The sudden emergence of Morgan Alter causes Fate to be taken back, he wants to enter his inner world to search for her but right now.
With a quick roll to the left, he bearly avoids a golden blade coming right to his head.
He still has a fight with this arrogant Queen of Heroes.
"Why don't you just drop dead already!" Fate said summoning his [Mirage Edge], letting the spinning circle of blades all point toward her.
"Tch! Vessel you think this is enough to stop me!?" Gilgamesh smeared summoning out multiple large golden shields in her Gate of Babylon. The shields blocked astral blades from stabbing her.
A golden chain connected to a scythe swung toward him, wrapping around his neck and trying to choke him. With a strong pull, Gilgamesh pulled the chain dragging Fate to the ground and toward her.
Seeing him on the ground, Gilgamesh stomps her foot on his face, pressing her toe into his mouth, as the grip on her chain tightens and the smug smirk on her face widens.
"That is Vessel, lick them like the servant you are." Gilgamesh said with amused smugness, only to shout in pain, pulling her foot back as Fate bit into her toes.
She swung her leg trying to kick him, Fate tilted his head away avoiding the kick, letting her white foot move past his white hair, golden chains came out from his body wrapping around her, and with a strong pull, Fate also pulled Gilgamesh down, as the two naked servants fell into the corrupted mud.
Their fight continues even while submerged in the mud, with their magic energy being depleted to near emptiness the two switched from fighting with deadly weapons to a clumsy fistfight in the mud.
"Fuck!" Fate curses as Gilgamesh scratches both his eyes.
"BASTARD!" Gil curses, as Fate head-butted her in the face.
Inside Fate's inner world, Morgan pushed herself up, spitting out grass with a disgusted scowl.
"Ew!" She wiped her mouth, feeling the unpleasant texture of dirt still lingering on her tongue.
"What the hell was that…?" she muttered, her mind still reeling from the corrupted mud that had swallowed her.
Brushing the dust off her dress, she prepared to leave this space. But before she could take a single step—
The air shifted.
It grew heavy.
A suffocating malice seeped into the very fabric of this world, an impossibility within a place that should have been accessible only to her and Fate.
Morgan's instincts screamed at her.
She summoned her magic swords in an instant.
Then, she saw it.
A figure emerged from the darkness.
A woman.
She wore something eerily similar to what Fate would wear—dark, practical, almost militaristic. At first glance, her face bore the all-too-familiar features of Artoria, and for a moment, annoyance and frustration flared within Morgan.
But then she took a closer look—
—and her breath caught in her throat.
Not Artoria.
Herself.
"Y-You're… me?" Morgan's voice wavered slightly, shock flickering in her golden eyes.
The woman before her was her, yet not.
Her features were undeniably Morgan's, yet twisted—her expression colder, her presence more ruthless. In one hand, she held a spear, resting it casually against her shoulder. In the other, she gripped a gun, her fingers wrapped around the trigger with a sickening familiarity.
But what unsettled Morgan the most—
—was the look of utter disgust directed at her.
It was like staring into a mirror, only for the reflection to glare back in contempt.
"Just surrender quietly," Morgan Alter said, her tone cold, detached. "It'll be over before you know it."
Before Morgan could even process those words—
The gun fired.
Instinct took over.
Morgan raised a dark barrier, but the moment the bullet hit, it shattered like fragile glass.
A shockwave of force sent her flying.
She crashed onto the ground, rolling to a painful stop, clutching her bleeding shoulder as warm crimson seeped between her fingers.
"Tch." Morgan Alter clicked her tongue in mild annoyance, raising her gun once more.
Morgan barely had time to react—
She dove into a portal, the bullets missing her by a fraction of a second.
But the moment she reappeared behind her Alter counterpart—
Bang.
A bullet whizzed past her head.
Morgan froze.
A few strands of white hair fluttered to the ground in front of her.
"That was too close…" she thought, her heart pounding as she quickly moved, dodging another round of bullets.
What the hell was happening?
What was that black corruption from earlier?
Why was there another version of herself here—one that wanted her dead?
