"Haha, interesting, truly interesting. Have you lost your mind from fear? Why… do you intend to face me alone?!"
Archer narrowed his crimson eyes, chuckling with amusement, arms crossed, observing Arthas's suicidal charge.
"Of course I won't face you alone; I'm not that arrogant. But you, do you want the three of us to attack at once, or one by one?"
Arthas smiled faintly at Archer's expression. As he finished speaking, two figures solidified beside him.
Artoria, in full blue and white armor, wielding her holy sword, and Flandre, wielding the cursed Valentine, appeared, flanking Arthas, their gazes cold and fixed on Archer.
"Tsk… the mongrel's learned to taunt. But do you think I fear you? All three of you, come at me!"
Archer declared fearlessly, a wave of golden light rippling behind him, his arrogance reaching its peak.
But this time was different. There was no rain of Noble Phantasms; only one weapon appeared—a bizarre object that barely qualified as a sword.
Could this even be called a 'sword'?
It was utterly strange. It had a hilt and guard, and a length similar to a normal longsword. But the 'blade' was unlike any traditional sword.
Three cylindrical sections were tightly connected; the unsharpened edge was twisted into a spiral; the three cylinders, like chains, slowly intertwined, spiraling and extending.
It transcended the concept of a sword. Existing before the concept of a 'sword' even existed, it couldn't possibly resemble one.
Forged by God before creating humanity, it was a manifestation of divine power, a witness to creation itself.
The millstone-like cylindrical sections echoed the celestial movements, grinding and rotating with the force of tectonic plates, unleashing an immeasurable surge of magical energy.
"Come, let me end your endless dream. I shall personally demonstrate the laws of this world."
Archer raised his arm high; the primordial sword began to spin faster and faster.
Witnessing this, Artoria and Flandre, instinctively sensing the approaching danger, accelerated their charge.
An Anti-Army Noble Phantasm?
An Anti-Fortress Noble Phantasm?
Archer's weapon's power exceeded any reasonable calculation, yet Artoria and Flandre showed no fear.
"Awaken, 'Ea'. The stage is set!"
Ea—in ancient Mesopotamian mythology, the god of heaven and earth, master of the earth and waters.
The Separated Sword, so named, was the primordial sword that witnessed the act of creation in mythology. Its blade was tasked with cleaving the primordial chaos of heaven and earth, giving them definite form.
Now, the swirling divine sword whipped up a gale, poised to recreate that miracle of creation. The golden King of Heroes proudly declared:
"Witness—this is the 'Heaven's Severing, Earth's Cleaving, Opening Star'!"
The heavens screamed, the earth roared.
A colossal beam of magical energy, defying the laws of the universe, erupted.
Archer swung his sword downwards, not aiming at anyone.
Aiming was unnecessary. The blade's cut transcended mere 'enemies'.
The two girls were insignificant against this light; even Arthas's icy blue eyes were illuminated by the blinding brilliance.
Then… what was reflected in those brilliant, crystal-like eyes?
Illya opened her eyes and looked around.
The sensation was strange. Her consciousness was perfectly clear, yet she couldn't think coherently.
It seemed that the muddled, meaningless thing wasn't her own spirit, but the world around her.
Many scenes raced before her eyes. These scenes evoked unbearable sadness and emptiness.
The images shown were devoid of joy and happiness, a kaleidoscope of chaotic scenes.
There was weeping, humiliation, regretful resentment, and loss.
I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!
A voice repeated, screamed, cursed in her ear.
No… no more!
Illya painfully covered her ears, crouching down.
"Why…" a voice echoed behind her, a familiar, terrifying voice.
Who was it? It was…
Slowly turning, she saw herself behind her—an identical figure in a long black dress… herself.
"Why?" Illya looked in terror as the 'other her' approached, black mud flowing over her body, seeping from her eyes, mouth, nose, every pore, like a shattered vessel.
"Why…" the 'other her' knelt, inches from Illya, smiling blankly, slowly sinking as if into a swamp.
"Why…" until the end, she repeated the question, her filthy hands smearing Illya's skirt, staining the white fabric black.
"I don't know… I don't know… I don't know." Tears seemingly dried up; Illya murmured vacantly, and the ground beneath her rippled violently.
"Come… come… come…" voices called, countless voices. Arms reached up from the ground; the flat surface became a swamp; the arms pulled Illya down.
No… no… someone save me… Flandre, Arthas, Illya… save me… save me…
Illya awoke with a start. It had all been a dream. She was in the Einzbern castle; her daughter, Illya, slept in her arms.
Cold wind and snow raged outside. Small hands clung tightly to her arms for protection.
"Mother, I had a nightmare. A dream where Illya became a Grail."
Despite her fear, Illya's red eyes were full of trust.
Illya hugged her daughter tightly, her silver bangs brushing against her tear-stained face.
"It's alright, it's alright… that won't happen. You won't see that, Illya."
The inescapable shackles… the sorrow of being an Einzbern homunculus, forever a vessel for fragments of the Grail.
The Third Magic, Heaven's Feel… this achievement was the only salvation.
Countless voices surged towards Illya. She and countless sisters chanted.
Holy Grail…
Grant us the Grail…
In the depths of the forest, at the abandoned homunculus disposal site, the corpses of her sisters chanted. Maggot-infested faces, merging with little Illya's, cried out in pain.
"It's alright…"
The mother hugged her daughter tightly, full of love.
That won't happen… because soon, I'll become the all-powerful wish-granting machine… and everything will end.
Suddenly, the snow outside stopped. A swirling vortex of thick black mud appeared in the night's darkness.
Illya felt neither fear nor surprise, only calm understanding, watching as the mud seeped into the room, dripping from the chimney, slowly soaking her feet.
I just need to offer myself… just sacrifice myself… complete the Third Magic… complete Heaven's Feel.
The hot mud clung to her body, elegantly staining her dress black.
The woman, awaiting the fulfillment of her wish, smiled, enveloped in darkness.
Let all sighs be dispelled, all worries banished.
Soon, she would have the power to grant wishes. As the all-powerful wish-granting machine.
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