Extra's Stories

As the evening settled into a comfortable quiet, Kay and Lancelot busied themselves with washing the dishes, the faint clatter of porcelain filling the air. Meanwhile, Gawain and Bedivere took their chance to learn more about the man who had stolen the heart of their sister.

Gawain, his tone far softer than during their first meeting, leaned forward slightly.

"So... how did you and my daughter meet?"

Fate paused recalling the moment he and Morgan met before speaking.

"Behind a tree where fire burned." 

Bedivere's eyes lit up, already painting a dramatic image in his mind. "Ohh, that sounds interesting." He pictured them standing beneath a grand tree, its leaves alight, casting a mesmerizing glow over their fated meeting.

Gawain nodded, a knowing smile playing at his lips. "Indeed. Very interesting... and romantic." In his imagination, the scene unfolded like a tale of old—Fate standing over Morgan, his hand braced against the tree, the golden blaze behind them illuminating the moment like a scene from a love story.

Fate, however, only blinked, staring at them blankly. "Yeah..." he muttered, completely unaware of the grandiose vision they had conjured.

After all, the flames they spoke of so fondly were the very ones that had consumed his companions.

Artoria kept her gaze fixed on the white-haired man, confusion evident in her emerald eyes. There was something uncanny about him—his face, his presence—it all felt too familiar, yet just out of reach.

Her servant had disappeared without a trace, but before leaving, he had spoken only one thing:

"I will make sure you and your family are safe."

And now, here stood Fate Redgrave, seamlessly slipping into their lives as if he belonged.

Yet, Morgan knew better.

While her sister wrestled with recognition, she was grappling with something far deeper.

A feeling—a quiet, gnawing dissonance that made her uneasy.

She had never known what it meant to have a family. To be loved.

Yet here, in this strange new world, she had it all.

A father who cared. Siblings who laughed and bickered with her. A home where she was wanted.

Her fingers trembled as she turned the pages of the photo album resting in her lap.

The first picture was of a woman lying in a white hospital bed, exhaustion evident on her face, yet her smile was soft and full of warmth.

She was holding an infant in her arms.

Beside the image, scribbled in messy blue marker, were the words:

"Morgan Pendragon."

Morgan's breath hitched.

She turned the page.

More photographs followed.

Her first day of kindergarten—a small, chubby-cheeked version of herself, holding onto her father's hand.

A picture of a child Morgan cradling a baby Artoria, her tiny hands supporting her sister with careful reverence.

Family vacations.Birthdays.Her growth from elementary to high school.

The day she was accepted into university in London—a moment of triumph, with her entire family celebrating around her, arms draped over each other, faces alight with pride.

These were moments of love. Of joy.

But not hers.

Not really.

A sharp, painful pressure built in her chest as she stared at the pictures—at the life she had never lived.

These were memories of Morgan Pendragon.

But not her.

She was not this world's Morgan.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the album. Her nails dug into the pages.

'All these memories… they aren't mine. The emotions they give me… they weren't meant for me.'

Her lips trembled as she bit down on them, trying to contain the overwhelming storm rising inside her.

Why?

Why couldn't she have a family like this in her world?

Why wasn't she loved the way this Morgan was?

Why?!

Morgan clenched her fists, her entire body stiffening.

Then, her gaze hardened as it shifted toward Fate.

He sat there, effortlessly engaging with her family, his voice smooth, his words crafted perfectly to fit the moment. He lied with such ease, weaving himself into their world as if it was second nature.

But she knew better.

He didn't belong here.

Neither of them did.

No matter how well they played along, no matter how much they tried to blend in, the truth would never change.

They weren't a part of this world's story.

For the first time, Morgan understood the isolation that Fate always carried.

He didn't want to be alone.

But he knew—even if he tried to integrate himself into the world, he would always be an anomaly.

His very existence warped the timeline, altered fates that were never meant to change.

He is the one who set the Butterfly Effect into motion.

'We need to get out of this place and finish this Grail War fast.'

Morgan turned on her heel, walking toward another room of the house, her footsteps quiet but firm.

'This cursed reality is getting on my nerves.'

She entered what was supposed to be her room.

A simple, traditional Japanese-style bedroom. Minimalistic. Clean. Almost too clean, as if someone made sure to tidy it every day.

