Heart of Steel

Disclaimer: I do not own Fate Stay Night or Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Chapter 6

"How the fuck is this possible, 'Dite?" Growled Ares as he spun the car jack, making the rear of the hot pink limo his paramour had persuaded him to drive rise off of the asphalt. "It shouldn't be possible!"

"Don't you think I know that!" The Lady of Doves snapped back to the God of War from her uncomfortable seat upon a large boulder on the side of the road, one of Ares' posse of bikers holding a frilly pink umbrella over her head to protect her from the sun's harsh rays as he worked on the car. But even in the somewhat cooler shade she still felt her cheeks burn.

Whether that was from the weather or the fact that she had recently had tears of grief and joy flow down them not minutes ago was anyone's guess.

"I was chained up and forced to watch, Ares!" She snarled, hatred and grief in every line of her beautiful face, her eyes flashing a deep red, crimson with blood. "Watch as that damned bastard dangled him over the edge of a gate to the realm of Chaos!" Her eyesight blurred, tears from the dark and hurting depths of her heart filling those rainbow gems. "I couldn't do anything but rage and scream at him to stop!" Her perfectly manicured hands clenched into fists, her trimmed nails digging into her palms, cutting the deep flesh. Trickles of golden fluid oozed from between her fingers.

"I know, 'Dite!" Ares snapped back at her, something he normally didn't do, knowing that it would prevent him from getting his mostly preferred piece of tail if he did. "You weren't the only one to get sucker punched by that mocking piece of shit!" He snarled as he gave the crack a vicious twist, almost making the limousine jump, and his fiery eyes blazed like the inferno of hell itself as he also remembered the events of that day, and just who had caused it. It stuck in the craw of all the members of the Council that they still hadn't managed to get ahold of that sorry excuse for a comedian even years later, despite the efforts that they had gone to. It vexed Little Miss Mooneye that the bastard had been able to evade even her Hunt.

The bastard's actions had been completely beyond the pale, even for the ever bloodthirsty God of War. He was all for carnage, destruction and bloodshed, but he preferred to do it on the battlefield, to meet his enemies head on. That smiling fucker most certainly hadn't, preferring to cowardly slip a the metaphorical dagger between their ribs from behind.

He scowled heavily as he glared at the back tyre he was lifting, a massive tear visible on it from when he had brought the vehicle to an abrupt and screeching halt as the very familiar wave of energy had washed over him and his long time lover. They should have killed the masked little shit ages ago instead of exiling him.

He grunted slightly and then reached for the small wrench to take off the be damned wheel nuts. He should have known his lame brother would have made sure that the damned wouldn't be able to be fixed with a snap of his divine power when the God of War had, with great embarrassment, first commissioned it.

He was pretty damn sure that the bloody crip had leaked his purchase to the rest Olympus, despite his threats against doing so. It would be only reason that Sunshine had gone around in a hot pink wife beater with the slogan 'Real men wear pink' for a week after he had paid for it, while winking at Ares every time he passed.

He spun the last nut and practically yanked the tyre off. He paused briefly as his eyes glimpsed the brand name of the tyre and then growled lowly like a feral dog and gave the rubber wheel a mighty toss with a snarl, sending it spinning out into barren landscape. The damn hobble had pulled another one over on him! He knew he should have read the contract a bit closer.

He was never taking the cheapo option for tyres on any of his vehicles again...even if it was his most disliked one. Pink was not his colour...except when 'Dite was wearing it as lingerie.

He paused briefly, a silly smile crossing his face, as he remembered the first time he had seen her in her now favourite pieces of underwear. Holy shit was it hot!

He shook his head to rid himself of the daydreams that were threatening to take hold of his mind. He would save those thoughts for later, things much more serious were taking place.

"Are you sure it was him?" He grunted softly to the Goddess of Love, flicking the new tyre on and jimmying it slightly to make sure that it was in place. He didn't have the aptitude for mechanics that his brother did, but he knew enough to be able to at least change a tyre and check the oil. It was more than some of the lazy bastards out there could do.

"You think that I would would mistake his aura, his power, for someone or something else, Ares?!" She snarled at the tight singlet clad back of the bloodthirsty God, his usual leather jacket removed and placed aside as he changed the tyre.

Ares winced as Aphrodite released a pulse of her power, his senses telling him that her ever changing form wavered slightly into a formless burst of golden energy, the true form of a God or Goddess, before reasserting herself. Maybe his words weren't the best ones he could have used, especially in relation to this very touchy subject.

"Sorry, sorry!" He said, lifting his hands a little to show his surrender, something he generally hated to do. But these were special circumstances. Aph always aimed low when ever it came down to a small spat between them. Very low.

He had no desire to have his balls crushed by her stiletto heels. Again.

He shuddered at that memory, phantom pains running through his groin.

"But you felt it as well, didn't ya?" He said, placing the first nut back in and twisting.

He didn't hear any answer from his main squeeze. No words to refute what he had said, or deliberate misunderstandings. It seemed she had felt it as well.

He remembered the kid well. Despite the kid's heritage, he had shown more aptitude to the arts of war than his parents ever did, even more than some of Ares' own kids did. He had taken it upon himself to show the kid how to fight, fulfilling the role that the kid's mother had requested of him at the lad's birth, and with the begrudging agreement of the kid's father.

As such, he had been very familiar with the energy signature of the brat. When the wave of power had struck them before, he had been struck with familiarity of it, recognising as that of the kid's, despite the complete impossibility of it all. However, he had also felt differences in it, the warped and twisted changes to it, something that couldn't have happened to the kid.

Not without some serious life changing experiences.

The changes he could sense in that wave of aura made even his ever violent and bloodthirsty mind shy back. Amongst the burnished gold of the boy's aura, he felt the utterly corrupting, diseased, darkness. An ever hungry and endlessly devouring black pit that contained the sum of human depravity. Even he couldn't help but be nauseous at sensing that.

It had chilled him to the bone, not that he would ever admit it to anyone, he had a rep to protect!

What had happened to the serious but spunky kid for him to be twisted into a being that held the sum of all fear and terror within his very soul?

With a last twist of the wrench, the last bolt was in place and the new tyre fully installed. He rose to his feet, his scarred face slightly flushed and sweating from the mortal exertion that he had to do, thanks to the disdain that the two sons of Hera held for each other. With an irritated click of his fingers, the car jack vanished and the limousine dropped onto it's wheels while, simultaneously, his beloved leather jacket appeared on his body. He had wasted enough time, thanks to Heph's bullshit, time to get back on the road so Aph can get her little errand done.

"Alright, doll," he said as he turned around, his biker posse already moving toward their Harleys at his mental urging, one idiot in particular still clutching that lacy, frilly, pink abomination of an umbrella, "Get in the back. It's time toooooooh crap!" His voice, instead of commanding, became a grunting squeak as his shaded eyes took in the rather terrifying sight before him.

Standing regally in a traditional greek female chiton, with her brown eyes looking at him with a cool disdain, and a slender hand clamped firmly, but gently, on the shoulder of a pale faced Aphrodite, was someone who scared him more than even his father in a foul mood.

His mother, Hera.

And she didn't look happy.

"Hello, my son," she said calmly, a small smile on her unblemished face, something that scared him more than if she were raging and screaming with a bloody knife in her hand, that belied the devilish light in her eyes. He faintly thought the light of the harsh sun seemed to dim, darkness gathering around them all.

"I believe that you and I, along with my daughter-in-law, have something to discuss."

Ares and Aphrodite simultaneously gulped. That didn't sound good.

"What the hell has that hard headed moron got himself into this time?" Scowled Rin as she sat in her assigned seat aboard the aircraft, crossing her arms across her chest in a gesture of her annoyance and exasperation. Something that was shared by the frowning blonde woman seated beside her.

