Chapter 99

Robotically, Mordred craned her neck to stare behind her and froze from guilt and shame. Her breaths came out hoarse, her mouth dry. Even the attempt to explain fell on deaf ears in the silence.

Arturia stood at the room's entrance, Caliburn clattered over the floor from where she'd dropped it after picking it up from the eastern citadel. Stiffly, she moved to pick up the fallen blade, but she kept fumbling, her fingers trembling and unable to make a proper grip around the hilt.

Hands balling into fists, she blanked her features.

Arturia hissed and took in a shuddering breath, her gaze leaving Caliburn and staring up at Morgan. "You're lying," she said in monotone, a hollow laugh escaping her lips. "Tell me. This is another one of your ploys, isn't it sister? If you think its so easy to fool me, then you're naïve! I've had enough of your mind games! I'm sick of them!"

Excalibur still in its sheath around Arturia's waist was instantly drawn with her right arm while she picked up Caliburn with her left. All at once, the previous moment of weakness seemed as if it had never happened, no; to be more precise, Arturia was desperately trying to delude herself.

The more Arturia tried to deny the situation, the more Mordred paled, and the smugger Morgan became. Only Arturia knew that her years of experience indicated no traces of deceit in Morgan's words. Better yet, the despaired expression on Mordred's face was practically all she needed to see in order to understand…and yet she adamantly refused.

"Where is my husband?! Where are my children?!"

Magic energy swelled from around Arturia with each shout, dwarfing even Mordred's own as it coiled around her and burst forth. Her lips were quivering, teeth gritted so tightly that the muscles of her jaw looked strained. Yet behind this display was fragility.

Arturia had always been a woman of stout composure and bearings, but even she had her breaking points.

Her children gone.

Her husband also gone.

This suffocating pressure growing in her heart, it was unbearable like someone gutting you and then twisting the wound over and over again. Trauma was just one aspect of this, emptiness was the other.

Sir Ector and Kay were one thing, but this was different. If Morgan truly wasn't lying, then…

There would be no one left of the family she'd started.

Her heart clenched, a shudder travelling down her spine and tingling over her neck.

The moments that she shared and cherished with Shirou, and the recollections of her nervous worries during her months in pregnancy with her babies, it would all be gone. The impact would be too great, and it was precisely because of this that Arturia held hope that Morgan wouldn't put it past herself to deceive her with such an underhanded tactic.

It was pitiful; tragic even that the one hope she desperately clung to held true only on the basis of her elder sister's cruelty to her.

Even so, just this once let it be true.

The culmination of everything her sister had ever done to her burst forth and she attacked with all the vigour of a woman scorned afraid of what Morgan would say or not say. Only she herself knew that in this instance, she was being a coward.

She yearned for an answer from Morgan that she could accept, and yet was terrified of the concept of it.

…It would be better for her if Morgan just didn't speak at all until the end. In fact, it was best if this was so as Arturia no longer knew if she could fight on or not because honestly; it felt like she had nothing left to fight for.

Therefore, just don't give her the chance to speak.

Her muscles tensed, her feet digging grooves into the stone-tiled floor.

The power of might and magic stemmed not only from the output of a user, but through their capability to accurately harness and channel their strengths.

Avalon of the Ever-Distant Utopia, and the two blades in her hands.

O Sword of Choosing, O Sword of the Victorious, Grant me strength.

Energy and radiant light thrummed and coalesced over each sword, heat wafting off of them like the brightest of stars. Motes of golden sand flowed and ebbed, the flutter of wings and bell-like chimes flaring in tandem with the Fae runes marked over Excalibur's length.

Sword that knows not of defeat…

Excalibur hummed in acknowledgment.

Sword that strikes true and vanquishes evil…

Caliburn followed Excalibur's motions.

Numerous magic circles appeared to block Arturia's path, but like parting clouds to a fierce gale, a wall of wind surrounded her, turbulent and ever flowing: A blessing to her and to her alone.

She stepped up on platforms of air, dodging or plowing through all obstacles before her.

-The tempest of the Wind King.

