Knights and Swords

I do not own Fate/Stay Night or High School DxD

Chapter 2: Black Wings and Black Fangs

Vivid red eyes, like twins pools of blood somehow set afire, snapped open.

Shaggy black fur that those pools of boiling hellfire were hidden in shook and shivered briefly as the owner of both of those features moved for the first time in an age, lithe and powerful limbs stretching and moving as the being rose onto all fours, the dry crackle of the bed of bleached and dry bones it lay upon accompanying the being's awakening movements as the creature knocked them idly aside.

Those orbs of scarlet fire gazed around it's den, taking in the scattered bones, those both dry and mildewing, and the blood stained dark stone walls of it's chamber, looking for anything out of place in it's own territory. It chuffed in satisfaction. Nothing was gone, nor were there any foreign scents to indicate that something had dared to enter it's lair.

So why was it awakened from it's slumber?

It inhaled deeper, burning pits of hellfire becoming slits as it focused on it's other senses.

Bones and dust and rot filled it's wet black nose, something that gave it comfort as it scented the nigh stifling air of it's den. It reminded it of times past, when it had freely roamed the misty moors and muddy dirt trails of the Two Leggers, chasing down it's prey and savouring the acrid scent of their fear as they fled before it until it tired of the chase and ended it's prey's life and then dragging the kill home to it's den, to feast upon and devour.

It was the lord of the moors, ruler of the night and the being that had it's prey cowering in the darkness of their dens of earth and wood as it howled in delight of the Hunt.

But that had all changed when the Light had set foot upon the land it called home.

A thundering growl ripped from it's throat, primal and malicious and terrifyingly angry, as it remembered that day on the sandy shores.

They had come from the great water, atop strangely shaped tree trunks, and had then stepped onto the shores of it's territory. It had not tolerated that, not when these strange Two Leggers that smelt of burnt earth had not even had enough respect to attempt to placate it's anger at their intrusion with offerings.

It had attacked then, charging for the one that it knew to be the Alpha, with burnt earth fur that reflected the light of the sun, one of the rays of light dancing on top of the Alpha's head. It was also greeted with a new scent it had never encountered before, one that smelt of fire, health and purity, that came from a length of burnt earth that was at the Alpha's side.

The feeing was so different from it's own nature, that of death and darkness, that it was repugnant.

It planned to slaughter them all for their temerity.

It had was a shadow across the earth, so fast as to be mistaken for flicker of the firelight, as it sprinted and weaved through the pack of the Alpha, aiming to rip the Two Legger's throat from his neck.

It had not succeeded, managing to be forced to flee through the intervention of another of the Two Legger's, one that had been close to the Alpha using another, longer, length of burnt earth, this one mixed with the scent of wood and fire, that had glowed a bright gold. The Two Legger who defended the Alpha had, much to it's surprise, been able to match it's own speed, even surpassing it enough to inflict nine massive piercing wounds in it's body before being forced to flee for it's life.

But it hadn't gone quietly. It stilled remembered the crunch of bone and flesh as it had robbed the Guardian of one of his front paws as it had left.

It had then fled, flying back towards it's den to lick it's wounds, knowing that it would take a great deal of time for it to heal, devouring what meals it had stilled stored in it's den as it laid itself to rest. It had been filled with a hungry fire that had nothing to do with it's desire to eat during it's slumber, continuously reliving the fight it had with the Guardian and the feeling of the object the Guardian had used to smote it numerous times, the golden fire stilling burning in it's gut. Over and over those memories had been revisited. The presence, the feeling, the very scent of the power of Light had been etched in it's consciousness, along with those of the Alpha and the Guardian, with those experiences it had dwelled upon.

Pure hatred had been born in it's mind that day, towards the Light that surrounded the burnt earth the Alpha and the Guardian had both wielded.

When it had awoken from it's healing slumber, it was to a changed world.

The Light, and those that were empowered by it, had now claimed it's territory as their own. The beasts it had shared it's territory with before, beings who's nature's were similar to it's own, had been hunted down, almost disappearing completely before the few remaining had managed to hide in the smallest and darkest corners of what had been their realm, as the Two Leggers of the Light, whether they had wings or not, expanded their territory.

No more could it roam the moors unchallenged except bravest of mortals. No more could it be free to openly kill or aid other mortals as it pleased. No more was it free to Hunt as it willed. To do so would only risk death at the paws of those more powerful than it, more numerous than it. And so it had been forced to hide in the darkness that was it's home.

It's hatred had grown more than three sizes that day.

It had held a fragment of hope that other winged Two Leggers, ones that smelled more like the darkness that it dwelled in than the golden ones, could have possibly drive out the Light from it's lands, reducing those beings to mere dregs it could safely challenge and reassert it's dominance over, but it was not to be.

The ensuing clash of Darkness and Light had left them both weakened, but the non-winged Two Leggers had filled the void, the lessons learned at the feet of both the Light and Darkness ensuring that they had the strength to keep it from claiming it's territory safely once more.

It's chance at recovering it's Kingdom had been robbed, taken from it due to the machinations of the Light, forcing it to have to slink where it once prowled, crawl where it once strode openly.

It had had lost it's Kingdom, lost it's pride, forced dwell in the fetid squalor of the dank abyss rather than the harsh Night and Darkness it had once ruled over. All that it had left was an ember of flame that was called Hatred. Hatred towards the Light and all that bore it's taint. Especially that of the burnt earth objects that held the Light.

In the seasons that passed, the focus of it's life became that of extinguishing the Light in any way that it could. Fat Two Leggers in bright furs, covered in the markings that often accompanied those of the Light and seemed to be a some form of Alpha were it's favourite prey, often dragging them out of their dens, where the sepulchral tones of bells were rang, in order to feed upon them.

How it gloried in their hot blood gushing from their rent throats and pouring into it's hungry gullet.

The Light slowly learned to fear the fangs that dwelled in the Darkness. A fear that it kept alive to this day, it's hatred undimmed and blood-thirst not lessened in the slightest, even with oceans of blood, the mountains of rotten flesh and the vast chasms filled with shattered bones that could made with the victims of it's rage and hatred.

The creature shook it's shaggy head. It had been many many seasons since it had last been on such a Hunt, the last one having lead it to encounter another powerful mortal, one that practically reeked of the Light, that had wounded it grievously before it had managed to tear the mortal's throat out. It had then limped off towards it's den within the bowels of the many close together dens of the mortals, slipping down into the dank crafted caves of the mortal's where it made it's den. So very different from it's former abode, a massive natural cave in the hillside facing the moors it had once called home. Hiding beneath the very noses of the Light had been a necessity due to the stream of hunters that had been sent out by the light to destroy it.