"Calm yourself, Rin," the (former) King of Knights responded to the magus' irritated statement, "there is no point voicing your complaint. What is done is done and can only be dealt with."

Blue eyes glared at the British born woman, "Like you don't want to beat the idiot around the head for his seeming stupidity," she snarked with a huff.

"I will admit that I am displeased with Shirou's apparent decisions he has made of late," the blonde admitted, "but voicing it does nothing," she smiled, slightly devilish, a trait that had apparently rubbed off of Rin and onto her, "I am patient enough that I can wait for Shirou to be within an arm's reach before I show it at all." Her smile became a smirk, another trait that had rubbed off. Whether it was from Rin or Shirou remained uncertain. "That way he cannot escape."

Rin froze for a moment, her face going slightly blank, before a wickedly mischevious grin crossed her face, mirrored by Saber.

"I like the way you think, Saber," Rin grinned, a cat that ate the canary look crossing her beautiful visage. That grin quickly dropped as the girl became abruptly more serious. "What are your thoughts about this entire mess?"

Saber wasn't at all fazed by the swift change in subject, used to the oft mercurial mind and temper of the Tohsaka heiress, not that that truly applied to the young woman any more. Time in close, very close, proximity to her allowed her to easily keep up with the magus, knowing how she thought and would react to certain stimuli.

Besides, the woman only brought up something that had been running in the back of the mind ever since she had received Shirou's call.

Saber shivered. Ever since she had arrived in this world, she had been uneasy, to a point. For all that she had been released from her contract with the world and had the chance at a new life free from the burdens and horrors of being a King, while still managing to be able to stay with the one she admittedly loved, there had still been a dark cloud, one that had increased to numerous ones, that had settled over the sunshine of her new life.

The first, and most immediate, had been the revelation of the fact that they were in a world that was still in the Age of the Gods, at least in part.

Arturia remembered the stories that her tutor and annoying friend, Merlin, had told her of those days long past. The marvels and wonders of that age. The heroes that had strode upon the earth shaping the world with their own will and hands. The Phantasmal Species that still existed on this plane, phoenixes and unicorns and even dragons, that were so rare in modern times that it was considered a miracle on par with True Magic to even see one. Cities so beautiful as to be thought to be dreams made form. Hidden places in the world, sacred and secret, in which dwelt the Gods, who dispensed their wisdom upon those who asked or paid the appropriate price.

He had also, however, contrary to the normal practice of magus, not neglected to show her the worst, the lingering shadows, the darkness, of those times.

Petulant gods destroying whole towns for a single slight, turning humans into twisted beings beyond description for sport, creating those Phantasmal Species in the first place. Commiting wholesale slaughter and rapine. The final fates of those heroes who had shaped the land, their life ending in misery, pain and despair, sometimes even at the hand of their own father or mother. The Price of blood and death and labour of slaves and prisoners that was paid in order to erect those cities or marvels. The Gods did as they willed in those years, unconcerned with the mere mortals beneath their feet, when they willed. And humanity could only bear the burden of their negligent attentions and pick up the pieces.

The beauty of the legends of those times was merely a beautiful mask over a face dark and scarred and ugly.

And they were now in a different world, in a similar time. It did not fill any of the trio with any amount of joy. Gods, by their very nature, stood above mortals and did not take well to being refused what they desired. Saber could imagine that, if any deity managed to look at her, Rin and Shirou with more than just a passing look, then said deity would likely try to tempt them, pressure them, into entering their service in some form.

None of them had wanted that, each of them independent and liking their own free will to do as they may, even if it meant losing out on a chance to acquire a boon from a deity, something that had not happened in their own home world for a very long time, the invocation of Alaya not counting.

In either case, they had all desired to avoid the notice of these Olympians, who sat upon their golden thrones on high Olympus, which just so happened to have moved to be seated above the Empire State Building in New York City.

Unfortunately, their safety through obscurity was now limited, sand falling through the hourglass, due to Shirou's involvement in one of the half-blood quests that their sources in the community behind the Mist had spoken of. Even more alarming, Shirou had been mentioned directly, albeit it without the use of his name, in the prophecy given by the Oracle of Delphi.

That meant that someone, some powerful being, already knew of their existence in this very strange world, and had woven their actions into the tapestry of life, manipulating their every move.

Saber grimaced slightly to herself. It seemed the Fates were not done with her yet if Shirou was being used. She could only hope, but not pray, that things would turn out well and do as best as she could to ensure that they would.

The Lord helps those who help themselves, after all.

The second problem that they all faced, but arguably the most painful and damning, was Shirou's current condition.

Saber drew a shaky breath. Even with her knowledge of the predicament that Shirou was in, it still shook her to the foundations of her very being every time it crossed her mind. Being in this world and having a second chance at life, it was supposed to be a dream come true. And in that dream, Shirou was always by her side, his golden eyes serious and his mouth quirked in that unique smile of his. They were supposed live together, grow together, experience life together.

And, when the time came, die together.

Rin, having travelled with them, had also become a part of their life, becoming almost as precious to the former King of Britain as Shirou was. Not quite as much, Saber admitted to herself, but close. She also knew full well that Rin felt the same about her and Shirou, with more of an emphasis upon of the sole male of the odd and, too many, blasphemous relationship between the three of them.

It would hurt both her and Shirou to see the Jewelcraft magus die, just as it would hurt the other two if she somehow managed to pass on herself. But it would destroy both her and Rin if Shirou passed. He was their lynchpin, a steel pillar of endless support, the column that held up the firmament like Atlas of old, that they could lean on, and an equal that they trusted implicitly, just as he trusted them. Without him, she doubted that the remnants of the relationship could be salvaged, that she and Rin could form a partnership of lovers if the magus of steel was killed.

He would be only one for them, the other half of their souls.

And they were forced to watch him die just a little more with every second that passed.

The damned Grail had got the last laugh, letting them glimpse the glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, only for it to turn into an oncoming train. Damn that blasted cup!

They hadn't even known of the problem until he had completely lost control the first time. Saber couldn't help but flinch slightly, a phantom pain running up her left arm like a thin line of fire, as she remembered that insane incident.

It had horrified her to see the face of her lover twist into bestial hatred and rage, his skin darkening and crawling with incomprehensible crimson glyphs, his hair turning into white steel. But the worst of it had been his eyes.

The eyes were said to be the windows to one's soul. Saber agreed with that. Many courtiers and other people had come before her during her rule of Camelot, speaking pretty words with a sincere voice and a friendly manner. Yet, when she had looked into their eyes, she had seen the truth of the matter, the deceit and disgust and hatred that they had for her, for whatever petty reason that they may have had. It had been a skill that she had cultivated from the very first moment that she had become aware of it.

She had never regretted it more than when she had looked in Shirou's eyes that day. Gone was the passionate and generally calm and well-meaning, though stubborn, man that she had fallen for. In his place had stood EVIL. Malicious cunning, blood thirst and rampant sadism mixed with unthinking wild madness had been in those horrid red orbs, a mockery of Shirou's own normal warm gold.

Even as the cloak of darkness writhed around him, the ground around him dying, turning it dark ash or the horrid black mud, he had given an unearthly howl that shook the air, the noise inhuman and utterly wrong, as if even the howl was a twisted form, a dark and twisted mirror of a true howl.

She was not afraid to admit that even she had quailed slightly under the force and sheer wrongness of the sight and sound, the combined effect creating something that seemed to be akin to the source of all nightmares, the observation only made worse that she had seen her lover somehow turn into this abomination, this blasphemous mockery of life and a warrior.

