A brief respite between liberation and the impending bloody harvest was filled with a truly eerie silence.
Each of the assasins prepared to deliver this shrine to the Judgment Day. Some checked their weapons, others raised prayers to Allah, while a few silently contemplated the city that seemed to awaken like a mad serpent from legends, its rumblings instilling genuine terror in their hearts.
Shirou stood apart from his "brothers," only vaguely aware of what turmoil was stirring within them. He had witnessed such nightmares before, seen how people could fall so low as to lose all semblance of humanity. Poisoning their souls with filth, they were ready to do anything to satisfy their passions. His mind insisted that he should not take all of this so emotionally, but his soul refused to adopt such a passive stance.
Yet against this backdrop, he could not help but feel the painful irony of fate…
His "brothers," most of whom would gladly sink a dagger between his shoulder blades without a second thought… now stood beside him, as if sharing his feelings in an invisible bond of their souls. Painful. Unbearable. Disgusting. Their souls burned with righteous fury, for there was no forgiveness or justification for what they witnessed in this hell.
They knew that these foolish… godforsaken carrion eaters would try to justify what had happened with their grief and despair. Yet any such attempt to plead for forgiveness was doomed to fail from the start. Their miserable, senseless existence could not be justified by even the most sincere remorse. The inhabitants of Tikrit were the very thing the world did not need, and thus, they had to be exterminated.
— We shall not fear death… — Shirou darkly intoned, stepping to the edge of the precipice and casting one last glance at the city.
He felt the souls of the angels of death standing behind him wrapped in a grim shroud, their eyes ignited with righteous anger. They were no longer concerned with the justifications and reasons behind the events in this cursed city. There would be no mercy for its inhabitants. They did not deserve redemption—only death.
— …for we walk in its shadow, — his brothers echoed in a somber chorus.
We swear, none shall leave alive…
***
The twin blades, which had recently become his new weapons, felt foreign to him compared to his familiar pistols. Yet… that night they served him well.
Upon entering the city, Shirou involuntarily recalled his first training sessions with these blades. Deflect the strike to the side, twist the wrist, deliver a thrust straight to the heart… Emiya precisely repeated each movement as he heard the thud of a falling carrion eater. In the next instant, the blade of Kanshou soared toward a man charging out of an archway, effortlessly slicing through the handle and cracking his neck vertebrae with a crunch.
Shirou literally carved a path to the emir's palace, and with each street, with each alley, he felt the throng of bloodthirsty madmen growing. The assassin tried to see remorse, regret, any emotion in their faces that would help him understand how ordinary people could fall so low. But there was no answer. No remorse in the eyes of the cannibals. And with every new corpse, Emiya increasingly realized he would never be able to understand them.
Seizing a moment amid a flurry of attacks, he paused to inscribe runes on another house, which ignited moments later like a well-oiled torch. The flames quickly spread to neighboring houses, eager to engulf this shrine along with all its inhabitants. He repeated this act every few streets, causing the city behind him to begin blazing, emitting a monstrous heat, the stench of burning flesh.
Finding the emir's palace was not difficult, if only because the closer he got, the more people seemed eager to send him to his ancestors. The sight of the city grew ever more repulsive. The streets of Tikrit were drenched in blood and littered with the bodies of its residents, some of whom were screaming for help.
Shirou did not even find it necessary to finish off the wounded—even if by some miracle they managed to escape this burning hell, they would not survive in the desert without water and food… if those creatures were even capable of consuming anything like humans…
***
Finally, after another several dozen corpses, he reached his destination. The emir's palace stood right before him.
Shirou halted before the wide-open gates, mentally preparing for whatever the architect of this nightmare had in store for him. Emiya took a moment to glance back to observe the results of his handiwork. The city was already ablaze from all sides, and thick black smoke filled the sky, shrouding the streets in a cacophony of fire and human screams. Looking at the scene before him, Shiro could not help but think that he was in the very presence of Hell itself.
Casting that thought aside, he stepped through the gates, noting a very strange detail: no one greeted him. Given the mountains of corpses he had left at the palace approach, Emiya had expected to encounter an entire army here, but… there was no one. As if the emir had not expected anyone to reach his palace at all.
On one hand, this significantly eased his task, as he could now fully focus on his main goal without wasting time on a mob of madmen. But on the other… his intuition screamed that such an easy entry into the enemy's lair boded nothing good.
What costs the most is worth nothing…
That phrase perfectly captured the course of his thoughts.
The interior was quiet and empty, almost too quiet. As if the entire palace had been severed from the nightmare reality unfolding beyond its walls. This could hint that the emir had fled, sensing danger, but Emiya felt he had not gone anywhere; he was merely lying in wait in the shadows, anticipating him.
Every step he took echoed through the vast halls, mingling with the sound of dripping water, which seemed too loud in that eerie silence. Shirou carefully treaded through the engulfing darkness of the palace, straining to scan each room, trying to reject the thought that he was hearing voices.
A faint, indistinct whisper of dozens of voices was abruptly drowned out by heart-wrenching screams, causing his blood to run cold. The palette of this grim picture was enhanced by traces of dried blood that, in some places, formed strange symbols whose meaning he did not know. Slightly away from such places, Shiro found human bones, many of which seemed to bear bite marks.
Thus, he wandered through the palace, the only witness to this horrifying tableau.
After several minutes of wandering, he found himself before tall doors that were likely to lead to the throne room or its local equivalent. Wasting not a second longer, Emiya flung the doors wide open, boldly stepping inside. As soon as he opened the doors, he was hit by an overwhelming stench of rot, mingled with the scent of blood and some nauseating incense.
