Fate/Apocrypha - Volume 1

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  Prologue

  It was a place which existed nowhere else. A world which existed nowhere else.

  Released from the concept known as 'time', the place had neither morning nor night, sun nor moon. Only a pale aurora lit the sky.

  There are no changes in this world. Its wide ocean did not know of waves, and the clouds in its sky did not know of flow. Unable to see the moon or stars, the man who inhabited this world lamented somewhat.

  That was why the man closed his eyes. When he did, he could see memories of dearly missed days. There were many.

  He was so very proud of his past, so much that even after repeating it thousands and tens of thousands of times, he still did not tire of it.

  As always, the man had turned his head to the right, to the left, down towards the earth, up towards the sky, confirming that nothing is out of place as his eyelids closed. Then, he began to see the dream, the phantasm known as 'the past'.

  Now, for the sake of his honor, something needs to be said.

  This truly was the only thing left for him to do. To fight, to heal, to be saddened or angered - these were no longer necessary for him.

  Was it tedious? He could only consent.

  Was it painful? He would likely deny.

  As always, moments from his past would be projected into his eyes, vivid and distinct. His past had been short and thus, its scenes were always clear. They would never fade - never be polluted - and never, ever be fogotten.

  "Wake up, please."

  To repeat once more... there are no changes in this world. Winds did not blow, waves did not break. It was simply a static place.

  That is why, if change were to occur in this world... it would unmistakably be an interference coming from the outside.

  The man opened his eyes. Seeing the unbelievable, he froze. Just how long had it been since his emotions were so swayed?

  "It's been a long time."

  Before him, she smiled. The man felt as though his brain was being jolted, and the sensation made him open the mouth from which words no longer came.

  A lovely girl was there, her hair soft as the springtime sunlight.

  The man knew her well. Every time he closed his eyes, she would appear. He would never mistake her for another. But why was she here? Why was she here... here, where she must never be?

  The girl's brows knitted in sorrow, and she softly touched the man's face with her hand.

  Her finger, pointing out as though in appointment, made the man breathe out a sound of joy.

  "So many wounds... so alone, in this world."

  This is my fault, the girl murmured sadly. That's not true, the man declared.

  This is nothing you need to worry about. This is the domain of my pride. There is no perpetuity here, no eternity, no tedium, no despair, and no fear.

  "I won't ever leave you by yourself any more."

  Ah - and yet your words, the fact that you are here, brings me joy. Simply nothing but joy.

  It should have been an unchanging, perfect world. A world where time was frozen.

  But the girl is here now. And so perhaps it has fallen, no longer perfect, becoming a vulgar and common world.

  The man could not contain his happiness.

  The world will change.

  Time will march on.

  ***

  It would be no exaggeration to call this place a battlefield.

  There were homunculi built for combat, swinging gigantic halberds and producing complex thaumaturgical rituals that brought massive destruction to the area around them. Not born naturally, these homunculi possessed corporeal defects which needed to be compensated for, resulting in an extremely short lifespan of two months. But it would make little difference even if it were just two weeks, as their lives were meant to be spent on this war.

  From the moment they were born, forged by alchemy, the homunculi were well and fully matured. They were man-made organisms, born to fight, born to destroy, and born to die.

  At the same time, there were golems constructed by Kabbalistic techniques, doll servants which executed the commands of their master. Compared to the homunculi, built to resemble the human form, these golems were inhuman creations of stone and bronze. What they lacked in number, they made up for in sheer recklessness in face of any and all attacks, using their gigantic bodies and stone fists to crush and pulverize the enemy.

  Any single homunculus or golem here would easily match an average magus in combat. However, both of these forces were being overwhelmed by the opposition in pure quantity.

  Dragon tooth warriors - these were skeleton troops created using the fangs of dragons. By the power of the dragon race, and bestowed with knowledge from the earth itself, every fang buried into the ground becomes an inexpensive soldier. Although they were nearly powerless against the homunculi and golems that had been built for battle, they were legion.

  Created for sport by a Servant of the Red camp, these warriors were thrown into the fray in numbers that might well be endless, wave after wave that gushed out from a massive swarm. And they would not stop until they were completely shattered. Wielding swords and axes made of bone which was tougher and sharper than steel, they came in droves, smashing golems and cleaving homunculi apart.