She had begun to have flashbacks to when she had been summoned in the Forth Holy Grail War. In particular, the time she had fought Berserker, a Servant who had been cloaked in a similar darkness, with howl that seemed not too dissimilar to Shirou's accursed form. In was only in the later parts of that War that she had learned just exactly who it had been beneath that twisted helm and raging shadows. The fight between her and the revealed to be maddened Lancelot had not gone well for her after that, her mind unbalanced and her blows had been feeble in comparison to her normally sure, confident and determined ones, the swing of her blows empowered by the her belief in the righteousness of her actions.

During that time though, despite her outward appearance, her resolve had not been there, her swings hollow and filled with despair at the creature that she had had a part in creating through her actions in the distant past, a reminder of her failure as a King, as a leader and as a friend. She could barely focus properly, her defence almost shattering between every vicious, powerful, and yet skilled, swing of Arondight, a sister sword to her own Sword of Promised Victory, Excalibur. Considering her condition at the time, it was only through sheer luck on her part that she had survived, even somehow winning, that encounter with one of her most loyal of Knights.

And now, that fight, in a way, seemed to be repeating itself, forcing her to fight yet another of her friends, her lover moreover, with him having the intent to kill her, rend her, savage her to pieces down to her very soul, and herself lacking the intent to be even willing to harm him.

The Gods seemed to love their little jests. Saber, however, most certainly did not.

Then the sickening creature in the guise of her lover had charged, moving swiftly and straight on, like a slavering beast rather than a trained warrior, the twisted darkness around the clearly possessed form of Shirou turning solid around his hands for a moment, creating a set of unique weapons, a pair of chaotic and twisted daggers, Saber wondering if they could even be called that considering the complete strangeness and impracticality of the objects.

Her thoughts about Shirou's armaments had swiftly took a back seat as she had then defended, her invisible sword blocking the first slash of one of the honestly heinous looking and vicious claw-like knives, making her knees buckle slightly due to the unexpected amount of strength behind the blow. The slashing swipe, while having little in the way of skill compared to his normal attacks, was by far the strongest and fastest blow that he had ever struck, unaided by his ability to Trace the physical capabilities of others onto himself.

The force had surprised her, making her grunt heavily, sliding backward through the turf, the grass and soil parting in a furrow before her heels. From that moment, it was all that she could do to defend, forced onto the backfoot and kept there by the relentless assault of the monster Shirou had become, her desire not to injure her lover also making her hold back.

The first blow set the pace of the battle from that point. She would defend ceaselessly and the monster would attack endlessly. She had tried to turn the tables, to knock the monster out, even resorting to using her Prana Burst skill. It had, however, proved to ineffective.

The beast-that-was-Shirou seemed to have an enhanced instinct, a sixth sense about where and when she would swing, and harried her in that vulnerable second between preparation and execution, effectively shutting down her plan. Buried beneath those red and rabid bestial orbs, dwelled the instinct of warrior that could read the flow of battle. That made him more dangerous.

Uninhibited by morality, with the might of a demon, and having instinct of a swordsman, and the unpredictability of an enraged beast, all of this made him a horrifying foe to face.

But it had been the miasma that surrounded him, coating him in a putrid cloudy and ephemeral second skin, that truly shook her to the core.

The sheer vileness that it emitted, poisoning the air and ground with its mere presence, every living thing with range withering and dying, or becoming ash and black mud. It was beyond horror and terror and fear. It was the source of all these things, the pit of darkness from which they arose. And the whispers...

Saber couldn't help but shudder at the awful memories of that rotting sweet voice in her ear that had cajoled her to strike down her foe, to revel in his misery and the proof of her might.

The battle had been in the monster's favour from the start, his strength and his will to do harm greater than her own. Defending was all that she could do, buying time as she tried to reason with the beast, shouting for Shirou to get ahold of himself. Only for her desperate pleas to fall upon deaf ears as the beast had roared, the deafening sound so similar to the howls of Berserker, and had come at her stronger than before.

She had known that her defeat was inevitable if the battle had continued on in that manner. She had not the will to bring her full might to bear against the monster that wore her lover's twisted face.

Thankfully, help had soon arrived.

A rain of orbs of black energy, falling around the beast making it leap backward, heralded the arrival of Rin Tohsaka, her face set in the cold and analytical mask of a magus.

The two of them, the lovers of Shirou, hadn't exchanged a word or voiced a plan and leapt back into battle, each of them instinctively knowing their roles, falling into step beside one another with the ease of old practice. As a unit, they attacked their lover's twisted form.

Gandrs fell like rain as a Saber danced among them, striking out at form of a struggling Shirou who was also dodging the curses thrown by the blue eyed magus. Her strikes were aimed to incapacitate, to wound and, if need be, to cripple. The two of them, Saber and Rin, under normal circumstances, would have been a challenge for the sword incarnation.

Now, however, it was they who were challenged. The living sword, even in this bestial form, had shown himself to be a terror of the battlefield, those obscene knives he used batting away sword and curse, as he showcased agility and instinct that was beyond that of Shirou's own. It had reminded the former King of Britain of Lancelot's movements back in the Fourth War, bestial and angry and yet with a grace and skill that belied his inhuman roarings.

It wasn't quite the same, but it was close enough that it had more than a little on edge, or at least further in edge than she already had been in this nightmare of a scenario.

Blows were traded and curses cast and avoided. Saber knew that Rin would not be entering the melee, the magus was wise enough not to set foot in a battle that was beyond her. The jewel user would have been cut down in a moment had she set foot into the clash of blades and thus had taken the role of artillery, taking pot shots were she could and giving Saber a little breathing space as needed.

For all this though, the battle had been getting nowhere, becoming a stalemate of steel upon steel. Saber had thought wildly, flinging her mind around in a possible answer to the problem; that of taking Shirou down without killing him, a task that was more difficult that it sounded, even with Rin's help.

The clashes had kept echoing around the misshapen forest and land, poisoned by the miasma that coated the twisted swordsman, when Saber and Rin had a lucky break.

A small hidden hole in the ground gave way beneath Shirou's foot, making him stagger and lose balance, just briefly. Saber had taken ruthless advantage of the opening. A Prana Burst and a heavy slash with the flat of her blade doubled over the beast Shirou had become, before the beast was launched away, clearing treetops in his flight.

Saber wasn't too worried about the force of the blow and the possible damage it may do to Shirou. It was a blunt force strike and this horrid manifestation of her lover had shown itself to be much more durable than his usual self. She knew that she had only bought some time. It gave the two of them, Rin and Saber, time to formulate a more viable plan.

A short, very short, discussion between the two women had yielded an, at least, semi-viable plan. One that Rin had prepared for when she had first felt the roiling dark power appear out of nowhere, followed by insane roarings and the sounds of destruction. The plan, such as it was, was a heavy gamble, relying on 'supposes' and 'maybes' more than hard facts. But nonetheless it was the only one that seemed to have a chance in that brief they had available.

It was well that the discussion was done quickly, as the sound of rage-filled roars filed the small forest and the dark power rose sharply. Saber's keen ears made out the sound of wood being crushed rhythmically, the sound of powerful feet crushing wood beneath them as the owner of the appendages leaped and ran through the foilage.

The source of the cacophony swiftly revealed itself, leaves and trees and fertile soil rotting and becoming ashen waste before its howling charge.

Saber closed her eyes in the plane, a grimace of sorrow and misery crossing her regal features as bile swelled in her throat in remembrance.

Before, when Shirou had first become berserk, he had still been able to identified as human, despite the choking darkness that cloaked him and feral rage in his eyes.

The creature that had entered the clearing once more, spoiling for a fight, was anything but human.

The shroud of shadow hung over the figure, like an armour of black flames and smoke, forged in the pit of Hell itself. Only a vague humanoid figure beneath the fetid flames could be seen, the crimson script of an unholy nature upon the body beneath still shining clearly with their glow of hatred and evilness most vile. The eyes, those warm golden eyes that made Saber feel safe when she saw them up close and in their owner's arms, were crackling orbs of blood red, raking over both her and Rin, like a predator briefly assessing its prey, before charging with a nightmarish howl, those abominable twisted claw-blades extended.