The distance between Arturia and Morgan was crossed in an instant, Arturia practically gliding on air with each step.

Ever since that day where she thought she lost everything; she'd devoted herself to never lose to her elder sister again.

Arturia's eyes narrowed on a target.

Right arm.

Caliburn came soaring down, selectively bypassing the barrier of magic as the King Maker's properties took effect: That which was not worthy may never tarnish this blade of Kings.

Like a film of a liquid's surface, the magic barrier seemed to distort and bend, unable to form any resistance, and this was before Excalibur followed suit and cleaved through.

Blast it away!

Morgan blocked with her left arm, the clanging of steel echoing from enchantment magic which rebounded the force of Arturia's strike and sent Morgan blasting across the hall. Righting herself, Morgan spat hatefully.

"Mallachd, of the dark forest underbrush!" Eyes bloodshot, Morgan made a pulling gesture with her right hand and dark wisps formed around her. "Ćumha of the departed!"

Wraiths and numerous crow-headed familiars took form to fill in the gap between Morgan and Arturia as the stone-tiled floor morphed into the dim earthiness of a damp forest. From this forest seeped an oozing cursed energy that seeped into and empowered the wraiths and familiars.

"Go!" Morgan beckoned to obtain some breathing room, yet even this was foiled.

Swirls of red lightning and fire chained and cleaved through the entire horde, clearing the way forward for Arturia to charge unhindered once more.

"Dammit you unfilial daughter!"

Morgan had only seconds to dodge Caliburn's attempt to cleave her head off, and even then, Excalibur's presence made itself known; the searing heat of its incoming presence scalding her skin.

"Grèim of binding!" Morgan hastily chanted while forming a sword of energy in her right hand. Tendrils then rapidly grew from beneath her feet and caught Arturia within them as Morgan stabbed her sword forward, hoping to force Arturia back if only by a breath.

Morgan focused on restraining Arturia's arms to halt the swing of her swords, but she underestimated the lengths that Arturia would go. She lunged her body forward, stabbing herself into Morgan's weapon without a change in expression.

"You're crazy," Morgan furrowed her brows, Arturia's blood splattering over her cheeks.

"And you're dead."

Arturia pushed deeper into Morgan's energy spear while ignoring the agonizing pain. The squelching noise of her sliding down the spear's length was accompanied by the sound of spurting blood as she head-butted Morgan in the face before trying to stomp down on Morgan's neck when Morgan toppled over.

"!" Unable to keep focus, Morgan's restraining magic was cancelled as she desperately rolled away from the strike.

Arturia's stomp landed mere inches away from Morgan's neck, her armoured boot indented at least a foot deep into solid stone.

Morgan grimaced, and the moment Arturia blinked, Morgan used spatial transference to teleport a distance away.

Arturia dusted herself off, her expression cold while the hole through her stomach healed at a visible rate due to Avalon's effects.

Morgan's complexion was pale, her breaths somewhat laboured.

"How ironic. How tragic, this joke of a family," Morgan curled her lips derisively. She ripped off her torn veil and reduced it to ashes in her hand. "Children killing mothers," she leveled a glare on Mordred. "Sisters killing sisters," her tone grew cold from Arturia's murderous glower. "We're surely doing father proud."

A magic barrier blocked Mordred's in coming attacks, but Morgan didn't bat an eye. She wasn't as concerned or focused on Mordred as she was on Arturia.

Morgan's knees wobbled from the strain of hoisting her arms up to cast a spatial distortion spell to teleport Arturia across the room when she tried to charge forward again. The desperation and lack of care towards herself that Arturia revealed in her actions wasn't lost on Morgan.

"Why so hurried?" Morgan knit her brows in contemplation, snapping the fingers of her left hand in order to send Mordred flying while simultaneously activating another teleportation spell beneath Arturia's feet.

This time, Arturia appeared even farther away.

"Could it be that you're afraid of something?"

A column of cutting wind brushed past Morgan's ear, but by this point she didn't care. She'd just verified an observation. The more Morgan talked, the greater the intensity of Arturia's attacks. There was a correlation. "Are my words so chilling? Or could it be that there's something you don't wish to hear?"

