Prologue
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters used in this story. All rights belong to the creators of Fate/Stay Night and Highschool DXD
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PROLOGUE
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'It hurts…'
Fire.
His first memories were of a fire.
He didn't know how he got there, but all he remembered was walking through that hell.
Rubble and debris littered the toppled buildings, and everything was covered in a never-ending sea of fire and ash.
Smoke wafted through the air, choking him, and invading his lungs.
The screams of the damned rang throughout the burning hell, people crying for help.
He stumbled through that hell, numb to the pain, and ignorant to the people's cries.
As he walked by, they begged for him to help them out, to save them, but they soon turned to curses, telling him to join them in the fires, to join in their suffering, screaming at him for not pulling them out. He kept walking on.
Some faces were familiar to him, but he kept trudging on, with no hope of surviving.
'I'm sorry…'
His vision was blurry, unable to see the path he was walking.
For hours -' or was it minutes?'-, he continued to walk on, and at some point, the yells and cries stopped altogether as he wandered through the blazing desolation. The familiar sting of heat began to dull, and the agony in his chest morphed into a phantom ache, a dull reminder that he was still alive. But with each step, the fire consumed not just the world around him but the remnants of who he once was. Memories of a past life crumbled like ash in the wind.
Only the sounds of the flickering fires remained.
As he continued to walk, his brain slowly began to take notice of the small ghosts of pain building up.
'Why… does it hurt so much?'
It hurt, but he kept walking on.
Eventually, the pain coiled around him, a tightening noose, and he collapsed to the ground, surrendering to the inferno that surrounded him. With the last vestiges of strength, he turned his gaze skyward, to the cold, distant expanse of night.
If he could have felt envy, he would have directed it at the distant moon and stars, their serene glow mocking his suffering. Yet, the fire had long since charred his emotions to cinders, leaving behind an emptiness that echoed like a void.
If he could, he would have wished for freedom, freedom from this fire, from this burning hell.
And yet, he felt nothing.
He stretched out his hands, fingers trembling, as he stared into an impossible Dream—a wish forever out of reach. 'This world was cruel,' he realized; a cruel, beautiful world that toyed with his desires, forcing him to yearn for freedom from a burning hell.
The fires continued their relentless dance, and with them, his will to survive began to flicker like the dying flames. His hand, once reaching for something unattainable, fell limply to the ground.
To make him wish for freedom, to show him what he couldn't have.
Forever locked away in the cruel hands of a world that didn't care for his anguish and suffering.
The fires continued to burn, and with it, his will to survive began to fade to ash, his hand slowly falling.
And at last, when his hand hit the ground, the sound of the raging fires began to quiet down in his ears, and his eyesight began to fade.
'Why…?'
And as his breathing began to slow, a miracle occurred.
He heard a gasp, and then the sound of a pair of running feet came closer and closer, and then came to a stop beside him.
He felt something being pushed into his chest before the feeling disappeared.
He flickered open his eyes and saw a man with black hair in a trench coat kneeling in front of him, tears in his eyes.
"Thank goodness" the man sobbed quietly, before his voice raised, his arms pushing behind his back as the man raised him in an embrace.
"You're alive!"
Watching the man crying, he saw him form a beautiful smile.
A smile that made him wonder who was being saved.
A smile that would (unknowingly) haunt him for the rest of his life.
The man did not smile because he saved someone, but because somehow, in saving him, he had saved himself.
And in that brief moment, he could only wonder.
'Will I ever be as happy as him?'
And so, as the fires raged on, as the people burned, only this moment mattered to the two, for both had been saved.
...
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...
Emiya Shirou is a fool. A courageous, altruistic, self-rightous human being, but a fool nonetheless.
There is a line between bravery and stupidity, and chasing after an impossible, albeit beautiful dream at the cost of everything is the peak of foolishness.
...
However...
His body, though it may break; his weapons, though they may be fake...
His spirit and resolve, though it may shatter and shake...
Is it really wrong...
to admire it?
...
Is it really wrong to want to be a Hero of Justice?
...
...
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The Beginning of the End
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- His body was made of swords -
The world was dying.