A slight twinge made the creature of the Dark Hunt look at it's side. Beneath the dark fur, it could see a long deep wound that had not quite yet to scar. A memento of it's last Hunt that had yet to completely heal, but was certainly better than the massive goring wound that it had been, which would have certainly killed any lesser being immediately. It was a testament to it's own power that it had managed to both stay alive, fight on against it's enemy and then still have enough strength to be able to retreat back to it's den.

A primal feral intelligence entered those orbs of hellfire and it's fur began to rise up, ghostly light etching it out in the darkness as it stared at the wound, the slightest amount of understanding filling them.

It should still be sleeping. Resting deeply until it was completely healed of any and all wounds. But something had caused it to stir. Something that would override it's necessity to rest and heal.

Twin suns of hell turned away, burning brighter and more malicious, as it's nose snuffled eagerly, jaws slightly open.

At first there was nothing that seemed out of order. The scent of it's den unchanged and no trace of any intruders could be sensed.

Then it halted suddenly as a new scent, but also a very familiar one, entered it's nostrils.

The scent of burnt earth and Light, so small and weak as to be almost completely absent touched upon it.

But it wasn't just the normal scent of such things. This particular blend of scent, mingled with traces of Serpent and Power, was very familiar to it. Lingering in it's dreams, never letting itself be forgotten nor it's hatred to dim and fade.

A wicked howl tore from it's throat, making the chamber of it's shake and dust and stones to fall from the ceiling. A malicious and hungry light filled it's eyes of flame and blood lust flowed from it's very pores, drowning it's mind in feral delight and making it's body twist and writhe in the need to kill and Hunt.

Vengeance, at last, had come for it.

Gaghiel perched atop a tall building roughly a block away from the building of interest, more senses than just his keen eyes focused on it, or rather who was in it.

It was about mid-morning, long after the normal opening times for the various shops and stores around but before lunch time, making the establishment, a small but obviously well known and liked cafe, hit a quiet part of the day.

He had trailed his quarry to this little establishment earlier that morning, much to his initial profound disbelief.

He had seen how his mark had moved down the streets in the early morn, at speeds that would have the human Olympians green with envy. He had also seen the way the youth he followed had walked when he had neared the destination, lithe and fluid like a predator, the walk of a trained and skilled warrior and fighter who was always at the ready. He had also felt the veritable ocean of power that was contained in that mortal frame, far too much for a person to not have some degree of training in it's use.

Altogether, these attributes painted the picture of a strong and powerful warrior who had dealt with the supernatural in some form or another over the years.

So to see this intriguing mortal playing the role of a chef at a cafe was not something he had expected.

Then again, considering some of the eccentricities of some of the more powerful being's on this planet, perhaps it wasn't so surprising. It seemed to be an almost universal law that with power came some form of craziness.

The Lucifer was a giant siscon. Gabriel, the Strongest Woman in Heaven, was a complete ditz. Baraquiel was into BDSM. Heck, he even heard that Odin, the chieftain deity of the Norse, was an utter pervert that liked to fake falling down just to get a peek at girl's panties.

A powerful warrior that seemed to enjoy himself as he cooked in a small cafe could almost be considered par for the course, or even tame in comparison.

Gaghiel shook his head ruefully. It was truly a strange strange world that he lived in.

His eyes sharpened abruptly as he noticed movement near the back of the cafe, the small carpark reserved for the staff to be exact.

But his idle thoughts meant nothing at this time. He had a job to do and this warrior he had stumbled upon was his only good lead. He had reported his observations to the rest of the Grigori through his supposed relief that came at dawn. A hurried to and fro had him receiving new orders, directly from Azazel himself.

'The mission is yours now,' the Leader of the Grigori had said in voice bereft of his usual humour, his eyes as serious as they came as Gaghiel looked into them through the visual communication window created by the spell, 'Watch him. Observe him. Find out everything you can about him but do not attack him!" Azazel had been very firm on that front, "The current situation between the Abrahamic Factions is far too delicate at this time, each of them looking to their borders and gathering arms while searching for something. I don't need to tell you what the revelation that someone has managed to remake Excalibur would do to the situation."

Gaghiel understood completely. Excalibur had been the Greatest of the Four Holy Swords, unmatched by any other weapon wielded by either Angel or Devil. The swords that had been made with the fragments of the original blade were nothing in comparison to the original. With it's shattering, the power of Heaven was weakened by a surprisingly substantial amount, a leading cause to the current status quo amongst the Factions.

With it's return however...

Well, let's just say Gaghiel was holding his breath and hoping that some of the more militant and hidebound members of Heaven didn't get a lot of support. For beings who were supposed to forgiving and virtuous, some of them could hold grudges like nothing else.

The movement continued and allowed the Fallen Angel on his perch to see the short and spiky red hair that he come to associate with his quarry. It was an intriguing shade, more like a dark flame of blood rather than the auburn or strawberry blonde some of the other residents of the British Isles had.

From when he had managed to enter the establishment under the guise of a customer during the morning rush, taking his time to eat a delightful repast of buttered fruit toast with a chocolate muffin and a decadent mug of hot chocolate while seated there, he had managed to find out the name of his quarry, a Shaun Archer, and had managed to get a good look at him up close when he had personally brought his order out.

Despite the apron, chef's whites and that ridiculous puffy hat that a person of the catering profession was forced to where at some point in their lives, Gaghiel couldn't help but tense slightly as the youth emerged from the kitchen.

He was young, not even out of his teens, which had surprised him. He was also relatively tall and would clearly become taller when he grew older. His skin was slightly darker than one would usually see, a slight tan developing over the little naked skin the Fallen could see.

However, those things weren't what put him on edge.

The amber eyes, looking more like pools of molten gold, had looked at him piercingly despite the positively genteel manner with which he had greeted the Fallen and even white smile he had graced him with, like a hawk examining it's prey. There had also been the biggest warning bell that rung in the former Guardian of The Sixth Heaven's mind, the way the youth had moved.

Like a tiger on a hunt, all grace, power and hidden lethality, with a real confidence in his own power. This was a warrior tried and tested in the hot fires of battle, not a foolish, ignorant and arrogant child with a bit of power.

And that didn't take into consideration that aura of power that he could feel the youth emitting now that he was up close and personal. It was like standing in front of an enthroned king, his steely gaze upon him, a subject and supplicant, as he awaited judgement, his life completely in the king's hands to do as he wished, knowing that he was helpless to be able prevent it.

For a Fallen Angel, one who had shed their Grace in return for freedom from the Laws of God, it was utterly terrifying to be under the absolute power of someone else.

Gaghiel had not been sure that he had been made, his cover blown, but he had not stuck around for too long, unwilling to tempt fate, and had practically bolted his (delicious) meal down, finding it a better and safer idea to watch from a distance. Which lead him to his current predicament.