And since when did she ever use a gun?!
Her thoughts raced, searching for any logical answer.
But survival came first.
"AHH!"
A bullet pierced her thigh.
Pain shot through her leg, and she collapsed onto one knee, gritting her teeth.
-click -click-
Morgan Alter had run out of bullets.
Morgan seized the chance—
Summoning her magic swords, she sent them hurtling toward her Alter self without hesitation.
"Stop resisting!" Morgan Alter snarled, tilting her head just in time to dodge a blade as it whizzed past her cheek.
She leapt back, evading the others with fluid ease. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she snapped open her gun's barrel, letting the spent shells clatter to the ground.
At the same time, her other hand swept up the edge of her coat—
Click—clink—
A fresh set of bullets spilled into the air.
Morgan Alter twisted her body, narrowly slipping past three incoming swords, then executed a precise spin—catching the bullets mid-motion and loading them into her gun in one seamless movement.
With a final flick of her wrist, the barrel snapped shut.
Locked and loaded.
Her golden eyes sharpened, locking onto Morgan just as another wave of nine magic swords came flying toward her.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
She fired three precise shots, shattering the first three blades mid-air.
She twisted her body, sidestepping the fourth, then swapped her gun for her spear in a single smooth motion—
Clang! Clang! Clang!
She knocked aside three more swords before ducking at the last second, letting the final two whoosh past her head.
Rising back to her full height, she pulled her gun free once again—
-BANG! -BANG!-
The first bullet punched into Morgan's other thigh, and the second grazed her abdomen, tearing through fabric and flesh.
"Guh—!"
Morgan collapsed onto the ground, barely managing to keep herself up with her one good arm.
Pain. Blinding pain.
Her fingers trembled, clutching at the wound on her stomach.
It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt!
But something was wrong.
The bullets—what were they? They weren't normal.
They weren't just hurting her; they were draining her magic reserves.
Her healing Magecraft wasn't working.
A horrifying realization struck her.
'I… I don't want to die…'
Shallow breaths, wild fear in her eyes—
She looked up, heart hammering in terror as Morgan Alter aimed the gun at her once more.
Cold steel. Cold death.
'I don't want to die!'
Her body froze.
Her blood ran cold.
For the first time in a long, long time—Morgan felt genuine, soul-crushing fear.
And then—
Something reacted.
Her trembling fingers jerked upward, and—
A dozen matchlocks materialized behind her.
-BANG! -BANG! -BANG!-
A sudden hail of gunfire roared through the air.
Morgan gasped, just as stunned as Morgan Alter.
She hadn't summoned those.
She had no idea how she'd even done it.
But now wasn't the time to question it.
Her only chance—was to escape.
Morgan Alter's eyes narrowed in mild annoyance before she leapt back, avoiding the hailstorm of bullets.
Morgan gritted her teeth, mustering every last drop of her magic—not to fight, but to push Alter away.
"FATE! Are you there!? WHAT HAPPENED?!"
Morgan's voice echoed through the inner world, but no response came.
Only silence.
Her breath hitched. Something was wrong.
The moment Morgan Alter heard Morgan call out his name, something inside her snapped.
It was like a trigger—one that should have never been pulled.
"DON'T YOU DARE SAY HIS NAME!"
A voice thick with rage and grief tore through the air.
Before Morgan could react, a spear came hurtling toward her head.
She barely managed to duck, instinctively covering herself as the weapon stabbed into the ground inches from her skull.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Heavy footsteps. Fast. Unrelenting. Dangerous.
Morgan looked up just in time to see Morgan Alter barreling toward her, arms crossed over her face.
The bullets fired from Morgan's matchlocks slammed into her body, tearing into flesh—
But she didn't slow down.
She didn't even flinch.
Morgan Alter powered through the pain, closing the distance—
CRACK!
A brutal kick to Morgan's stomach sent her flying, rolling across the grass in agony.
The matchlocks vanished, her magic flickering out.
Her breath was ragged, her body screaming in pain.
