞͍̰͚͈̈́́̔́.̵̨̣̍͆̓.̷̩͎̱̈́̆͐̂͛.̷̻͔̞̝̾̏̓̿͆.̶̨̘̫̏.̶̠͓̝͔͎̽.̴͕͖̝̉́̎.̵̮̝͚̎͆̕.̸̬͎̙̰͆.̷̩̱̝̞̩̾͛͊̒.̷̟̝̳̎͌.̶̣̪̾̇̂.̵͓̾͗̉̉̈́̐̉́̀.̴̰͕́̊͌̚͠.̸͓͎̭̰̝͇͂͂́̓͜.̴̭̘͉̻̩̫̽̊͜.̶̳̘̠͌̆̑͂̒̈́͠͝͝.̸̛̖̟̬̠̱̈̐͛̔̈́͗̔̒͝.̷̡͔̩͈̯̝͇̟̣͋.̶̨͙͇̳̻̀̍̎͗̓̑̈́͜͠.̸̺̘̰̪̓͜.̴̛̛̗̠͈͕̾̆̒̅̽̌͝.̶͙͇̳͕̻̈́̏̑̀͝.̷̹̪͓̀̀͊̾̎̕͜.̴͈͍̬̞̰̳̩̩̭̑͐͌̀.̸̢̧̧̯̒̍͛̕.̸̧̧̭̱͎̱̯̥̣̑

̷̴̪͈̎̀"̷̷̴̱͔͚̼̲̦̙͈̈́̅̀̐͒̂̀̐̈́Y̶̷̴̨̤̱͇͙̰̝͈̖͔͆̇̃̔̑̔̔̅̽̃̿͗͘͜͠͠͝Ǫ̶̷̸͈͔̬͚̙̩̳͔̊̏͊̄̄̑̏͋̂̂͗͘͜͝ų̵̷̴̢̧̨̛͕̟͍͚̯̦̼̬̲̼̭͂͂̄͌̊͆͂͘.̴̷̷̡̳͖͇̜̱̩̯̺͖̹̺̥͈͎̄͋̎̇͌͒̒̃̄̀́̑͆͠.̵̷̴̺̫̳͇̻̥̤͎̣͙̮̞̞͑̈́̀̔́̑̀͋̑͗͐̒.̷̷̶̡̛̹̘͖͔͉̙̗̞̼̲̻͉̯̲̺͑̆͑̓̄͒͂̕ ̶̷̴̢̡̻̺̪̖̗̮̝͕̬̜͗̏̋̾͆̒̋͐͝ć̸̷̷̨̯̭̬̯̯͕͇̂͋̀̍̊̋̓͘͜͠͝o̶̷̶̳̲͖̙͖̫̫̐̀̾̋͆̿́̀͆͘̚̕͜ú̵̷̷̫̠͔͎̖̏̒̈́̏̽̒̽͊͜L̸̷̶̨̢̹̦̫̏̽̎͆̊̽ͅD̵̷̷̢̙̻͖̜̬͙͚̙̮̱͒͒͂̓̽́͒̅̇̀͊̈́͘ň̶̷̷̨̛̩͍̹̭̭̞̯̦͓͇̥͉̽̓̃̋̃̄́̐̀̐̓̓̾ͅ'̸̷̶̡̢̧̥̹̗̻̠̲͖̳̩̹̋͐͐̌̽͐̚ţ̶̷̶̧̢̢͖͍̫̝̥̝͂̿̍̈̿͋̓̈́͆̇̚͘͝.̵̷̸̡̩̳̝̦̳̼̲̭̍̋̇̃͗̄.̸̷̸̨̥̮͔̊̀͂́̍͊̂͝.̸̷̷̨̡̩̠̯̭̻̮̈́̏̎̎͂̀̿̇̉͘͠͝ ̶̷̶̨̧̗͈̪̮̮̹͎̖͎̞̫̝̻͌̋̂̀̅̓̄̽̐̾̓̊̓̚͜͠s̴̷̵̰̠͔̲̖̜̲͉̳͚̬͔͗̓͊͗͐̅̔͌̇͛͘Ã̷̷̸͇̤̝̬͓̱̏̑̆͠V̴̷̸̱̰̻͇̳͕̭͕͗̏̾̾̃̂e̷̷̴̖̱͖̣͈̝̖͈̾̏̎̀̆̈́͌͑̋͘͜͝͠ͅ ̷̷̴̢̘̩̘̣̺̠̼̘̹͇͔͚͈͗̓̓̈́̈́̑̌̿͘̚͘͠ṁ̷̷̸̢̟̣̦͈̟̙̟̭̥̳͂͋̈́͑͜Ȩ̶̷̷̨̨͙͉͉̝͙̜͖͍̦̉̑̌͂̂̀̐̏̅̚͘͘͜͜͠ͅ.̸̷̶̢̠̦̪̻͓̥͚͎͕̜̦̐͆͐͂̎̐̆͆͊̌͠.̶̷̵̰͖̺̻̟̺̣̤̤̯̰̙͕̺̾̄̐͊̓̋̐̅͒̓̊͠ͅ.̴̷̶̨̨̲̙̞͔̜̟̦͎͙̥̿͗̈̃̅͝"̴̷̴̡̧̢̛̩̗̮̰̺̳̗̬͇̋̎̀̈́̀̐́̊̒̐͘͜

