The road to the church wound through the forest. Darkness among the trees bred unease, that human fear of the unknown. Silence—not deafening, only due to faint city night sounds—worsened the effect. Several people walked the deserted road. Tension hung visibly among them. The young magus among them still couldn't recover. Her Servant's wrath wasn't easily borne.
Now Rin realized how rash she'd been. From the start, Fulgrim made clear he wouldn't obey her. Obviously, forcing him would lead to what just happened. Without rage, she wouldn't have foolishly wasted a Command Spell and scant Servant trust. The reason: his refusal to fight Saber. Seemingly minor—not fighting one Servant—but no. If the Primarch wouldn't fight her, he'd make Rin lose already. The war ended with one Master-Servant pair left; undefeated, victory impossible—unacceptable. Also, Fulgrim had grated on her nerves since summoning, and patience runs out. Was Rin solely to blame?
No. The Primarch understood her motives perfectly. However. Attempting to subjugate his body, force acts against his will, unleashed true rage-storm in the Phoenix's soul. Without iron self-control, the girl's body would be bloody pulp before she finished. Again, he confirmed her youth. Rational mind or not, emotions swayed her strongly. But regardless of cause, the Emperor's son wouldn't be controlled. Not again—better oblivion, losing worldly anchor.
The group descended the hill; the longer they walked, the thicker the night fog grew. Milky haze trailed the ground, disturbed only by Masters' and Servants' steps. Of the four, only Shirou didn't grasp what happened—unsure how to react or conclude, unlike his Servant. Artoria was as thoughtful as the rest. Such abrupt behavior shift wasn't causeless. But without the man's past, fully grasping the reaction's roots was impossible. She'd never heard of a Fulgrim. The warrior wasn't naive enough for mere pride. No—something deeper, painful. An experienced fighter like her easily sensed the tension in his body at the order wasn't pure rage. He restrained, unwilling to unleash fury harming the clueless young girl.
Notably post-spell: Fulgrim whirled and headed back; his Master rashly said "Wait." She'd blundered again, forgetting her order. After that, the Servant should freeze—but didn't. His body twitched in submission attempt, yet he overpowered the absolute Command Spell will somehow. Even Hero King Gilgamesh couldn't; strongest Servant, boundless Golden Archer pride, yet couldn't resist orders. Artoria had felt it too. Limbs disobeyed, alive against her will. No struggle availed against Master's authority over Servant. "Who is he?" Now the warrior pondered with Rin.
Gloomy thoughts broke at an unknown Servant's presence—worrisome in power. Ahead on the road loomed a huge silhouette. Closer, the group saw better. A man towering three heads over Fulgrim—who was tall. Bulging muscles unhidden, save reinforced skin strips belted as clothing. Unnatural skin like dark stone contrasted that before the Servant.
A very young girl in winter coat. Absolutely white skin rivaling the Primarch's pallor. Hair also pure white—not platinum-shining like his, but snowy. Only bright scarlet eyes broke her colorless look. Seeing her awaited approach, the giant's Master's face bloomed with a sweet smile.
"Finally we meet, little brother." Her voice like snow-whisper on wind reached all clearly. "And you're here, Rin. Didn't expect to see you." She addressed Tohsaka, already focused on the foe.
"You're one of the Masters. And your Servant... Berserker, right?"
"Exactly, Rin. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Illya." She curtsied, lifting her coat hem. "Illyasviel von Einzbern."
"Einzbern?!"
The ancient European magus house name rang for all in the Moonlit World—unknown to none, especially her. Moreover, one of three Grail War founders, with Tohsaka and Matou. But how was Shirou her... brother? He was low-grade magus, barely capable of Reinforcement. What connection?
"You're that girl I saw yesterday!" Illya had appeared before Shirou briefly, urging haste in summoning. Then he'd not understood, but now... "Why call me brother? I've never met you?" At his words, the sweet smile vanished from the girl's face, yielding to darkness.
"You haven't heard then..." She whispered, tone hinting restrained anger. "Father never told you about me. No surprise—Kiritsugu Emiya abandoned me, trading for you." Calm words poured from Illya's lips, yet bred unease. Her next act unpredictable. Before Shirou's surprise, the girl lost patience. "Then you'll die—Father's gone, so you'll take his place. Berserker."