The throne room was almost entirely covered in blood, either dried or still fresh, causing Shiro to taste the metallic flavor of disgust on his lips. Massive chains dangled from the ceiling and walls, from which hung bodies like carcasses in a slaughterhouse. Some had already begun to decay, while fresh blood still dripped from others. Emiya felt as though he were back in that human slaughter, and the human bones strewn about further solidified that thought, but something else captured his attention…
At the opposite end of the hall sat the instigator and source of all this horror. Emir Al-Bakr. But Shiro needed only a fleeting glance to realize that what sat before him was decidedly not human.
He looked quite young, too young for an emir. Shirou would not have estimated him older than thirty, though he seriously doubted that human metrics could be applied to the being before him. The erstwhile emir's skin was black as soot, and his body was marked with strange golden tattoos that pulsed and glowed in the darkness. His hair was equally dark but seemed woven from smoke, creating a stark contrast with his blazing eyes. Bone protrusions shaped like spikes jutted from his elbows, shoulders, and collarbone, enhancing his otherworldly appearance.
— Oh… and here you are… — the emir drawled mockingly, lazily stretching out on his throne.
— You are not an emir, — Shirou stated, regarding him with a grim look.
— Perhaps yes, perhaps no. Who am I really? Hard to say. You have touched upon quite a deep and ambiguous philosophical question, — it replied, baring a saber-toothed grin. — Let's set that aside, for what's more important is that you've finally made it here, and you know… I am genuinely pleased to meet you.
— Really? I can't say the same.
— I am utterly honest, — the emir responded, seemingly unfazed by the assassin's scornful tone. — I am glad, for thanks to you, the last desires of these people have finally been fulfilled! Oh… they are such unhappy creatures… even when their original wish was granted, they once again began to suffer and torment! Suffering produced yet more pain and anguish! An endless vicious cycle that could only be broken by you! — Mad laughter filled the chamber, shaking the walls. — A truly magnificent spectacle!
— Demon, — Shirou spat the word. — I suppose I shouldn't be surprised…
— Oh, what a filthy word that is… "demon"… — the emir repeated with disdain. — For you, chaos and order are two different things... you strive to encompass the incomprehensible, to give form to everything, while fearing and despising what doesn't fit your usual worldview. You divide everything into black and white, good and evil. It's as if you are children inventing simple rules for a game in this vast and terrifying world. You cry out for nobility, virtue, and responsibility... but how easily are you willing to shift all of this onto the shoulders of others?..
— What could a monstrosity like you possibly know about people? – Shirou interrupted his tirade.
— Monstrosity? Monstrosity?! Ha-ha-ha… – the throne room was again filled with the unpleasant laughter of the demon, who didn't even attempt to be offended. – What an interesting perspective… "What do I know about people"? Much more than it may seem. You, yourself, know very well how beings like me are born, don't you? I am nothing more than a spawn of the sins of this city... All they desired was survival, and the price of salvation mattered not to them! The inhabitants of Tikrit just wanted to live. Do you have the right to judge them for that? You call me a monster… a monstrosity. Does that mean that all those people… all the people in the world who simply want to live are, in your eyes, just as much a monstrosity?
— Do you think I care? Don't compare everyone to those who spawned you. These corpse-eaters, bloodsuckers, sorcerers… to me, you're all the same, – Emiya spoke in a dull voice, drawing blades from their sheaths. – And your fate will be the same… you are merely monsters which…
— Save your eloquent speeches for your brethren, who are currently burning this city. We both know that you are different from them, – the demon interrupted him again, baring his teeth. – You call me a monster, but… how different are you from me? Or does destroying beings like us make you more human? Don't delude yourself… to everyone who surrounds you, even to your "brothers," you will always be merely a tool, a monster on a leash, whose fury can be directed in the right direction.
— You know nothing about me, garbage, – Shirou retorted, feeling the demon's piercing gaze upon him.
— Oh really? Did you not just say that neither I, nor this city, nor any other scum you are so desperately trying to destroy concern you? If that is the case, tell me, whose hand guided your blade right here? Or do you mean to say that the desire to cleanse this city of the spawn of darkness arises from your own wishes? If you could get what you wanted without going through Tikrit… would you cast your gaze here or pass by?..
— Are all demons this talkative, or are you just special?
— Dodging the question… I thought as much… though I can see it in your eyes… you doubt…
— You know, your talkativeness is starting to amuse me, – Shirou chuckled softly. – Are you trying to talk me to death, or have you grown so bored that you've decided to stage a one-man show? You could have tried to kill me a hundred times by now instead of saying all this, but do you know what the catch is?.. – although the assassin's face was hidden by a mask, the demon could literally feel his lips curl into a smirk. – You're just afraid of me, aren't you?..
The disgusting metallic clang instantly filled the hall, after which the suspended bodies fell to the ground like ripe apples, flooding the floor with blood and rot. Shirou easily dodged one of those bodies as flames surged through the room, consuming everything in their path.
However, at the spot where Emiya stood, the fire began to swirl and contract, gradually vanishing into nothing. The flow of flames weakened, showing the assassin that the fire obediently disappeared above his outstretched hand.
— Come on, you wretch, – he said with a smirk, tossing off the charred cloak and drawing a second blade from its sheath. – Or is that all you have?
***
(Gravity of you - Starset)
— Kha-a-a… – wheezed the guard, collapsing to the ground with a slashed throat.
Hanam tiredly shook the blood from his sword and, as if oblivious to the corpse-eater squirming in his death throes, simply stepped over him. He had long lost count of how many lives he had taken that night, but it felt like more than in his entire life.