Once more, Saber's mind had been thrown back in time by the heart-shattering familiarity of the scene. Lancelot, as Berserker in the Fourth War, had looked the same, but even he had not emanated such sheer hatred and vileness.

Even Rin had been taken aback but their collective lover's further descent into madness. Thankfully, they were able to react in time, pulling themselves back together, to put their plan to get Shirou back into action.

Saber had made the first step, her powerful blade revealing itself for the first time under this world's sun as she cast forth her Strike Air: Hammer of the Wind King, sending a howling gale force wind that had once destroyed many of the insane Caster's creatures of horror years ago toward her the twisted form of her paramour.

His mind, beneath that cloak of darkness and corrupting flames, had obviously deteriorated slightly as he was taken by surprise by the wind attack, the assault hitting him straight on and propelling him backwards with a roar of shock heard even over the gale force winds that she and summoned.

But that was only the beginning of the assault which Saber had hoped would result in victory and allow her to be in Shirou's arms once more.

Three flashes of light glinted within the howling maelstrom of the sky's wrath, small gleaming objects using the winds as a medium to reach their target. Being so much smaller and lighter than the over six foot form of Shirou, the winds carried them much faster than Shirou could be thrown away, easily catching up with the monstrous form and striking him in mid-air. Simultaneously. A feat that was truly only possible due to Rin's fine manipulation of her magecraft.

These objects, jewels that were packed with prana, had more effect on the currently insane swordsman than the Jewelcraft magi's Gandrs had.

With a flash of light, the jewels met the airborne form of Shirou, and a spell was cast. One that Rin would have found to be almost impossible in her birth world, the ever oppressive presence of Gaea crushing the spell before it could have been cast by a semi-amateur ('At least in that branch of magecraft,' Rin would hastily add, her pride more than a little pricked.) such as her. In this world, however...

The wildly flailing form of Shirou was instantly bound tightly with the heavy chain that had been the root cause of them all being in this strange world. An Artifact from a time when the Gods still walked the earth among the mortals, nigh unopposed and almost universally worshipped. A weapon that was the very anti-thesis to a god's power.

The Chains of Heaven, Enkidu, the most valued possession of the King of Heroes, Gilgamesh himself, wrapped tightly around the monstrous form of Shirou, binding his arms to his sides and his legs together, refusing to let him go.

Saber and Rin had been beyond surprised at the next events.

The miasma abruptly disappeared from their senses, like a faucet being shut off, and the dark flames that had coated Shirou in his armour of corruption had begun to swiftly disperse before he had even hit the ground. In a moment, Shirou's naked pink flesh was seen instead of the blasphemous black smog that had coated him, the sword magus returning to what could be deemed normal for him.

The roar of agony and rage that resulted, an incoherent howl of loss and madness erupting from his throat during the brief interval of reversion and change, made the King and Former Second Owner stagger, even if it was only for a moment. Whatever that had been that had corrupted Shirou, it hadn't wanted to go quietly.

Shirou's body had then hit the turf with a sickening thud, his body practically flopping to the ground like a dead fish, his eyes closed and breath harsh and heavy. Unconscious.

Both of the females intimately connected to the sword mage had bolted forward toward his insensate form. The battle was over, now was the time to find out exactly why the battle had taken place at all.

After they had managed to bring Shirou back to his senses, Rin had begun an immediate investigation into the reason for the sudden descent into a berserk madness and the sudden manifestation of curses in the physical form of black mud. A very familiar black mud. Something that Saber had seen only once before, just as Shirou had. Something that should have been impossible.

Shirou, in some manner, had been cursed by the black mud. Heavily. And it had not been recently either. The stain on his soul went back just over a decade. Roughly at the conclusion of the Fourth Grail War. During the Fuyuki Fire that Saber had been partially responsible for when she had used Excalibur on the tainted cup on the Command of Kiritsugu.

Considering the sheer malevolence of the material, none of them were sure why it had not consumed Shirou just by coming into contact with it all those years ago. As a teen and a magus with an unusual ability and a distortion, it would have been possible for him to at least survive it, if only just, but as a child? Without any training in magecraft? It should not have been possible.

And yet the evidence seemed to laugh in her face with the stunned look on the sword incarnation's own.

In any case, however it had happened, there was no denying that Shirou was now cursed. In a manner most extreme. And that terrified Saber and Rin.

Would they eventually lose the light of their lives to this insidious black mud, much like they now knew Shirou had lost his adopted father to the foul liquid?

Further delving by Rin had revealed the true horror of the curses that now dwelled within Shirou's body, seemingly only held at bay by the chain wrapped around him.

Heartbreakingly, the answer to that horrible question had been a definitive 'yes'.

The curses ate away at him, devouring portions of his soul, in the smallest of increments at a time.

Surprisingly, however, it left his magical circuits intact, in a way, as it did so. The curses slowly began to mutate the body of Shirou, making it more compatible with curses housed within him, building up muscle and fine-tuning other organic parts to make the body better, faster, stronger, destroying him from the inside out while also rebuilding him in a way that they instinctively desired. It used portions of Prana that they were able to wrench from Shirou's grasp to fuel this change and any use of his circuits allowed the curses to gain ground and have a tighter and firmer grasp on him.

Rin had been quick to understand what that meant and had been visibly ill as she had explained. And was violently sick afterwards, her face pale as a ghost.

The curses would devour his soul, eventually, even with the slowing of the curses progress due to Enkidu wrapped around the boy, something that Rin still wasn't sure as to why it seemed to work, and then use the soul that had been destroyed as a blueprint to project themselves, in the form of a pseudo-soul, something that should by all rights be impossible and was completely blasphemous, onto Shirou's body, effectively giving the curses control of an enhanced body that had the possibility being able to tear down the doors of Fort Knox, bare handed. A frightening thought to say the least.

It made Saber burn in fury and deep sorrow. Not only would her lover eventually pass, well before his time, but he would not even be granted the decency of a proper burial as these gods damned curses ran rampant in his empowered corpse until it rotted away or was destroyed.

It was sickening, horrific and reeked of manipulation rather than pure bad luck or circumstance. Something that had Saber even more wary. Such manipulation would require someone with a great deal of power, in many different forms. Power that was beyond human ken.

Should the identity of this prospective power ever be found out, and they be within her reach, Saber would not hesitate to make them chew Excalibur as she tore their heads from their shoulders. Whoever or whatever they may be.

The months since they had found out about Shirou's condition had been...rough to say the least.

Rin had immediately thrown herself into looking for an answer, performing experiment after experiment upon the samples that she had Shirou supply her with. For hours at a time she meditated, perusing the library that her ancestor had recorded in her Crest, looking for ways to possibly break the curse that inflicted her lover. As yet, she had not been able to even find a way to halt the slow progression of the curse, save for the use of Enkidu, a measure that had begun to lose a measure of its effectiveness lately.

Saber, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel utterly useless. She had no knowledge of healing that could aid the Tohsaka Head and her practical, and more than likely theoretical, studies in Magecraft were far less advanced than Rin's, thus her contribution towards possibly curing her paramour was limited. Feats of arms would not win this battle.

Her one and only use of Avalon upon Shirou, in the hopes that the greatest defensive Noble Phantasm to exist would be able to solve the matter, to purge the curse from him had only resulted in Shirou falling to the ground and start writhing with pain, his hands clawing at his guts like he wanted to rip them out. She had stopped immediately, but the damage was done.

Such an effect should not have happened, but once more Rin had been able to discern the truth. Avalon, at its core, was both a holy and divine attributed artifact, anathema to the darkness and corruption that made up the curses. As the curses were bonded to Shirou's soul, Avalon had, unwittingly, begun to attack Shirou's soul, nearly tearing it apart, in its attempt to cleanse the darkness.