Arturia's lips pursed, but the intensity of her efforts redoubled. She didn't deny nor accept the statement, always trying to close the distance, but Morgan wouldn't let her.

Defeating Arturia was one thing, and stalling her was another.

"Let me see how well I understand you," Morgan said while calculating every step and action Arturia would make, and stopping her at each interval. "What is it that I can say that obviously has you so riled up? You're really too simple little sister. Is it the fate of your children? Your husband?"

A flicker of emotion bled into Arturia's still features.

"You're trying to deny what you already know. Your babies are gone, and your husband is truly dead."

Blood dripped from Arturia's fingers from how tightly she was holding onto her weapons, but this wasn't the final nail in the coffin.

"You're even using the very sword that killed him."

Arturia faltered at this new revelation, her attention shifting to one of the swords in her hands Morgan's gaze was focused on.

Caliburn?

The way Mordred had flinched on the side at Morgan's admission was not lost to Arturia, causing her eyes to glisten from a surge of denial. The wall she'd erected around her heart in order to focus received another blow and was gradually chipping away.

Morgan had reason to fool her, but Mordred didn't. More importantly, Mordred was never good with lies. The truth could always be seen from how expressive her facial features were…And Mordred's grief and pain were real.

"You're focus's slipping, little sister."

In a lapse of judgement, Arturia failed to react when Morgan blinked directly in front of her and bodied her momentum.

Morgan may appear frail, but the blood of Dragons also flows through her veins.

"I have waited years for this." Morgan grabbed Arturia's hair and hurled her across the room, only to dodge as Clarent came crashing down over head. "Oh yes. You. I haven't forgotten about you either." Sneering, Morgan flickered her hand and blasted Mordred away with a magic circle that exploded on Mordred's face. "The Kingdom is finally at the tips of my fingers. I am Morgan le Fay, First Daughter of Uther, and barring the birth of a brother, the rightful heir to this throne!"

Tumbling across the ground, Arturia and Mordred ended up sprawled at the far corner of the room where the central pillar was erected.

Mordred got up quickly, but Arturia lagged. Her movements were sluggish, the luster of her eyes dim. In all fairness, she was hardly injured physically, but mentally, she was dealt a critical blow.

"C'mon get up. We haven't defeated her yet," Mordred urged Arturia while biting down hard on her lips.

Arturia didn't answer while slowly getting up onto her feet. She stared blankly at Mordred, then at Morgan, then back at Mordred and suddenly understood.

This sole feeling ebbing from within her now…Was anger really all that was left?

Arturia swallowed, stewing in self turmoil.

The feeling was bitter, the resentment unimaginable.

At the very least, Mordred couldn't bear it and charged out once again. Crude, brash, and angered movements too telegraphed, Arturia wasn't surprised when Mordred was hurled back, her armour producing sparks as it skidded across the floor.

Mordred never gave up. No; it was better to say that she'd rather throw herself in mortal danger than slow down and let the gravity of Shirou's death truly sink in.

In the same way, wasn't she the same? Arturia grasped the hilt of her swords stronger and stronger, but her heart was gone and no longer in it.

She charged forward with Mordred, but her momentum was lacking. She struck with her swords, but they never found their mark. This was because she knew that when Morgan was gone, who else could she direct her anger towards? What else could she use to stem the overflowing grief and agony of emptiness pervading within her.

Mordred was naïve to think that this pain and anger could ever be compensated by the death of Morgan.

Vengeance was only temporary relief.

It wouldn't let her see her children.

It wouldn't being her Shirou back.

"Where's your resolve little sister?" Morgan ridiculed as hollow teal eyes glared daggers into Morgan's very being.

Of course, Morgan would notice Arturia's current state of mind, but there was one thing Arturia had seemed to forget through rite of her maturity.

Once, there existed a time where she did not solely rely on herself.

Once, there existed a time where she idolized and took the words and actions of a single friend as undeniable truth.

When did she begin to forget or take them so lightly?

An Oath had been sworn so long ago, but it had never once waned.