— This city is cursed… – the assassin sighed.
From the very beginning, this mission had gone wrong. Ever since his arrival, he had felt that something was off in Tikrit. This city... it resembled a living organism, while they were the disease that had invaded its boundaries. It was barely two days before their hideout was attacked in the middle of the night. Naturally, they fought back valiantly, sending many of the attackers to their graves, but ultimately they were simply overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
Hanam expected to be executed on the spot, but contrary to that thought, they were taken alive, accused of plotting to assassinate the emir, and thrown into a dungeon, leaving the assassins awaiting their imminent doom.
That's when the horrifying truth about this city revealed itself. Even now, Hanan refused to believe what he had witnessed that night. These monsters... devoured corpses, shamelessly feasting on their prisoners with such a nauseating delight that some of his companions had become physically ill. Truth be told… watching that spectacle, Hanam felt that he was on the brink of losing his sanity. He wasn't afraid of death; the assassin had lost that fear in his youth, accustomed to the idea that it was he who should inspire fear in others, but that day he experienced true horror for the first time.
They were saved from immediate execution only by an order from the emir himself, who wished to personally "deal with" the unwelcome guests. Something deep inside him suggested that a far more terrible fate awaited them if someone responsible for all this nightmare took notice.
That was when Rashid appeared…
Hanam still didn't know how to feel about the arrival of this man. A mercy from Allah or fate's irony? The killer of his brothers, the man who nearly killed the Dai and fought the Mentor, the one entrusted with the bloodiest and most hopeless tasks, returning alive each time. He hadn't lied when he said that Rashid was the last person he expected to see as his savior. Hanam would sooner believe that the Almighty would rain fire down upon this cesspool to cleanse the world of this filth than that Rashid would come to rescue them.
They had never been friends, nor even brothers, for no one in the order dared to entertain the thought of forming even a semblance of a relationship with Rashid. He wandered through Alamut like an unquiet spirit, communicating with others only on business before vanishing again. It was as if he couldn't care less about how others regarded him. As if everything that wasn't him didn't exist. And then he appeared out of nowhere, saving them and leading the charge to cleanse this accursed city.
Rashid's plan was as simple as it was ruthless. It was clear that they couldn't wipe out the entire population of the city even after days of slaughter, meaning they only needed to ensure that these lunatics couldn't survive even after they left. For this purpose, they set as many fires as possible to leave nothing of the city. The assassins first took care of the granaries and other vital points, while several members of their team systematically poisoned all the wells in the city.
Once this was done, it wouldn't matter how many cannibals remained alive—without food and water, they would either die or consume one another. Hanan was fine with either outcome…
Despite the resistance from the deranged cannibals, the plan was nearly complete: only a few buildings remained to be set ablaze before the team was to regroup and leave this cursed place. However, the main player was still absent. Hanan didn't worry too much about Rashid's survivability, but he couldn't leave without knowing his fate and the emir's fate either. If their main objective—the assassination of the emir—was not achieved, it would be easier for them to throw themselves into the flames than return to the Mentor without Al-Bakra's head.
— We're done, Hanam, – one of the approaching brothers called to him.
— Good, then our work here is almost finished.
— Rashid still hasn't shown up?
— No, and that's beginning to worry me.
— I wouldn't count on his return, – Karim, one of those who still regarded their savior with suspicion, remarked disdainfully. – Considering he went to the center of the city, those jackals probably hacked him to pieces.
— Are you suggesting that a man who managed to defeat so many of our brothers and nearly killed the Dai could be stopped by a mob of crazed peasants? – Hanam inquired sarcastically. – I didn't know you held such a high opinion of your brothers, Karim.
The assassin clearly shrank back and averted his gaze, not attempting to contest the jest. Instead, another killer spoke up:
— Even if he is alive, what do you propose we do, Hanan? Search for him out there? We don't even know if he made it to the emir's palace…
His words were cut short by a monstrous crash that shook the entire city. The assassins instantly turned towards the source, which turned out to be the emir's palace, now ablaze like a torch.
— I guess now we know where to look for him…
***
— Ha-ha-ha... you know, for a human, you're holding up quite well! – the demon laughed sarcastically, skillfully swinging a massive chain that slammed into the hall walls time after time, aiming to strike Shirou. – But how long can you last?!
Emiya said nothing, taking another hit on the blade of Kancho. The chain scraped against the blade with a horrible grinding sound, as if trying to snap the sword in two, but to his credit, the weapon remained intact.
- Time Alter: Double Accelerate! – the assassin commanded mentally, feeling time around him slow down, allowing him to dive beneath the chain and get close enough to strike.
However, the acceleration didn't give him any significant advantage against this opponent – it merely leveled the odds, and even then, not entirely. The evidence lay in the several wounds that marred his body. Non-life-threatening, even not dangerous, but that didn't mean they didn't have an effect.
Dodging another strike, Shirou felt the air around him stir, beginning to swirl into a vortex. Shifting his gaze, he saw that a miniature sand tornado had formed in the demon's hand, from which powerful gusts of air emanated, causing bits of stone and glass to whirl wildly around the hall.
Emiya barely managed to shield his eyes when all this debris hit him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Only by bracing himself to the max could the assassin withstand it, though the floor beneath him almost caved in from the pressure. But even standing firm didn't ease his situation – shards of stone and glass sped around him at a frenzied velocity, inflicting numerous cuts on his body, with no way to shield himself from them. Add to this the sand that practically stripped the flesh from uncovered areas, and the situation grew increasingly dire. It did little to foster optimism that breathing became harder with each passing second.
