Twin Souls: Chapter 1

Chapter Word Count: 3420

Date Posted: 23 April 2020

Shirou Kotomine

It is said that the definition of insanity was one to repeat the same action, while expecting a different result. By that reasoning, Shirou Kotomine mused, all Saints must have been insane.

In a Church on a hill, a young man knelt before an altar. Draped under the light of the moon, he was dressed in the vestments of a priest, hands clasped in prayer. It would have been an ordinary sight in such a place, were it not for the suspicious chalk circle behind him.

Shirou Kotomine cast his eyes to the expanse above. A cloudless sea looked back through tinted glass windows, an endless void rimmed with radiance. It was a quiet night, He observed. Cloudless and warm. Not the sort of setting one usually expects for performing a summoning rite. Typically, such things come about in dramatic landscapes. Storms breaking upon mountaintops, lightning streaking across the sky. Seas thrashing and tossing up ships, bursting apart hulls and flooding the shores.

It was almost amusing to him, how casual Magecraft had become, especially for a ritual of this scale. A Holy Grail War. And an irregular one at that.

Shirou Kotomine played many rolls. On role alone, he was both the representative Master from Holy Church and Mediator of the War. Beyond that, he was the first responder, serving as both scout and beachhead for the Red Faction. Further then that even, the Priest fostered ambitions of his own. Treacherous intents, for what he believed would be a greater good.

He had thought a lot since the disastrous events of the Third War. His goal even now stayed the same, but he means of reaching it was ever in motion. Many factors had to have come to play for his plan to take fruit. Years of preparation for the weeks ahead. Since his third conception half a century ago, his every deed had ministered for this day. Each injection, every calculation fostering a new lineage of plans, until he had finalized his outlines some decades prior. Yet in the few days after Darnic had pulled his stunt, everything seemed to have fallen to his favour.

He spent Twenty years scouring the world for a catalyst of his desired servant. Only to receive a catalyst for her from the Sophia-Ri family the moment it was decided that he would participate in the Great Holy Grail War. Leaving him with the three other catalysts he had secured on his own. Even his staging ground, The Biserica din Deal was an ideal locale for his performance. Even if it did bring back unwanted memories.

Taking a knee, he made to stand. He came to face his summoning circle, and the paintings of Saints that decorated the Church. Shirou faltered under their gaze, feeling many mixed emotions. He respected the Saints for their convictions, they had thrown away their selfishness to create a better world. But many of them had met and led others to grisly ends, dying in a repeating system with ultimately no value.

He did not see himself as one of their number, but he could not help noting the similarities.

How many times had men and women rose to spread the faith? His eyes drifted to the alter, where once the statues of four Angels posed. His mind went to Revelations 7. cited the passage aloud.

"And after these things I saw four angels standing on the four corners of the earth, holding the four winds of the earth, that the wind should not blow on the earth, nor on the sea, nor on any tree."

He skipped ahead his words, recalling 26 crosses set up on a hill. Harmless missionaries, three of which had not even passed two digits in years. He was not yet born when these events took place but saw 55 others follow them into the Shimabara hillside. Shirou stumbled over his readings, skipping ahead to 7:9.

"After this I beheld, and, lo, a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands."

Then a child, the savagery of the moment haunted him. It made no sense, but he could not help feeling guilt. Why could he not do anything? Why would no one save them? Unlike Saint Blanco's congregation of 26 these were not pilgrims, but hidden worshipers. Where was their mercy? How many lives were given up, fortunes and futures cast aside in their service to God?

"And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, What are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they?"

He never got an answer, save for one of his own makings.

"And I said unto him, Sir, thou knowest. And he said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."

He was a young man, a nameless retainer. No one had known his name nor face, until he took up his sword for the sake of the faithful. He had his answer. His own flag. A crusade of his own. His was a fight not for land, but one of survival.

And as it had always had, persecution answered in force.