  It was the very image of brutality. With their simple thought processes and emotions which barely existed, these golems, skeletons and homunculi simply performed the same attacks over and over, never stopping until their deaths, never resting their weapons while their enemies still existed.

  Flames raced, and earth became shrapnel. Wounded soldiers immediately healed through recovery thaumaturgy, instantly returning to the field.

  Let them fight. Let them break. This battle was defined by its expendability. Its soldiers were mere pawns, nothing more than a statistic... no, the battle would never be decided by them.

  Every once in a while, parts of the field of battle would be engulfed by enormous explosions. They came from the powers that be, standing alone yet unmatched by thousands, scything down and breaking down entire hordes with one swing from their weapons.

  For they were the greatest pieces in play, the ones who would decided the fate of this war. Nimble yet unyielding, they flashed like bolts of light, personifications of heroism.

  Suddenly, the air brought violent quakes, bringing down the skeletons and golems in the surrounding area. Everything was scattered, shattered, and turned into rubble.

  A peculiarly empty patch of land had formed on the field. And yet no one, be they homunculus, golem, or even the mindless dragon tooth warrior, would take a single step within. They understood that this one place was the pit of Hell. They would be shattered without reason if they were to fill the space.

  Only those chosen - only Servants possessed the right to exist there.

  Even now, two Sabers stood there.

  On the one side was a silver knight whose small frame was entirely wrapped around by thick armor, making it one single mass of steel. Due to a face-concealing helm, the knight's race or gender was completely unknown. Its weapon was a silver sword adorned with splendid decorations.

  On the other side was a tall man surrounded by an unusual air. The greatsword he held with both hands, much like the sword of his opponent, boasted a magnifi
cence and enormity possible only for weapons which had been tended to by inhuman hands. The blue jewel embedded in the hilt stood out in particular.

  The colors of their swords were silver and gold respectively, and while their shapes differed, both weapons had a brilliance worthy of being wielded by heroes. However, this battle was impossible. The era of swords had announced its end ages ago. Firearms ought to be the conquerors of the battlefield.

  In that case, were they barbarians left behind by time, only existing to be mocked by the bearers of guns?

  No, that would be all the more impossible.

  "...Here I come, Black Saber!"

  Then, gold answered the call of silver.

  "...Come, Rot."

  In an instant, the Red Saber leapt forth with a lion-like roar. The knight's stomp shook the earth, and the speed of the charge pierced the sound barrier. This jump was possible due to a skill Red Saber possessed, called Prana Burst. By instantaneously releasing the magic power carried by the arms or in the body, the knight could rush forward with a momentum like that of a bullet's, and swing the over-sized weapon with ease.

  The force of the jump blew away the remains of golems and skeletons which had fallen to the earth. With such speed, such destructive power, even the strongest land weapon of modern war, the main battle tank, would be pulverized.

  -However, while the leaping knight was one not of the ordinary, its opponent was also an existence who had reached the realm of demons.

  With a fierce war-cry reminiscent of a massive dragon, Black Saber took several steps forward with his golden greatsword in hand. Not hesitating in the slightest at the enemy charging towards him at incredible speeds, the sword he held aloft was swung down.

  If one were to call the silver onslaught a bullet, then what came to intercept it was a high-speed golden guillotine. Steel clashed with steel, and the destruction wrought upon their surrounding by the impact was almost surreal.

  "Ha! That was weak, Black!"

  "Unh-!"

  Steel masses and fighting spirits clashed. Sparks flew. There was no pity, no hatred, only powerful wills who would deny the existence of the other, as well as the whirl of utter joy found in facing a powerful enemy. Ever since the start of this battle, their swords had already crossed ten times. Unconsciously, Red Saber's cheeks drew into a grin.

  Neither of them were supposed to exist in this world in the first place. They were the corporeal forms of extraordinary human beings who had left their names in history and made legends. Heroes whose names did not disappear even after their deaths but continued to live on in the hearts of people, they were known as Heroic Spirits, and the two of them were the duplicates of such - Servants who materialized in this world to follow another.

  Their thirteenth clash - immediately, the world became silent. Their weapons not shattered, their flesh not scattered, the two knights displayed an equilibrium that could even be called elegant, their swords still locked with each other. At first glance, it was clear that the Black Saber held the advantage in terms of physique. The difference between him and the Red Saber was practically that between a man and a child.

  However, it was in fact the golden knight who was being overpowered - the silver knight was overpowering him.

