Fate: Abyss of the Heart

Vanitas: The End of Shirou Emiya

Artoria's breath caught in her throat at the sight before her, the twisted version of Shirou Emiya—no, she couldn't call him that now. This wasn't the Shirou she knew, the one who had fought alongside her, shared quiet moments, and kindled a bond she had come to treasure. Yet still, instinctively, she reached for that name as if clinging to a fragile memory.

"Shirou..." she whispered again, her voice breaking.

But the figure before her, his demonic eyes locked onto hers, suddenly flared with something far darker than hatred. His aura intensified, a wave of malevolent energy radiating outward, causing the ground beneath his feet to crack and shudder. His cold, emotionless expression twisted into a snarl, and he raised his hand to stop her, the gesture filled with disdain.

"Stop calling me by that damned name!" His voice was sharp, venomous, like a blade cutting through the air. "Shirou Emiya means nothing to me now."

Artoria winced, not from the power he radiated but from the sheer venom in his words. The person standing before her, the one she had loved—he was truly gone. In his place was someone consumed by darkness, so much so that even the memories of who he once was seemed like a distant dream to him. His rejection of his own name was a rejection of everything he had once stood for, a rejection of the humanity she had admired in him.

"That name," he continued, his voice lowering into something far more dangerous, "is tied to a memory I want erased. A past I want to forget and destroy. And that includes everyone tied to it."

He let the words linger in the air like poison, his golden, abyssal eyes boring into her, filled with nothing but contempt. "That includes you, Pendragon."

The way he spoke her title—Pendragon—was laced with bitter mockery, a far cry from how he once called her Saber with respect and fondness. There was no hint of warmth, no connection. To him, she was nothing more than an obstacle now, another remnant of a life he was determined to annihilate. It was as though every bond they had forged had been severed, and what remained was this monstrous shell.

"I am not Shirou," he said, stepping closer, the ground trembling beneath each step as his aura of darkness seemed to distort the very air around them. "I am Vanitas."

The name rolled off his tongue with finality, and Artoria felt a chill run down her spine. Vanitas. The name resonated with an emptiness that matched the abyss in his eyes, a name that symbolized everything that had consumed him—vanity, nothingness, destruction. It was clear now: the man she once knew was buried beneath layers of hatred and darkness, and in his place stood someone far more dangerous.

Her grip on Excalibur tightened, and the blade glowed faintly as if in response to her rising emotions. She wanted to reach him, to find the Shirou she knew, but it was clear that this person—Vanitas—had long since buried that part of himself. He had cast aside his old name, his old life, and her, as if they were nothing more than broken shards of a past he was desperate to erase.

"You're not the same..." she whispered, the words heavy with sorrow. "You're not Shirou."

"No," Vanitas said coldly, his voice devoid of any emotion. "I am not. And you're not the Artoria I once knew either. To me, you're nothing more than Pendragon now, another ghost of a life I've discarded."

Artoria's heart shattered as his words pierced deeper than any sword could.