Nero, Diocletian, Hideyoshi. The names changed but the actions were the same. Suffering. So much cruelty served to ones so meek. Were it only just the Saint that was martyred.

"They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat."

Shirou choked on his words, overwhelmed by memory and emotion. Twenty Thousand souls answered to his command, and Twenty Thousand died on his account.

"For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."

He did not cry. He did not deserve to do so. These countless lives gathered were not taken away by the enemy but by himself.

Shirou recalled his dying words as he witnessed the scene of ruin. "So, God. Give me another chance. Next time, I won't lose sight of the bigger picture. I will eliminate all obstacles, enemies and hardships in my way. Next time, I will obtain all the good in the world. A world where everyone is happy, everyone is good, and everyone is perfect. I will exterminate all evil and create a new, pure world."

And for the first time in his life, God had given him an answer. The Einzberns' had summoned him, breaking the systems of the Greater Grail to bring him into the Third Grail War as their champion. It had been a miracle, and still he failed.

Two times. Twice now, he had fought for his beliefs. And twice he had failed, left alone with the broken bodies of his comrades. He would not witness such failure a third time.

No... Most certainly no. He had learned from his mistakes. He would not partake of the madness. There was no greater love then to lay down one's life for a friend, but what was the point when not a soul remained.

No! He interrupted his spiralling thoughts, escaping the whirlpool of negativity. His people died, killed to the last man. But other Catholic communities had stayed hidden. His name now was testament to their survival. Kotomine. The Kotomine and Tohsaka families were hidden Christians that had survived the Sakoku period.

Returning to focus Shirou Kotomine studied his summoning circle with grim intensity. This would be his third chance for salvation. The time was at hand to partake in this heretical rite for a chance to drink of the blighted chalice.

Shirou understood grief. He knew how much even victory would hurt him. His wish was abominable. Surely the Lord wept. It would be an act worse even then the first sin. Shirou would accept his punishment, his place in the endless Inferno.

Would he be welcomed? Would the Devil dance at his terrible deed? Or would he rage at the man who had denied him his favorite playthings.

Christ himself had said, "you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you."

We are not of the world. He repeated the words again and again in his head.

Despite his careful composure, emotions writhed within him like a million creeping limbs. His certainty was a facade. Shirou knew he was right, but doubt pricked him from a thousand sharpened points.

No matter. He must focus. For the last 50 years, he has been preparing for this very moment.

Fear griped his heart, fear that he would fail yet again. Behind his fear there was also love. Love for the people he had lost. Love for all God's creation. But the feeling that ruled him most of all, was hope. Hope for salvation.

He closed his eyes and performed the sign of the cross. His eyes looked through the window and into the sky. The moon was in position. The time was right.

Chanting the summoning rite, Shirou felt bemusement at the image of him, an alleged Saint, performing such a ritual. Furthermore, would he, a servant, even be able to summon another.

It came as a great relief then, the powdered silver chalk burned a brilliant red. Of course, it was in this moment of his certainty something inevitably went wrong.

Shirou frowned, feeling a shift in the flow. Instead of the center of the circle, where his catalyst lay, mana had begun to leak in from the wall, contaminating his ritual site.

It was a thing of chance. An atom in the history of the world. A chance encounter that should never have been. Four centuries ago a noble girl had been taken to the birthplace of her grand uncle's greatest war companion.

The child had blanched at spending more of her precious time at another boring church. Her mother threatened to discipline her, but her father, her dear indulgent father laughed. Pointing to the city he told her of Walachia's greatest hero. Of his cunning, of his passion and of his bloodlust. The child was fascinated with the Lord Impaler's cruelties in the way most children would gleefully squirm at monster stories. And when at last they came to the church where he had once been baptized, the girl went searching for relics of Dracula.

As with most children doing things they should not, she had slipped and made a mistake. A small cut, a drop of blood turned to imprint on the wall. The marks had long since decayed. Not even a stain was left upon the parish floor. But the act, the memory of the act sang in the ancient Church Hall.