But before she could recover—
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Morgan Alter stalked toward her, eyes ablaze with hate.
Blood dripped from both of their bodies.
Morgan could only look up, the weight of her Alter's emotions crashing over her like a tidal wave.
"You..."
The word was spat with such venom that it made Morgan's skin crawl.
Then—
A vicious kick to her side.
She rolled onto her back, gasping in pain—
Only for Morgan Alter to drop onto her, straddling her chest, pinning her in place.
"YOU LOST THAT RIGHT!"
-CRACK!-
A fist slammed into Morgan's face.
Red splattered across the grass.
Morgan Alter's mind flashed with an image—
Fate, holding Morgan's hand, standing at an altar.
"THE DAY—!"
-CRACK!-
Another punch.
Morgan Alter's mind burned with another memory—
Fate, standing by her side, ruling a kingdom together.
She grabbed Morgan's top—and tore it open, revealing the fabric beneath.
It was one of his clothes.
Something he made.
That only enraged her more.
"YOU ORDERED HIS EXECUTION!"
-CRACK!-
A sickening crunch followed as Alter's fist collided with Morgan's jaw.
Morgan coughed, blood pooling in her mouth.
Morgan Alter's vision blurred, another horrific memory flooding her mind—
Fate's lifeless head, rolling across the floor.
Morgan tried to shield her face, but Alter didn't care.
She kept hitting her. Again. And again.
"AND YET—!"
-CRACK!-
She remembered his face in those last moments.
The way he had looked at her.
Not with hatred.
Not with anger.
But with a gentle, loving smile.
Morgan Alter's breath hitched.
Tears fell onto Morgan's bloody face, mixing with the crimson streaks staining the ground.
"HE STILL FUCKING LOVES YOU!"
She slammed her fist one last time, but the weight behind it was different.
It wasn't rage anymore.
It was grief.
Despair.
Her hands trembled as she grabbed Morgan's shoulders, shaking her violently.
"You abandoned him!" she screamed, voice raw.
"You abandoned the only person who ever cared about you—for WHAT!?"
Her fingers dug into Morgan's throat, choking her, making Morgan struggle weakly beneath her.
"A kingdom?!"
Her grip tightened.
"A kingdom that you dedicated your entire life to—only to be betrayed by your own people!"
Morgan's vision blurred.
Her body was failing her.
She had no strength left to fight back.
"You never cared about him!"
Morgan Alter's voice cracked, her hands shaking, yet she wouldn't stop.
"The only man who could ever tolerate you! The only one who ever truly loved you! So..."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, tears pouring down her face.
"You should just die—"
Her grip tightened further.
"—and I'll make sure he never suffers again!"
But before she could end it—
Two hands grabbed her wrists.
Firm. Unyielding.
A familiar warmth.
A voice that cut through the darkness.
"That's enough."
Morgan Alter's breath hitched.
Her golden eyes widened in shock.
"Fate?"
She turned, heart pounding—he was there.
Standing right behind her.
Alive.
Her lips trembled.
"L-Let go of me! I have to—!"
"It's okay," Fate said, his voice calm, steady.
The warmth in it shook her to her core.
"I don't hate you."
Morgan Alter's entire body froze.
Morgan, still gasping for breath beneath her, froze.
The world stopped moving.
Morgan Alter's mind reeled, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"N-No..." she whispered, her voice breaking.
"No, let go of me! I can fix this!"
Her gaze snapped back to Morgan—
She was so close.
So close to ending her.
So close to fixing her mistake.
"It isn't a mistake."
Fate's words shattered everything inside her.
Both Morgans stiffened, unable to believe what they just heard.
Morgan Alter's lips quivered.
"Y-You're lying. I-I-I—"
"You have my skills, don't you?" Fate's voice was gentle, yet firm.
"You can see my emotions. You know I'm telling the truth."
Morgan Alter's breath caught in her throat.
She could feel it.
Fate's emotions—
There was no pity.
No resentment.
Only care.
Only understanding.
Her hands shook violently, moving toward her left hand—where two rings sat on her ring finger.