His sharp eyes noticed that the youth was carrying something in his hand as he stepped completely clear of the building into the open spot of the small carpark. It was odd to the Fallen. If the youth was going to throw some trash he would have gone to the small alley off to the side. So what was...

His musings were interrupted by a sudden spike in power he sensed from the boy, carrying with the feeling of sword being unsheathed, before his eyes noticed flicker of light speeding in his direction.

Gaghiel reacted instinctively, dropping backward off of his perch onto the roof proper, flat on his back, the object coming too fast for him to block outright, thanking all Heaven that he didn't have his wings revealed at that time.

Landing on one's wings was the equivalent of being kicked in the balls for Angels of any stripe. Blinding agony and complete shut down of mental faculties until the pain had passed.

However, even if he had his wings out, he would have done the exact same thing. Blinding momentary pain is much better than being impaled by three feet of sharpened steel through the throat.

Gaghiel stared upward at the sword impaled in the smokestack on roof, not even having the temerity to tremble in it's position. His eyes traced the sharpened edge, looking like it could cut through solid stone like water, alway to the simple crossguard and then to the pommel stone and the small tag of paper that was attached by string to it.

And on the tag were scrawled three words.

Come down. NOW!

Gaghiel just stared at the tag on the sword, almost uncomprehendingly. He wasn't stupid and could easily put together what had happened. Though it begged the question on how the ever loving hell his quarry had managed to pull off throwing a fucking sword of all things with accuracy of a damned sniper rifle?! Hell, how in heaven's name did he notice his perch in the first place!? He had made sure to veil his presence after he had left the cafe.

Gaghiel, the Roaring Beast of God, couldn't help but gulp slightly. He was now upgraded his wariness of the youth to 'do not fuck with under any circumstances!'. He slowly rose to his feet, careful not to hit head on the very sharp blade of the sword, and looked back over the small parapet of the building towards the parking lot of the cafe.

Even from this distance, his sharp eyes could easily make out the molten gold orbs, looking like they desired nothing more than to set him aflame, of his target that looked directly into his own, clearly showing that the youth knew of his presence and was distinctly unhappy. A sharp gesture of the youth's arm toward the open space in the lot just in front of the younger male emphasised the youth's command for him to reveal himself.

Gaghiel didn't have much of an option. Running was out of the question, he would probably be shot down by whatever method the youth had manifested and shot forth the sword before he could teleport and there was no way he was going to make himself an easy target for a long range fighter.

He grunted slightly as he removed the blade from the smokestack, it had been embedded pretty deeply, before opening up his ebony wings and slowly glided toward the waiting human.

Shirou frowned harshly as the supernatural being he had encountered in his workplace floated down towards him on several sets dark wings.

"So this is a Fallen Angel?" he murmured to himself, inspecting the being even from the large amount of distance between them.

His Reinforced sight noted the large and broad shoulders the male Fallen had, being rather muscled but not bulky, an indication that he had some ability at weaponscraft. A staple for any Angel, Fallen or not, if his lessons from Anzu were in any way accurate. He also had ruffled blond hair that was more a reddish-gold, like the sun, that fell around his head wildly, like a lion's mane.

He had red eyes, much like Gilgamesh, but they were filled with wariness and respect rather than the haughty arrogance, however well deserved Shirou begrudgingly admitted, the King of Heroes had and his features were both broad and sharp, like chiseled stone.

There was also the scent of primal power that Shirou smell from him, even at this distance. The scent of feathers, healthy soil and, strangely enough, fire filling his metaphysical nostrils. By the scent alone he could be easily comparable in power to some of the Dead Apostles that dwelt in Archer's memories. Not on an Ancestor level, but still any Dead Apostle of any stripe had enough power to be a great threat.

Were it not for the upgrades that the Great Red had granted him and back in his own world of birth, Shirou would have been in a great deal more trouble than he was now. It was still a marvel to him how strong he was now and made him hesitant to think about how powerful other members of the supernatural community were that the Dragon of Dragons had thought that he needed this much more power to be able to just look after himself in this new world.

It made for some very restless nights for both Saber and himself.

'He is not a weak one either,' Anzu interjected into his mind, seeing the Fallen Angel through Shirou's own two eyes, her voice pensive, ' which I find more than a little strange. In my time, the Grigori were always the smallest Faction of the three and were always careful to preserve what assets they had in the War. Their tactics back then was to be like the spears of Light they wielded. Fast and focused on one spot rather than the clash of armies that the Devils and Angels of Heaven favoured, and they would be quick to retreat if their numbers dwindled to a certain level. Some would call them cowards for it, but I rather think of it as a survival trait.'

Both of them watched the Fallen Angel alight gently in front of them, his eight wings flaring widely at the last moment to make the landing softer.

'A Fallen with eight wings would normally have been kept closer to home, ready to use their prodigious might in defence of Grigori held territory in the Underworld. They would only leave there in the most extreme of circumstances. Like war.' Anzu's voice was grim at the end, 'it would be best if you were cautious right now, even more than you usually are. Something is clearly wrong.'

Shirou didn't like what he was hearing from his newest friend and apparent companion for life. Something was seriously wrong within the world of gods and demons if what she was saying was in any way accurate.

Shirou squared his shoulders as he looked harshly at the black winged Angel before him. Perhaps this one would have some answers that could shed some light on the happenings of the magical realm.

"Greetings," he said harshly to the Fallen, his normal amber eyes as hard as gold and his power thrumming beneath his skin and a myriad of weapons held in the front of his mind, ready to summoned and shot forth with but a flicker of a thought and a word. He wasn't going to take any chances with a being who likely had more experience in battle in his little finger than Shirou had in his entire body, Archer's memories included. Thankfully, the winged being had given an immediate advantage by grabbing the Traced blade he had used to send his message. If Shirou wanted to, he could turn that summoned steel into a bomb and make it go off in the creature's hand, a benefit of being in a world where the influence of Gaia was heavily reduced, if not completely absent.

A dirty move, and one he had no doubt that Saber would disapprove of, but one that would ensure he had a better chance at surviving this encounter if it got violent.

"Care to tell me who you are and why you have been spying on me the entire morning?"

Gaghiel barely refrained from showing a visible wince at the very unhappy youth's words, the unconscious power infused in those words making them feel like whip cracks across his skin, further emphasising the royal aura that flowed from him, making him feel like this was a king who beyond displeased and was deciding if he should bother sending for the headsman or simply kill him on the spot with his own blade.

He just knew that this mission was going to go to the shit at one point or another, and here he was the one holding the ball.

"Forgive me," he said with humility, bowing his head slightly deeper than he would greet an equal. Just because he was more than a little unsettled by the young man, it didn't mean he would abandon his pride and grovel before him, "My name is Gaghiel of the Grigori," he gave a slightly weak smile as he unbowed his head, "a pleasure to meet you."