Shirou had also been of little help, save for taking the role of the victim and supplier of samples. His own magecraft was ill suited, to say the least, to such complex spells and rituals that Rin performed on a regular basis.

Saber had been forced to watch the Rin almost tear herself apart, great bags forming under her bloodshot eyes and her hair becoming more and more disheveled with every passing day, as the female magus searched frantically for a solution. The female magus became snappish and sharp, her sarcasm lethal and venomous. And when night came, when she had finally given up for the night, knowing that zero progress had been made, she came to the bed the three of them shared, her eyes red with unshed tears as she crawled in beside them. Occasionally, her emotions would further erupt, leading towards an outpouring of tears, filled with sorrow and grief, or a scene of frenetic energy, filled with desperation and unbridled twisted desire, that resulted in a hard animalistic and primal rutting, the female magus trying to lose herself in Shirou's and Saber's embrace for just a moment, just so she could forget that dark future that lay maybe a year, two at the very most, ahead of them.

Perhaps worst of all, however, had been Shirou's reaction to the news.

Or perhaps non-reaction would be a better description for it. At least on the outside.

Shirou, despite the sword of Damocles now hanging over his head, didn't deviate from his regular day, acting as if nothing had changed. He still got up, made the meals, trained (though he was restricted in his use of thaumaturgy) and helped them or others, in his role as a fill-in worker, where he could. It was disconcerting to both of the women to see him almost ignore the fact that his life was so drastically shortened and the fact that his 'death' would be worse than any could imagine.

But in the inside, in his soul, Saber knew that he was struggling, fighting. The entire Grail War, and especially his connection with Archer EMIYA, had shown him true horror and the pain that one had to shoulder if he followed the same path as his Counter Guardian counterpart. He had been making progress in changing his beliefs, being a little self-conscious of himself, but now, with his imminent death looming, it seemed that his actions had all been for naught.

It was a harsh and bitter pill to swallow, but he had had no choice in the matter and was forced to accept it, just at the rest of them were, even as Rin tried again and again to find a way to unravel the curses. But even the Tohsaka Head seemed to know that it was a fruitless endeavour after endless amounts of failures, merely going through the motions to try and find a cure, hope almost completely lost but unable to bring herself to stop trying.

Perhaps in response to this harrowing ordeal and Shirou's awaiting fate, the two women tried to follow his example, outwardly living the way they had normally done, trying to seize a hold of a fraction of the normality that they had achieved, clinging to the halcyon days they had earned.

Then, by the manipulations of Fate, Shirou had been thrown feet first into one of the Quests that this world's modern version of demigods were so fond of doing. A Quest that involved the rescue of a captured Goddess. A labour that would by no means be easy nor would the culprit that they would eventually face be a push over.

Saber, in her heart of hearts, felt the bells of doom toll as she had talked to her paramour. She had no doubts. This Quest would be Shirou's final action in this world.

She didn't like the situation, far from it, and would have loved nothing more than Shirou to simply turn around and leave this Quest. However, the manipulations of Fate are not to be denied, and Shirou's selfless desire to help, further fuelled by his imminent demise and the, hidden, desire to leave a legacy (going out with a bang as it were) would not have allowed him to turn his back on the members of this Quest.

And she would be damned if her lover would go into the darkness, the depths of Oblivion, unescorted and unremembered for his sacrifice. Rin felt the same.

Rin had asked what she thought of these events? There was only one answer she could give as she felt her heart darken, a scowl crossing her youthful features.

"I despise it utterly."

"Where is it?" A muffled voice spoke as the owner of it scowled beneath the heavy swathe of bandages he wore, his narrowed eyes the only thing that could be seen as he ran them across the myriad of shelves in his private library, a collection of the vast knowledge that he had acquired, by many means, over the years of his existence.

Old scrolls, ancient tomes, even more ancient stone tablets and various other bits and pieces of scripture filled the area as he wandered through it, stopping occasionally to peruse a piece of information before grunting and placing it back.

The bandaged being had finally stopped watching the recording of the foolish group of half-blood's battle with his pet vixen, an asset that he was unhappy to lose. The outcome had not exactly been a complete surprise, though he and his General had hoped to inflict casualties on the party, due to the sheer power and talent that was within that party. The child of Poseidon, the daughter of Zeus and the experienced huntress Nightshade alone made them formidable and the cloth clad man had a small suspicion about the heritage of the younger huntress which only made the group stronger as a result.

However, it had been the red-haired enigma that had ensured the party's complete and utter victory. And the way he had done so...

He grimaced tightly beneath the dirty cotton that he wore. He hated unknowns. They couldn't be predicted and often had a way of somehow managing to tilt the scales in their favour or, in some unknown manner, be able to make a deck stacked against them give them a winning hand.

He wanted, needed, to dispel the mystery around the scarlet haired young man. Just by watching the 'highlight reel' of his pet vixen's fight, he knew that the lad could not be underestimated at any time.

He had decided to start off with the boy's summoning of weapons.

The first thought was that he had created Mistforms, the ability to create physical objects or even beings out of the Mist itself. A powerful ability and one that was seen in Hecate's line almost exclusively. However, on more careful examination, he had discarded the notion.

The boy had created three things.

One had been a crystalline sword that seemed to almost made of solidified water, not to be confused with ice or frost, that had, in some manner, either summoned or created out of nothing, a massive volume of water comparable to a pond or a small lake.

The second had been what looked to be a massive slab of jagged rock crudely formed into a blasphemous ungainly sword, that had no right to be called a weapon, that had managed to do enough damage to his pet, breaking her back, despite the fact that it was not crafted of any of the divine metals that were capable of wounding those of the divine.

The last had been a similarly massive bronze club, simple and yet fine, that had managed to kill his fox with an almost simple tap on her nose, dissipating her into a flurry of golden dust almost on contact.

Any one of these weapons could be construed as powerful, no matter how one looked at it. Each of them having qualities, save for the stone slab with an edge, that could rival many of Hephaestus' greater creations. Each of them seeming to only be temporary, his video of the scene capturing one of the weapons shattering into fragments of light/energy before disappearing altogether. This would have fit in with what he knew of Mistforms, constructs that could be dismissed by the wielder at will. But there was a single sticking point that told him that this was different.

The creations were too powerful.

The creations were more than simply the outside frame that was shown, interacting with the world in some manner beyond that of simple physical contact. This was plainly shown in the case of that beautiful crystalline sword, one that had shattered and become a roaring wave of water upon the boy's conscious command. He had seen weapons set alight by either powers or charms. He had observed the formation of solid constructs from pure energy, usually children of Apollo that rarely had enough raw power and the extremely rare gift of photokinesis combined.

But he had never, in his very long life, seen a weapon with such obvious esoteric properties simply formed out of nothing. If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that the crystalline sword and the bronze club were Symbols of Power, or at least something akin to that, no matter how preposterous it seemed.

There was something deeper at work here, something more unusual and unique.

And he had just the idea of what it may be. Though if he was correct...

He grunted slightly as he finally found the texts he was looking for, surprisingly right next to each other.

He pulled Homer's Odyssey, a classic from earlier and more interesting and familiar times, as well as the more foreign text of Maharabata, one of the classics of the far flung Kingdom of India, from the shelf. He examined the covers closely, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

If these texts had the answers he sought and suspected...then he would be forced to intervene directly in this sordid affair, however much he disliked to do so.

Especially if the boy proved himself to be more of a danger than he had already shown.

Zoe glanced back at the group she lead, making sure that they were keeping up the pace as they trekked across the landscape.

The Hunter was at somewhat of a loss. Ever since the massive fox had destroyed their ride to the west, she knew that things had only gotten more difficult. They had lost time and distance because of the death of the massive porcine engine of destruction, something that she was worried that they would not be able to make up, something that was unacceptable.