A memory flashed before her.
Her past self, standing alone.
No one beside her.
No one left.
Her lips trembled.
"I... I..."
Her throat tightened.
A weight that had never left her chest suddenly crushed her.
A deep, aching regret.
"I'M SORRY!"
The words finally tore free.
A mistake she had carried for so long.
A mistake that had destroyed her.
Her body glowed softly, golden dust drifting from her fingertips.
She was fading.
Her time here was over.
Her vision blurred, her lips forming one final whisper—
"Please... don't leave me..."
Then—
She was gone.
The air was silent.
Only Fate and Morgan remained.
Neither spoke.
Neither knew what to say.
Fate slowly bent down, gently picking up the bloody, beaten woman in his arms.
Carrying her bridal-style, he brought her back into their home, laying her down on the sofa.
The room was silent.
Yet, as he looked down at her, seeing her in this state—
[Restoration] - The user can repair the damage, heal injuries, revert chemical changes and complex structures to their raw components. When restoring a divided object, the user can control which part acts as the starting point for the rest to gather towards. This ability cannot heal its user, cure illnesses (as victims are not considered damaged), or restore life to a dead organism.
Creating the skill from an ability he suddenly recalls, Fate raises his hand over Morgan, a magenta aura radiating from his palm. The energy wraps around her, its warmth contrasting with the battlefield's lingering cold. Morgan hisses in pain as the bullets lodged inside her are forcefully pushed out, her torn flesh weaving itself back together, muscles knitting, and even the bruises on her face fading into smooth skin.
She gasps, her breath hitching as she examines herself, running her fingers over where wounds should be. Nothing. No cuts, no holes, only a dull soreness as a reminder of what she just endured. The taste of blood still lingers on her tongue, sharp and metallic, grounding her in the reality of it all.
"Why?" Her voice comes out small, uncertain. "Why heal me?"
Fate exhales, looking down at her with a calm expression. "Do I really need a reason to heal the woman who will be by my side until I die?"
Morgan's breath catches. Her grip tightens around the blanket of silence that suddenly wraps around them. She hesitates before asking, her voice barely above a whisper, "You... don't hate me?"
A question weighted with years of isolation, of rejection, of being seen as something to be used, discarded, or feared.
Fate shakes his head slowly, his icy blue eyes steady on hers.
Morgan feels her chest tighten. Throughout her life, everyone who had ever seen the real her, truly known her, always ended up hating her.
Until now.
Wordlessly, Fate retrieves a blanket and drapes it over her. The exhaustion in his limbs weighs him down like lead—his magic reserves completely spent—but he still sits beside her, his presence a quiet reassurance.
Morgan stares at him for a long moment before finally breaking the silence. "What... was that?"
Her question is vague, but Fate understands. He leans back against the couch, running a hand through his hair, exhaling. "Well, how should I say this?"
He gathers his thoughts before explaining.
The Holy Grail had been corrupted. The Grail Mud could taint even a Heroic Spirit.
Morgan Alter was proof of that.
She wasn't just some random Altered Servant. She was an alternate version of his Morgan—one who had walked a different path, one who had lost him. In her world, she had been the cause of his death. The weight of that regret never left her, and she carried it to her grave.
When she took Angra Mainyu's place during the Third Holy Grail War, she saw an opportunity—a chance to rewrite fate. She corrupted the Grail, biding her time, waiting, hoping. Hoping that somewhere, in some world, he would return.
And now, at last, she was free.
Probably... reunited with the Fate of her world in the afterlife. Now with her spirit finally released from all her burden.
Morgan listens in silence, her fingers unconsciously curling around her left hand.
"I see..." she murmurs, voice unsteady. "She really did love you... well, her Fate."
Fate doesn't respond. He doesn't know how to.
Morgan's lips press into a thin line. Alter's words haven't left her mind. The raw emotion, the desperate regret—was that what love was supposed to be? Could she ever feel something like that? Could she ever love someone so much that the thought of losing them would shatter her?
Her eyes drift to Fate.
Does he already hold that place in her heart?