Shirou stepped in his circle, hands moving in a flurry. There was no time to stop, the summoning was reaching its apex, but at the least he could lessen the damage.

Extending his hand, he pulled at the raw arcane energy, attempting to divert it away and into am alternate leyline. Briefly, he was able to alter the flow, but by then he was too late to stop what was happening.

With explosive force his circle threw apart the Church hall. Shirou was blinded by the miniature sun, but the disability did not stop his other senses. Too fast, the leyline was being drained of its energy. Prana and Mana. So much of both. A panic set in now, there would be no way of hiding this. Not from the Ygdmillenia, not from the Clocktower.

Things had gotten dangerous. Even his own reserves were being siphoned into the rite, and he was left helpless to stop it. Shirou screamed feeling his body start to pull and tear, agony overtook his mind.

Was this the consequences of his heresy? Or was this the results of trying to summon a divine servant?

Twin auras clashed. Wrapping and twisting around each other like coiling snakes. Shirou Kotomine opened his eyes and was met with mixed lights of white and black.

The Throne of Heroes had malfunctioned. While attempting to fill a vessel with the shape of the one the Priest desired, it detected another catalyst. Another possibility. Another soul, one born closer to this land, and closer to mortality.

Indeed, it had been the very fear of her mortality that had forged The Other's legend. Her tale of selfish desires was the polar opposite of the summoner's generosity. Together they were complete. Saint and Sinner. Man and Woman. A negative to a positive. A proton to an electron.

Acting on this, the throne of heroes tried to force The Other into the vessel, but the summoning was already progressing. The Saint's target already starting to materialize. He planned for an assassin with a duel class, his wish was answered in a way no one expected.

Two souls found themselves lost in a presence that was not their own. Their beings briefly connected as the servant body struggled to understand what had occurred. Two minds touched and, in that moment, they knew everything the other was.

The vessel could not handle the strain, rapidly exploding even as it regenerated. Mitosis. Two daughter cells divided from a singular parent. The vessel split. Energy repulsed forward in the forms of heat and sound. Flames swept over ancient wooden pieces charring them back and tossing them in circles. Glass, blown carefully centuries past, turned to dust. The hardened walls, thick German made stone carved for function not aesthetic, cracked across a hundred sections. The explosion uprooted trees and echoed across Sighişoara.

Shirou Kotomine

When he was finally able to think again Kotomine Shirou looked up, confused, at the damaged frame of Biserica din Deal. He was unable to comprehend what occurred. Blood dribbled from his nose, and fatigue sank him like a stone. He could not move, could not hear, and his vision was blurred. As attuned to the holy ground as he was, his body was shaken by the sheer power of the forces he had incurred.

He had shattered an already Broken Grail War in a way that would leave unforeseen consequences.

"I ask of you, are you our master?" two voices spoke as one. Twin Auras of Black and White.

He tried to speak. To say "I am", but only croaked. He realized again how vulnerable he was then. On his back like an overturned turtle. His servants looked down at him, sharing amused smirks at his expense.

"It is good that you keep your silence. It is a fool indeed who thinks to command me." Black says.

"But my... what an undignified display." White looms over him. Clever cat like eyes, burning yellow gazed into his own. "Showing such weakness at our first meeting."

Black leaned in like a great bird of prey. "True indeed. But let us not overlook his deeds. Even vagrants can end empires."

"But of course! Your own ancestors are proof of that are they not, my dear?" White states blandly.

Black turned to the White, pointing an accusatory finger. "And who are you to insult my ancestry? I am a daughter to a Goddess... my roots are strong. While the twisted roots of yours crippled you with anemia and shakes."

Shirou sucked in a breath. The two servants advanced on each other. Superficial stares rolled over each other's body. A thousand and one fears crowded his mind. Is this how his plans fall apart. No! He wills himself to stand, he must pull them apart before their words turn to action.