She had promptly given the order to make a forced march, directly to the west, the direction that the great boar had been travelling. The red haired swordsman had given her no complaints, and had been keeping up with her quite well, making it look easy, as if he had either endured such a gruelling action, or perhaps one even worse, before. Her newest sister also kept up well, the blessing of their Lady having granted her the increased physical ability to do so, even if she was untrained and had not experienced such a thing before this time.

The campers on the other hand...Zoe couldn't help but grimace slightly, though she kept her sharp tongue to herself. Obviously the training to endure and keep up a forced march, like the Spartans of old, was no longer part of the Camp's curriculum. Though she was reluctant to admit that Thalia was doing well enough to keep up, Zoe guessed that it was because the experience in her more youthful days, before her father had turned her into a tree so as to let her escape the clutches of the Lord of the Underworld and the tortures that would have no doubt awaited her if she managed to descend into her uncle's dark realm.

The satyr was also doing...passably well. She had heard the whispers about this particular satyr, one of the more recent Searchers amongst the half-goat race that had accompanied the dark haired boy in the party on a number of Quests. Satyrs, as rule, were used to travelling extensive distances on foot, their hooves permitting them to move swiftly on terrain that even she would consider hazardous. This one appeared to be a little out of shape however...

The final one of their number, and one that she had not wanted on the quest in the first place, had the most trouble in keeping pace. He had fair amount of endurance, she was forced to admit that, neither breathing or sweating heavily, making it known to her that he had at least a competent fitness level, but the boy was not used to cross country trekking, nor did his footwear, simple sneakers, make it any easier for him. She could easily see the slight hitch that he was developing in his step, worsening with every moment that passed and step that he took forward, a sign that his feet ached and that at least one blister was forming somewhere on those lower appendages.

She just thanked the stars and Olympus that he had not chosen to voice endless complaints like many others would in his position, male or female.

Though she wasn't sure how long that would last. It would still be a few hours before the sun set and the sky became dark enough that they would be forced to stop and make camp. Hopefully, they would be able to reach a town or other locale by that time. The great boar might have carried them swiftly, at least until it was killed by the massive fox, but it hadn't followed roads or highways which would have aided the Quest to be able find the closest town.

Zoe was betting that the boy's feet would almost be complete blisters by the time they stopped, one way or another.

"A penny for your thoughts?" A voice spoke up, practically in her ear, making her start violently from her thoughts, twisting her head to glare at the source that now marched even with her.

"Must thou do that?" She growled at those golden eyes, annoyed that she had been so lost in thought that she had failed to pay attention to her surroundings, a failing that had cost many a Hunter their life and one that she had thought she had outgrown centuries ago. It made her think that the boy had used some degree of stealth to be able to approach her so closely without her being aware, a frightening thought if she were to be honest.

A scarlet eyebrow was raised in question, "Do what exactly?" Shirou queried her, looking slightly nonplused.

Zoe just grunted slightly and turned away, focusing on her stride. She wasn't about to say anything if he didn't realise it. It also made her wonder more about the red haired youth. She frowned slightly.

A cursed red haired youth who was living on borrowed time.

Her frown deepened. That revelation had been far from welcoming, and very much disturbing. Were it not for the oath he had sworn upon the Styx and her own experience in seeing through deception, she would have written off what he had said as blatant lies and fabrications, the staple working of those of the male gender, so far fetched and unbelievable his story had been. His eyes, looking like tarnished gold, the normal warmth she had seen mixed with shadows and despair and bitterness, had given no sign of a lie however.

It made her question what she knew about this world. Something that big, that important, that blasphemous and horrifying, should not, could not, have gone unnoticed by the Immortals. She admitted, reluctantly, that it may have been possible that she could not have known about this blood tournament, such a thing was hardly a unique occurrence if one cared to look deeper into the sum of human depravity in the mortal's criminal underworld even if they lacked a certain mystical element or bent. Perhaps her mistress knew about it and was given a order of silence from her royal father? Certainly the Sky Lord liked to keep things quiet, especially if they reflected ill upon his realm, Kingdom and rule. The curse that the youth bore was no joke and the thought of someone, or something, having the ability to cast that type of curse gave Zoe the chills, a cold sweat dripping down her spine.

But there still should have been rumours, whisperings, amongst those who could see beyond the Mist. Olympus was gossip central and nature spirits and monsters could spread news just as quickly if they had a mind to. No matter how hard one tried to keep a secret, it would always, always, eventually spread beyond its boundaries. It would just be a matter of time. A slip of the tongue in the range of someone's hearing, a misplaced written note, suspicious actions and someone deciding to investigate into the matter.

There was more to the story than what the young man gave, however truthful those words may have been, she knew that much. The question was; what was it that he had held back? What other secrets did he hide, holding them close to his chest?

Speaking of secrets...she eyed trudging youth as she heard the faint jingle and rattle of chain links coming from him, muffled by the thick overalls and jacket that he wore.

One question burned in her mind to ask, one that she had intended to demand an answer to before, but she had been thrown by the revelation of his status as a heavily cursed individual and was sobered by the eventual fate that awaited him when his time finally ran out. She wasn't able to bring herself to ask the question immediately after hearing of his fate. She was not insensitive to that point.

It concerned what it was that the boy had created, a Mistform of a weapon that every Hunter knew on sight and despised with everything that they were. That weapon had cost many a Hunter their lives...or worse.

The fact that this boy had been able to create a facsimile, a copy, of it accurate enough to pass for the real thing made her very wary and angered. The only way such an accurate copy could have been made is if the boy had seen it before, and with it the weapon's true wielder.

And the owner of the true form of that weapon was far from the nicest of beings. The murderous bastard would have as likely as not utterly destroyed the boy if he had ever encountered the scarlet haired youth. She should know, she had hunted, and been hunted in turn, the giant enough over centuries.

So how was it that this boy, cursed and strange as he may seem, had been able to make an almost perfect copy of Orion's war club, something that he didn't often use due to preferring to use his bow? How had the boy been able to survive an encounter with the son of Gaea when, on the previous occasions that she had fought the giant, it had taken several members of the Hunt, herself included, backed by Lady Artemis to bring him low? Was he, secretly, someone who willingly consorted with the Hunter, perhaps in the fragile hope that the son of Gaea would be able to take away or cure his curse?

Zoe winced inwardly as she felt something inside her twist at her last question, a pain in her heart. But she didn't know why, she didn't know this man from a surfer in Miami! At best, he was an uncertain ally and a necessary burden to be carried in order for the Quest to rescue her Lady to succeed. So why did a pang fill her heart when she thought that he was a, possible, enemy?

And why did he seem so familiar to her?

Mystery and confusion surrounded this youth like a thick fog, something that Zoe wanted, needed, to dispel.

But how, and where, to start?

A sudden grunt of surprise and shocked satisfaction interrupted her musings, making her glance at the scarlet haired boy, who's face showed a bit of happiness as he looked towards the horizon, making her do the same, peering across the rugged landscape. Did he see something?

"There a town about ten to twelve miles from here," he said to her quietly, his golden eyes squinting as he looked forward. "If we keep going as we are now, judging by the position of the sun, we should be able to make it there just a little before dark. Hopefully, we can get some rest and supplies when we get there."

"How dost thou knowest this?" She demanded, coming abruptly to a stop and glaring at the boy in suspicion.

She was a Huntress, in tune with nature, the Wild, and its ways. With the blessing of their Lady, the eyesight of a Huntress was second to none, save for that, perhaps, of the rare child of Apollo, who's sight was more often aligned to the 'Sight' and Prophecy rather than mundane enhanced eyesight.

So how was this boy able to see a village/town/what-have-you before she, arguably the strongest Huntress and unarguably the most experienced, possibly could?