"Before anything else, I am your Knight."

"Where did all your fire and bravado g-"

The distinct sound of creaking hinges echoed in the vast room, all eyes turning.

A figure hobbled in through the large oaken doors of Camelot's grand chamber; bloodied and rasping for breath, the figure's gaze never once seemed to lose their luster.

Always and ever, he had always been her hero.

Now it was Morgan's turn to falter.

"Y-You, but you were supposed to be dead!"

The figure remained unperturbed, looking from Arturia to Mordred, then back to Morgan. With a single-minded focus, he channelled his will.

There was no time to spare. The figure looked like he was on his last legs, but had still forced himself to come.

It was a fact that his capabilities were limited at the moment, but there was still something that he could do to be of use and to temporarily take Morgan out of the picture until the castle was retaken.

A swell of magic energy began to propagate and swell.

-[I am the Bone of my Sword]

There was purpose to his arrival. A deeper Meaning.

The sound of sobbing filtered into his ears, followed by the quiet murmurs of 'thank goodness' repeated over and over again and offset by relieved sniffling.

A silent message was conveyed with his presence alone, reassurance more than anything for those he cared about and who cherished him, and this was more than enough.

-[Steel is my body, and fire is my blood]

The curtains would fall on this family feud, such that it would harm no one nor the country for any longer.

-[I have created over a thousand blades]

Outside the castle, the voice echoed, but none knew more of what was happening than the Archer in red.

"This is insane!"

"He's a Monster!"

"Didn't we already know that?! Shut up and focus!"

-[Unknown to Death]

Archer glanced up towards the citadel housing the ivory castle of legend before decisively vanishing without a trace, leaving his opponents baffled yet relieved.

-[Nor known to Life]

Magical power surged, veins bursting over the figure's skin within Camelot's grand chamber.

The journey had its beginning; filled with doubts, uncertainties, and hardships, but it all led up to this point: it's end.

This was the story of a miracle born from a promise.

-[Have withstood pain searching for the one]

This was the will of a sword, rusted and weary, yet never bent or broken.

-[Yet, these hands have never protected anything]

This was a tale of an endless pursuit, and the will to protect what was found at the conclusion of this untrodden road.

-[So as I pray]

An Avalon locked in time.

-[Unlimited Blade Works]

A ring of fire engulfed the castle chamber, bathing all in blinding light. The castle faded, the rolling hills of grass and reeds replaced by a garden in the middle of nowhere. Where once only barren land existed, life had bloomed.

At its core, this world was a Reality Marble, a reflection of the caster's inner world made real.

A sword brittle and feeble had regained its luster, polished by the unerring affection of a life's companion, and hardened through endless devotion.

Light shone in the dim twilight overlooking a vast expanse of swords stretching beyond what the eye could see and towards a lone hill at the center where a monolithic tower stood erected. The energies converged over this tower didn't stem solely from this world, but was in fact, an anchor with ties to the Revere Side.

Shirou panted for breath, the hole through his chest and heart leaking blood. Any other person would have died from such an injury including him, and he did 'die.' However, Agatha had diverted the flow of the Ashton Anchor's energy to artificially pump blood through his body. Afterwards, a Traced copy of Avalon was used to accelerate the healing process.

However, Avalon's potency was only at its highest with Arturia. For Arturia, it could heal fatal injuries in a matter of minutes, but it wasn't quite so for him especially when most of his available magical energy was put into his Reality Marble and the Ashton Anchor's upkeep.

Shirou coughed, blood dripping past his lips.

"Shirou!"

Arturia was in front of him almost instantaneously, fretting and appearing deathly pale. She didn't know how she could help, or where to put her hands to support him. Her lips pursed, her teal eyes dilating in alarm at his current state. Meanwhile, Mordred was too ashamed to approach, but her actions were more honest. She was silently crying, uselessly trying to play off the matter and wipe her tears away, but no one would believe it.

"Focus, Arturia. I'll be fine. I made a promise, remember?" Shirou coaxed, pushing himself to stand tall and focus ahead. "We're still in battle," he reminded.