.̸̢̧̧̯̒̍͛̕.̸̧̧̭̱͎̱̯̥̣̑.̷̼̺̳̯̌̐̕.̸̱̔͝.̸̞͍̰͚͈̈́́̔́.̵̨̣̍͆̓.̷̩͎̱̈́̆͐̂͛.̷̻͔̞̝̾̏̓̿͆.̶̨̘̫̏.̶̠͓̝͔͎̽.̴͕͖̝̉́̎.̵̮̝͚̎͆̕.̸̬͎̙̰͆.̷̩̱̝̞̩̾͛͊̒.̸̺̖͕͔̬̀̔̂͒͝.̷̟̝̳̎͌.̶̣̪̾̇̂.̵͓̾͗̉̉̈́̐̉́̀.̴̰͕́̊͌̚͠.̸͓͎̭̰̝͇͂͂́̓͜.̴̭̘͉̻̩̫̽̊͜.̶̳̘̠͌̆̑͂̒̈́͠͝͝.̸̛̖̟̬̠̱̈̐͛̔̈́͗̔̒͝.̷̡͔̩͈̯̝͇̟̣͋.̶̨͙͇̳̻̀̍̎͗̓̑̈́͜͠.̸̺̘̰̪̓͜.̴̛̛̗̠͈͕̾̆̒̅̽̌͝.̶͙͇̳͕̻̈́̏̑̀͝.̷̹̪͓̀̀͊̾̎̕͜.̴͈͍̬̞̰̳̩̩̭̑͐͌̀.̸̢̧̧̯̒̍͛̕.̸̧̧̭̱͎̱̯̥̣̑.̷̟̝̳̎͌.̶̣̪̾̇̂.̵͓̾͗̉̉̈́̐̉́̀.̴̰͕́̊͌̚͠.̸͓͎̭̰̝͇͂͂́̓͜.̴̭̘͉̻̩̫̽̊͜.̶̳̘̠͌̆̑͂̒̈́͠͝͝.̸̛̖̟̬̠̱̈̐͛̔̈́͗̔̒͝.̷̡͔̩͈̯̝͇̟̣͋.̶̨͙͇̳̻̀̍̎͗̓̑̈́͜͠.̸̺̘̰̪̓͜.̴̛̛̗̠͈͕̾̆̒̅̽̌͝.̶͙͇̳͕̻̈́̏̑̀͝.̷̹̪͓̀̀͊̾̎̕͜.̴͈͍̬̞̰̳̩̩̭̑͐͌̀.̸̢̧̧̯̒̍͛̕.̸̧̧̭̱͎̱̯̥̣̑

S҉̶҉̇҉̋҉̣҉̱҉͕҉͕҉̗҉O҉̷҉̐҉̑҉̑҉̈́҉̊҉͑҉̦҉̪҉̝҉̗҉̦҉͇҉͔҉͚҉̘҉̳҉͜҉m҉̵҉̎҉̓҉̔҉́҉̬҉͈҉̬҉͕҉̺҉̪҉̖҉E҉̶҉̚҉̏҉̂҉͠҉͖҉ͅ҉̣҉ͅ҉̬҉͙҉̖҉͍҉̰҉o҉̶҉̛҉̔҉͐҉͑҉̈́҉̆҉́҉̐҉̾҉̽҉̀҉̘҉͓҉͎҉̱҉̯҉̭҉̰҉̙҉̢҉̤҉N҉̸҉͆҉͗҉͔҉̰҉̨҉̫҉̥҉E҉̴҉̾҉̆҉̓҉͝҉̾҉̀҉̎҉͝҉̊҉͠҉̈́҉̡҉͈҉͍҉̤҉̨҉͎҉.҉̷҉̇҉͖҉͍҉̯҉͖҉̙҉͔҉.҉̶҉͆҉̑҉̾҉̽҉̠҉̥҉̭҉̤҉̺҉̠҉ͅ҉̦҉͕҉̢҉̥҉.҉̴҉͆҉̽҉̛҉͖҉̧҉̻҉ ҉̸҉͘҉̃҉̚҉̂҉͙҉̝҉ͅ҉͉҉̙҉̞҉͙҉̣҉̙҉ ҉̶҉͐҉̕҉̒҉̍҉̑҉̫҉̯҉