He gave a small smirk and wordlessly held his right hand out toward her, nodding at her to look at it. She scowled slightly, annoyed at his antics, but wordlessly looked at it.

She immediately noticed the calluses on it, rough and heavy. He was someone who clearly worked, and worked hard, in everything he did. Something that let give than man another degree of wary respect. The skills that he had shown were clearly not simply inborn traits, like some other half-bloods had and relied upon, even when she knew Chiron tried hard to knock that reliance out of them before it cost them their lives. He had obviously trained for quite a long time and he had sweated and bled to earn those skills.

That made him all the more dangerous. She did not fear the man who swung a thousand different strokes of a blade once, she feared the man that swung a single stroke a thousand times.

She noted the rough palms, a sign of someone who gripped the handle, or in this case a hilt, of an object. Clearly a sword user, borne out by her observations in the battles that the Quest had been through so far. However there was a familiar pattern of calluses between the boy's index and middle finger, as well as ones on the tips and under the knuckles of said fingers and his ring finger.

She knew what that meant. She had seen similar calluses for centuries on the hands of her sisters in arms.

It surprised her slightly that this man a similar skill. She had seen his skill at swords and saw the hard work he had put into earning on his palm. She had thought that, given his level of skill, he had dedicated himself solely towards mastering that particular skill and his skill at Mistforms.

If he had this skill, however, it could possibly explain why he may have been able to see a town in the distance. An Archer's eyes were their most valuable tool, and that went double for a Huntress.

But she, too, was an archer and she doubted that this man had keener eyes or instincts than her own.

"Thou art an archer," she said bluntly, sounding more like an accusation if she was honest, the rest of the party catching up to her and the newly revealed archer, the son of Poseidon wincing slightly as he took a step.

"Since before I entered high school back home," he nodded in agreement, "once I was trained, I never missed a target unless I wanted to," she scowled slightly at the seeming boast, but didn't interrupt, the way he had said it...it was without any pride, just a statement of fact. As if he had said the 'sky was blue'.

It was odd to say the least, at least in Zoe's opinion.

"Better than anything Kelp Head can do," Grace said with a grin, the Huntress suppressing a smirk at the son of Poseidon's answering scowl and glare at her. The son of Zeus gracefully ignored it. "So why did we stop?"

"There is a town just over ten miles from here," repeated Shirou, lifting a hand and pointing just a little off directly west, "we can take a little breather now and then keep moving and, hopefully, be there just as it gets dark." His golden eyes locked with her own black ones, "Provided that our leader lets us, of course."

Zoe narrowed her eyes at him, scowling. He had put her on the spot. If she didn't let them rest now, with their goal for the day in sight, she had no doubt that an attempted coup would take place, at least from Grace. The others, including her new sister, looked like they would welcome a breather now as well.

She didn't really have a choice, not without conflict breaking out that was unneeded and unwanted and that she could ill afford. Damn him!

"How art thou sure that there is such a place?" She snapped back, angered and trying to save what face she could. The man had undermined her authority!

"Reinforcement applied to the eyes," he responded calmly, not phased by her anger.

Zoe felt her anger quell slightly, confusion taking its place. Reinforcement? What exactly did he mean?

"Ummm, what now?" the sea spawn asked dumbly, looking as confused as Zoe felt. Not that she would let it show.

"Call it a spell," Shirou said with a small shrug, "Reinforcement basically lets me 'improve' an object in the way of it's function. Making armour harder, a knife sharper or even food more nutritious. These are examples of its uses." He explained, "My skill in this spell is high enough that I can use it own my own body safely, enhancing its functions. Applying it to my eyes..."

"Enhances your eyesight, allowing you to see further and better," Bianca interjected, looking highly impressed, "maybe even to the point of night-vision."

"Correct," Shirou said with a small smile toward the younger Huntress.

Zoe looked at Shirou with a bit of amazement, as did the rest of the Quest. She had heard of potions that could duplicate the effects of the spell he used, particularly if it was ingested by the desired recipient of strength, and she had seen more than few half-bloods in her time receive a boon from the Gods to boost their physical prowess. The Blessing of Ares came to mind rather quickly, as did the son of Poseidon's own increase in power when he was in contact with water.

But an actual spell utilised to do something similar, even if it was at a seeming lower level? That she had not encountered before. Most magic users she had encountered focused on a more ranged approach to combat, blasting with raw power and elemental fury in the case of the stronger ones, and eschewed getting in close with weapons as this red haired boy did.

It was quite a surprise and her mind could easily think of hundred different applications of this very useful spell.

It also explained to her some of the feats he had pulled off that would had almost killed others who had attempted it. Like the balcony drop into battle with the massive lion when they had first met. He should have shattered his legs instead of the floor when he had landed.

"Baaah," bleated the satyr, suddenly looking more than a little anxious, "what would have happened if you didn't do it 'safely'?"

Shirou grimaced slightly, "Ever seen someone's eyes literally explode out of their head?"

That made all of them, save Zoe flinch, their faces paling dramatically, the questioning satyr looking a little queasy at the answer to his query. Zoe managed to stop herself from paling only through fierce self-control.

"Ten minutes," she barked at them all, "Ten minutes to rest and recover and then we move on."

The Quest did so without complaint.

Shirou manfully suppressed a groan and a soft swear as they all came within clear sight of the small town, more of a village or less if he was to be honest, as the sunset below the horizon, Venus already shining in the darkened sky.

The last hours of the day had passed quickly for the group, an end to the long day in sight. All of them, even himself, were exhausted and tired in many ways. Three different life-threatening fights all in the one day, even as brief as they had seemed, followed by a two digit mile cross country trek. Their collective legs were killing them and all they wanted as some food and rest, and they weren't particular what, where or how they would attain them. The fact that a town was within reach had given all of them a small boost, a second wind, to their flagging bodies to make sure that they made it.

Though Percy was limping rather badly, though Grover was breathing like a smith's bellows, though even Thalia and the Hunters looked more than a little ragged around the edges and sweat and dust stained them all, they had made it.

Made it to a ghost town.

A dusty street and a broken wooden boarded up house and a storefront of a closed taco shop beside a post office were all that greeted them all as they stood beneath a battered sign that said: 'Welcome to Gila Claw, Arizona'. A swift breeze cut through the deserted town, dust and sand swirling in its wake as it crossed the street in front of them like an ominous scene from a gunslinger movie.

And behind it all loomed massive mountains of metal in what seemed to the world's largest junkyard. Shirou couldn't even see the other side of it, hidden from view by the towering monoliths of scrap. Downsize it a bit and, if he was honest, it might have looked what his magus Workshop had been like before coming to this world and learning a fair bit from both Rin and Saber.

There was a scent in the air, however, that made him wary. A scent of power and might, of fire and metal, tainted by rust and the slightest hint of decay. There was danger in that testimony to the wastefulness of humanity, Shirou was sure of it, that much power just standing around wasn't healthy for anyone, but at the same time...

It brought a sense of...comfort to him, a familiarity that confused him greatly.

Shirou pinched the bridge of his nose, as he put aside his confusion, to ward off the headache that attempted to surface. This was absolutely perfect. Note the sarcasm and layer it thick.

"Well crap," Thalia spoke shortly, sounding highly displeased and in complete agreement with Shirou.

"Food," groaned Grover, a thunderous rumble, the growling of a hungry beast that had spotted its next meal walking in front of it, making itself heard as he spoke, making Shirou look around for the beast that had made that frightening noise.

The swordsman mentally slapped himself when he realised that it had only been the satyr's stomach.

"Tis not what I was expecting," admitted Zoe, her dark face creased in a heavy frown.

"Me either," admitted Shirou, his shoulders slumping with a heavy sigh, "...how much in the way of supplies do you have?"

