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Fate/Zero:Prologue 1

2008-04-06T11:47:47Z

66.91.59.58:

=== Prologue: 8 years ago ===




Let us tell the story of a certain man.

The tale of a man who, more than anyone else, believed in his ideals, and by them was driven into despair.

The dream of that man was pure.

He wanted for everyone in this world to be happy, that was all his wish was about.

It is a childish ideal all young boys grow attached to at least once, but that they abandon when growing accustomed to the mercilessness of reality.

Any happiness requires a sacrifice; all children learn that much when they become adults.

But that man was different.

Maybe he was just the most foolish of all. Maybe he was broken somewhere. Or maybe, he might have been of the kind we call 'Saints', entrusted with God's will, one that common people cannot understand.


He knew that for any existence in this world, the only two alternatives are sacrifice or salvation...

When he understood that he would never be able to empty the scale plates...

From that day on, he set his mind on being the one to tip the scale.

To abate the grief in this world, there was no other, more efficient way.

To save even one life on one side, he had to forsake one life on the other side.

That is, to let the majority of people survive, he had to kill a minority of people.

Therefore, rather than saving people for the sake of saving them, he excelled at the art of killing people.

Again and again, he kept painting his hands the color of blood, but the man definitely never flinched.

Never questioning the righteousness of his acts, nor ever doubting his goal, he forced himself to only faultlessly tip the scale.

Never ever misjudging the value of a life.

With no regard to the humility of one existence, and no regard to its age, all lives weighed evenly.
With no discrimination, the man saved lives, and with no discrimination, he killed.

But he realized that too late.


To value everything in equal fairness, that would be the same as not loving anyone uniquely.

Had he carved that inviolable rule into his spirit sooner, he would have attained salvation.

Freezing his young heart into necrosis, achieving his self as a measuring machine with neither blood nor tears, he kept leading a life of sorting those that were to die, those that were to live. There probably wasn't any suffering for him.

But that man was wrong.

Anyone's delighted smile would fill his chest with pride, and anyone's wailing voice would shake his heart.

Anger was added to resentment full of regrets, and his tears of loneliness needed hands reaching out to him.

Even though he was pursuing an ideal beyond reason of the world of men — he was too human.

How many times was the man punished for that contradiction.

He did know friendship. He did know love.

Even when putting that one beloved life, and the countless number of perfect strangers, on the left and right of the scale—

He definitely never made a mistake.

More than loving someone, to judge that life equally to that of the others, he had to value it impartially, and impartially forfeit it.


Even when he was with someone precious to him, he would always seem to be mourning.

And now, the man is being inflicted with the greatest punishment.

Outside the window, a snow storm froze everything. A mid-winter night is congealing the ground of a forest.

The room is in an old castle built on the frozen soil, but it is protected by a gentle flame burning in the fireplace.

In the warmth of that shelter, the man was holding one new existence in his arms.

It was a really small one — a body so tiny it could be ephemeral, and no weight that could tell it was ready.

A delicate response can be dangerous, as with the first snow scooped by hand, which would crumble with a mere jolt.

In frail eagerness, the child preserves her body temperature by sleeping, breathing leniently. That is all that the modest throbbing of the chest can do at the moment.

"Don't worry, she's sleeping."

As he lifts the baby in his arms, the mother, resting her body on the couch, smiles upon them.

From the haggard look of the child, she isn't fine yet, and her complexion isn't perfect, but even though, her beautiful face reminiscent of a jewel doesn't decline in any way.


Above all, the color of bliss brightens her smile and erases the exhaustion that should wear out her gentle look.

"She would always be difficult and cry even with the nurses she should have gotten accustomed to. It's the first time she's let herself be held so quietly... She understands, doesn't she. That it is fine because you are a good man."

"..."

Without answering, dumbfounded, the man compares the mother on the bed with the child in his arms.
Had Irisviel's smile ever looked that dazzling?

She originally was a woman of little happiness. Nobody would have thought of giving her that feeling called happiness. She wasn't a creation of Gods, she was created at the hands of men... As a [[Fate/Stay:Translator's_Notes#Homunculus|homunculus]], such a treatment was normal for that woman. Irisviel had never had any wish.

Created as a puppet, brought up as a puppet, maybe she never even understood the meaning of happiness to begin with.

And now — she is beaming.

"I'm really glad I had this child."

Quietly bringing forth her love, Irisviel von Einsbern speaks, watching over the sleeping child.

"From now on, she will be first and foremost an imitation of a human. It may be tough, and she might hate the mother who gave her such a painful life. But despite that, I am happy. This child is lovely; she is splendid."


Her appearance is nothing unusual, and looking at her she is a lovely baby, yet —

While inside the mother's womb, a number of magical treatments were conducted on the unborn body, to rearrange it so that, even more than her mother, she was different from humans. Although it was born, its usefulness was restricted, so that it would be a body that is a mere cluster of magic circuits. This was the true nature of Irisviel's beloved daughter.