There was a stilted silence between the two of them as they each took each other's true measure.

The youth's aura, now that he was no longer hiding a portion of it, like he no doubt had been back in the cafe, had the angelic warrior even more on edge than he previously had been. Gone was the genial cook and server of the cafe and there now stood a blooded warrior, forged in the fires of battle and tempered in the blood of his fallen enemies. His golden eyes were harsher than the cold wastes of Cocytus in the Underworld, his life meaning little to the one who bore those eyes and the owner was wondering if he should just slay him out of hand in order to be granted some peace from the machinations of the Factions. Gaghiel could practically feel invisible swords hovering at his throat, ready to cut him down in less than a moment should he prove to be a threat.

Come to think of it, the last statement might not be too far from the truth. He had no idea where the sword he now held came from, the youth certainly didn't have when he had exited the building and the chef's whites and baggy pants that he wore at that moment didn't offer much in the way of concealing such a large weapon. Perhaps the Sacred Gear he sensed within the boy was something similar to Sword Birth or Blade Blacksmith? Though it certainly wasn't either of those due to the complete lack of either holy or demonic traits within the blade.

He quickly shook from his meandering thoughts and focused on the very unstable situation at hand as those unseen swords seemed to come ever closer to his throat and decided show a degree of his true nature, just enough to make the young man in front of him understand that he was chump and was to be taken seriously.

His scarlet eyes became jewels of flame as his projected his own aura, a slight widening of the youth's making the Fallen understand that he clearly sensed the hold the Fallen had of his power.

He could see, reflected in the golden orbs of the other, the subtle manifestation of his aura. An almost unseen tempest of scarlet and golden power, muck like his tresses of hair, that flickered and waved like a candle in the wind, as the air also became uncomfortably hot as his aura projected the heat within his heart, the gift he had received from his Holy Father oh so long ago. Behind him, created from the wisps of his aura, the form of a raging beast, a great lion, glared over his shoulder at the youth, great maw open with great fangs of flames gleaming, ready to rend and tear the possible of enemy of it's master.

Fallen though he may have, the Flames of Sinai still answered his call.

Shirou watched those scarlet flames threaded with gold with a sense of hidden awe and wariness.

Something that was shared, to a degree, the dragon he hosted within his body and soul.

'The Flames of Sinai,' Anzu breathed into his mind with a sense of astonishment, 'Said to be the very embodiment of the Bible God or an avatar of his when he descended upon the mortal plane and thus carry a very strong alignment to the Light.' Her voice grew serious, 'Be very careful, Shirou. These are no ordinary flames. They were the tool of the Bible God's Judgement while the Heavenly Lightning was said to be the God's Justice, and both were said to be the weapons used to utterly erase Sodom and Gomorrah from the face of the planet. They are reputed to be able to destroy anything.'

'This Fallen Angel is no ordinary one. To be able to call forth these Flames...' Shirou could hear the tsk in the dragon's voice as she trailed off.

'Is your ability able to affect them?' He quickly questioned the ancient dragon, referring to power of the Sacred Gear that Great Red had gifted him with and contained the Usurper Dragon. The question was a game breaker. Just by the feeling of those flames and the information he had received from his partner, he knew that he might have to bust out the big guns if it came down to fight between the two of them if the answer was a negative. Big guns that would almost destroy the entire block as a consequence, which would also, in turn, bring attention to him and Saber from the Moonlight World that they could not yet afford.

If it was a positive though...

'Yes,' Anzu answered promptly and without hesitation, making Shirou heave an inward sigh of relief. That would make things much easier for him if a fight broke out.

He turned his full attention back to the increasingly battle ready Fallen, "I would say it was a pleasure to meet you, Gaghiel," he said dryly, ignoring the wispy flame surrounding the former denizen of Heaven, knowing that he could at least counter it, "but I am not in the habit of lying." His golden amber eyes narrowed, "I will repeat myself once more; why have you been spying on me this morning?"

Gaghiel tried desperately to find an answer to the youth's question that wouldn't set him off. He was not one to play with words like several of his comrades, before and after his Fall. And telling the outright truth would probably result in a brawl that could consume a good portion of central London. Something that wouldn't go unnoticed by the Hosts above and below, especially when he was practically on the Underworld's welcome mat.

However, none of this turmoil showed on his face, his battle experience proving itself as he kept up a good poker face.

Eventually though, he had to speak, feeling the impatience and frustration of the youth he faced rising, possibly pushing him to the verge of doing something very precipitous.

"You have encountered something of great power," he said cautiously, his nigh invisible flames wrapping around him like a cloak, an armour of heat against whatever maybe thrown at him by the male human. "One that has left it's mark on you. It is something of great interest to my Faction."

There. That was reasonably cryptic and would maybe just buy him a little more time and space to think. Every little second he gained was worth a king's ransom right now.

The youth's faced hardened slightly. Not unexpected, the words he had used could be taken to be rather ominous and threatening, but not quite enough for the boy to simply try to kill him out of hand.

"Somehow that seems to sound more than a little concerning to me," the youth said cooly, "Your particular Faction doesn't exactly have the best of reputations after all."

Gaghiel hid his grimace well. Damn Church propaganda. The damned human institution was determined to make everything hard for the rest of them. Though that did give an opening, something to test the waters with, as a certain suspicion arose in his mind. There was something off about the boy's manner...

"Don't believe everything you hear," the Fallen stated eying the set of the youth's shoulders for a reaction, "Things are rarely so cut and dried as the Church makes it out to be."

There was none save for slight nod of understanding as the boy responded, "Nothing is ever simple." He said in agreement.

Gaghiel affirmed his suspicion and hid his surprise. This boy was no Church trained Exorcist, or even Exorcist at all.

His first clue was when he wasn't killed in the first place. No Exorcist worth their salt would have let him live after finding out he was spying on them. That would have been reason enough to respond with deadly force.

The second and final piece was when he didn't even give a hint of a reaction to his backhanded insult to the Church. Exorcists were just a step shy of complete fanatics, having the inviolability and infallibility of the Church hammered into them when they were still babes in arms and throughout their gruelling training. Any of them would have denounced his words in a heartbeat and, more than likely, have attempted to tear strips off of his hide with a butter knife and then rub lemon juice and salt into the resulting wounds.

While this answered several of his own questions, it opened up a thousand more.

Who was this boy that he had clearly been in the presence of a completed Excalibur, he would know that signature anywhere, for an extended period of time but was possibly not even a follower of the Christian faith? The Church would never have let a youth such as he, a powerful and religiously indifferent young man capable of wielding arcane powers through use of a Sacred Gear, anywhere near the blade if it were completed. Was there something more to this Excalibur situation? Was it possible that Excalibur had been stolen and then assembled away from the eyes of the Church? That this boy was in the league with a possible thief of great skill, cunning and power?