Biting down on her lip, Arturia was clearly unwilling to divert her attention, but she did so in the end anyway. She faced Morgan with renewed vigour, but only she knew that a majority of her priorities had shifted from defeating Morgan to keeping Shirou safe.

As for Morgan herself, she appeared devastated and bitter, yet this wasn't to last.

Morgan was famed for her rationality and quick mind. Observing Shirou after she'd forcibly composed herself allowed her to discern one or two things.

"What can you even do in your current state?" Morgan asked, her tone steady, but the shakiness of her knees giving her away.

Shirou glanced at Morgan in confusion. Was she really asking him that? This was his Reality Marble. He didn't have to even move if he wished to attack.

"Arturia, Mordred, get ready," he called.

In his mind, he pictured numerous circuit relays activating with energy, but nearly blacked out a second after doing so, a ringing sensation in his ears accompanied by nausea. He keeled over, dropping to his knees, immediately shaking both Arturia and Mordred's composure.

"You fool! I already told you that you can't do that!" Agatha chastised. This was his inner world and Agatha should be in physical form here, as she was now though, she was part of the Ashton Anchor. Her voice was being transmitted directly into his head.

He winced, but Agatha showed no mercy in her tirade. "We've already expended a considerable amount of magic energy to bring you back from death, and don't take this consumption lightly. Death has always been the realm of the Gods, and like it or not, we are still classified as mortals. You're fortunate that you survived, granted it was my fault to even suggest such a thing, but regardless, we're running on maximum output just to maintain this place. We really don't have anymore resources to spare, and I refuse to redirect Avalon's energy healing your heart just so you can make swords shoot at this bitch."

Agatha was adamant. She would never change her stance no matter how Shirou would try to persuade her.

"Can't fire them, can you?" Morgan looked like she'd just won the lottery at his expense, a breath of relief escaping her lips. "First there was that absurd Noble Phantasm deployed above Camelot for an entire month, then whatever means you used to return from the dead. No magus of Magician could ever dream to possess an infinite amount of energy, and you should be no different. If I'm right, even this Reality Marble will eventually run out of power."

It was like Morgan was saying, 'if a First-Rate like me can't do it, then you can't either.'

Worse, Agatha all but verified it.

"She's right, and she didn't even include the amount of energy you spent hunting down her side's Magi."

Shirou was thoroughly spent, and what little he had left, Agatha was managing for him in life support.

"Mordred you stay and protect him, I'll attack," Arturia decided quickly.

"You stay, I'll go," Mordred argued, conflicted. She didn't trust herself when she considered it was her fault Shirou ended up in this state.

"No. Both of you go," Shirou interrupted, forcing himself to sit up. If the two of them worked together, then they were less likely to enter mortal danger than if they went on their own. "Leave me here. I'll focus on maintaining my Reality Marble in order to keep Morgan trapped in here."

"But-"

"Arturia, listen and trust your husband just this once," Shirou said, causing Arturia to slowly shut her mouth in confliction. Shirou then regarded Mordred. "A parent shouldn't be protected by their child. Go."

Arturia looked between Mordred and Shirou, but ultimately quelled her curiosity for the time being.

"How touch-"

A sword smashed towards the side of Morgan's temples mid-speech, but she hastily blocked the attack and stumbled on her feet.

Shirou spat out a glob of blood.

"What did I just tell you?!" Agatha grumbled, feeling helpless.

Morgan's words were venomous. It was better if he could interrupt her so to him it was worth the trade even if it sounded petty.

Shirou looked hard at Arturia and Mordred and repeated himself one last time. "Go."

This time they did, working together and charging towards Morgan. Unlike Camelot's Grand Chamber, there was no way Morgan could have prepared magic circles in his Reality Marble before hand.

However, this didn't make Morgan weak.

In all of human history in the original time line, Merlin the Wizard of the Arthurian Court was considered by magi to be a bonafide Magician. Morgan was said to be Merlin's equivalent.

Morgan was far from weak even without preparation.

Indeed, even as Mordred and Arturia worked together to combat against her, neither side was losing ground.