- Something needs to be done before he skins me alive! – Shirou thought frantically, looking for a way to escape the raging vortex.
Yet, there was no time to contemplate a plan, as the snake-like chain lunged at him once again, ringing sharply as it tore through the whirlwind, missing his neck by mere inches. Emiya barely managed to evade it by pure chance when he prepared to make a desperate lunge from the vortex's center. In a strange twist of fate, the chain came at just the right moment. As if sensing it had missed its target, it magically shot back, and Shirou seized the opportunity, using it like a springboard. Grabbing onto the metal links, Emiya strengthened his limbs and pushed off the ground, escaping the eye of the storm.
Savoring his escape from the sandstorm, Shirou found himself in front of the stunned demon within seconds, after which, using triple acceleration, he delivered a double blow to the demon's chest. The snake-like chain, sensing a threat, twisted to defend its master, but this time time was on the assassin's side. A couple of precious seconds were enough for the blades to sink into the demon's body, spilling a stream of black-red ichor onto the floor.
But Emiya didn't have time to finish off his enemy – the chain arched back, aiming to strike him, forcing the assassin to retreat. For now, neither had a significant advantage in this battle. Shiro had sustained several painful wounds, but they were far from fatal. The injuries he had just inflicted on the demon were somewhat similar, though not entirely. They were gradually regenerating, but much slower than when he had struck Emir with several throwing knives. Moreover, the young man couldn't help but notice the pained expression on the demon's face when the blades pierced his body. It seemed that Kancho and Bakuya had been somehow enchanted to combat beings like him. The demon realized this too, as most of the attacks targeted the blades rather than him.
— Marvelous! You don't stand a chance of winning, yet you still get up and keep fighting! – the demon sneered, his teeth bared as he coiled the chain around his arm. – And for what?! For this pile of cockroaches or your "brothers," who will gladly watch your cooling corpse?! Do you think your life means anything to them? You're nothing but a pawn to kill me, and then they'll toss you aside like a broken toy! Do you know why?… Because winter can never become summer, just like humans will never change! You'll be surprised at how easily they can renounce everything they once fervently believed in! All those principles, faith and morality… they're just empty words spoken in the heat of the moment and forgotten when the skies clear! They'll talk about lofty ideals as long as the world lets them! And you hide behind those words even though you just like to kill... you're no different from me!
— Just shut up already, I can't stand your stench, – Shirou grunted, gripping the blades painfully tight.
— You human filth… – the demon clicked his tongue, his voice for the first time tinged with something resembling malice. His eyes blazed fiercely, and his hands trembled. – Stop showing off, trash!
In the blink of an eye, the chain lunged at him again, and his hand instinctively shot up to block the blow. But before he could celebrate this minor victory, the demon appeared before him, delivering a lightning-fast punch to his chest. The fist easily pierced his light armor, crushing ribs and inflicting hellish pain. If he had struck just to the left, right where his heart was, the assassin would already be dead.
— You look so confident, even though you're barely conscious… – the demon hissed in a syrupy voice, holding the assassin by the throat. – You're either a fool or even crazier than I thought…
To this, Emiya could only mumble something indistinctly as he spat blood.
— What?
— ...should have… – Shiro's lips curled into a painful smirk, after which his eyes ignited with an otherworldly light. – …aimed for the head!
The hand still gripping Kanshou swung upward, and the emir realized his mistake too late. The blade sliced effortlessly through the demon's forearm, eliciting a sound of agony unlike any other. Seizing the moment, Emiya kicked him in the stomach, pushing him back and allowing himself to break free.
Breathing heavily, he collapsed to the ground as the demon's hand slowly began to fade away. The mystical eyes enabled him to inflict a serious and, crucially, non-healing wound on the demon. However, this move came at great cost: thanks to the strike directly to his lung, he struggled to breathe, while the shards of his ribs caused such unbearable pain that red circles swam before his eyes, and the assassin could barely keep himself conscious.
Feeling Avalon within him, Shirou channeled his prana into it, hoping to at least slightly mitigate the damage from such a reckless act. Yes, without Arthur, he couldn't operate at full strength, but that didn't mean he was useless. When handled properly, with caution and, of course, mana, it could be a magnificent tool for healing wounds. Although experimenting with such a powerful artifact in the midst of battle was sheer madness, Emiya had no doubts about his actions, having long crossed the line where lesser measures would suffice.
A wave of pleasant warmth from the healing mixed with the burning tension of the magical chains filled his body, bringing much-awaited relief. He felt it became a bit easier to breathe, and the wound in his chest began to slowly but surely heal. He'd bought himself a little time, however slight, but much more than he had a minute ago. Struggling to get back on his feet, the assassin gazed at his foe.
— Bastard… – the demon growled, clutching the stub of his limb that dripped with ichor. – Do you think this has changed anything? I could take you down with one hand!
Faster than Shirou could register, the demon thrust his remaining hand forward and squeezed it tightly. Emiya nearly fell to his knees as he felt his heart flutter, filling with pain as if an invisible hand was crushing it. But before he could think of any countermeasure, something invisible and sharp zipped through the air and struck the assassin's legs. Shiro felt his kneecaps shatter, and with a scream, he collapsed to the floor.
— Let everything burn around you! – the demon bellowed, unleashing a fiery barrage upon him.
There was no way to defend against this attack, and Emiya felt the full weight of the spell crashing down. Shirou felt as if a searing blacksmith's hammer had fallen on him, causing the floor to crack beneath him, sending him into a long fall accompanied by the sound of breaking bones...