Or perhaps the boy was ignorant of it's presence? Having been dwelling near the completed blade for an extended period of time, unknowing of it's existence, and it's aura had unknowingly rubbed off on him?

Gaghiel weighed his thoughts. Heaven was in a bit of a flurry at the moment. Maybe they kept the theft a secret, trying to keep it 'in house' so that the other Factions wouldn't know of it and take advantage?

He mentally shook his head. He was probably just reaching for straws. It was based on circumstantial evidence, at best. He was probably just borrowing more trouble than he already had. Though he would report what information he was able to find out to his superiors. Perhaps they knew something he didn't.

He turned his mind back to the red haired man before him and, making a snap decision, let the small amount of flames he had summoned die away. He had made his own power known, there was no need for it anymore.

"Ain't that the truth," he sighed heavily in response to the youth's observation, a hand coming up to rub his unruly hair in thought for a moment, even as he felt some of the tension in the air between the two of them slowly leave, but not completely, and the hard line of the boy's shoulders also relaxed somewhat.

Gaghiel was getting tired. Summoning those flames on top of an already long night had him feeling more than a little exhausted and out of sorts, the tension between the two of them also not helping him at all as he tried the cryptic route. He just wanted this day to end already.

"Look," he stated bluntly, wanting to get out of there, "whether you choose to believe me or not, understand that I have no ill will to either you or yours. I was just investigating something that is of great concern to my Faction. Something that could lead to a new Great War." Gaghiel was quick to notice that the last comment got a reaction from the otherwise stony faced red head, the tanned skin of the youth's forehead furrowing slightly. Gaghiel played that card as much as he could. "Is it any wonder that I was willing to violate your privacy if it meant averting a War?"

Shirou frowned slightly. He didn't like where this was heading.

He still wasn't sure what this warrior of the Grigori was even looking for, only that it was exceedingly powerful, powerful enough to mark him in some manner, and was of great enough importance to go to War over.

War. A simple word, but with far from a simple or clean meaning.

The memories he inherited from Archer showed him the ugliness of war and the silent chaos that was left in it's wake, broken only by the wails of the grieving or dying. It sickened him. It had sickened Archer even more, mostly because much of it had been done by his hands at the will of Alaya and the Counter Force.

Shirou was willing to do a lot if he could possibly prevent such an event from taking place.

Shirou could see the Fallen Angel's position. Was a single person's privacy and security worth a War that could feasibly send the entire world into chaos and anarchy? The answer was an unequivocal 'no', thus he could forgive the actions of the Fallen. At least he had only stalked him after sensing this residue that marked him, and had also not attempted to approach or harm him until Shirou had called him out.

That said, this debacle was no longer very cut and dried. The Fallen was seeking to protect his people from something that could be a threat. Shirou, on the other hand, was neither sure what they were looking for, nor did he know what the Fallen may do if they find it and had to safe guard both himself and Saber. The secret of their very existence, at this point in time, was paramount and their only form of security outside of open combat.

It was a sticky wicket all around no matter how he sliced it.

"If what you say is true," Shirou said slowly, his back straight and still clutching the meal he had been intending to take back home, an offering to Saber, as he had just finished his shift, "then your actions are explainable, even commendable." He narrowed his harsh eyes, "Though I still find it more than a little irritating to be spied upon." He quirked an eyebrow at the winged being, "is there something I can do to hasten your investigation so as to have you leave?" He questioned calmly, "Perhaps a name to what this...thing is that you have stated I have come into contact with? Maybe even a description of some sort?"

It really should have been the first question he asked rather than threaten the man, wars had been started over lesser misunderstandings, but he had been on edge when he had sensed the true nature of the man and had been prepared for the worst to happen and had acted on such understandings.

Still, the situation was still salvageable and he may be able to avoid gaining the Watchers as enemies yet. He mentally lamented that Saber was not there at this moment. She had been a King and knew the double speak that prevailed in courts and diplomacy, no matter how much time had passed since she had ruled.

He took back that wish almost immediately when the Fallen, Gaghiel if he recalled correctly, began to describe something that dwelled in his dreams for quite some time. His body freezing as the Angel's words washed over him.

"It's a straight double edged sword, with a blue and gold cross guard and a blue hilt with a gold pommel. It also has a line of runic like script on each side of the flat of the blade."

Even with that description, rough as it was and failing to convey the true beauty and majesty of the glorious blade, he instantly knew what sword the Fallen Angel was referring to and couldn't believe neither he nor Saber had thought of it.

They had heard of the fate of the twin of Saber's sword, something that had saddened her more than a little, to hear that one of the greatest gifts, and burdens, that she had ever received had met such an inglorious end. They had heard of the symbol that the sword represented here in this realm, the significance of the blade among the people in this dimension.

But they had never factored in how a second blade, exactly the same as the other (to a point), would affect this place they now dwelled in.

'Well shit,' vocalised Anzu succinctly within his mind, expressing her thoughts on the situation.

Gaghiel knew he had hit the jackpot when he saw the brief widening of the red head's eyes, the light of realization and recognition flashing through them, before his face became blank as paper and hard as stone, no doubt attempting to cover up any slips.

Sadly, for the boy, it was too late as Gaghiel's sharp eyes had already seen the flickering of his expressions.

With that, the Fallen Angel was able to rule out the 'Ignorance' theory. The boy had seen the blade before, and had known what it was from the start. It also, however, lent credence to his theory of the sword being stolen.

However, he didn't have any hard evidence on that score, and he may just be incorrect. And he had the feeling that voicing that theory would quickly earn him sharp steel through the throat. The air was once more tense and those invisible swords had returned, freshly sharpened and with a lot of new company.

Gaghiel cursed himself as ten types of fool for letting go of his grasp of the Flames. He could still call them but it took a small fraction of time for them to manifest in the world. A fraction that would be used by his opponent to skewer him six ways from Sunday. Maybe he could summon up his Light fast enough, but he wasn't sure that the weapons he made from it would be strong enough to halt any attack.

He had known that the discussion was on edge from the beginning, but he had been lulled into security by the slow ebb of hostility and now he was, once more, at the mercy of a possible thief.

Still, all he could was forge onward. He wasn't able to take back his words. It was now his path to walk.

"You know what I am referring to, don't you?" Gaghiel said bluntly, "The Sword of the King. You have seen it."

The youth scowled heavily, his hand clenching in a fist, almost tearing the paper bag it held into pieces with the pressure, but stayed silent, neither verbally denying or confirming the Fallen Angel's statement, which said a lot on it's own.

At least for a moment.

"You know far too much," the youth gritted out, the words torn from his mouth like a dog would tear meat from a bone, hard and vicious, which rang alarm bells in the Fallen Angel's mind, making him mentally dive into his core to access the power he had, calling it forth even as he felt the subtle sharpness of the previously invisible swords become hard and real.

