Fate: Kill

Chapter 32

Action is what influences change. The small individual nuances of what makes a person who they are define what they become in times of peace or violence.
One breath was taken to ease the mind, another to sanctify purpose.
The roars of the battlefield were drowning, but beyond it all lay the weight of responsibility pressing down upon one's shoulders. All these people, all these soldiers, everyone; they were all relying and believing in him with all of their hearts.
S

hirou had watched as others trudged forward on his behalf, fighting to buy whatever time that he needed through storms of steel and the acrid scent of smoke. They roared, they cried, they fought ever still. Their bones shattered, their blood flowed aplenty upon the earth, their will branded through their resolve.
He watched many die.
Many more who grew injured and fatigued, succumbed to exhaustion where they should have triumphed.
'Don't look. Don't hear. Don't see.'
Shirou understood what was being sacrificed not only for his sake, but the whole meaning of this uprising with him at the center…and yet it was maddening. He was simply a man who'd learned in his lifetime to comprehend what he truly wished beyond the goal of attaining a certain smile.
It was tragic then, that no matter what he did, or what happened; a Nameless Hero would traverse from battle after battle unable to fulfill what he wanted to do most.
He just didn't want to see anyone cry.
All this murder, this corruption, this bloodshed, how many tears would be spilled or have already been spilled because of it?
The people of Calla, the allies he'd recruited with Chouri, everyone who believed in him, of them, how many would be able to return home at his inaction? How many families would grieve? How many more would mourn?
His hands balled into fists, his muscles contracting.
'Ten minutes was a safety line…' He found himself reasoning.
'Don't do it. Don't you dare do it, you-you, epitome of idiocy.'
He could almost imagine an old lover, Rin, scolding him in his thoughts, but like always, he never truly learned. You can't teach an old dog new tricks.
The sorrow building within him, the guilt of it all- it made rationality almost unbearable to maintain.
'You utter fool.'
He could practically hear the disappointment lacing Rin's imaginary tone, but he could no longer stand the sight before him.
"Trace…On."
Sparks crackled from around him, creating a static buzz that heightened into a crescendo in his ears. Circuit-like patterns flared over his skin and reached up and around the side of his eyes. He grunted, teeth gnashing. The Danger Beast bones secured around his waist rapidly faded into dust as his Magic Circuits siphoned their energy into usable power which flooded through him.
He wouldn't be able to maintain this state for long. Already, his body was screaming at him.
Having been born in a new body unused to magecraft in this world, it was going to take time for his body to truly adjust. Until then, the best analogy to describe his situation was akin to that of a paper cup filled with water. His body was the cup, and the water, the magic energy.
With the flimsiness of the cup, it would only be a matter of time before the water's weight broke through unless it was all emptied fast enough. The reason to buy ten minutes of time was so that he could reinforce the cup well enough to sustain the input of raw energy.
It had only been eight minutes. Not too long, but not too short either.
Veins popped over his skin, his features hardening with resolve.
It should be enough to act.
For the sake of those before him. For the safety of those who'd fought on his behalf:
Death would not come today. He would not allow it.
His body lowered, left arm outstretched and clasping for that which was unseen.
Aias, the shield that stopped the spear of the Great Hero Hector, hummed in response. Its duty was fulfilled with the cessation of aerial bombardment. The iridescent flower bloomed, its petals unfurling before shattering away into motes of pink light drifting in the wind.
The spectacle itself drew attention. Like the falling leaves of cherry blossoms, the light gathered and danced before all. It was mesmerizing, enlightening. The use of a tool was to fulfill a purpose, and now that that purpose was complete, it would be laid down to rest. Yet, this shield was no ordinary shield. Carried in the glow was the sentiment of protection wrought through the crystallization of the Hero Aias.
'This shield will never break, never fall. It will protect without fail.'
It was conceptual basis rooted to the very concept of the unbreakable shield and the unstoppable spear.
The convictions of the Empire's citizens wavered, the more educated drawing analogies to the Empire's very history.
All at once, the lights pooled down over an outstretched palm.
There was once a time where one had dared to question the meaning of life and medicine, hammering on the boundary that all mortals were confined within.
The gathered light took shape and form, two intertwined snakes wrapped around a winged rod now grasped tightly in Shirou's grip.
Shield was exchanged for staff in a heartbeat.
In an era where virtuosities and medicine were held sacred within their domains, one Hero sought for an answer beyond life and enacted a miracle only to be smited by the Gods.
The staff was held aloft, erecting around it a bounded field, a sacred space of healing that stretched across Kalance plains. The properties behind the staff could no longer breach the realm of the Gods, but the conceptual reality of its legend lived on ever still.
'Death? Mortals fear it only because I've yet to develop a cure.'
The Rod of Asclepius, Noble Phantasm of an ancient Greek physician worshiped as a God in cult.