Yet, despite its warmth, despite how inviting it was—

Morgan felt nothing.

The air was stifling, pressing against her chest like an invisible weight.

She clenched her fists and exhaled slowly, pushing down the emotions threatening to rise.

She didn't want to stay here.

This place welcomed her with open arms, yet deep inside, she knew—She didn't belong.

And the realization of that burned.

A few hours later…

Artoria had just finished her kendo training in the small dojo behind the house. Sweat glistened on her forehead as she stepped inside her room, reaching for a towel—

Then suddenly—

SLAM.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Her instincts flared.

Spinning around, she raised her hands, shifting into a battle stance—

Only to freeze.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes closed, was Morgan.

A deep frown on her face.

"Sis? What are you doing here?" Artoria asked, her tone edged with confusion… and irritation.

Confused because—why was Morgan in her room?

Irritated because—why was Morgan in her room?

Her older sister had never been the type to visit just for a chat.

Morgan barely acknowledged her tone. Instead, her gaze trailed over Artoria's figure before landing on something specific.

"Nice tattoo you have there."

Artoria's blood ran cold.

Her breath hitched as she snapped her hand behind her back, covering the mark instinctively.

"U-Ugh, yeah, Sis. It's a… tattoo sticker."

She forced a nervous chuckle, avoiding her sister's piercing gaze.

Morgan scoffed.

A terrible lie.

After spending so much time with Fate—someone who could lie through his teeth without a second thought—Morgan had developed an almost flawless ability to detect deception.

And Artoria?

Artoria was an amateur.

Morgan sighed. "If you're going to lie to me, at least look me in the eyes and say it with a straight face."

With one swift motion, she grabbed her sister's wrist and yanked her hand forward, revealing the Command Seals etched onto the back.

A red, intricate mark.

A binding contract.

Morgan's gaze darkened.

"Give me the Command Seals."

Artoria froze.

Her body stiffened. Her mouth opened, but under her sister's cold, unyielding stare, she couldn't force out a response.

"I-I don't know what you mean, Sis." she stammered.

Morgan's patience snapped.

"Don't play dumb with me."

Her grip tightened.

Artoria hissed in pain.

Then—another hand grasped Morgan's wrist, halting her.

She turned her head—only to meet icy blue eyes.

Fate.

"You're hurting her." he said, his voice calm but firm.

Morgan's gaze flickered back to Artoria, seeing the slight grimace on her younger sister's face.

A hand reached out and grabbed her own wrist.

Morgan simply looked up to see the person who grabbed her wrist.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips.

Then—she let go.

"Fine."

Artoria instinctively cradled her wrist, but her eyes widened at Fate.

"Changer? W-Wait… if you're Changer, then—" she swallowed. "Sis, y-you two know each other?"

Her gaze bounced between the two, shock and confusion clear on her face.

"Yes," Morgan answered bluntly. "But that isn't important right now."

She stepped forward, crossing her arms.

"Do you even understand what you've gotten yourself into?"

Artoria looked away.

She couldn't meet her sister's eyes.

She knew she messed up.

She knew Morgan was right.

And yet—

"I-I just… I'm…"

Words failed her.

Her mind raced, trying to form any excuse that wouldn't make Morgan angrier.

She had spent years growing up with her siblings—Morgan, Kay, Lancelot, and Bedivere.

And among them all, Morgan had always been the strictest.

If they broke a rule, Morgan was the first to scold them.

If they got into trouble, Morgan was the first to drag them back home.

If they fought, Morgan was the one to shut them up with a cold glare alone.

Kay always had to play the nice older sibling just to soften the damage.

Now?

Now Artoria was trapped.

'Calm down, Artoria! You've trained for this! You took down a gang of delinquents, for crying out loud! What's the worst Morgan can do to you?'

She forced herself to meet her sister's gaze—

Then immediately regretted it.

Morgan's eyes were cold.

Unforgiving.

'Nope. I can't. She'd kill me. No—scratch that—she WILL kill me.'

"Well?" Morgan pressed.

Artoria shivered.

"Um… I-I…"

Nothing.

She couldn't come up with anything.

Morgan sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"Forget it. I already know what you've gotten yourself into."

Her voice carried an undercurrent of disappointment that made Artoria flinch.