The once-brilliant sky, where clouds used to dance freely beneath a radiant sun, had been consumed by perpetual darkness. A swirling abyss of thick ash and smoke now loomed above, casting the land in an eternal twilight. Every breath tasted of decay, the stench of sulfur and charred remains clogging Emiya's lungs. Beneath his feet, the earth that once thrived with life had been transformed into a wasteland—cracked and scorched, littered with the bones of the fallen. The remnants of once-great cities jutted out like the skeletal hands of a dying world, their towering skyscrapers now broken spires reaching out to a sky that had long since forsaken them. The wind howled through the ruins, carrying with it the distant, mournful cries of those who had been lost to the apocalypse.
'Where did it all go so wrong?'
- Steel was his body, and fire was his blood -
The broken remnants of massive cogs lay dissolving on the ground, an innumerable amount of broken swords scattered across the barren earth.
And at the center of it all, kneeling alone amidst the wreckage, was Counter Guardian EMIYA.
His figure, once proud and imposing as a Counter Guardian, was now a broken silhouette against the backdrop of destruction. Blood dripped down his face, one eye shut in pain. His once-vibrant red cloak hung from his shoulders in tatters, soaked in ash, blood, and the dirt of countless battles. His body was a mess of wounds—blisters marred his skin, raw from the searing heat radiating from the desolated ground, and each breath he took was a painful rasp as if the very air itself sought to strangle him. His right hand, still clutching the familiar weight of Kanshou and Bakuya, trembled. He had long since lost track of how many times his blades had shattered and been reforged during the seemingly endless battle. No matter how many times he struck, it amounted to nothing. He was powerless against the thing standing before him.
- He had created over a thousand blades -
ORT, the Ultimate One of the Oort Cloud.
It loomed like a nightmare made flesh, an entity that defied comprehension. Its form, eerily arachnid, was gleaming, its surface like a mirror reflecting the death and decay that now ruled the planet. Towering above Emiya, its many legs—long, thin, and grotesquely sharp—seemed capable of crushing entire cities with ease. Where eyes should have been, there was only a faint, alien glow, cold and devoid of any emotion or understanding. Its very presence twisted the air around it, warping reality in ways that made even Emiya's steel-like mind falter, its very body anchored by the weight of its existence alone. Every movement, every step, was a tyrannical, terrible act of oppression, and none could ever hope to stand in its way. Just standing in ORT's shadow was enough to bring forth a primal terror that gripped him deep in his bones.
This thing, this entity, was not of Earth. ORT did not know life, nor death, as humanity did. It was beyond such concepts, a being from beyond the stars whose very existence meant annihilation. It hadn't come to destroy humanity—destruction was simply the consequence of its presence. To ORT, this planet and everything on it were mere byproducts, collateral in a process it neither cared about nor noticed.
Emiya spat blood onto the scorched earth, the taste of iron thick in his mouth. His vision swam, the edges darkening as fatigue gnawed at him. But he forced himself to focus, to stare at the impossible creature that had brought the end of the world. ORT had already consumed most of the Earth, devouring cities, lands, and oceans as if they were nothing. The planet itself seemed to rot under its influence, the very ground turning to poison, the oceans evaporating into nothingness. Even the sun, once the lifeblood of the planet, had dimmed, as though suffocating beneath ORT's suffocating presence.
He smirked in self-loathing, his dull, silver eyes staring up at the abomination that loomed in front of him.
- Unknown to Life, nor to Death -
There was nothing left. No hope. No future.
And yet, Emiya stood.
His legs wobbled as he forced himself upright, his body screaming in protest. Every muscle in his body felt as though it had been torn apart and stitched back together in the most brutal way possible, but still, he rose. His gaze locked onto ORT's featureless head as it slowly turned toward him, regarding him with an indifference that only made the gulf between them all the more horrifying. A low hum resonated through the air, a sound that wasn't a voice but a vibration, alien and unsettling, making Emiya's entire body vibrate.
"Is this it, Alaya?" Emiya's voice was hoarse, little more than a whisper drowned in sarcasm. "Is this the great battle you've been saving me for? Some alien god here to wipe out everything we fought for?"
There was no response. Of course, there wouldn't be. Alaya—the collective unconsciousness of humanity—had never spoken to him directly, but its presence had always been there, pushing him forward, guiding him. Yet now, amidst this devastation, that connection felt severed. With humanity on the brink of collapse, the guiding hand had disappeared, leaving only silence. For the first time, Emiya felt truly alone.