The thought lingers, but she forces it aside seeing Fate walk out. His gaze stare into the distance seeing the two new weapons now resigned inside his Reality Marble.
"Morty"—a customized revolver, its barrel forged from a fusion of demon and fae metals, strong enough to handle a force far greater than any ordinary firearm. It could fire both magical and physical bullets, capable of draining mana from its targets.
"Redgrave Le Fay"—a spear forged from the remnants of Morgan's broken staff and Fate's Redgrave. A weapon that could shift between a spear and a magic staff, a testament to the bond they shared, no matter how complicated.
Fate had glimpsed Morgan Alter's past—her memories, her pain. He had seen himself fall in love with her. He had witnessed their life together, the rise and fall of their kingdom, the inevitable betrayal. He had seen her execute him with her own hands.
But he had also learned things. Things that might be useful.
One particular discovery amused him. If he were to put a ring on Morgan's finger, she would gain access to a broken skill— [What is My Husband's is Mine Too!!]
Fate scoffs under his breath. What a ridiculous ability. And yet... intriguing.
But now wasn't the time for that.
There was something far more pressing.
His eyes flicker back to the real world, where flames still rage, smoke rising into the night sky.
"We're leaving this world," he says firmly.
As he opens his eyes, reality shifts back into place around them—chaos, destruction, and the echoes of a battle still unfinished.
The Queen of Heroes was on top of him, straddling his waist while their bodies remained half-submerged in the corrupted mud.
"You aren't half bad, Vessel." Gilgamesh murmured, amusement lacing her voice despite the breathlessness in her tone. A light crimson blush dusted her cheeks, her crimson eyes glinting with satisfaction.
"Same goes for you," he responded, his own breathing ragged but steady, a smirk tugging at his lips.
For a long time, Gilgamesh had indulged in many luxuries, but rarely had she found genuine enjoyment in another's presence—let alone that of a man bold enough to stand against her without lowering his head. It stirred something long buried within her, a distant memory of another time... another battle... another companion.
The night she met her only friend.
Enkidu.
"You surely know how to captivate a woman, Vessel," she murmured, her white bloody fingers tracing over his chest as though trying to carve this moment into eternity. She wanted to savor it—to stretch time, to delay the inevitable.
But fate was cruel.
Her body was already beginning to dissolve, golden particles flaking off her skin, carried away like dust in the wind.
Fate exhaled, watching her fade. "Why, thank you, Your Majesty," he quipped, his tone playful even as something deeper stirred within him. "As much as I'd love to admire your beauty a little longer… it seems my performance is being cut short."
Gilgamesh smirked. A woman of her stature was not easily flattered—but there was something about this man that amused her to no end.
"And why is that?"
"Because I have to set you free."
Before she could respond, he pulled her down into a kiss. It was brief—fleeting, like the dying embers of a fire.
"You really are one amusing Vessel," she whispered against his lips, a rare, genuine smile gracing her face. And then, with a final shimmer of golden light, she was gone—leaving nothing behind but an Archer Card resting in his open palm.
Fate let out a slow breath, his fingers closing around the card.
Pushing himself up from the corrupted mud, he glanced at the massive longsword still impaling both their bodies through the stomach. A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest.
"Well," he mused, pulling himself free, "that's got to be one of the most interesting experiences I've ever had—getting laid while being impaled by a sword."
Fate shook his head and cleared his thoughts, using what little magic energy he had left, he projected simple long pants and cloak on his body.
Now completely drained of magic energy.
Fate then used one of his old skills [Time Jump], a very useful skill but if not used right could cost him one of his remaining 7 lives. But now with Avalon and his devil heritage continuing to recover him, he doesn't need to worry about dying of hunger or thirst anymore.
Activating his skill as his body ages up to 1 month, his lips and lungs feel dry, his stomach growls and his eyes feel tired, but he doesn't have time to care about it now.
Using [Clear Mind] to push away the feeling, before using [Refreshment] to clear his tiredness. Finally, he used [Realm Walker] and his body ray shifted into a different world.