The late morning sunlight bounced off of the soundlessly appearing creations of war and battle, dazzling him as it reflected off of their burnished steel forms. He could almost feel the metaphysical weight of the steel surrounding him, making his body heavy with the realisation of it's own mortality.

He was now in the middle of a funnel of steel and death. Swords, axes, spears, halberds and other weapons, some of clearly great craftsmanship and others looking roughly made and simple, all with a sharpened edge, hovered around him, close enough that to move even a fraction of an inch was to bring forth a deep enough wound to cause his crimson blood to spill forth. "And yet also so little."

He lashed out with a swiftly formed spear of Light, seeking to destroy the cage that entrapped him, knowing he had only this small moment. Somewhat surprisingly, but not too much, the Light spear failed to do any damage to either of the weapons it struck, rebuffed by a suddenly appearing white aura around them. He was lucky he had used a Light spear, else the force with which he had struck the entrapping weapons could have reverberated up his arm and injured it something fierce.

He glanced at the cause for this debacle, the weapon that had nearly taken his life in order to send a message, and contemplated using it before discarding the thought entirely. He doubted that it would have any effect.

Then he decided to reach for the Flames of Sinai, the fires of Justice that he wielded, to bring them into the mortal realm to scorch his enemies to ashes. He felt the connection, the boiling and writhing mass of righteous wrath that dwelt within him and drew it forth, aiming to create a conflagration that would destroy the floating blades...

Only to bring forth the smallest of sparks. One that fizzled and died almost the instant it appeared.

Shocked.

That was the only word that could describe him at that moment. He grabbed for the Flames again, thinking that he had accidentally not drawn forth enough and pulled all the Flames he could possibly summon to the surface, exerting all of his power in the process.

A small ball of flames, smaller than a ping pong ball, floating above his clawed hand was his only reward. And even then, it wavered and spluttered briefly before vanishing, as if smothered by a crushing hand.

Gaghiel couldn't do more than stare at his empty palm blankly.

Impossible. Absolutely impossible.

Nothing he knew of could stop the Flames of Sinai. They were the flesh of the Holy Father made manifest, one of the two fists with which brought down his wrath. To see them rendered impotent and useless, weakened in a manner that he couldn't for the life of him figure out, was beyond disturbing and frightening.

He stared towards his adversary. Questions like 'How was he able to do this?' floated faintly through his mind even as he felt a calm realisation come over him.

Gaghiel knew that he would face the cold hand of death this day.

Through the make shift shredding machine of the floating blades, his scarlet eyes met solemn, even apologetic, gold ones as the owner of said gold eyes stretched a hand out toward him as if he were about to grasp- no, to crush- something. The floating blades seemed to shiver and rattle in the air in anticipation, eager drink their fill of his from his veins and arteries.

"Why?" Gaghiel couldn't help but ask aloud of the youth before him, but he already knew the answer. He knew why this youth was going to cut him down and he couldn't bear any ill will towards the youth because of it. Were the roles reversed, he probably would have done the same.

"To protect what I hold dear," the youth responded with a heavy sigh of resignation and began to close his outstretched hand.

The swords and other weapons that floated about the Roaring Beast of God shifted toward him at a similar pace, gleaming points and shining sharp edges leading. Gaghiel would soon be nothing more than a skewered corpse.

His Flames were weakened and were not responding, the Light he could call upon was unable to break through the weapons and he sincerely doubted that his own wings and fists could break through the wall of shredding steel either.

Escaping was a lost cause and his death, inevitable.

"For what it's worth," the boy said softly, his golden eyes tired and weary, those of an old and world weary man who had done nothing but fight and kill all his life, the eyes of an old soldier, who wanted nothing more than to rest for eternity but was held back by duty, in a young man's body, "I wish things were different."

The hand was almost completely closed, the reacting blades nipping at the very tips of his tightly folded wings, parting his feathers and they came ever onward. He could feel the slow moving steel part the flesh of his left cheek despite the awkward craning of his neck in an attempt to avoid it, drawing the first drop of blood.

Flashes of his life passed before his eyes. Significant events that had shaped into what he was today.

Being 'born' and taking his first look at his Father's splendour. Growing up along side his comrades, brothers and sisters. The first time he was able to call forth the Flames given to him by his Father. The War and all tragedies that were in it. Father's death and his own downward spiral into the darkness after his Father's arguably greatest work was broken. Falling. Rebuilding himself from the ground up after the depression of Falling had passed. Joining the Grigori and feeling just a sliver of that camaraderie he had lost in Heaven return.

Good and bad, they all passed in front of him in his final moments. And he couldn't feel any regret.

If he had the choice to relive his life over again, he doubted he would make any different choices. His life was one of struggle and pain at times, but the end result had been worth it. A life of freedom on ashen wings.

He stared resolutely at the slowly approaching blades, barely a handful of centimetres from reaching his eyeball and the delicate organs behind it.

He had no regrets.

Then, just as he was prepared to die, the blades abruptly halted before touching him again, freezing in the air once more.

...what?

Shirou's eyes were wide as he looked in the direction of his and Saber's domicile.

Where, even from the back of his workplace, he could feel the subtle charge in the air that indicated that Excalibur had been revealed to the world at large, Invisible Air being removed from the sword in order to unleash it's full potential.

What the hell could have driven Saber to do that?

'I think you better get moving, Partner,' the soft voice of Anzu whispered in his mind, her own voice slightly wary. She knew as well as he how powerful the King of Knights truly was. For her to be forced to reveal Excalibur in full...

Not even thinking, he turned and ran.

Gaghiel stared, flummoxed, at the disappearing form of the youth as he sprinted away, his face almost panicked and pale with fear and worry, not even sparing the caged Fallen Angel a second glance.

What the hell?

The boy had him dead to rights, was on the verve of turning him into a pin cushion, and at the very last moment, he turns and bolts like the horse out of the gate? Leaving him alive and breathing?

He groaned to himself. This kid was going to give him a headache, whether it be by a sword through the brain or by the Fallen Angel just trying to figure out what is going through his head at any point in time.

He looked at the floating blades with annoyance. Though the little brat still left him trapped and in an awkward position. Seriously, bending your back past ninety degrees, his head almost touching the concrete ground, with a foot lifted almost vertically and arms and wings tucked close made for an interesting position and was absolute hell to maintain.

He would have a great deal more respect for ballet dancers and gymnasts after this. For them to put themselves in similar positions on a daily basis and not feel like they were tearing muscles from their bones doing so? That had his respect.

If only his Flames work...

His musings were cut off mid word as, in concert with his thoughts, his Flames roared to life, bursting from him like water from a dam. A scarlet flood of roaring power devoured everything within five feet of him. Concrete, asphalt, trash and floating weapon alike.