"Give me the Command Seals."

Artoria's head snapped up.

"W-What?"

Her voice barely came out.

"Aren't you going to say something about this, Fate?"

Morgan turned toward her soulmate, arms crossed, her piercing gaze demanding an answer.

Fate remained silent at first, his expression unreadable.

He didn't want Artoria to suffer because of this war.It would be better for her to leave it altogether.

"I don't mind," he finally said, exhaling through his nose. His arms remained folded across his chest, his posture relaxed—but his tone was firm. "As long as she's safe, then everything is fine."

Then, he glanced at Morgan.

"But I'd like to hear your opinion first."

Morgan's eye twitched.

A spark of annoyance flashed across her face as she leveled Fate with a sharp glare.

"So what is your opinion, huh? Dear sister?"

Her voice carried an unmistakable edge, cold and cutting.

Artoria, who had been inching toward the window, froze.

She had been hoping—no, praying—that the argument would distract Morgan long enough for her to escape.

But now?

Now she felt like a mouse caught under a lion's paw.

Her throat dried up as she turned her head ever so slightly—only to find that Morgan hadn't even looked at her.

That made it worse.

Morgan hadn't needed to.

Her words alone had paralyzed Artoria in place.

Feeling a sudden wave of dread, Artoria quickly climbed back into the room, abandoning her plan to escape.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

Her younger sister had always been stubborn, always argumentative—always fought back.

But this Artoria?

This Artoria listened.

This Artoria obeyed.

Morgan's lips curled into a half-smirk, something dark and unreadable flickering in her expression.

"Ugh… I-I don't mind it…" Artoria finally spoke, though her voice lacked conviction.

Then, she swallowed, steeling herself.

"But… he saved me."

Her hands balled into tight fists.

"And I want to repay him, so… I'm sorry. I want to help him."

The room fell into silence.

Fate's expression remained neutral.

Morgan's, however—

Her scowl deepened, her brows furrowing as irritation swelled in her chest.

Her soulmate was being reckless. Her sister was being stupid.

And both of them were giving her a damn headache.

The moon hung high, casting its pale glow over the sleeping city. The only sound breaking the silence was the whispering wind and the rhythmic thud of boots against rooftops.

Fate's magenta cloak billowed behind him as he moved like a shadow, leaping effortlessly from building to building. His icy blue gaze locked onto his target—the last Servantless Master.

His destination? The church.

Like a ghost, he slipped inside, his presence unnoticed. From above, he peered down at his prey—an unsuspecting magus seeking refuge after losing their Servant.

No hesitation. No wasted motion.

With the grace of a reaper, he dropped down, Scarlet and Redgrave gleaming in his grip. The twin blades cut through the air, descending toward the magus's exposed neck.

Clang!

The sharp ring of metal meeting metal echoed through the church.

Sparks flared as Fate's blades were stopped mid-swing—blocked by a crimson spear.

A smirking warrior in blue tights stood before him, his stance firm, his weapon steady.

"My, my. Didn't think an Extra Servant like you would bother with a human Master," the Lancer remarked, his tone casual, yet edged with amusement.

Fate's gaze sharpened. "Cu Chulainn."

Lancer clicked his tongue. "Tch! So you figured out my name—big deal!"

With no more words wasted, Lancer lunged.

Fate met him head-on, their weapons clashing with a force that sent shattered wooden chairs flying in all directions. Their duel burst through the wall, stone and dust crumbling as both fighters tumbled outside—only to immediately flip back onto their feet.

Lancer smirked, twirling his crimson spear with ease before dashing forward.

Fate responded by tossing his married blades, letting them spin through the air toward his opponent.

"Missed me!" Lancer laughed, sidestepping the attack with a cocky grin.

But Fate smirked as well.

Lancer's instincts screamed—he turned, eyes widening as the blades curved mid-air, redirecting toward the helpless Master.

"Tch! Bastard!"

Lancer spun, his spear a blur as he knocked the blades away. The moment he did—

Swish!

A single arrow whistled through the air.

It found its mark before Lancer could react—piercing the Master's skull.

A lifeless body slumped to the ground.

Silence.

Then, Lancer slowly turned, his crimson gaze locking onto the white-haired archer standing on the same spot, bow still raised.

They held each other's stare, unspoken words exchanged between warriors.