"A Goddess who abandoned you." White bares her teeth.

Black raises a brow. "A fair point. But in the end of my life I was beloved. Can you say the same?"

"A low counter. But you are correct. I was all but abandoned at my end. Locked away and left to die." White dismissively waves.

"Truly? A prison was my own beginnings. Though by the end, no cage could hold me."

"I suppose this meeting of ours must be fate then," White smiles kindly.

"Fate it is." Black echoes, her contemptuous countenance dropped entirely. She spoke in a tone that was equal parts affectionate and playful, extending a dainty hand half hidden by a fingerless glove. "My Countess."

"My Queen." The Other replied, taking the hand in long teal painted nails. Pale lips giving the first a chaste kiss on the knuckle.

Shirou releases his breath. At least things had not come to violence. Still he must move, he must show his resolve. His servants are strange, and he knows not what game they play. The two have proven unpredictable by the interaction he has witnessed. He must be weary of both. To trust, lest birth resent, but ever be on guard. If one of them is indeed the Queen of Assyria, then betrayal is all but certain.

He is tired, drained to the point of fading. Yet still he stands or tries to at least. His muscles scream but he pulls his body up to a sitting position. His servants admire his actions in silence. He makes eye contact with Black, and she advances on him with an extended hand.

"Count yourself lucky." She says as she raises him to his feet. "Cities have burned for less."

Shirou knows now he has succeeded, more than he could have ever hoped for. This is the Poisoner, the cornerstone to his designs. He knows better than to lie to one like her, he will tell her of his true desire and make all things clear. But in this moment, he feels conflicted. She is distracting.

There is obvious interest in her expression, interest in him. She smirks, keying into his discomfort. She purred. "My master... In life entire nations fought over my beauty. For me to be inadequate is a first."

Shirou Kotomine blushed, feeling her assets press against his arm as the woman practically wrapped herself around him. "That's not the case at all..."

He struggled to free himself, as gently as he could, but a second body clasped his other arm. She spoke through a knowing smile, lacking the subtleties of her partner.

"Your actions speak otherwise Priest. I have been privy to the corruption of the clergy, but even the most corrupt cannot compare to your greed."

"Indeed. Either one of us would be enough for the Grail war." Black smiled.

"But you broke the system to have us both." White finished and Shirou Kotomine knew then that dealing with the pair would not be an easy task.

"I have summoned you." He says so as much for himself as he does for them.

"Indeed, you have." They reply.

"May I ask your class?"

"You already know what it is," The dark Queen says.

"Rejoice boy, your wish has been granted." The Countess declares with a laugh. Something about those words resonated in Kotomine.

Shifting past her partner, The Queen takes on a more serious countenance. She is still amused by his efforts, yet her humors are hidden behind a stoic declaration. "Not for naught am I known as the world's oldest poisoner... Are you truly certain that you can wield Queen Semiramis?"

"Oh Queen of Assyria - in this Great Holy Grail War, I aim not for victory or defeat but for another goal." Shirou declares. "Will you aid me?"

Her expression twists into an unreadable one, but she concedes with a nod.

He tries to talk more but he lacks the strength to continue. He has many tasks to perform. Restore the church's boundary fields. Set the minds of the mundane laity to rest. Hide or explain the damage. Inform the Holy See a doctored version of the events. And prepare to counter any offensive actions from the Ygdmillenia.

'Rest easy Master.' The Poisoner Queen speaks through their link.

'Call your masters,' The Blood Countess joins her.

'We shall see to the rest.'

Amakusa Shirou sees the two Assassins who complete each other's sentences. His consciousness fades again, but he forces himself to stay awake. He's so tired, but he concedes to their suggestions. He calls the Church, and spends an hour repeating the same things to a disbelievingly Cardinal. When the call finally ends, he slumps down in his seat and does not wake till mid-day.