***
- Where am I?.. My whole body is burning… aah… right… the demon…
A scattered flow of thoughts finally coalesced into a single clear image. The demon had unleashed a fiery vortex upon him, breaking through the throne room floor. Surviving such an attack was impossible, yet he was still breathing. And though he could think, Shiro felt he was on the brink of death.
- Familiar feeling… for I have once… already died…
Back then, in Fuyuki… he was also on the edge. He was scared… it hurt… even after all these years, those memories awakened intense emotions within him…
Hatred… hatred for the one who dared do this to him. Everything else lost meaning, as though it had dissolved in fog... only curses and hatred burned brightly in his mind…
- Unforgivable... Unforgivable... Unforgivable!..
Why should I endure this? Why should I put up with all of this? Why?! Why?! WHY?!
I don't want to feel pain... I don't want to burn alive... I don't want to know oblivion... I don't want to die!
No... it's too soon!.. No, I won't die... not now...
***
- I must admit, even for a human, you're exceedingly stubborn, - the demon said with a mocking smile as he glided down into the abyss. - I've never understood where your desire to fight even when it makes no sense comes from. Even now, you continue to flail about like a fish thrown onto dry land...
- Ha... ha-ha-ha...
A strange, almost inhuman laugh reached the demon, causing him to stop. The assassin, who was supposed to vanish into oblivion, mockingly laughed at him while lying amidst the rubble.
- What's so funny?
Shiroi's gaze was directed to the heavens, now ablaze with a pervasive fire for him. This fire burned him, yet he kept laughing, and his laughter was so heavy that the emir couldn't help but wonder about its true cause. Had he lost his mind from the pain, or was there something else?..
Nevertheless, as odd as it was, a much greater mystery lay elsewhere. Emiya Shirou should have been dead, for his wounds were wholly incompatible with life. This fact stirred in the demon a strange feeling that made him repeat his question in a trembling voice:
- I ask what's so funny?!
- A pitiful sight...
Hearing that calm, surprisingly firm voice, the demon suddenly tensed up. It was as if Shiro had just answered an unspoken question... as if it was the answer to a question that Emiya himself had asked countless times.
- Don't you dare compare us. I can't stand the likes of you, you damned sycophant, - the assassin declared, interrupting his mad laughter.
As soon as he finished speaking, the demon's blazing fist lunged toward the still-downed Shiro, but a moment later... the demon's other hand flew back, severed by the mage-killer's lightning-fast counterstrike. Such an impossible and swift action was remarkable, considering the state Emiya should have been in.
And yet... he rose to his feet again as if all those injuries did not exist. He stood up... still laughing.
- Naive, weak, utterly fragile... it's no wonder, since you were born from these wretched refuse, full of fear and folly. A demon birthed from such insignificant feelings is nothing more than a puppet fashioned from sand that can be blown away by the slightest gust of wind.
- Ha-ha-ha... wait, what is this?.. How did you do that? Admit it, what did you just do?! - Instead of the expected outburst of rage, the demon only laughed maniacally as he looked at his "revived" opponent.
- You're so amusing, like a child, - Shirou said, already devoid of laughter, his voice tinged with hints of friendliness that didn't quite match the recent insults. He remained calm and unhurried, making him all the more ominous and frightening than any scream of fury. - It's funny... you despise humans so much, you hate them, you try to destroy them, yet you are entirely dependent on them. You hate us so deeply, yet without us, you are nothing. Am I right?...
- What are you talking about?..
- Your attacks, - Emiya's lips curled into a vicious smile. - They've... become weaker?
These words made the demon flinch. He did not understand why his first attack had nearly incinerated Shirou while the last one had only left a couple of superficial burns. Their whole battle, despite its intensity, had lasted mere minutes, with him growing weaker with each passing second. The fact that Shiro, on the verge of death, had so easily severed his arm was the cornerstone of this theory.
And yet... he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more. Something that he continued to overlook...
- Those fools, the people of Tikrit… their collective desire gave you life, and as long as even one of them lives - you will not disappear. Your attempt to invade the emir body was made solely to gain a physical anchor in this world, but... that became your greatest vulnerability, didn't it? - the assassin elaborated with a sinister smile. - All these wounds mean nothing to you, but controlling this bag of meat and bones and maintaining your existence is becoming increasingly difficult for you, especially considering that you are merely a pathetic imitation. Besides, while we speak, my brothers are continuing to dwindle the numbers of those blood-drunk lunatics… you're probably coming apart at the seams, aren't you?
Another crazy laugh escaped Emiya's lips, followed by the first uncertain step, then another, and another...
- But you know, I suppose I should be thankful to you for all this...! - Shirou continued, slowly approaching the demon. - Thanks to you, I feel like I've been able to touch something very important... many details still elude me, but I suppose this can be considered a victory… - His eyes lit up with an otherworldly glow, and the Kanshou was back in his hand. - Don't hold back... accept my gratitude.
As he said this, Shirou continued to move forward with a shuffling, uncertain gait. The demon clearly realized that Emiya should have been dead, yet he could not explain why this walking corpse kept advancing toward him.
- Well then… let's have it then-a-a!!!
In an instant, the air around Shirou heated up before exploding, condensing into a ring. The temperature was so infernal that nothing should have remained of the assassin.
However... the demon's expectations were once again dashed. The ring of flame cracked as if cut by an invisible blade, and from the resulting scar leaped a very much alive Emiya.
- Now I'm starting to understand, - he said to either himself or an unseen observer. - I see them... these lines, these points... ha... ha-ha-ha... they're everywhere!.. This world is filled with death!