The snakes coiled around the staff stirred and slithered over the sacred space. Wounds healed and fatigue lifted all at once. It hardly differentiated from friends and allies, but careful targeting and Caliburn's light allowed him to choose whom to heal. If anything though, it was a crutch measure that prevented death so long as they weren't already dead.
From afar, Selka carried over Akame's shoulders stirred. The stab wound she'd sustained gradually knit closed, replaced with fresh pink skin.
Everywhere else was no different aside from the notable observation that none with dark or grey light were being healed. This only further accentuated the growing suspicion that the lights bestowed a type of judgement on their owners.
Pride, jealousy, fear, paranoia, all kinds of emotions mixed together as one in this environment.
No one knew where it had started, but it began when some solider called out the unjust and vile action of a commanding officer marked black. The rest soon began to point fingers in realization. Those judged to be dark were no good people.
Subconsciously, those with white light over their heads began to distance themselves from the black, infuriating them who were already nervous and antsy. Calls of mutiny and insubordination were leveled hoarsely by panicked officials.
Like Chouri had pointed out for Elaine, infighting had begun, and yet more important than anything else was Shirou.
Unlike Chouri and Elaine who scrutinized the benefit and feasibility of new variables added to the battlefield, Shirou's goal had never wavered from the start.
A sword set to cut the neck of an Empire soldier was halted as Shirou stepped between them and stared the attacker down through sheer presence alone. The staff held in his grasp healed the solider of her injuries who felt as if the sun were shining warmly down before her.
Just like many of those judged white by Caliburn's white, the sudden confusion had stalled them into inaction…but no longer.
"Stand on your feet, and get behind me," Shirou's voice was kind in that he hid nothing but concern for another's well being. Many could feel it, if not through his words, then in his actions.
Unable to command her limbs from shock, Shirou gently pulled the soldier up despite the situation around him. None dared take the opportunity to attack simply because they were enraptured by the light surrounding a righteous figure.
Never before since the Empire's founding had someone exuded this type of aura and charm to follow.
'He is the Emperor. He is the Empire.'
The soldiers marked in white light and hesitating, both in the Revolutionary and Empire army, wavered in their doubts. Yet four words would change it all.
"I will protect you," Shirou uttered, his back facing the solider who'd stood opposed to him at the beginning.
The Empire soldier herself started sobbing, tears trickling down her face as stress and tension left her under the Rod of Asclepius's warmth.
She was moved.
Goddammit she was moved.
As were the rest.
"He is the Emperor…He is the Empire. All roads lead to him," whispers began, low and unheard, but resonating within ever still.
A grin spread across Elaine's lips, face practically splitting in her admiration, while Chouri rubbed at his beard in approval.
"See here, girl," Chouri lectured almost fondly. "Righteousness, compassion, charisma, that is the aura of our Empire's Emperor. Get ready to move, the time is coming."
Those marked white in the Empire's army broke ranks and gathered. The same occurring in the spectating Revolutionaries similarly marked white who could no longer sit on their feet.
"The people are not blind," Chouri narrated, his vision stretched across the gathered armies.
Those who broke ranks moved and gathered towards one place, a purpose to their steps, a tumultuous expectation alighting in their chests.
"They see it."
Slowly, undoubtably, and surely the call within them was true.
"They feel it. They know what must be done, and have been moved into action."
Elaine glanced up at Chouri, shivers running down her spine. She may dislike the man, but his words were truly compelling.
"The Emperor is the brightest star in a kingdom. He who guides in righteousness; he who protects through the faith of those behind him; he who leads in magnanimity; he who triumphs amongst all evil through sheer virtuousness. Right here and now, such an Emperor stands before us in the face of corruption and in the ruination of an empire."
The people gathered, charging towards one place, and forming new ranks even through the chaos.
"In respect, nay, in gratitude; there's only one thing to be done now that the Emperor stands at the forefront while we stare at that stalwart back."
Military men and women alike, officers, and commanders, began shouting, calling forth a single prime derivative.
Chouri whipped on the reins of his horse, an arm raising and sounding the call to arms echoed deafeningly by the voice of thousands as one.
"Rally to the Emperor!"
Chouri charged forth, behind him a cavalry of men and women directed by Elaine who began yelling formation orders in rapid fire.
In sudden reversal, the faction in this three-way battle with the least combatants, suddenly inflated to a considerable size while the rest grew destabilized.
All of this occurred with just one person at the center who could care little for anything else but keeping those relying on him safe.
In the edge of his vision, Shirou could see Akame and the rest making their way over to him as surely as the surge of new allies rallying to his back. Aided by the sacred boundary of the Rod of Asclepius, the nearer they drew to him, the more energized and freer of injuries they became.
Blood spurted inside his mouth; the coppery taste forced down his throat.