"Little," responded the Huntress, her frown hiding the worry that he could scent coming off her in waves, "A few bottles of water, a little nectar and ambrosia, weapons and tools...and little more."

"Wonderful," he spoke aloud, exasperated and a little despondent. It was not the worse situation he had ever been in, but it was still rather uncomfortable. He looked around again, trying to see if he had missed anything that could help them.

He came up blank with just a glance, but maybe if he had a better look around...

He glanced at Zoe, "I don't think we will going any further today, do you?"

Zoe shook her head in the negative, still frowning, "We will abide here tonight," she said, her voice heard by all of them, "we can discuss plans before we rest and leave at first light tomorrow."

Shirou nodded in agreement, the others all nodding in turn.

"I'll take a look around," he said to them, his golden eyes serious, "maybe the situation isn't as hopeless as we first fear. Besides," he jerked a thumb towards the junkyard, "I want to get a better bead on that. It isn't coincidence that we arrive in a deserted town attached by the largest junkyard I have ever seen in my life, that also reeks of power." His eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze toward the towering ragged hills of metal and trash, "It is definitely not normal."

Zoe frowned slightly, looking both suspicious and considering as she thought about his unasked request, before nodding in assent. "Thou hast fifteen minutes. Return by then."

Shirou nodded in asquiesence to his leader's command and quickly set off, his sensitive nose scenting already, leaving the rest of the group behind to talk and rest.

His quick look over the few buildings there, with both his eyes and a little bit of Structural Analysis, yielded about what he expected, which was Absolutely Nothing, and quickly moved on toward entrance of the massive junkyard.

He couldn't help but grunt briefly as he passed the last building, the metaphysical scent of the junkyard hitting him in the face like a hammer, making him stagger slightly. Now that he was closer, instead of the powerful scent of molten metal, he could up more individual scents. A bit of blood, ash and even the slightest hint of more gentle scents, of pine and lavender and a myriad of others that he couldn't identify. His mind whirled as his senses were overloaded by what he was sensing, making him take a knee and his eyesight blurred.

Even as he tried to handle the metaphysical assault, he could something shift within him, the crashing of hammers on an anvil filling his ears, slow and steady, like the beat of a massive metal heart. His magical circuits also throbbed in time with the metallic beat, Od surging through them like they were veins or blood vessels, making him feel like he was on fire as the the flow of prana wrestled with the encroaching curses that dwelled within him, causing him a great deal of pain.

'What the hell is happening to me?!' He thought in slight panic as he tried to get to his feet, the chain wrapped around him, clinking slightly and tightening around him, digging into flesh, even as they also heated up, responding to the power that surging through him and trying to suppress it. He managed to stagger upright, if only barely, and swayed and stumbled around, his senses beyond disoriented by the power in front of him and the pain wracking his very soul.

He tried to stumble back towards the others, hoping that distance from the junkyard would stop this inexplicable reaction that he was having to it.

He was brought to an abrupt halt, however, as he felt a pale hand, slender and fine and feminine but with a degree of strength that was clearly inhuman, grasp his shoulder. The chaotic power of the junkyard disappeared completely from his senses, the scent of hot metal completely vanishing into the ether, and he was able to make circuits close themselves and flush the prana they had channeled out of his system.

Even as he did so, a new scent brushed against him, the scent of burnt wood and herbs underlined by the soft traces of decay and dogs. It was powerful, extremely so.

And it was right on top of him.

He went to whirl out of the grasp of whoever had a hold of him, to give himself to room to either fight or flee, only to halt as an airy but commanding voice spoke to him.

"Calm yourself, boy," the voice said, feminine and rich, "I mean no harm to you."

A wavering form, like cloud of smoke, began to appear in front of him, taking on a more definite and realistic and solid form with every second that passed, with every word that was spoken.

"I have business with one who treads on my domain but knows me not." The pale hand became attached to a pale arm attached to a curvaceous feminine torso clad in a white sleeveless robe decorated all over with blue symbols, arcane symbols of magic that Shirou had seen used by Rin before in her spells.

His golden eyes trailed up to the admittedly beautiful, if slightly cold, face, framed by long blonde hair. Her completely black eyes, pupil and iris and sclera, doorways to the abyss, stared down at him.

Her scent was overwhelming powerful, even Gilgamesh had not such power! And she was doing nothing more than simply standing there, a grasp both gentle and firm upon his shoulder.

There was no question what she was and he knew that he wouldn't be able to escape her if she was hostile. The one trump card he had against beings of this nature was already in use, keeping him from slipping into madness and Tracing another one was out of the question unless he wanted to be thrown in a berserk state for the second time that day.

The only thing he could do was to she what business she had with him and hope that she wasn't hostile.

Shirou was really starting to hate his luck.

"I would be happy to discuss business with you," he said as politely as he could, nodding in respect, "May I ask your name?"

A pale eyebrow rose on her beautiful face, her eyes, despite their unfathomable darkness, seemed to gleam with slight approval at him, making a tense line in shoulders relax. "Such a polite boy," she murmured, a small smile crossing her features. She snapped the fingers of the hand that wasn't resting on his shoulder and Shirou felt the air seem to ripple and roil, a two seated sofa suddenly appearing in of the dusty road the lead to the entrance of the junkyard.

A slight nudge if his shoulder made him walk toward it, her steps even with his and her hand trailing down his arm, now gripping him by the wrist. He would had attempted to twitch out of her grasp when she had done so, but some part of him, a deep part of him, warned him not to, that she was the reason that he hadn't burnt himself up after nearing the junkyard.

"I go by many names, young man," she said, regally seating herself on one side of the sofa while using his arm to manipulate him to sit on the other side. At any other time, in any other place, with any other people, this would have been a scene far more romantic and touching. Shirou, however, did not get the feeling that this female was here for a tryst.

"The Dark Lady, some have called me," she said calmly, "others know me as the Queen of Ghosts. Torchbearer and Gatekeeper, Three-Bodied and Three-Formed." Her smile became a thin slash of her lips, angry and tight, "some have even called me the 'Enemy of Mankind'."

Her lips relaxed slightly, becoming more full as her momentary anger drained away.

"But I prefer to answer to Hecate, Goddess of Magic, the Mist and the Crossroads."

Shirou inwardly gulped and swore heavily in the deepest depths of his mind. This was not good.

"And I find myself wondering who it is that can perform magics of equal, or even greater, power than my own." She spoke calmly, her voice a deep and still lake hiding the vastness that lay beneath.

'Damn my luck,' Shirou thought with a heavy feeling of apprehension as he looked into the powerful deity's eyes, one who clearly wanted answers and wasn't going to leave until she got them.

Author Notes

Hey folks,

Sorry it has been so long since I have updated it and my apologies for the somewhat washy quality of it. This is mainly a filler chapter leading up to a series of very important discussions taking place in the next chapter.

There will be some action in the chapter after the next, as the Quest makes their way through the junkyard, so you adrenaline junkies out there will just have to hold your horses and wait patiently for no holds barred, knock down and dragged out brawl that will have a surprise result.

I hope you all don't mind my finagling with the curse affected Shirou and the effects that they have on him. He really can't seem to catch a break, can he? The way the curses work are a very important part of the story, so be careful to remember it. It might not be canon, but this is Fanfiction and so some adlibbing should be allowed. My belief is that the curses contained within Angra Mainyu have a certain degree of sentience, especially after having adhered, hidden and dormant, to Shirou at a youthful age, having fed upon his power. They desire nothing more than utter destruction of the world and are willing to wait to be able to ensure that they make the biggest splash onto the world stage.

The effects that they are applying to Shirou, even with the explanation that he has given, are more than they seem, so keep an eye on that.

Thank you all for your patience and I eagerly await your reviews of this chapter and I will do my best to make another chapter as soon as my schedule permits.

With best wishes,

Kujikiri21