He idly noticed that, on contact with his Flames, the floating weaponry seemed to shatter into motes of what felt like magical energy, though of a type he had not encountered before, with a distinct lack of white energy flaring like when he had attempted to destroy them with his Light spear.

However, he was more concerned about getting the suddenly surging of his Flames of Sinai back under control.

"Shit!" He swore as he mentally and spiritually wrestled with the divine fire, trying to break it to his will once more. He hadn't expected them to burst forth like that, especially with the fact that the boy who had just left had managed to do something that interfered with his use of it.

It was a long few moments before the Flames were once more banished from the mortal realm, his will smothering them from existence. Though the aftermath of the brief fight with the fires was clearly visible in the charred ground that he floated slightly above, the heat of the flames so intense that it had turned the concrete it had touched directly into a white ashy powder.

Gaghiel breathed a quiet sigh of relief, wiping his brow as he did so. The Flames of Sinai were not a toy or a weapon to be used lightly. It took a great deal of control, conscious and unconscious, to use them safely enough to not burn himself to ashes in the process.

Whatever that brat had done had managed to do more than cut off his access to them. His control of them was warped and chaotic at the moment, he had barely been able to snuff them out. Hopefully it was only temporary or he would have a shit load of gruelling control training to go through.

Again.

Speaking of the brat...

Gaghiel glared hard in the direction that the boy had run. Something was up. Something that had scared the living hell out of a kid with enough power to level entire city blocks at a time. Something that was no doubt dangerous.

Something that he had no doubt that Azazel would be interested in.

Gaghiel cursed softly before shooting into the air like he was blasted from a cannon, swiftly rising above the skyline as his eight great pinions stroked the air powerfully. It was still his current job to watch the kid and then report back anything of significance. He had a niggling feeling that whatever crisis the kid was involved in at that moment would be a lot more than 'significant'.

Thankfully for him, the kid had left a magical trail a mile wide as he had sprinted off, so tracking him would be far from s chore. Even a five year old could have done the same. His wings tilted to follow the clear and practically burning trail of magical power.

It made him cautious though. From what he had seen, the kid was a consummate warrior. And one the first lessons a warrior learnt was conservation of power. Never use more than you needed and always have some left in the tank.

So the fact that he was using magic of some form to make him move as fast as he had, clearly above ordinary and even some enhanced human specs, while wasting so much energy was clear indication that whatever was happening was both Big and Bad.

He had feeling that his Flames would need to be called upon once more this day.

Minutes Earlier at the home of Saber and Shirou

Saber worked diligently at the work that lay across the desk she was seated at, a mixture of hand written notes and a few Traced books that Shirou had managed to give to her, a small content smile on her face as she did so while taking the time to drink a cup of true English tea, something that had been sorely lacking when she had been summoned in the Grail Wars.

It had been a long time since she had studied like this, not since her squire days under Hector or when Merlin, the lecherous little prankster, had taken her under his wing for a time. After she had become King, her time had not been her own and such pursuits as knowledge for knowledge's sake had to be laid aside in order for her to rule her Kingdom justly.

The closest she ever reached to such deep scholarly duties during her reign was when she had studied new tactics of the various enemies or read the reports and missives that her court received and going over the laws and charters that some of the more unscrupulous and advantageous nobles of her court tried to push through with a fine tooth comb in order to catch any of the traps that they set in the wording.

Reading and writing had been more of duty rather than a pleasure during those times. She almost welcomed the call of the battlefield after a mere hour of slaving away at the high piles of scrolls and scripts that she had forced to slog through practically every day of her reign.

Now though, even if it was for a serious purpose, she couldn't help but feel content with working through the various manuscripts and other sources of information she had. She had shed enough blood in her life to enjoy the current lull that had descended over her and her partner.

Few value life more than those that had been forced to take it in the line of duty or in the defence of their own life and liberty.

Her pen scratched out another line of text, pouring her thoughts and memories into the heavy leather journal that Shirou had acquired for her at her request.

With the burden of a King no longer on her shoulders, given a completely new lease on life, she was now free to pursue other goals, to reach for dreams that were previously impossible, to take paths that were previously barred for her.

In particular, the path of a Magus.

With her Factor of the Red Dragon that her father, Uther, had commanded Merlin to implant in her, she could have been one of the strongest magi, in raw power, in her era, outstripping even her perverted mentor or her own half sister, Morgan, noted and famed and Legendary users of Magecraft even in the modern era. She had no doubt that they had both ascended to the Throne upon their passing.

With the right tutoring and dedication, she could have become their equal in the field of magic.

Unfortunately, life had conspired to make her trudge a different path, the path of a Knight and a King, leaving what little skills she had in world of magic underdeveloped.

However, now free of her burdens and in a completely new world, she chose to refamiliarise herself with the lessons of her half-demon mentor, dredging up half forgotten lessons and trying to remember them in their entirety.

In this day and age, in this world, despite it still having the presence of many legendary beings, the skills she had of a Knight were somewhat limiting. With the various dangers that prowled this strange world, she needed more options, a back up plan and skill set to otherwise supplement her skills in warfare.

Hence the study and the journal, which now contained her notes and what she remembered of the lectures of her mentor. The Traced books, on the other hand, were provided to her by Shirou, Archer's memories able to provide him with the books on a handful of types of magecraft that the Counter Guardian had managed to memorise in his mortal life time.

It wasn't the best of starts for a relative novice to magecraft, her own physical capabilities in the arcane arts aside, but it was a start and, thankfully, this world was far more forgiving to magic users of the various stripes that existed than her birth world.

There was also the fact their draconic companion, or rather Shirou's dragon companion, was quite wise and knowledgable in the arcane arts, as befitting a dragon, and was more than willing to impart said knowledge onto her due to Arturia's power having a draconic nature and her being the lover of the dragon's current host.

Anzu was also quite curious if it would be possible for Saber to be able perform draconic magic. The former King of England certainly had the disposition towards with her 'dragon core' and humans in the past, those who had draconic Sacred Gears or a contract with one of the members of Dragonkind, had managed to perform such feats.

It was slow going, Shirou doing his best to help her fill out the education from Merlin but Shirou had not been a true Magus or scholar either and thus his efforts could only bare so much fruit.

Saber was about to inscribe another portion of the valuable knowledge that she attained from her annoying mentor when she abruptly froze, her warrior instincts suddenly ringing like a bell, as a wave of malice, hunger and killer intent washed over like a cold shower.

She didn't give herself time to think, only reacted as she had been trained, as her experiences told her to.

She flung herself sideways, toppling the chair and desk she had been sitting at, rolling away from the source of the threat. Said source, a mass of boiling blackness, like a shadowy fire mixed with oil, slammed into her previous position, the floor and building itself trembling and rocking beneath the force of the blow. The shockwave created by the powerful strike sent her tumbling further, but she managed to control it easily, using it to create more distance between her assailant and herself.