A serpentine chain silently appeared behind him, swiftly wrapping around his arm, squeezing it and breaking bones. If Shirou felt pain, he showed no sign of it, laughing as he struck his blade against the chain, which clattered to the ground, breaking into individual links.
- It's useless. No matter how much you attack - I will not die, - Shirou remarked indifferently, not even glancing at his arm, which dangled lifelessly by his side. - Though we may resemble each other, that resemblance means nothing. I am not you! If I can't overcome someone like you, it will only mean that I am nothing...
Having said this, Emiya moved once more.
- You were wrong when you said I love killing. I don't revel in violence... - he quietly stated, not addressing anyone in particular. - And killing isn't something I particularly enjoy...
His life had not been filled with joys, and the road behind him was stained with blood and strewn with corpses. He was more than certain that a similar sight awaited him ahead. He would be covered from head to toe in hatred and curses, burdened with countless losses and sorrows, for that was his path, and he understood it better than anyone else.
- But I will no longer lose. I see the goal that awaits me at the end of the road, and no other outcome is acceptable to me, - Emiya concluded with resolution, tightening his grip on the Kancho, preparing for the final strike. - There will be no more defeats on my path...
- And you call this a victory?! – the demon asked, either in shock or with a hint of irony. – The destruction of an entire city along with all its inhabitants? And you still fancy yourself a hero after that...
The blade pierced his chest before he could finish his question. This strike was not supposed to be dangerous for him, but before he could smirk in triumph, a flash of unbearable pain pierced his very essence. The pain was spiritual, as if his very being had been cleaved apart by one merciless motion. An essence that was already fading and weakening with each moment began to dissipate completely.
- 'Hero'? That nonsense?.. - Shirou sneered contemptuously, driving the blade deeper. - Why should I save others at all? What's the point of calling oneself a hero or a villain? Every person can incline to the other side, and yesterday's righteous can fall into the embrace of sin, just as a sinner can begin to atone for everything they've done. Does that not mean that dividing the world into two camps is fundamentally meaningless? No matter what a person calls themselves - they're just the same worthless trash as the rest. No one will escape alive. My genocide will spare no one...
- Ha... ha-ha-ha... - the demon chuckled hoarsely and painfully, feeling the end approaching. - You understand, don't you? You're no less fragile than I am... step off this path... let your faith in this path falter even a little, and you will lose everything... ha... ha-ha-ha... someone like you will never find peace in this world! That is your origin... ha-ha...
- How grotesque you are... - Shirou said with disgust, letting go of the blade and stepping back. - This is why I hate mysticism...
The demon's body finally dissipated, and the blade lodged in his chest clanged loudly as it fell to the ground, followed by Emiya collapsing as well.
- It's over... - he rasped, coughing blood and clutching his searing chest in agony. - I've won...
However, deep down, the assassin did not feel triumph over this, especially considering his body was now one enormous mass of agony.
The fact that he managed to temporarily suppress the feeling of pain and finish what he had started, destroying this filth, could only be called a miracle. But it didn't matter how long he delayed his demise… death was always relentless and inevitable.
Only a fool or a brave man can deny the obvious…
Hassan's words, spoken on the day when Shiro found himself at the edge, echoed in his mind now with a bitter irony. Back then, he might have seen it as foolishness, but was it really so now?..
- Ugh… no… not yet… - gritting his teeth, Emiya tried once more to get to his feet, his legs literally refusing to obey him. - I can't die… not here… not yet…
In his hands, one of the many swords he had acquired over the years appeared, but now it had to serve as a crutch, for Shirou could no longer stand on his own. Even so, he couldn't move freely, feeling every step resonate through his body like hellish pain. It didn't help that he had to constantly infuse mana into the wound on his chest to prevent himself from bleeding out.
After just a few meters into this crawl, his legs buckled, forcing him back onto the ground.
- Damn it… - he croaked, struggling not to interrupt the flow of mana that sustained his wounds. - No… I can't die here!…
Clutching a piece of stone debris, he began to crawl forward slowly, leaving behind a trail of blood. Each movement became increasingly difficult, and the treacherous thoughts of simply closing his eyes and allowing himself to rest grew more tempting with each passing moment…
But even if he could escape this burning graveyard, what awaited him next? Those mindless cannibals at the exit would surely tear him apart, and he would be easy prey for them. In such a state, he wouldn't even be able to spit in their direction, and hoping for their mercy was the height of absurdity.
Or perhaps he would… hope for salvation? Ha! From whom? From his "brothers," who accepted his help out of despair but still wished to see his cold corpse? They would more likely dance on his bones than come to save him. Their goal was accomplished, and rescuing him, a half-dead man, was not in their interest. And for what? Yes, he had freed them, but only because he needed their help, nothing more. No lofty feelings—just cold pragmatism. Hoping for reciprocal salvation was maximally foolish.
- Ugh… to hell with all this… I won't give up… - gritted his teeth, Emiya muttered, continuing to crawl toward the exit. - I can't die… that wasn't our deal!…
- Ha… ha-ha-ha…
A low, guttural, and painfully familiar laugh reached Shiro's ears, causing him to shudder.
- A deal, you say? I love deals…
- You… - Emiya whispered with hatred, fully aware of who owned that voice. - You should be dead!…
- Just like you… but you're still here, so why shouldn't I be late to my meeting with nothingness? You truly are quite the stubborn one, ha-ha-ha… even inevitable oblivion cannot shake your resolve…
- Shut up and die…
- Patience… my life is fading, just like yours, and only I could prolong it… Give in, Emiya Shirou… let me in!..
The Assassin lowered his gaze and whispered something inaudible even to himself.