  The reason was, as before, the Prana Burst skill. This time, the silver knight was not using magic power to charge forward, but to augment physical strength. Right now, Red Saber was like a shell with its fuse lit and about to be fired.

  "Haaahhh-!"

  The silver knight - Red Saber stepped forward, its foot crushing down into the ground, and gave a spirited roar.

  Unable to hold on, Black Saber was blown backwards, but as expected of a hero, he simply leapt back instead of rolling around clumsily. His knees did not give out, and his expression did not change.

  Red Saber thrust her sword out. Even without a face to see, one could tell that the low chuckle emanating from the helmet was dripping with scorn.

  "And you call yourself 'Saber', one who ought to be the greatest amongst all Servants? What a disappointment. Or perhaps this is as far as a forgery can go?"

  "..."

  Black Saber became quiet. Certainly, as the Red Saber said, he was a fake Heroic Spirit. There was no way for him to match a proper Heroic Spirit like his opponent.

  Even so, that did not mean he could admit defeat. To save the fallen comrade behind him -- willing or no, he had to fight.

  "...O sword,"

  Black Saber chose the best course of action to bring down the enemy before him.

  "Let thee be filled."

  His voice was detached. He announced this, without a single change in expression despite the incoming death. The greatsword held above his head began to overflow with an orange light.

  "So you would release your Noble Phantasm... excellent!"

  Red Saber muttered with a growl. There was no trace of urgency in its tone.

  A Noble Phantasm - it was the ultimate weapon of the Servant, something which activated by chanting its true name. It could be something which simply had incredible destructive power, or something with a special property of always penetrating and killing the opponent once released, or even something that was not a weapon at all, but the strongest of shields with a speciality against thrown weapons. There were as many Noble Phantasms as there were legends.

  And of course, like Black Saber, the Red Saber also possessed a Noble Phantasm.

  "...Well then, seeing as my Master has given me permission, allow me to respond in kind!"

  Red Saber took a stance with the silver sword. At the same time, the heavy face-covering helmet split into two and became one with the armor.

  Their eyes met. Black Saber raised his eyebrows a little, as though in slight surprise. But of course, for the Red Saber had the face of a young girl. Normally, Servants were summoned in the form of their peak. As such, most heroes were in their twenties and thirties, their prime. However, she was clearly too young. It was likely that she hadn't even reached twenty.

  Besides, the fair features of the girl did not conceal her brutal nature - rather, she did not bother to conceal it in the first place. In her eyes, glaring fixedly at Black Saber, there was a mix of the joy found in battle, and cruelty.

  "...Why did you remove your helm?"

  Red answered the question of Black, sounding irritated.

  "It's nothing. I just can't activate my Noble Phantasm without taking it off first. Do you not have more pressing matters at hand, Black?"

  In an instant, the space centred around the Red Saber and her sword became stained with blood. What was more, the blade of her sword was enveloped by a radiance of blood and, giving off bizarre noises, began to transform.

  Of course, this was not the original appearance of the Noble Phantasm. The pure, beautiful and famous sword was being transfigured by her wanton hatred into a sinister and wicked blade fit to be wielded by a demon.

  "It is time for your execution. Come, meet an end worthy of an imitation, Black Saber-!"

  Red Saber raised her grotesque sword.

  It was clear to any who saw that it would be a killing blow-

  "...I come."

  Black Saber, just as before, stood and faced her directly without any hesitation. Whether he had a winning chance or not meant nothing to him.

  ...It needed to be done.

  Black Saber understood that. He was not risking his life, because he had no life to risk to begin with.

  The orange light and blood radiance swelled instantly. The whirling air around them screamed, letting all around them know that the two Noble Phantasms were completely released.

  They were truly the swords of legend. They thundered, as the stuff of dreams, phantasms which slaughtered foes and pierced demons in the hands of heroes who raced across the fields of battle.

  In their hands were swords. They were two Servants of the Saber class. And they were both of them, enemies whom the other must defeat.

  Clarent

 
Rebellion

  ...

  Red Saber raged.

  Bal-

  Phantasmal Greatsword,

  Black Saber bellowed.

  ...

  Blood Arthur

  Against My Beautiful Father

  !!

  -mung

  Felling of the Sky Demon

  !!

  Twilight and crimson lightning raced out and crashed into each other. The two streams of light, like surging waves with simply the purpose of destruction, attempted to swallow one another.