P҉̷҉̿҉̍҉͕҉͜҉͕҉͓҉̣҉L҉̶҉̔҉̈́҉̈҉̛҉̾҉͆҉̊҉̕҉̂҉͘҉̡҉̜҉̻҉͜҉̗҉̝҉e҉̵҉̌҉̄҉̫҉͕҉̻҉̩҉͙҉̫҉̳҉̯҉̻҉̪҉̝҉A҉̷҉́҉͝҉̈́҉̚҉̈҉͝҉͊҉̈҉̀҉̈҉͕҉̦҉S҉̷҉͂҉͜҉̳҉̧҉̠҉̺҉̱҉̼҉ͅ҉e҉̴҉̾҉͂҉́҉́҉̈́҉̝҉̳҉̭҉̩҉̫҉̠҉̜҉͍҉̥҉.҉̴҉̍҉͌҉̇҉͝҉͑҉̕҉͋҉ͅ҉̟҉̳҉̙҉̹҉͈҉ͅ҉͙҉̨҉.҉̶҉͘҉̿҉̢҉.҉̴҉͌҉͑҉̿҉̊҉͈҉ ҉̴҉̏҉͑҉̈́҉͠҉̎҉̍҉͒҉̒҉͝҉̕҉̈҉̹҉͚҉͍҉͇҉̲҉̳҉̭҉ ҉̸҉͑҉̛҉̍҉̂҉͊҉́҉́҉̈҉̀҉͕҉̳҉͔҉͍҉

s҉̸҉̑҉̅҉̓҉̂҉̓҉̭҉̰҉̫҉A҉̴҉̆҉̉҉̊҉̃҉̀҉̠҉̢҉̣҉̘҉͇҉̤҉̳҉V҉̷҉̂҉̒҉͗҉͔҉̱҉̪҉̹҉̺҉̼҉e҉̷҉̎҉͊҉̈́҉̈́҉͊҉̼҉̢҉̳҉̨҉͜҉̖҉̜҉.҉̸҉̅҉̍҉͆҉̄҉͘҉̉҉̿҉̮҉̡҉͎҉̰҉̤҉.҉̵҉̈҉́҉͘҉̿҉͒҉̽҉̋҉̒҉̇҉̆҉͋҉͚҉̰҉͈҉̟҉͜҉͈҉̦҉̦҉̮҉̙҉͍҉.҉̸҉̿҉̆҉͆҉̫҉͔҉ͅ҉̤҉̫҉̜҉͖҉̱҉̮҉̗҉

...

"EMIYA-SAN!" A voice pierced through the haze.

Shirou's eyes fluttered, his vision hazy and indistinct, slowly regaining focus. His head was pounding with a sensation that felt like hundreds of tiny needles were stabbing into his brain. His ears rang with a blinding, numbing white noise that made it impossible for him to hear himself think.

"Shirou! Snap out of it!" Touch Me's worried voice cried out. The paladin's hand on his shoulder was a gentle comfort, an anchor to ground him back to reality as his friend shook him, urging him to come back.

"T-touch… Me?" Shirou said, his voice incredibly raspy.

It took his mind a moment to realize that he was crouching on one knee, his right hand clutching his face tightly.

He looked at his friend, seeing his reflection reflect off of Touch Me's helm.

Blood dripped down the corner of his right eye, as well as his nose, forming a small puddle under him. His right pupil dilated and contracted erratically, while his left pupil bounced around, refusing to remain focused.

Though disoriented, he caught a glimpse of something retreating across his sclera - a slithering blackness that quickly disappeared.

'Ww-what was that…?'

His mind struggled to comprehend, and yet his soul knew, even if he did not.

"Hey! Now's ain't the time to be spazzing the fuck out." ShikiHime called out. "Get your shit together, man!" She hurried.

"Now, now, Hime-chan, no need to lose your cool." Said Duskindal. "The fact that the boss hasn't attacked yet means it's a Passive Boss, which gives some time and breathing room." Despite his casual words, his eyes never left the Servant, his body tensed, and his hands gripped his swords tightly.

The other World Champions were in a similar state, with their weapons drawn and their defenses alert. All but Luciferno, who remained aloof to it all.

Shirou slowly and shakingly stood up, with help from his guildmate.

'Focus!' His mind screamed, regaining enough of his mental facility to look back at the Servant.

The magus fought back a wince as the buzzing white noise flared in his head, but it was more manageable this time. He avoided looking at Excalibur M̶̷̸̗͎̻̞͓̖̏̚͜ǒ̷̷̷̜͇̦̟͎̠̬͛r̴̷̷̢̺̩̰̩̮̓̑̈́͑̅̚͜g̵̷̵̲...