Despite such a cruel birth, Irisviel still says, "Fine." Giving birth to such a thing, being born as such a thing, she loves this existence, finds pride in it, and smiles.

The reason for that strength, that bracing heart, was that she was, without a doubt, 'a mother'.

The girl who could just be a puppet found love and became a woman, and found an unswayable strength as a mother. That must have had the look of a 'happiness' that nobody could invade. Right then, the bedroom of the mother and child protected by the warmth of the fireplace was indifferent to all despair and sorrow.

But — the man knew better. That to the world he was part of, the snowstorm outside the window was the most appropriate.

"Iri, I — "

By firing one single word, the man's chest felt like it was pierced through by a blade. That blade was the peaceful, sleeping face of the baby, and the dazzling smile of the mother.


"I will be, someday, the plight that will kill you."

As he felt like vomiting blood, Irisviel nodded with a peaceful expression to his declaration.

"I understand. Of course. That is the earnest wish of the Einsberns. That is what I am for."

That was the future that was already decided.

After 6 years had passed, the man took his wife to her dying place. As the one victim to save the world, Irisviel had become the sacrifice devoted to his ideal.

That was a matter that had been discussed several times between the two, and on which they had come to an agreement.

The man had already cried his heart out at that decision, cursed himself for it, and each time, Irisviel had forgiven him, and encouraged him.

"I know your ideals, and I grew attached to your prayers; that is why I am here now. You guided me. You gave me a life that wasn't that of a puppet."

For the same ideal, she sacrificed herself. She had become a part of him like that. So was the shape that took the love of the woman Irisviel. Because it was her, the man was able to permit it.

"You don't need to grieve over me. I am already part of you. Enduring only the pain of your own sundering is enough."

"... So, what about her?"

The infant's body was light as a plumage, yet a weight of a different dimension made the man's legs shiver.


He couldn't understand yet, nor was prepared to, what he would do when placing that child against the ideal he carried.

Don't judge or forgive such a man's way of life. There isn't the power for that yet.

But, even with such a pure life, his ideal is merciless.

With no regard to the humility of one life, and no regard to age, all regarded evenly —

"I am...not suited to hold her."

The man squeezed out his voice, despite his sweetness being likely to be crushed in insanity.

One drop of tear falls on the plump, cherry colored cheek of the baby in his arms.

Sobbing silently, the man bends on one knee.

To overthrow the heartlessness in the world, he aspired to a greater heartlessness...And yet, to the man who still had people he loved, that was being finally inflicted the greatest punishment.

His most loved one in this world.

Even if it meant the ruin of the world, he wanted to protect that.

But the man understands. When the time would come when the justice he believed in would demand the sacrifice of such a clean life — what kind of decision would the man called Emiya Kiritsugu make?

Kiritsugu cried, scared of that day that might come, frightened by that one in a thousand chance.


Holding his chest tighter in the warmth of his arms, Irisviel raises her upper body from the bed, and gently puts her hand on the shoulder of her husband bursting into tears.

"Never forget. Wasn't it your dream? A world where nobody would need to cry like that. Eight more years... And your battle will be over. We will carry out this ideal. I'm sure the [[Fate/Stay:Translator's_Notes#Grail|Grail]] will save you."

His wife, fully understanding his agony, caught Kiritsugu's tears as kindly as possible.

"After that day, you must hold that child — Ilyasviel once more. Stick out your chest as a normal father."

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| Forward to [[Fate/Zero:Prologue_2|Prologue: 3 years ago]]
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Fate/Zero:Act 4 Part 2

2008-03-17T08:02:21Z

66.91.59.58:

==-153:53:08==




A golden light immediately arrived following Rider's bellow.

The light was still faltering out, and there already was no surprise left in the heart of the spectators. It wasn't just a wild guess anymore that this was a fourth Servant who had made an appearance responding to Rider's provocation. The dreadful point is that the beginning of the hostilities was a gathering of four Servants already. Nobody could possibly conjecture what the turn of events would be.

As expected, the golden light came from 10 meters above, atop a street pole, where a figure standing in a shining armor could be seen. Waver held his breath at the sight of such dazzling dignity.

"This guy is..."

He had seen him for only one instant the previous time, but there was no mistaking such an intense existence. The one standing calmly atop the street light was none other than the enigmatic Servant who had sent into oblivion with an overwhelming destructive power the Assassin who was invading the Tōsaka mansion the previous night.

This couldn't be Caster, his entire body covered in armor. If he had materialized in response to Rider's call, it meant he had the sense to recognize the provocation as such, thus he couldn't be Berserker.

By elimination, the only one left was― the last of the three Knight classes, Archer.

"I didn't expect there would be two fools in one night to have the insolence of calling themselves "kings" and ignore me."

For his very first words, the golden Heroic Spirit looked very displeased, scorning from above at three Servants with a glare. His arrogance and his tone were comparable to Rider's haughtiness, but it differed from the very root. There was never cruelty and mercilessness in the voice and eyes of the King of Conquerors.