At the giant's name, he moved. With wild roar, massive form charged. A huge sword materialized—like a rocky cleaver. Closing distance instantly, he swung overhead at Emiya. Strike force parted air with clap. Only invisible sword spared the youth—Artoria blocked, cracking earth underfoot unlike her guard. Straining but holding, battle began.
From start, Saber maneuvered to draw foe from her Master. The pair distanced slightly after a minute, but mad Servant wouldn't stray far. After all, Tohsaka heiress had a Servant too. Yet he didn't hasten to attack the boldly exposed Master. Instead, he eyed her thoughtfully—post her brother-murder words. But gaze shifted soon to Artoria and Berserker, their fight reshaping terrain.
Giant's explosive strikes tore earth like post-bombardment. Each thrust blocked with great effort—Servant's strength astounding. Saber found no counter opening. Astonishingly, despite size, foe moved with immense swiftness. Each motion whipped hurricane winds. Faintly, her strength waned. The Primarch noticed—his sensitivity detected it. Cause: wound from Lancer battle at summoning. His Noble Phantasm nearly killed Artoria, but she parried last-moment. Otherwise, scarlet Spear would've pierced heart. Plus, such wounds healed far slower than usual.
"Well, how's my Servant?" Illya chatted, eyeing tense Masters. Proximity to enemy Servant unconcerned her. "He's definitely the strongest hero in this war. The greatest ancient Greek hero, Heracles himself!" The girl sang brightly, heightening Rin's foe-danger suspicions.
"Even with the strongest Servant..." Familiar nerve pain stabbed. Magic flows filled circuits with power. A spell gathered in hand. "...you're just human!"
A dark-red ink orb shot from index finger—modified Gandr, piercing steel like paper. Magic bullets sped at the girl, standing impassive. Only on impact: why. Familiars surrounded, deflecting. Made from snowy hair locks as birds, hovering behind the magus.
"So many Familiars..." Mages usually controlled one; Illya held three effortlessly. Indicating vast reserves. Though unsurprising—sustaining Heracles demanded huge mana. "Damn!"
Suddenly, Familiars became swords, flying at the trio. Rin and Shirou dodged; Primarch swatted like flies. He counterattacked not, standing silent with calm face. Smile gone since church gate, unreturned. Illya noted the oddity—unknown cause, but Tohsaka's Servant slow-aided Master. So she could focus fully, while Berserker handled Saber.
The witches continued hurling spells at each other, retreating deeper into the Forest, while Shirou tagged along after Tohsaka. Fulgrim remained alone, with no desire to change that. He merely silently observed Artoria's battle. Despite her wound, she hadn't taken a single new one. Her experience and skill allowed her to fight an opponent superior in strength, especially since he attacked like a beast. No tactics, just chaotic but predictable strikes. The Primarch could have helped her, but he had no desire to get involved in a battle that meant nothing to him.
The recent clash with Cú Chulainn had been forced on him, so the Phoenix hadn't taken the blows without resistance, but now, he saw no reason to fight. The incident at the church had reminded him once again how much he needed this war. Not at all. This Grail, even if it could grant wishes, clearly wasn't powerful enough to change the past of another world. So why was he even here? There were no reasons. Just a randomly revived Primarch who would vanish after the war's end. After everything he'd done, this was the only outcome awaiting him. Ridiculous—one of the Emperor's sons, revered like higher beings, had lost the will to move forward. The Imperium's people and his legionaries could never imagine such a thing. However, superhuman masterpiece of genetic engineering though he was, Fulgrim was still human. And humans have weaknesses. They are imperfect, and that can't be fixed—except by the one First Among Men.