- Hmm?
- To hell with you… you… will save me? Don't make me laugh… - Shiro's lips curled into a painful smirk, as if the demon's words genuinely amused him. - Now you're even unreal — a speck of dust in the empyrean, soon to vanish into nothingness… you can't even save yourself!… I don't want a borrowed life from a scum like you, let alone charity from someone like you… The choice offered by the demon is as meaningless as your wretched existence!…
- You… you!.. Well… have it your way… you want to live? So be it!
I have cursed, defeated demon, your mad dreams! Remain you alone, arrogant, forever alone in the universe, without joy, smile, and love!..
Suddenly, an unimaginable pain pierced Shirou's body, overshadowing everything that had come before it. Just a few seconds ago, he had been experiencing a deathly agony, but what was happening to him now was incomparable to that pain.
Know no peace in eternal battle, until death closes your eyes! Know no peace, heart in moans, on countless blades of swords!
Every cell of his body was literally burning, as if his very soul found itself in purgatory, being consumed from within and reassembling just to burn again. Pain… unbearable… as if some monstrous fangs were gnawing at his very essence. Yet, his body was immobile, which meant the pain was of a spiritual nature…
Know no rest in the embrace of a rose, while your soul spins! All dreams shall rot, crumble, until the soul is left alone!
The pain banished and eclipsed everything, reducing Shiro to the mental repetition of the same mantra:
- Not yet… I won't die… I won't lose…
Only this thought remained unchanged, denying the entire external world. A moment of fury stilled forever, and hatred remained the only reminder of his existence.
- Live, and let every minute be filled with agony, let your immutability become your curse! Taste the rejection of the world you yourself reject! Live to bring ruin to everything that stands before you… Live, Emiya Shirou!..
Live, remembering death!
***
- Ha! – drenched in cold sweat and breathing heavily, Shirou nearly jumped out of bed. His heart raced wildly, threatening to tear free from his chest, and the blood pounded in his temples like a jackhammer.
- Wait… why am I in bed?..
Feeling an overwhelming dizziness and nausea, Emiya struggled to turn his head, trying to understand where he was. Familiar stone walls, recognizable braziers, and equally familiar bed where he now lay.
Alamut… he had once again found himself in Alamut…
- I have some awful déjà vu… - he muttered, clutching his painfully throbbing head.
His body still refused to obey him, as if it had filled with lead. His right arm itched mercilessly in several places, and Emiya struggled to resist the urge to scratch it. Given everything he had been through, touching his wounds was not the best idea.
Shirou slightly turned his head, glancing at his arm, which was tightly wrapped in bandages that emitted the sharp scent of healing herbs mingled with a barely noticeable smell of rot. To his surprise, the exposed areas of his arm were not burned — rather, they looked as if they were beginning to rot alive. A quick, unsettling chill ran down his spine. If he started to develop blood poisoning, it wouldn't end well, especially in these local conditions. Still… although he felt extremely terrible, he didn't have any vivid symptoms of infection; still, caution wouldn't hurt.
Somehow calming his heartbeat and relaxing, Shiro leaned against the cold wall and tried to piece together what had happened. He clearly remembered trying to crawl out of the burning emir's palace before the demon, who should have no longer existed, appeared.
Emiya's eyes ignited with a familiar mystical flame, and the entire room was instantly covered with red lines. If he were to cut even one of them, the whole structure would collapse upon him. The same applied to the crimson dots hidden among the pulsating web of lines.
Every living creature or object in this world is born with the potential ability to die, and these eyes allowed him to see and manifest these possibilities. The scarlet dots were the apotheosis of this ability. The slightest damage to them would cause the instant destruction of the object. Shiro couldn't accurately say where all this knowledge came from. It was something he knew at an instinctual level. It was as natural as breathing.
That was how he managed to kill the demon that time, slicing through the crimson dot on the emir's body with the blade of Kanshou. But why could the demon appear again?..
- You know, for some reason, I'm not even surprised that you regained consciousness so soon. It seems I've already come to terms with the fact that whatever hell you found yourself in, Azrael isn't in a hurry to come for your soul, - a familiar raspy voice reached him.
Suddenly turning (which he instantly regretted as a flash of pain shot through his side), Emiya saw Hanam standing in the doorway, looking at him with a sort of cautious respect.
- I have this feeling we've done this before… Shirou said with a painful smile.
- Yes, although I must admit, this time my desire to kill you on sight has diminished, - Hanam said with a quiet chuckle, approaching one of the braziers. - How are you feeling?
- Like I've been dragged through all the circles of hell, - Emiya grimaced in pain.
- Given everything that's happened, you're not too far from the truth, - the assassin remarked mysteriously, coming closer to one of the braziers. - Don't you remember anything?
- Such questions make me uneasy, but… no, - Shirou replied after a brief thought, noticeably tensed by this guessing game. - At least, nothing that was worth remembering.
- Yes, we are in agreement on this, - Hanam said quietly, waving his hand over the flame and catching sparks on the tips of his fingers. - Are you able to walk?
- It depends on the destination…
— The Master has ordered that you be brought to him when you regain consciousness and are able to present yourself before him, — the assassin clarified, his tone becoming more sharp and formal. — Do you need assistance?
— Just give me my things and a little time. I'll manage from there on my own, — Emiya replied with a heavy sigh.
— Alright, then I will wait for you in the hallway...
***
As Shirou walked through the familiar corridors alongside Hanam, he couldn't shake off the strange atmosphere that accompanied them. It painfully reminded him of his first visit to Hassan; this time, however, he was met with entirely different gazes. The assassins they encountered along the way froze, watching him from behind, but instead of hatred and wishes for a swift and torturous death, he felt… recognition, respect, and… fear?..