Even Rider didn't expect anyone more domineering than himself to show up, as he was stroking his chin with a bewildered look void of malice.

"You are mistaken... I, Alexander, am the one who is well known throughout the world as the King of Conquerors."

"Fool. The only hero in Heaven and Earth who is a real king is me. The rest are a collection of mongrels."

Archer threw him aside with a declaration that was more than an insult Of course, color was already drained from Saber's face, but the tolerant Rider drew an amazed sigh, ignoring it altogether.

"If you want to say that much, could you first announce yourself? If you are such a king, you couldn't be ashamed of your fame?"

At Rider's banter, Archer's crimson eyes grew even more of a proud anger as he glared at the giant under him.

"Are you questioning me? A lowly mongrel questioning a king like me?"

Frankly speaking, Rider's point was reasonable, but apparently, Archer took it as an incorrigible disrespect from his point of view. This wasn't a matter of gaining interest from concealing one's true name, but rather from a personal irritability, the golden Heroic Spirit was emitting a very clear murderous intent.

"I grant you the honor of my presence yet you can't recognize me; such ignorance isn't even worth living."

At Archer's conclusion, the space around him distorted in a haze― the next instant, the glow of beautiful blades started coming out of the empty space.

There are bare blades as well as spears. Each of them is decorated with eye-catching ornaments, and emits a fierce magical power. It is clear they are no common weapons but Noble Phantasms.


Without a doubt, this is the same thing as the previous night― the mysterious attack that unilaterally wiped out Assassin. All of those who were observing the Tōsaka mansion the previous night understands that.

"...hh"

Waver was struck with awe. The unseen Master of Lancer gulped. Kiritsugu and Maiya as well, observing at a long distance, also felt the tension.

And now, one man― just like Rider and Waver, one Master who had been following Lancer's movements through the day and was now observing hidden in the storehouses, as that man was spying on the battlefield through the vision of a familiar, stared at Archer's strange battle preparation.

Yes, it was undoubtedly the same. Archer was definitely the golden Servant who had defended the Tōsaka mansion from Assassin's invasion the previous night, in other words, this was Tōsaka Tokiomi's Servant.

"Haha, hahahaha..."

In the darkness, an old hatred burning in his one bloodshot eye, Matō Kariya let a laugh escape.

Now was the time he had anxiously waited for. He had endured a year of living hell looking forward to that instant.

Tōsaka Tokiomi...

Husband of Aoi, father of Sakura, yet the man who had trampled over the happiness of the mother and child.

The hatred, cursed sworn enemy who took everything Kariya wished for, who degraded it all.


Now, the old resentment is cleared away. This was the time to face that man, changing into a sword the hatred boiling in his heart――

"Kill him..."

There was an unimaginable pleasure in filling his voice with hate. Now, Kariya understood the meaning of the saying "revenge is a dish best served cold."

Tokiomi himself can wait. His Servant must first be demolished, to make him lose the Holy Grail War. He was in a maddening excitement just thinking of Tokiomi's face smeared in the frustrating humiliation.

"Kill him, Berserker!! Pulverize that Archer!!"

At that time, somewhere else, an unexpected torrent of prana swept in a roar.

As everyone was watching, the flowing prana gathered and solidified, materializing into the shadow of a robust man.


That shadow stood up near the four lane road that had become the battlefield of Saber and Lancer, two blocks further toward the sea. Truly, that was a fantastic apparition that could be described as nothing other than a "shadow".

From the width of the tall figure's shoulders, this was the body of a man, completely covered in a full armor without any opening. But is was different from the silver armor wrapping Saber or the luxurious golden one of Archer. This man's armor was black. Without any delicate ornament, with no polished luster. Like darkness, like Hell, it was just a bottomless black. The face was also invisible, covered with a rustic helmet. In the depth of a thinly carved slit, there was the ghastly glow of a pair of eyes with a glare burning like a flame.

A Servant. That was plain. Yet, just what Heroic Spirit was this sinister appearance?

This black knight definitely didn't have any of the "radiance" that bore the other Servants who were already there. Arturia, Diarmuid, and the King of Conquerors Alexander as well as the yet unannounced golden Archer all have that "shine". This is the expression of the pride of a Heroic Spirit. The honor of the legends everyone praises and longs for. This is an essential element of their "noble phantasm".

But the newly appeared black knight had none of it. You could say he was closer to an Assassin. The darkness around the black armor definitely held a "negative surge".

Thus, more than a Heroic Spirit, he might be labeled a vengeful spirit instead...

"... Hey, king of conquerors. Did you invite that guy too?"

Still observing the black knight carefully, yet with a light tone, Lancer railed at Rider. Taking the hit, Rider grimaced.

"Invited, eh? That one doesn't look like he'll take any negotiation, ugh."

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| Forward to [[Fate/Zero:Act_4_Part_3|Act 4, part 3]]
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