- Have withstood pain to create many weapons -
His grip tightened on his twin swords. Kanshou and Bakuya were still warm in his hands, their edges chipped and dull from countless clashes. He could barely feel the prana flowing through him anymore, his circuits sputtering and weak. The flames of his soul that fueled his Reality Marble, Unlimited Blade Works, were little more than embers. Every attempt to summon it had been obliterated by ORT's reality-bending aura before it could even manifest. Emiya was fighting against an entity that twisted the very fabric of existence around it. Magecraft, no matter how potent, was useless here.
Yet, he continued forward.
Each step felt like dragging himself through hell. His limbs were heavy with exhaustion, each movement sending jolts of pain through his body. Blood dripped steadily from his wounds, painting the cracked earth beneath him. His breath came in ragged gasps, and the world around him began to blur. But he moved. He couldn't stop, even if the weight of the universe itself bore down on him. It wasn't in his nature to stop.
Around him, the battlefield was a grim tapestry, littered with the shattered remnants of those who had tried to resist the inexorable tide of destruction before him. Soldiers clad in tattered uniforms, magus with their once-formidable spells reduced to mere echoes, and the twisted remnants of weapons of war lay scattered like broken dreams, all reduced to dust and debris by the overwhelming force that now enveloped the land. The imposing silhouette of the Clock Tower loomed over the battlefield in London, a once-magnificent edifice of arcane power that had been the first to fall. The Queen and her Lords had rallied their forces in a desperate attempt to halt its relentless advance across South America. Their cries and incantations reverberated in the air, yet all their magecraft and mysticism proved futile as the ORT crushed them beneath its sheer presence, an insatiable force of fate that rendered their efforts meaningless.
Nearby, the formidable Atlas Institute and the legendary Wandering Sea fell into disarray, their high-tech machinery and seven superweapons shattering like glass before they even had a chance to flee. Only the Black Barrel had been left untouched, yet even that had been lost to the chasms that now scarred the earth. The remnants of their once-advanced technology sparked and fizzled, sending arcs of blue energy into the thick, acrid air as they were destroyed, all of it for naught.
The Church, once a bastion of faith and resistance, lay in ruins, its sacred halls transformed into a charnel house where the Dead Apostles prowled like predators, feeding on the remnants of their fallen brethren, their Princess and her loyal Wolf watching on in satisfaction as the final True Ancestor lay lifeless on the steps, her Millenium Castle reduced to nothing but dust. Shadows slithered among the debris, their cold, hungry eyes glinting in the dim light as they reveled in the chaos.
Amidst this landscape of despair, some still clung to their weapons, their bodies long since decayed into skeletal remains, a haunting testament to their undying resolve. It was as if even in death, they refused to let go, their bony fingers still gripping the hilt of rusted swords and shattered staves, guardians of a world that had long since ceased to exist. These remnants of defiance stood as mournful relics against the backdrop of devastation, whispering stories of bravery and sacrifice into the oppressive silence that enveloped the battlefield.
They had fought for a world that no longer existed. Emiya was the last one standing.
- Yet, these hands will never hold anything -
His lips parted, a whisper barely escaping. "I… am the bone of my sword…"
The air trembled as his circuits burned, the final vestiges of his od slowly channeled into his body. The familiar incantation came to his lips like an old prayer, worn and tired. Kanshou and Bakuya responded to his voice, trembling faintly in his hands. The blades had been his companions through countless battles, each forged from the world in his soul, each shattered and remade just as often as he had been. But now, standing against this arachnid abomination, they felt fragile, just as his broken body did. His spirit container, once full of energy supplied by Alaya, was now running on fumes, the final dregs of energy, barely enough to stand.
ORT moved, the ground trembling with its weight. Its legs clicked as they dug into the charred earth, moving with a terrifying, deliberate grace. The humming grew louder, more oppressive, as the creature bore down on him. Emiya's vision blurred, and yet he raised his swords.
With a final surge of defiance, his body straining, full of pain, he leaped forward.
His swords cut through the air, arcs of silver in the fading light, striking against ORT's gleaming surface. But they did nothing. The blades bounced harmlessly off the creature's armor, leaving no mark, no scratch. It was as though reality itself rejected the notion that anything could harm ORT.