In another moment, she was on her feet, girded for war. Her newly donned armour shone dully in the apartment and her gauntlets clacked as she gripped the invisible hilt of Excalibur, the blade pointing towards the incoming mass of darkness, featureless and without form. Her body was now charged with power, her draconic core forcing prana throughout her body, making her stronger, faster and more durable, even as an invisible aura of magical energy coated her body and weapons, armouring herself against mystical forces.

Arturia the woman was now gone. In her place stood Arturia the King of Knights. This fell being would not find her easy prey.

"Hah!" She cried, striking out quickly with sword toward the morass of inky black shadow, seeking to strike it down quickly.

To no avail.

Her eyes widened briefly as she saw her invisible blade cut through the swirling mass of shadowy flame, only for it to part before her blade, like river water flowing around a stone, and rejoin itself when the blade had passed, leaving it completely unharmed and untouched.

Then the mass struck her, closing the remaining distance between the tip of her sword and her own body in a flash.

She felt like she was hit by Berserker's full might in the centre of her breast plate.

Her breath left her in a rush as she was sent through the walls of the apartment, timber and brick falling around her as she went through them, and landed roughly in the adjacent empty apartment to her own, her tumbling form sending the sparse furniture in the lounge room either flying or into splinters as she crashed into it.

But she didn't let that stop her. She had taken heavier blows before, had been forced to, and had fought on. She was not titled 'Dux Bellorum' for nothing.

She was immediately back on her feet, pushing past the bruising pain in her chest, and glared at the gaping hole in the wall which she had made, her green eyes serious and furious.

They immediately met the twin crimson orbs in the hole.

The morass of dark flame filled the hole, writhing and churning as it stood there, yet she felt no heat from them, nor were the bricks and mortar that outlined the hole becoming charred in anyway, and within that darkness, the Eyes floated.

Twin scarlet orbs of blood and fire, each of them the size of her clenched armoured fist, their pitch black pupils slitted vertically, like a beast, stared her down. They were alight with hunger and rage, a desire for blood, while also having a hint of cunning, of thought, black as it was, that no mere animal could ever exhibit. She could practically read the thoughts behind those scarlet blooded eyes.

The desire to rend and maim. To glory in destruction and death. To kill merely for pleasure rather than the necessity of defence or hunger.

This was a Monster, through and through.

And she was it's prey.

Her gauntlets clenched tightly ahold of her blessed blade slowly moving into a stance that would allow her optimum movement and attacking power. This was not a foe to be reasoned with or driven off. Death, whether to herself or it, was the only possible outcome.

Those vicious eyes seemed to gleam in malicious amusement, like a wolf smiling at a trembling faun, and the black flames slowly entered into the apartment, leisurely and calmly, answering the challenge she had wordlessly laid down.

The churning mass of dark power began to take on a definite form, no longer thick mist and inky flame, as it entered, seeming to expand and grow as it did so.

Her green eyes widened briefly as she felt the empty building shake slightly as a massive black paw, with five toes and strangely humanoid, was placed firmly on the floor, tile and concrete crunching and cratering beneath it. Three more paws soon followed, only the other front paw also having a humanoid appearance while the back two were more bestial and fiendish, as the morass of flame became more solid and real.

A bulky, yet streamlined, body then took form. Shadowy muscle and sinew hidden beneath thick dark fur. Those burning red eyes shifted slightly, moving up and back as a large lupine snout formed, fangs of Ivory the size of daggers making a mocking grin as it's tongue lolled out, licking around it's muzzle and chops in dark anticipation. Long ears were stiff and pointed back, showing readiness to fight and kill.

The final picture made for a nightmarish sight. A massive black furred wolf with eyes the colour of blood and slaughter, surrounded by more black flames as the shadows around them seemed to move and writhe.

It was a nightmarish sight she had seen before, long ago. When she had been King. She had seen her faithful knight, Bedivere, lose his hand to the beast before he managed to pierce it's hide with his swift spear, striking it in the heart and killing it.

To see it here now, in a new world, in the modern era, was cause for surprise and concern. It had been formidable when she and her knights had first faced it. Who knew how strong it was with age and experience granting it power?

"So you are still alive in this world, dog?" She questioned the monster, receiving only a vicious grin and a slow prowl forward as the ancient hound stalked her, a low rumbling coming from it's large throat.

She set herself and let Invisible Air fade from her sword, it's glorious existence made known to the world at large and shining the soft gold that accompanied her in battle. She knew well enough how little Invisible Air would be of use against this foe. Invisible Air was meant to hide her sword from prying eyes and worked rather well against traditionally trained opponents. However, against one who's senses were sharp enough, it became little more than a waste of power. This beast did not rely on it's eyes like many of her opponents in the past.

Her eyes became hard emeralds even as she stared down the beast.

"Let me rectify that."

With those last words Prana surged to her limbs as she hurtled herself towards her foe.

Gwrgi Garwlwyd merely growled in delight at the battle as it responded, throwing itself into battle with the King of Knights with a loud howl of blood and carnage.

With this, battle between the King and the Beast, between the Light and the Darkness, was truly joined.

Author's Notes

Hi folks!

Hope you all liked the chapter, despite it being long winded. Expect a decent battle between Saber and our lovely black hound in the next chapter.

I have also given you a small glimpse into the power of Shirou's Sacred Gear, but it's true powers won't be revealed completely for a few chapters yet.

Also, in regards to Shirou's interaction with Gaghiel, specifically his willingness to kill him. You have to remember that this Shirou is a bit different from the one we all know and love. He has his mind filled with all of EMIYA's experiences, not just memories. This means he relived everything that our favourite sarcastic Archer went through, before and after his contract with Alaya. This has warped his already altered mentality, distorting him further.

No man could endure what EMIYA had and not break in some way.

In this case, he has become a little more like Shirou from Heaven's Feel route, except focused on Saber rather than Sakura. It is not quite as much, but it is damn close. He has also inherited Archer's way of seizing whatever opportunity crops up in battle, even if it means fighting dirty and dishonourably. This also exacerbated by his willingness to do just about anything to protect Saber, even if he will feel horrible about doing it later.

He is not a knight in shining armour that will face his foe in open battle. If he really wanted to kill someone he would play the 'gunman on the grassy knoll' and then cut off the head of the corpse, just to make sure.

Honour, to a point, is merely a six letter word for him.

That said, he may be able to change in time, with a little help from Saber, his mentality still isn't quite as stable as it should be, a consequence of having centuries of memories shoved in his head. Expect a bit more of the old Shirou to return eventually, once he is no longer drowning under the weigh of EMIYA's experiences.

As always, please leave a review.

With best wishes,

Kujikiri21