Fate: Abyss of the Heart

Chilling Realities

Vanitas' chilling words echoed across the desolate wasteland, each one cutting deeper into Artoria's heart. He took another step forward, his presence like a storm of darkness crashing against her, warping the air with its malevolent power. The distance between them felt immeasurable, as if they stood on opposite sides of an abyss that could never be crossed again.

"The Counter Force must be truly desperate," Vanitas sneered, his eyes burning with cruel amusement. "Sending you, Pendragon, of all people. But you—" he paused, his voice dripping with disdain, "you mean nothing."

His words were harsh, a twisted mockery of the connection they once shared. To him, she was no longer the knight he had fought beside, nor the king he had respected. She was just an obstacle. A target. His golden eyes, cold and empty, narrowed as they focused on her, as if appraising her worth.

"You're just another enemy standing in my way, another pawn of the Counter Force, another one they've thrown into the fire to stop me from achieving my goals." His voice grew colder, more detached with each word. "And do you think you're the first?"

Artoria stiffened, her grip on Excalibur tightening. His words stung, not just because of their venom, but because of the truth they carried. The Counter Force did not summon lightly. It summoned only when the threat was so great that the balance of the world was at stake. And here she was, standing before the embodiment of that threat. But to Vanitas, she wasn't special—not even close.

"No, Pendragon," he continued, his expression darkening as his gaze bore into her. "You're not the first servant they sent to stop me. Not by far."

The realization dawned on her, the weight of his statement settling in. The Counter Force had sent others—heroes, legends—before her. And none had returned.

"They've sent many," Vanitas said, his tone shifting to one of grim satisfaction. "Servants far stronger than you, Pendragon. Warriors, heroes, kings, all with their own noble ideals and shining blades, all summoned to kill or defeat me."

His lips curled into a cruel smile, devoid of any warmth or joy, only malice. "Do you know what happened to them?"

Artoria's heart clenched, her knuckles white as she gripped her sword, waiting for the answer she already feared.

"Every last one of them lies dead at my feet," Vanitas growled, his voice low, filled with sadistic pleasure. "Just like the corpses they are. Their strength, their valor, their ideals—it all meant nothing. They fell like leaves in the wind, broken and defeated, and soon you'll join them."

His gaze flickered down to the ground as if he could see the bodies of those who had failed to stop him, their lifeless forms piling up in his wake.

Artoria felt a cold dread creeping over her. She wasn't just facing an enemy—she was facing a force that had already torn through some of the greatest champions in history. Every servant the Counter Force had called upon had been reduced to nothing more than another corpse in Vanitas' relentless march toward his twisted goal.

"And now it's your turn, Pendragon," Vanitas said, stepping closer, his aura suffocating, his voice filled with finality. "You'll die just like the rest."