Though unhurriedly, time continued to flow. Sounds of spells echoed from the Forest, along with the heavy breathing of the retreating Masters. It seemed the girl was more than they could handle. And Saber's battle had shifted some distance away, now taking place in the graveyard. Fulgrim followed it; the spectacle was engaging, after all. "Whoa…" Weary of futile attempts to harm her foe, Artoria resorted to radical measures. The moment the distance allowed, she raised her sword overhead, and it sparkled with golden light. The veil of wind fell away, revealing the splendor of the holy blade to the world. "…So that's Excalibur." And with a swing, the King brought it down toward the earth. A wave of blinding radiance tore from the blade, effortlessly cleaving Heracles from shoulder to hip. The parts began separating under their own weight. However, time immediately rewound, and in an instant, Berserker was ready for battle again.
This surprised both his opponent and the observer. Such regeneration was a rare sight; only the Primarch of the Eighteenth Legion—Vulkan—could boast of it. But he was one of the Perpetuals, very close to true immortality. Meanwhile, Artoria had apparently expended too much energy on the attack and sank to the ground. When she mustered the strength to lift her head, she saw death charging at her in the form of the mad Servant. She felt no fear—only disappointment took its place. For the second time, she wouldn't claim the Grail and make her wish. Another failure, this time due to her own weakness. At least it wasn't as bitter as seeing the cup before her eyes and destroying it on someone else's orders.
Her thoughts were interrupted by an unknown sound, as if something was flying. But what exactly couldn't be discerned—only as it neared was a fierce heat felt, like from a roaring forge. Moments later, an azure globule struck Berserker's shoulder, slightly singeing his indestructible flesh. And another instant later, an unusual Servant with an unknown past appeared before the warrior maiden. Long platinum hair fluttered slightly in the faint breeze, and though his face couldn't be seen, his figure radiated focus.
Fulgrim had no desire to enter the battle without cause, but now one had arisen. The war held no interest for him, but still… the Primarch didn't want to witness the death of someone who wasn't a friend but had taken his fancy. And, to be honest with himself, he was tired of standing idle. A fight with a strong foe beat inaction.
Rin was running. No, not running—retreating. Nothing strange about changing position if it wasn't advantageous. With such thoughts, she raced through the Forest alongside one idiot who refused to leave her alone. "Idiot." Another reason for the flight… retreat was the increased mana drain. It signaled that Fulgrim had joined the fray. Very welcome news. Rin hadn't dared ask for his help when the battle began; her Servant's mood had been grim. An apt pun, since his name sounded like utter darkness in English. Rin quickly dismissed the silly thought—not the time. The Einzbern Master was still on her tail. She needed to return to the Servants; it was safer with them, and numerical superiority now favored Rin and Shirou.
Finally, the graveyard emerged from the forest thicket, where she sensed her Servant. However, what Rin saw immediately dashed all hopes of victory. Not just in this battle, but in the war itself. The Primarch's body was bisected by a stone sword. Blood stained everything around, spilling onto the ground and tombstones. What hadn't left the body continued trickling down the legs of the man who had fallen to his knees. No matter how experienced and skilled Fulgrim was, such overwhelming superiority in strength couldn't be overcome that way. Precise maneuvers to counter the enemy's weapon wouldn't work in this situation. The outcome was plain before her eyes. The Emperor's son had fallen, unable to move.
The fading thoughts of the Primarch's consciousness flowed sluggishly. He felt no regret or other emotions. He hadn't been interested in participating from the start; he'd just gone with the flow, not refusing battle if there was cause. But now it was over. He'd return to whence he was summoned and continue sleeping, dreamless. Even after death, punishment for his deeds had found him…. "Punishment?.." Yes, he deserved it, but… was this what it should be? To fall to the hand of a mad hero, a pitiful shadow of Zeus's son? This… was wrong. The pride he'd once displayed more out of habit stirred to life. Traitor though he had become, he was still the Lord of the Imperium's son. Even punishment for sins must be worthy of His name! He should die at his father's hand or those brothers who remained true to the light of truth. Bisected by this grotesque weapon, lying in a pool of his own blood. The Primarch of the Third Legion could not fall like this. He was Fulgrim, he who had striven for perfection for decades, even if he hadn't attained it. He was one of the twenty sons of He who embodied the ideal.
He was the Phoenix!