Before he could react, black and green tendrils of energy burst out of the ORT's body and moved with impossible speed, slamming into him with the force of a hurricane and exploding, damaging his spirit container further. Emiya was sent flying, his body crashing into the ruins of a collapsed building. The impact knocked the wind from him, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. Debris rained down around him, his body aching with the fresh agony of broken bones and torn muscles.
He could feel it now—the end. His strength was gone. His prana reserves were depleted, his body shattered. He could barely move, let alone stand. His vision darkened, the edges of his world fading as ORT's oppressive presence loomed over him.
Was this it?
- So, as I pray… -
Emiya's head turned slightly, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. There, through the thick haze of ash and smoke, he could just make out the faint outline of the sun, weak and dying, its light barely piercing through the choking clouds. Somewhere, far in the distance, the wail of sirens echoed, a sound that once meant safety, now meaningless in a world that was already dead.
"So… *cough*... this is it…" His voice was barely audible, his face a mask of cold acceptance. He had fought so hard, for so long. He had given everything, his body, his soul, in service to an ideal, and all for what? To die once more, alone, in a timeline that had already begun to be pruned?
He scoffed, his dull eyes staring up blankly. "S-some… hero...*cough*... of justice, I turned out to be, huh." His words were full of self-loathing, and he continued to lay there as the world burned around him. 'Sorry, Rin. It seems that this is the end for me.'
As he lay there, death slowly approaching, he coughed and chuckled in regret and mockery, blood coming out with every rasp.
'Is this truly what I wanted?'
His vision swam, and for a moment, he thought he saw something in the distance—a figure standing amidst the ruins. Cloaked in shadow, bathed in an ethereal light. Was it a survivor, or something else? A final illusion of what he could not save before death?
However, before he could focus, the world around him suddenly began to warp. The ground trembled beneath him, reality itself distorting. A tear formed in the air, a kaleidoscope of colors tearing time and space apart, a jagged wound in existence, like a rift between worlds.
And it was pulling him in.
He had no strength left to resist. His body, broken and bloodied, was limp. Darkness consumed his vision as the roar of the tear drowned out everything else. ORT's hum faded into the background, a distant, fading echo. All the while, crimson eyes watched on in twisted amusement as the Counter Guardians' consciousness slowly faded away.
Emiya closed his eyes.
"D-damn you… Zelretch…"
Then, there was nothing.
-̵̨̣̭̩̣̣̆͝ ̵̩̘̫̠͎̃͘͜͝U̸̮͒͊̔́͗̕͜ǹ̶͚̳̮̯̈́͆̅̕l̴̗̳̮̀̑́́͗ị̶̧̰̻̕m̴̹̖̱̤̯͐̍̈͊͝į̷̲͓̳̬͂̆̎̈́̀̿t̴̗̱͉͊͛̀̉̃̉͜ę̵͈͖̙̘̖̎̆͋ḑ̴̛̱̼̯̈́̐ ̴̥͚͕̣̾͛́̂̿B̴̜̚̕̚ͅl̶̛̪̜̍̈́̾̾ǎ̵͙̖̭̐ḏ̴͕͍̣̗̼͑̋̓̎͘ë̴̼́̽̄͘ ̷͖̻̌̑̿̏̕͝W̵̙̟̖̠͉̣̍̉͗̕o̵̺̣͎̖̅̈́̀̓͝͝ṙ̸̛̟̑̓͘k̶̢͛̓̉̇̋s̶͓͑ ̷̫̅̔̑͑-̷͍͈̒̔
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Gods, Dragons, Tits, and Emiya: A Counter Guardian's (Not So) Peaceful Retirement
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Hey guys!
Glad to see you made it through the first of my badly written chapters. :)
Is this story to your guys' liking?
Lemme know in the review section, please! UWU
'Cause I honestly thought it was okay, but maybe it wasn't.
Any criticism is welcome~
See you all in the next chapter!~
And maybe in another story!~
...
(PS: Should I make Alaya a batshit crazy yandere that is too obsessed with Archer? Y'know, to make his life more miserable and to make this story even funnier? Lemme know in the review section.)
(PPS: And do you guys want me to incorporate Rin as Zelretch's student? This way I can probably add a few other F/SN and H/F characters... maybe even a few from Extra/CCC... Hmm...)