His body was breaking apart. He wouldn't be able to last for much longer from the strain of Tracing and maintaining Noble Phantasms consecutively, but even still.
Gradually, he adjusted his bearings, calling upon the light of that sword once more.
The shine of the stars seemed to descend once again, culminating back into a sword grasped in his grip.
Winds picked up, around him, as one step forward turned into many. Blood rushed to his ears, the hammering of his heart echoing in tandem with the aura surrounding him and drawing his allies like moths to a flame.
It was a subtle thing. Untold but yearned for ever still.
Soldiers cry their rallying cries- The reverberation of steel clashing, fostering with it, the shower of sparks that crackled and sizzled in the breeze.
In the pits of war and violence, was a courage to remain steadfast.
The light that gleamed like the brightest dawn upon a blood-soaked field was the guiding moonlight in an encroaching dark of this world's corruption.
Everywhere, eyes turned upon it.
Akame struggled forward, always chasing.
Najenda stood rooted, captivated.
Liver turned away, blood spilling from clenched palms.
No matter if it was friend or enemy alike, a single sword drew forth the same sentiments.
It was a sword that shines with the weight of hope; a hope that all beings, man or woman, adult or child, friend or foe would mournfully exalt as sacred. Separated by ideals, beliefs, and status, it was a sword that unites all warring countrymen upon a single coat-of-arms. It is pride. It is faith. It is virtue. A belief bidding all who fight in its glow to remain steadfast in loyalty.
The sword hummed in iridescent light, grasped firmly in an unwavering hand.
The undefeated King will sing the song of its triumph.
'O Golden Sword of the Victorious, show me of the way.'
Shirou's eyes shut closed, the glow before him growing stronger in his focus.
Tracing not only allowed Shirou the ability to recreate any weapon he'd ever seen, but it was more than that. His was a mystery that actualized not only the projection of a weapon, but all the skill and wisdom that weapon entails.
Exemplify the skill of its wielder, and replicate the history of its experience. The images overlapped in his mind.
For the briefest of moments, he was the chosen king, and the chosen king was him.
Gather magic energy, build it up, condense it, and then burst it out.
A storm of energy billowed from around him. Once more, it felt as if his Saber was still watching out for him. Her memory, her experience under the tutelage of the Wizard Merlin and the various wars she'd fought, was all culminated into her sword.
"Roar of Heaven and Earth," he intoned, a keening hum escaping Caliburn's blade from the invocation of a skill required to use it in full.
The image of a red dragon took root, encapsulating the Draconic properties of Caliburn's former wielder and imitating it in his body. The process similar to the way he'd gain God-Speed from the stone slab of Berserker.
Immediately, charging forth, swaths of magical energy felt like an incoming tidal wave against what little resistance the Empire troops could muster in their disarray.
It was enough to provide an irreparable opening.
With those designated white by Caliburn's light having left the opposing side, there was no longer any considerations left for those designated black left behind.
"Sword of Selection," he intoned, shifting into a low stance, blade held horizontally. "Grant me power and cleave the wicked!"
The light gathered into an impossibly elongating beam of energy, crackling with writhing arcs of power.
"Caliburn!" The sword was swung, all light seemingly fading away into nothing before it began.
Stars twinkled in gaps within the enemy formation, beautiful if misleading. Without warning, they exploded forth with an explosive force that mangled bodies into paste incinerated in the glow.
Everyone stilled at the sight beyond anything they'd ever seen.
'So, this was the sword of the Emperor?'
Many swallowed audibly, but even more than that was the spike in morale.
"Charge! For the Emperor!"
The Empire's First Army crumbled. The entire line practically vanished in a heartbeat, leaving little resistance for any stragglers fortunate enough to escape the blast zone.
The remaining Empire and Revolutionary forces spectating nearby were all forced to retreat. They couldn't mount attack even if they wanted to. After all, they had to recuperate and reorganize after the exodus of high and low-ranking officials and soldiers alike.
The confrontation in Kalance plains would likely end up with an outcome that neither the corrupt Revolutionaries or Empire nobles could have expected nor were happy with.
"Retreat!" The order was given.
"Pursue!" In contrast, Calla's forces gave chase.
Lowering Caliburn, both it and the Rod of Asclepius disappeared from Shirou's hands. It was hardly noticeable, but he was swaying unsteadily.
As Chouri and Elaine shouted commands to draw the battle's conclusion to a close, few but the most observant noticed Shirou gesture to Najenda on wobbly knees; the two discreetly retreating from the public eye in the chaos and victorious roars.
None stopped them.
With both the Empire and Revolutionary forces calling for a retreat, this battle was as good as over.
No one would be unaware of what happened this day. A verification if anything, no longer able to be kept hidden.
The blood of the Emperor lives beyond the palace's walls.
In the palace, Guardian Protector Budo stirred.
The winds of change were surely blowing.