Think. There had to be something that he could do.

All things considered, his Reality Marble was the trump card he was convinced would defeat Morgan, and it would have if not for his own mistakes. As it was now, it was serving as nothing more than a glorified cage to keep Morgan away from Camelot while her rebellion was suppressed.

What else could he do?

He looked at his side, suddenly feeling the weight of the object around his waist remaining by his side since the beginning of the five-year period.

Mjolnir (Fake)

This hammer…yes. His mind came to a conclusion. There had to be a reason for everything, a link of sorts woven by fate or destiny. More than just a Knight or a King, there was another profession much more suited to him.

"Agatha-"

"If it's just this much, then fine, but don't push yourself."

Four objects appeared before him in a cloud of shadows, Traced copies of Noble Phantasm already within his Reality Marble that he needed. This indicated that Agatha knew exactly what he was thinking. Considering that the Ashton Anchor was linked to him, and that Agatha was presently sharing a connection with it, it was no surprise.

Grasping his hammer's hilt in his right hand, his muscles bulged, sweat matting his brows as consternation set in. Just keeping his grip was taxing, the strength required for his current endeavor almost despair inducing. Regardless, his resolve would not waver.

Yet in his current state, he really wouldn't be able to do this on his own, but everything changed if he wasn't alone.

He'd felt it since the moment he'd deployed his Reality Marble: A watching presence.

This presence couldn't physically be seen, but it was there nonetheless. Moreover, Shirou knew this presence from all those years ago:

The man in red who faced off against the mighty Heracles.

"I know that you're here," Shirou didn't waste his time with too many words, and directly voiced his request neither loud or too soft. His vision was already hazy, a sharp pain at his lower ribs with each breath. "I need your help."

A trace of emotion flickered across Archer's features. He was in spiritual form directly beside Shirou, but he'd underestimated how much this Shirou had grown since Fuyuki to be capable of detecting him.

The very moment that Archer had realized Shirou was deploying his Reality Marble, he'd disengaged from Emily and the others in order to arrive here. Right now, from Archer's perspective, this entire story could end at the swing of his blade. The choice was before him.

The root cause of this timeline's divergence was Shirou himself.

Archer's purpose as a Counter Guardian would be served so long as he willed it. Shirou wasn't even in a state to resist him, and yet, for all the animosity and resentment Archer had for his past self, the blade did not fall.

Between Archer and Shirou there was nothing that need be said that wasn't already understood in this world of unlimited blades.

Shirou's devotion, affection, hopes, wishes, and even fears were reflected here without a single grain of deceit. This world was, and always will be the root of Shirou Emiya, just as Archer's inner world was the root of his own being.

This land, this utopia, was like nothing Archer had ever seen before. It was so vastly different from his own that he could hardly begin to compare them.

Hope lied beyond the horizon and beyond even Archer's grey coated skies.

Ah. It was such a simple deduction.

Archer took in a deep breath.

This Shirou had found his peace; his happiness not from pursuing the ideals of a dying man, but through the miracle born of parting.

In this world of unlimited blades, hope, yearning, expectation, all of it resonated with Archer. It was only made worse as Archer would never truly view Arturia as an enemy, nor wish to partake in anything to do with ruining her happiness. At his base, he still remembered the promise he once made to be a hero, and this time he could contribute to something that he believed in.

Alaya had made the wrong choice in Counter Guardian.

Archer materialized and wordlessly gathered the four materials Agatha had brought before Shirou and flooded them with magic energy, overloading them until they all reached a chaotic state.

There was no need for Shirou to tell Archer what to do, the link of past and future selves uniting their thoughts as one.

So, it begins.

Shirou's eyes narrowed in focus. Ignoring the pain and exhaustion in his body, he set out to work.

It was true that he was out of magic energy, but the same wasn't true for this hammer blessed by the Norse God of Thunder.

This was the only thing he could do to be of aid to Arturia and Mordred, and he wouldn't allow himself to fail.