- What the hell happened here while I was unconscious? — he thought, clenching his teeth and continuing forward.
The familiar massive doors opened, inviting him once again into the chambers of the Old Man of the Mountain. The room was steeped in the usual twilight, largely due to the dusk that had settled. Hassan himself stood by a wide window, gazing into the horizon.
— It seems I was right to send you there, — his low, otherworldly voice resonated in the office, echoing off the walls. — Emir Al-Bakr is dead...
— As you commanded, the sentence has been carried out, — Shirou confirmed, bowing as much as his wounds allowed. — I...
— Silence, — Hassan sharply interrupted him, turning towards him and moving slowly closer. — I did not give you permission to speak...
Before Shirou could blink, the Old Man of the Mountain was before him, his burning eyes piercing through the dimness. For a moment, Emia felt as though he could see his soul in the center of that flame, waiting for the Day of Judgment. It was as if this flame penetrated the deepest corners of his mind, causing him to shudder. In any other situation, he would have looked away to avoid that loathsome feeling, but something told him that doing so now would be a fatal mistake.
He was unaware of how long this silent interrogation lasted, but at some point, Hassan's gaze became less intense, and Shirou thought he perceived something akin to a sigh of relief.
— Few would be able to walk this path without losing their sanity or tainting their soul, — he said distantly, stepping back from Emia. — It's nice to realize that you are one of them...
— You knew... — Shirou uttered, surprised—non-asking, but asserting.
— Naturally… otherwise, who do you think I am? — with these words, he slightly raised his hand, gesturing for him to follow, after which he opened an unobtrusive door in one of the walls. Following him, the assassin found himself on a small natural terrace. — Hanam told me what happened in that enchanted city… and that you saved the lives of your kin, which… surprised me...
— I couldn't have managed there alone. Regardless of my talents, I can't do everything by myself, — Shirou confessed, relishing the fresh mountain breeze on his face. — Besides… no one deserves such a fate… no one.
— I see what happened has left its mark on you, — Hassan said pensively. — This is not the first time you have witnessed the facets of human madness, but at the same time… it distinguishes you, am I right?
— I… I have seen more than once how low people can sink in pursuit of their desires. They crossed every boundary; there were no taboos or prohibitions for them. Everything was subject to achieving their abstract and absurd goals… but… for some reason, they never stirred such fury in me. Contempt, dislike, even pity… but I was never truly angry with them…
— Perhaps it's because when you look at them, it's like looking at your own reflection? Are you really so different from them? Your own goal has compelled you to tread over corpses and cross the limits of reason. Or is it because they have fallen, while you still stand, that you dare to think they are different from you?
— I… I don't… — Shirou fell silent, unsure of how to respond. Hassan's words could not be disputed, for he was entirely right. — What do you want to hear from me?..
— Nothing. I am not interested in your answer, if only because you are unaware of it yourself. I merely offered you a chance to take a momentary look at yourself from the outside and see the consequences. Every action we take gives rise to a new beginning. You find yourself in this situation precisely because you neglect this simple truth. Are you certain that when you achieve your goal, the terrible price for attaining it will mean nothing? How naïve... — Hassan directed his gaze at the night sky. — Do you know who the true victor is, Rashid?
— One who does not face the consequences?
— Exactly. So do not mistake luck for your own infallibility.
They fell silent, lost in their thoughts. Shiro tried to digest everything Hassan had just said, while the Old Man of the Mountain silently gazed at the mountain landscape, seemingly oblivious to the assassin's presence.
— I still can't comprehend… — Emiya murmured quietly.
Hassan slightly turned his head, looking questioningly at Shirou.
— The people of Tikrit… could they truly have given rise to this abomination, voluntarily falling into the embrace of sin? — the assassin clenched his healthy hand into a fist, the knuckles turning white. — Were they really willing to stoop that low for survival? Ready to live, having lost their humanity, selling their souls to the devil, who transformed them… into this?
The Old Man of the Mountain merely scoffed condescendingly, wrapping his figure in his cloak.
— There is an old parable about a poor fisherman who one day caught a magical jar with a spirit that could grant wishes. However, instead of faithfully serving him, it nearly doomed the fisherman, had he not cleverly lured it back into the jar… — Sabbah recounted melancholically, still gazing at Emia. — The moral of this story is that one should rely solely on oneself, for what is most valuable is that which costs nothing. There are no miracles or free gifts, just as there are no noble spirits from jars...
— I'm not sure I understand the point of that moral, — Shirou replied, sighing once more as he looked up at the starry sky. — And I'm not sure I want to understand...
— The human soul is dark without common sense… — Hassan shook his head. — Justice does not always prevail, but evil always returns and beckons into its embrace… — Hassan's heavy hand fell on Shiro's shoulder, turning him to face the speaker. The burning eyes of the leader of the assassins once again pierced into his soul. — Rashid, I believe you understand that no one must know what truly happened in this city. This secret died along with Tikrit and its inhabitants. Let their dark souls be judged by Allah, and let us continue our work...
— As you say, Master, — for the first time during this conversation, Emia found himself fully in agreement with him.
— Good… — The Old Man withdrew his hand and turned back to the horizon. — Go, restore your body and spirit. You deserve a few days of rest. You will need them when we begin…
— "Begin"? — Shiro asked, surprised. — Begin what?
— What do you mean "what"? — Hassan let out something resembling a chuckle, turning his fiery gaze back to Emia, he concluded. — Your training…