As much as I am loathe to reward bad behavior, this one is for you guest reviewer Ghostly.

As the rift into reality weaved itself together before Emiya Shirou's eyes, he couldn't help but vocalize his most cogent thoughts.

"Huhgk?!"

Shirou was no rookie when it came to situations that had gone sideways. One might say, if one were inclined to continue the metaphor, that Shirou was more used to living at a vertical incline than a horizontal. However, despite being the foremost authority on these matters, even Shirou had never guessed that his luck might go the extra 270 degrees necessary to save him from his own execution, and then once more promptly turn sideways, leaving him drifting aimlessly outside reality.

Shirou's first intelligible thoughts were to wonder what this meant for his deal with Alaya. Surely that entity wouldn't just allow its newest asset to disappear into the dimensional gap, or wherever this place was.

"Silly Oniichan, of course I wouldn't let you go that easily."

Thus came the heart-stopping voice from behind, which prompted Shirou to inquire with tentative hope.

"Illya, i-is that you?"

As the being wearing Illya's likeness drifted into his field of vision before him, Shirou's hopes were dashed. Alaya looked down on him with a wicked grin that Shirou hadn't seen but a handful of times since he first met Illyasviel von Einzbern. Despite now knowing the hope he now gazed upon was false, Shirou still couldn't help but to raise his bound hands up before him to cup Illya's face. Alaya leaned into his caress and replied.

"How naughty Oniichan, you weren't supposed to survive. Now I will have to deal with this myself!"

Contrary to her admonishing tone, Alaya finished her statement with an excited giggle before her own hands raised towards Shirou to clench tight around his throat. Shirou, nigh unkillable badass that he was, proceeded to choke most vigorously. Strands of Illya's hair wrapped and bound Shirou in place so Alaya could have an easier time righting an 'annoying irregularity'. That is not to say she was truly displeased with events, it was so unfortunately rare that she managed to partake in good old fashioned stranglings, and she was determined to enjoy them where she could. Just as she was revving herself up to grace Shirou with a more personal initiation into her service however, a third party intervened.

Multiple strands of technicoloured light shot out of the incomprehensible void and grappled Alaya's entangling strands of hair, and yanked her back from her goal, utilizing their element of surprise. Visibly recoiling from what she sensed of her assailant, Alaya paused only to toss Shirou a red bundle of cloth and demand.

"Cover yourself quick Oniichan!"

Reasonably assured that her dog would never disobey her no matter how he was treated, Alaya engaged her foe in a tentacle battle of truly epic proportions. Empowered hair struggled with writhing light with neither able to gain a decisive advantage. Back and forth did they contend, seeming to ignore Shirou entirely. Shirou, shocked by the day's many twists, and still recoiling internally from being strangled by the bearer of his sister's visage, did not move to follow Alaya's instructions quickly enough. Thus it came to pass that a single technicolor tendril stealthily slipped around his ankle and dragged him rapidly off, screaming into the distance. Realizing her mistake Alaya gave chase but, alas, the lead was too great. Alaya had but to ruminate on the irony of being foiled by her own petty cruelty.

EMIYA had been enduring an intolerable eternity alternately, waiting miserably and slaughtering wholesale on behalf of the unconscious will of humanity. Whenever his resolve reached its critical point, and he risked shattering into nothing but a killing machine, Alaya would do EMIYA the 'favor' of sending him off to participate in the 5th Fuyuki Grail War, where his past self would impart some new vigor into his ideals. Only Alaya herself knew why she wished to 'protect' his foolish dreams.

Time wasn't a factor within the Throne, but still, particular 'moments' might be distinguished from others. So it wasn't strange that EMIYA noticed that something was off at that 'moment', and that something was growing stronger. The first clear indicator was the sound, a surprisingly high pitched warble, which was no less pathetic for its strong tenor. EMIYA, much starved for entertainment, and recognizing the familiar pitch, began to chuckle. His mirth grew as a white haired figure, wearing plain prison garb, came flailing into view clutching a familiar red cloth.

One might be forgiven for the expectation that being dragged across EMIYA's place within the Throne of Heroes might lead to a lucky Shirou seeing some, or all, of EMIYA's vast arsenal, and thereby expanding his own. But, alas, Shirou was being dragged face-up. Instead the dashing hero barely had time to widen his eyes as a large cog appeared, slowly turning, a prong of which promptly colliding between his legs. This made Emiya Shirou the only man to ever get nut-punched by his own inner world. It also raised the pitch of his cries to a throat scratching whine and sent him tumbling ass over kettle. The cloth held within his grip chose this moment to use his rotational force to wrap around him like a large protective sack, granting him the dubious honour of being wrapped in a sack after having been rapped upon his sack. Now in a rare good mood, EMIYA, having borne witness to Shirou's plight, devolved into great guffaws and doubled over onto the ground with absolutely zero dignity.

The technicolor tendril, now thicker yet taking up no more space than before, loosened its grip in surprise at the vicious blow it had unwittingly helped impart upon its captive. This allowed Shirou's spin to wrest his ankle from the assailant's grasp, a truly masterful counter on his part. Shirou, the ungrateful lout, failed to properly appreciate his own genius, and instead merely continued to shriek in a broken tone, which wavered rapidly as though passing through the blades of a fan thanks to his rapid spin. The tendril made oddly sheepish and sympathetic motions while attempting to regain custody of the thoroughly mistreated abductee. It proved futile however, as the tendril slipped and burned wherever it made contact with the cloth wrapped man. Not even the combined efforts of scores of tendrils afforded them the leverage necessary to get a grip upon him. They promptly gave up and settled in to watch over his progress, occasionally nudging him along to correct his course along their desired path.