Saber Alter – Lvl: 375 — [The Tainted Tyrant of Camelot]

She possessed a higher level than Berserker, who was an End Boss at level 250, but just below that of the level-breaking World Enemies at level 500.

His eyes narrowed as he steeled himself for the battle to come.

He had no idea what Zelretch's plans were or his intentions for bringing this… dark reflection of the King of Knights, but it didn't matter.

No matter the similarities or differences, this would be no different from the other Servant Bosses he'd fought until now.

And like the Servants that came before, he would overcome the challenge.

However, before he or any of the other World Champions could spring into action, Saber Alter acted first.

She spoke!

"Tell me." She began, her empty gaze focused solely on him.

"By your appearance, do you still go by Shirou Emiya, or have you abandoned your name and dignity to become Alaya's dog as EMIYA?"

Her head tilted ever so slightly, a simple nuisance, but it was all the more uncanny coming from the dark doppelganger.

Shirou was too stunned to speak, staring at the blackened Servant in a daze as he felt his heart stutter.

This wasn't some scripted NPC dialogue like with his Servant NPC, nor was it simply a Boss quote. Her words flowed with intelligence and purpose. She spoke of her cognizance and will, and the way she addressed him said it all.

"I suppose it doesn't matter, does it?"

Her grip on Excalibur Morgan tightened, and an explosion of intense black-red mana burst forth. The mana clung to the sword, pulsing with an otherworldly power, and the surroundings darkened around her.

"Perish."

With a stomp, the ground cracked and the air trembled, and Saber Alter dashed forward.

The true final match of the 9th World Champion Tournament begins!

Omake: Alternative Summoning IV (He's Emiya, he's Emiya, I'm Emiya! Is there any more Emiya I should know about?!)

"Servant, Archer. Are you my mast–" Archer's introduction died in his mouth as he stared, and a face similar to his own stared back?

"Of course, it would be you." The dichromatic-eyed look-alike sighed, causing one of Archer's eyes to twitch in familiarity.

He instantly knew that it was the naive, idealistic vision of himself, even if he looked completely different.

The surprise didn't stop there as the Counter Guardian turned his head to find three other Servants standing around.

There was Assassin who bore his - theirs? - adoptive father's face, Kiritsugu. There was a shaved and dark-skinned man, and like with Shirou, Archer immediately knew that it was another version of himself. Lastly, there was a copy of Shirou Emiya but in his youth, with a strip of white in his autumn hair and dressed identically like him but with his right arm sleeveless and a crimson headband wrapped around his head.

The four Servants and Master stared at one another awkwardly.

"Umm, Emiya-san." Momonga said.

"Yes?" Five heads turned towards the necromancer.

"No, I meant Shirou Emiya." Momonga clarified, all the good that did as while Kiritsugu stepped back, that still left four remaining.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Ulbert exclaimed, looking ready to tear his hair out.

"He's Emiya." He pointed at Shirou.

"He's Emiya." He then pointed at Archer, who scowled.

"They're Emiya." Emiya-Assassin and EMIYA-Alter simply watched on with a detached look while Miyu-verse Shirou Emiya sported a small frown.

"Is there any more Emiya we should know about?!" The World Disaster shouted.

"Is now a bad time?"

Everyone turned to find the splitting image of Shirou as an adult standing there, with his lush autumn hair and amber eyes. He was dressed similarly to Miyu-verse Shirou but was more oriental in style, with part of his chest bare.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Ulbert exclaimed.

"Servant Saber, but you can call me Sengo Muramasa." The blacksmith bowed.

"Bullshit!" The demon immediately denied. "You're basically the spitting image of this asshole in his youth!" He pointed to main-Shirou and Miyu-verse Shirou.

"I'm technically a Demi-Servant. I'm simply inhabiting the body of Shirou Emiya as it's the most compatible host." Muramasa explained, shrugging.

"With that said…"

The Saber Servant cast his gaze towards Shirou.

"I do feel a connection with you. I do believe you might even be a descendant of my bloodline."

"So, by technicality and association, you're an Emiya."

"If you want to be super technical about it, yes." Muramasa shrugged again, nonplussed by the whole issue.

Ulbert stared at the scene with a deadpan glare.

He then walked away without saying a word.

"Ulbert-san, where are you going?" Tabula called out.

"Fuck this shit I'm out!" He said without turning around.

He slammed the massive double doors of the Throne Room on his way out, the room rumbling slightly from his exit.

Meanwhile...

"Sis! Keep it together!" Peroroncino exclaimed, kneeling on the ground next to a literal puddle of pink goo.

Unfortunately, Bukubukuchagama was happily in her own little world, giggling sporadically as she lay there.