ARC-1, Chapter 0- "Forward To The Desire"

"This isn't right..."

"Everything hurts."

"What the hell is this?."

"I can't see... anything anymore."

-The air hung thick, suffocating under the weight of forgotten sorrows. Distant cries, fractured and distorted, rose from unseen depths, their anguish rippling through the darkness like an unrelenting tide. Each echo carried a history of suffering, an untold pain clawing at the silence, begging to be heard.

"This is actually not good. Wait, nothing's going to get worse than this."

One eye stared at the sky, the other lost beneath the weight of rubble. He looked to be in his forties, though that was hard to say with the blood and dirt masking his face. His unburied eye was the last link to a life slipping away. His body, broken. His mind, numb. And yet, no one was left to hear his silent screams.

Dust and debris were scattered and fires were burning all around. He was not buried alone there, many people were taking their last breaths along with him. It seemed as if a storm had come here and destroyed everything.

Someone approached, hands digging through the debris above him. His body was still pinned, and he couldn't believe anyone would come to save him. His expression darkened as reality settled in.

It was a young boy who almost had blood all over his body or half of his face was smeared with blood but he smiled as if the moment he had been waiting for all his entire life was in front of him. A blinding white light erupted from the young boy's hand, radiating with an intense brilliance that seemed to chase away the shadows around him. As the light intensified, it began to take shape, solidifying into a magnificent sword. The blade was forged from pure, gleaming white metal, shimmering with an otherworldly glow. The hilt was adorned with intricate engravings, and the entire weapon pulsed with a powerful energy, as if it held within it the essence of light itself. The boy could feel the sword's weight, not just in his hand, but in his soul, as if it were a part of him.

"Shirou"

The man who was buried under debris calls a name, but his voice is too low to reach his destination.

The air hums With a surge of power, crackling with fierce arcs of blue and white energy, the air hums and sizzles as the force intensifies around the blade, casting an eerie glow on his face. His eyes narrow, focused with deadly intent. With a sharp cry, he swings the charged sword downward with brutal force, the energy trailing like a comet's tail. The sheer impact splits the ground, sending shockwaves through the air, as if the storm itself had been unleashed..

Raising the sword high, he watched as blood cascaded from the blade, droplets falling slowly slowly, as if the weapon had been drawn from the depths of a crimson sea. Each drop echoed in the stillness, punctuating the air with a sense of finality and raw power. His gaze never wavered, eyes locked on the fading life before him, as if time itself slowed to honor the moment.

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DAY - 1

A middle-aged man sprinted down a long corridor, his hurried footsteps echoing faintly. Was this a house? No, it was far too grand to be called that. The space felt like it belonged in the estate of someone extraordinarily wealthy—opulent yet tasteful. The walls were painted a rich, reddish hue, exuding an aura of luxury and refinement that was almost hypnotic.

As he ran, his gaze fixed on a door at the far end. Without a second thought, he reached it, grasped the handle, and pushed it open with urgency.

Then, he saw an old man—a frail figure with sharp, angular features and deep lines etched into his pale skin. His gray hair was neatly combed back, and he wore a perfectly tailored black suit with a burgundy tie that added a touch of refinement. His cold, gray eyes were piercing, and a faint scar ran along his upper lip, barely noticeable, yet adding an air of mystery.

Middle-Aged Man: "Dr. Akutami, Arches has discovered the remains of the Silver Vengeance Sword ".

Old Man : "- - -"