Shirou was having a bad day. Not only had he been rudely denied his last meal by his executioners, leaving him with an empty stomach, but now he was so pained and disoriented that he was about the puke that empty stomach all over himself. He could taste sour bile on the back of his tongue and, clenched to prevent them from biting his tongue, his teeth were coated in fresh saliva. Shirou proceeded to heave stomach acid into his closed mouth and it was at that moment when his lungs, having emptied from his long screams, decided they needed more air and inhaled reflexively. Needless to say he choked on his own stomach acid, launched into a coughing fit, and also retched a second time. Acid was driven through his sinuses to erupt from his nose and, having failed to keep his mouth closed, spilled over his bitten tongue and out from his lips. When his eyes began to burn he realized that even his tears were actually acid. This last humiliation led to him finally activating his circuits in hopes of stemming the mounting damage to his sensory organs.

"Trace on."

In a low rasp, Shirou's activation aria slipped past his lips. The hammer of an imagined gun was drawn back and then fired, causing twenty seven circuits to come to life as they converted his od, his life energy, into magical energy, that same energy that allowed a mere human to create miracles. Shirou then proceeded to use one of the few skills in magecraft that he actually possessed. With his eyes closed and limbs drawn inward to a fetal position, his focus moved toward his own body. Carefully he began to fill in gaps and imperfections in his body using his magical energy, starting from the outside and moving inward: a process known as reinforcement. Skin, muscle, bones, and then organs: Shirou moved from least to most difficult, becoming progressively slower and more careful. He always went through the process slowly if he could help it, since even a small mistake could prove disastrous. If he was lucky such a mistake might leave him with a patch of dead tissue that he would need to deal with, and if he was unlucky then he would explode. So no pressure, right?

This was how he carried on, within a meditative trance, and trying desperately not to blow himself to kingdom come in his attempts to protect himself from further pain. That was until he passed a barrier of some sort and his mystic senses, such as they were, found themselves overwhelmed and invaded by a concentration of energy so smothering that it back-flowed into his circuits of its own accord. Much like the magical energy from his normal circuits had done to his makeshift nerve-turned-circuit, his circuits were turned extra crispy. A quite nostalgic sensation overcame him, only, instead of one burning hot rod shoved down his back, now he had twenty seven such things. He almost blacked out instantly, and he did indeed vomit again, and it was everywhere… again.

His time within whatever realm he was passing through didn't last long, or maybe it did and he couldn't tell. Regardless, his time within spine-burny-land came to an end, and he was presented with a new conundrum to deal with. That being his inability to breathe. Forgoing his initial instinct to panic, since that would be a waste of oxygen he really could little afford, Shirou sank deeper into his meditation. With his heart rate slowing, he focused entirely on perfecting his reinforcement, with an emphasis on his cardiovascular system - a convenient distraction. Thus did our intrepid hero continue on his merry way with but one thought nagging at him.

"Is it just me or is it getting hotter?"

001.M42

Unknown Warp Anomaly

Unknown Location, Gothic Sector - may the Emperor's Grace protect their souls - Imperium Nihilus

In the cold void of space a disturbance could be seen upon the beautiful fabric of the void. A bulge, like a growth under the skin of reality, pushed and strained space until it turned an angry, stretched, purple. The bulge continued stretching to a breaking point before it finally popped open in a silent display of violent power. Out of the chaotic eddies of energy flew a rotating object shrouded in a red fabric. The powerful flow of energy washed this object forward, distorting time and space around it. This made what seemed an eternal journey take the span of only a few minutes. Eventually it found itself trapped in a degrading orbit around a small, nearly barren, planet. When the object encountered the beginnings of the planet's atmosphere its seemingly sedate speed was belied by the flare of compressed air combusting before it. As the conflagration grew to encompass the entire front of the spinning object the outer layer of red fabric darkened as if burnt in its impromptu role of ablative plating.

By the time the object began to slow significantly it had been charred a pitch-black and was exuding a trail of smoke far back in its wake. The object slowed even further as it entered the first cloud layer, coating it in moisture that quickly froze to its surface. This process repeated itself multiple times until the object broke out of its final cloud bank, frozen completely over. Thanks to the shallow angle of entry into the atmosphere, the object, now traveling at only a breakneck pace, continued its extremely oblique path towards the surface of this planet. Its initial impact was with the surface of a small snowbank too shallow to envelope it fully. The icy surface of the object promptly shattered, leaving its contents to drag a furrow through the snow as it skidded, bumped, and rolled along its way. Finally, after many yards of travel, the object, now traveling at approximately the speed of a racing bicycle plowed right into a man, using him as a sled to slide to a stop, and knocking him unconscious in the process.

As the cloud of snow, dirt, and hoarfrost kicked up by his landing cleared, it was revealed, with elbows placed back on the man behind him, one leg over the other, and posture reclined, Shirou Emiya sat, eyes closed and with an insufferable smirk upon his face