Before him, the four Noble Phantasms overloaded by Archer were held in place by Archer directly in front of Shirou. Mortal means would never smelt their ore into anything malleable, but this hammer was different, possessing the aspect of lingering Divinity which Shirou tapped into.

-To forge a blade with the roar of thunder…

Lightning crackled as Shirou hammered down the first blow, a resounding drum booming from up high.

An explosion occurred from the impact, blinding radiance reaching out into a vortex of sparks and embers lifting into the heavens. A tidal wave of biting wind and heat rushed outward, lifting Mordred, Arturia, and even Morgan off their feet even as the earth trembled.

"-What?" Morgan let out in stunned disbelief, but it was drowned out in the ensuing storm.

-The second blow smashed down, tendrils of crackling power rippling over the ground.

The chaotic elements in the four objects introduced through Archer's actions thrummed all at once.

The divine hammer would bring about order in the chaos of energy with each strike.

-The third blow.

A Noble Phantasm born from means outside the mortal realm now shattered and overloaded, morphed into a tangible golden ichor that Archer quickly handled and used to form the outline of a handle.

Avalon the hilt and pommel.

-The fourth shattering blow.

Another Noble Phantasm smelted down and became malleable ichor, bubbling shimmering, a light of selection washed over the land.

Caliburn the crossguard.

"Stop! What is that?!"

Morgan's shout fell on deaf ears.

-The fifth blow.

A sword representing peace crackled with red arcs that singed the ground in long web-like fissures.

Clarent the fuller.

Only a single Noble Phantasm remained, embodying the concept of Victory.

-The sixth blow.

Motes of golden sand shimmered into a violent storm converging all at once.

Excalibur the blade edge.

Heat and rapidly cooling vapour hardened the shaped ichor as Archer molded it all together in Shirou's utter exhaustion. Blues and royal golds gave way to runic engravings and Fae words up and down the forged sword's length.

The sheer intensity of the fusion of four legendary Noble Phantasms of Britain created a stifling pressure that shouldn't have existed on the mortal plain.

It was the realm of the Fae and Gods, able to be reached through the heritage of House Ashton and a divine tool to fuse it all together.

[A sword and symbol of the height of monarchy shines here]

Sword of Mercy. Sword of Kings and Queens.

Curtana: Illustrious Sword that Shines at the Age of Twilight.

Its very name was fashioned later on as a replica sword passed down in history through Britain's Royal family.

"Mordred," Shirou rasped out to Archer, who understood and grudgingly tossed the sword into Mordred's trembling hands.

Shirou had once promised Mordred the strongest sword, and this was no doubt his greatest master piece.

"Save your siblings," Shirou said to Mordred before passing out with no more lingering worries.

Mordred's eyes widened in realization. She didn't know how Shirou discovered the truth of this matter, but in fact it was something as simple as Agatha hounding Vivian for an answer for Shirou.

In any case, Mordred understood and glared in Morgan's direction.

Curtana was a sword with a blunted tip, and yet it held a sharpness that chilled one to the bones when it deemed one an enemy.

Not wasting a single second, Mordred swung Curtana in Morgan's direction, a hair-raising unseen pressure propelling forward in a vortex of wind.

It didn't have Excalibur or Caliburn's grandeur, nor did it possess Clarent's destructive power, but it was an attack from the merging of three legendary swords held together by Avalon.

It wasn't to be underestimated, and yet Morgan found herself blinking in confusion when the attack sailed past her head.

"You missed!" Morgan swallowed audibly, relieved when she recalled how unskilled Mordred could be. However, there wasn't a trace of embarrassment in Mordred's features. Wary and anxious, a voice quickly answered Morgan's doubts.

"She wasn't aiming for you," Archer said.

Morgan's eyes widened.

No.

It couldn't be.

Behind her, a deafening tearing noise echoed out.

As a fusion of Avalon, Caliburn, Excalibur, and Clarent, Curtana's power was a concise blend of each. In this case, Caliburn selected the destination through the user's intentions, and the combined power of the attack could tear through the fabric of space itself.

Morgan suddenly paled when petals blew across her vision.

A garden of flowers would bloom over a hill of swords.