Rin, who had watched her Servant's demise with unblinking eyes, felt the fading bond flare anew, mana surging through it. In monstrous quantities. Reflex made her use the gem reservoirs to avoid losing consciousness from depletion, but at this rate, they wouldn't last long. And before her eyes unfolded an unimaginable sight. Silver fire enveloped the Primarch's body and erupted into a massive pillar of flame shooting skyward. The wave hurled the mad Servant back, so powerful was it. And finally, the whirlwind subsided, revealing what had been hidden until now.
A colossal figure towered over everyone present. Encased in armor of unimaginable beauty gleaming purple. His left shoulder bore a golden wing. Somehow, the name of its bird came to mind. Phoenix. Symbol of rebirth. Intricate paintings and patterns turned the armor into a true work of art, but the breastplate stood out most, shrouded in eagle wings. It was two-headed; one head gazed forward with sharp eyes. No, not forward. Into the future. The second stared blindly into the past. This true giant, beside whom Heracles seemed a mere man, extended his hand. Particles of light gathered in it. They took the form of a sword whose blade seemed to hold the fire of the forge in which it was wrought.
The Primarch regarded the weapon in his hand. Firebrand, forged by his most beloved brother. A weapon worthy of the Emperor's son. Gripping the hilt more comfortably, Fulgrim pointed the tip at his foe. The enemy, despite the mind-poisoning madness, didn't rush to attack. The scraps of sanity he retained warned of danger. And they were right. With inconceivable speed for such size, the Colossus charged. Covering the distance in an instant, he struck. The blow unleashed a true hurricane, scattering tombstone shards. Berserker managed only to raise his cleaver in defense. But with an uncomprehending roar, he was bisected again—this time along with his weapon.
"Hm?" Even Fulgrim's voice had regained its former power, audible to all. "Regenerating again?" His foe's regeneration was astonishing; the body seemed to rewind time. "No…" The Primarch smashed his fist into Heracles's head, shattering it into chunks that covered the ground in blood, skull fragments, and brain matter. "…You're resurrecting."
Having reached his conclusion, Fulgrim seized Heracles by the throat and hoisted him aloft like a feather. Purple eyes bored into the one who had recently slain their owner. His face gradually twisted in disgust. With a crunch, the enemy's neck snapped, and the body flew. Once more, the living projectile splintered trees in its path. When Berserker began rising from the ground, the purple giant was already beside him. An adamantium boot crushed the head, leaving bloody pulp.
"And you took my life?" In the Primarch's hands, instead of the magnificent blade, appeared a fearsome hammer, no less elegant in Fulgrim's characteristic grace. The one he had forged himself, during a dispute with the Gorgon. Forgebreaker, thunder hammer of immense power. He loomed over the foe who hadn't bothered to stand. "Savage beast…"
The power weapon finally descended, unleashing a kinetic energy wave that turned Berserker to mince. And only by some miracle did the Phoenix's armor remain unstained.
"Berserker, retreat!" The little girl's cry drew the Primarch's attention; he had been patiently awaiting the enemy's next resurrection. Illya, for the first few seconds unable to think at all, soon had only one thought. "Run!" The Primarch had no intention of allowing it, but as he took a step, he was hailed.
"Teacher Fulgrim!" It was Shirou, showing the natural Japanese respect for instructors. The youth supported Rin, who could no longer stand. Her gem reserves were depleted, leaving her on the verge of fainting.
The Primarch glanced at the fleeing foes and merely sighed faintly. Then the same flames enveloped him, and he emerged in his former form. It didn't surprise him that his true form had weighed heavily on his summoner. The enemy would have to wait. Approaching his comrades, he surveyed them. Shirou was too preoccupied to marvel at what had happened, unlike Artoria, who had completely lost her composure and simply gaped. "Ha, one-all." Like Rin, who was in such shock it was hard to imagine.
"Will the depletion's aftereffects be critical?" Still unable to speak, Rin shook her head mechanically, and her Servant nodded. Then… he smiled as before. "Now do you understand whom you summoned?"
Rin understood. But Artoria, for all her experience, couldn't fathom how a hero of such power was unknown. The witch provided the answer.
"Son of the Emperor of Mankind." In a weak voice, she managed. The named one merely nodded with a pleased smile.
***
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