"What… what's happening? Why… is the Grail like this?!"
"Exactly! So hurry up and make your wish!" The tempting voice, now sounding childlike, giggled, urging Kiritsugu Emiya.
"How could this be… how will such a Grail grant my wish?" Kiritsugu Emiya murmured.
"Naturally, in the way of Kiritsugu Emiya."
The voice echoed, then the world plunged into darkness.
Two ships drifted on the sea.
One ship carried three hundred people, the other two hundred—a total of five hundred crew and passengers, plus Kiritsugu Emiya. Let's assume these five hundred and one are the last humans on Earth.
Now… it's time for Kiritsugu Emiya to act out a scenario based on the following premise and characters.
Arthas slowly opened his eyes, sensing his body drifting, as if submerged in water.
But soon, he realized it wasn't water; it was black mud, thick, foul, and utterly unclean.
An ominous, dark aura permeated it, binding Arthas's body like countless black ropes.
Closing his eyes, he couldn't remember what happened. He only recalled Archer unleashing his ultimate Noble Phantasm, followed by blinding light.
What… happened?
Where were Flandre and Artoria? Archer? What about the Grail War?! How was Illya? Where was he? What was this place?!
Sin! Sin! Sin! You are sinful! You must die! Kill you! Bastard! Die! Die! Die! Die!
Confused curses echoed in his ears, but Arthas's expression remained unchanged. He seemed soulless, drifting in the black mud, slowly sinking to the bottom.
Ah… I feel it. Illya, are you here? Is this your embrace? No wonder… it's so warm, so comforting.
"Yes… I'm here, my dear. I'm always here. This is the Grail, my love. I promised I'd bring it to you. Come… make your wish now."
With a voice so tender it was intoxicating, at the bottom of the mud, a familiar figure slowly appeared. Arthas embraced her tightly, as if embracing the entire world.
"Don't leave me… never leave me, Illya. This… is my wish."
"Is this really alright… what about the one you truly love? How will you return to your world?"
Arthas's wish caused Illya to pause slightly, then she smiled gently, stroking his head.
"I only want to protect what I have now. So, don't leave me, Illya. This… is my wish!"
"Ah… yes, this… is your wish."
Illya repeated each word, her beautiful face contorting into a grotesque grimace.
The Grail was indeed an omnipotent wish-granting machine, but now tainted by the sins of this world. While not losing this ability, its granted wishes were fulfilled with extreme malice.
What would happen if a vow of eternal togetherness was interpreted and fulfilled with such extreme malice? No one knew.
As the Grail accepted Arthas's wish and began to function, a powerful, terrifying frost erupted from Arthas's body. Arthas lost consciousness again, vanishing from the murky sins of this world.
The black mud swirled into a vortex.
Sin, the world's evil, flowed, amplified, chained, changing, swirling in the vortex.
The vortex of curses spun. Something that shouldn't exist was here. Amidst the curses of negation, a voice declared loudly, "Correct!"
Impossible. In this vortex of resentment and curses, there could be no correctness, no affirmation. Since all things were deemed ugly and hateful, this word couldn't exist here.
But the voice clearly declared again, "Correct."
Correct, the world was always thus. Since the truth was before them, why sigh? Why be surprised?
The curses questioned.
What is correct?
Who acknowledges it? Who permits it? Who bears the burden of sin?
To the darkness's bombshell question—the answer was a resounding, mocking laugh.
A foolish question. It need not be asked.
The King acknowledges, the King permits. The King bears the weight of the world.
The mud asked, what is a King?
But in asking, it realized its own contradiction.
In this place where 'individuals' were absolutely forbidden, the mud recognized another presence within itself. Something that shouldn't exist was here.
That was—the King—the absolute ruler, the one and only.
His name was—the King of Heroes, Gilgamesh.
"It is I!"
With a splash, the black mud shattered. The impurity that the accumulated resentment couldn't consume emerged.
In the burning ruins, he stood again.
His body, with its perfect golden ratio, was no longer a spiritual body as a Servant, but a true physical body.
The black mud, negating all life, discarded the impurities within as crystals, granting a certain Heroic Spirit their wish to return to the world in a physical body.
Even at the heart of the burning hell, the King's majesty prevented the flames from approaching.
Gilgamesh stood proudly, his body like a statue, his crimson eyes filled with killing intent and amusement.
"How exhilarating… the feeling of defeat, of my head being severed… it's an addictive kind of high."
"Arthas, wasn't it? You are a powerful, great King, one I, Gilgamesh, respect and fear! But the next time we meet, I will not lose!"
The reborn Gilgamesh declared this on the desolate land, with the arrogance of a King and a respectful tone.
Arthas was the first person in the world to make the proud Gilgamesh bow his head in defeat; not even the gods had received such treatment.
"Therefore… next time, I will kill you with my own hands!"
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