The tension was suffocating.

Then they began to move—circling each other like predators.

Lancer twirled his spear, muscles tensed and ready. Fate dismissed his bow, reaching for the hilt of a simple black katana at his waist.

"First, you strike like an Assassin. Then, you fight like that annoying Red Archer. And now you're even mimicking a Saber?" Lancer scoffed before grinning. "Just who the hell are you, Changer?"

Fate remained unfazed.

"A passing-by magus," he replied coolly.

Lancer's patience snapped. With a burst of speed, he lunged, Gae Bolg thrusting forward like a crimson comet.

But Fate was faster.

In a blur, he unsheathed his blade, intercepting the attack. Sparks exploded as his scabbard clashed against the crimson spear.

"Remember that!"

The force of the clash sent Lancer skidding back, but he recovered quickly.

Fate's eyes gleamed as he vanished.

A second later—

Dimensional slashes tore through the air.

Lancer barely saw them coming. Jagged void-like cuts materialized around him, slashing from all directions in a devastating Judgment Cut.

"Ughh!" Cu grunted, blood spraying from several gashes as he stumbled back. His body tensed, muscles burning from the unnatural slashes.

"What the hell is that blade!?" Lancer spat, gripping his wound.

Fate twirled Yamato once before settling into a stance.

"Yamato," he answered simply.

Then, in a blink—he charged forward.

During his time hunting devil in Fairy Tail, this was one of the weapons he picked up when closing a Hell Gate, his reason for never using this blade was that part of him still refused his demonic side, and this blade is a direct reminder of a man who abandons his humanity and embraces his demonic heritage.

Fate dashed back, his black coat billowing, shifting his grip on Yamato as his icy blue gaze locked onto Lancer.

With a quick spin, he sliced into Cu's thigh—the cursed blade cutting clean through flesh.

"Tch—!" Cu gritted his teeth as his leg gave out, dropping him to one knee.

Fate wasted no time.

In one smooth motion, he mimicked a move he had seen before—one used by a certain purple-haired woman wielding two Gae Bolgs.

His leg snapped forward, the brutal kick smashing into Cu's chin, knocking his head back with a sharp crack!

But Fate wasn't finished.

Planting the tip of Yamato's scabbard into the ground for balance, he twisted his body mid-air.

With his other leg, he slammed a devastating kick into Cu's chest.

"Gah—!"

The sheer force sent Cu flying, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs.

Before he could even land, Fate struck again—swinging the sheathed Yamato directly into Cu's face.

The Lancer was launched backward, rolling across the ruined church steps.

Yet despite the overwhelming punishment, Cu pushed himself back up, wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his remaining hand.

His crimson eyes burned with rage.

"Why you…!" Cu spat, his glare like daggers aimed at Fate's skull.

But Fate's expression remained unreadable.

Compared to Scathach, Cu Chulainn's movements were slower—his strikes lacked her fluidity, her deadly grace.

His mother was far more powerful than her student.

Fate could tell after all, Scathach kicked his butt almost daily until that day.

Install!

Dismissing Yamato, Fate activated Install.

Golden light flickered over his body as his very essence shifted.

Now, he wielded the power of Lancer Enkidu.

His body itself became a weapon.

Fate surged forward—his movements now even sharper, deadlier.

Cu Chulainn was struggling to fight back against the Enkidu-infused Fate, although both being Lancer, both being trained under Scathach.

Cu Chulainn only learns spearman ship and Primordial Rune from her.

Fate Redgrave, however, has more skills than the both of them combined, plus he can directly mimic her style just by Tracing her weapon, and installing her card, not to mention he has a cheat while Cu doesn't.

With a single swift motion, his hand became a blade, slashing through the air—

—and severing Cu Chulainn's right arm.

Blood sprayed across the church's ruined floor.

"Tch—!" Cu growled in pain, leaping back, clutching the empty space where his right arm had been.

His glare never wavered, but the sharpness in his stance dulled. He was wounded—disadvantaged.

Before either could make another move—

A golden portal shimmered into existence.

As a storm of swords, spears, and axes rained down on them, using his free arm, Cu spun his spear activating [Protection From Arrow] while Fate just simply created weapons made from clay and launched them back toward the golden weapons.

"Tch! A damn hound dare to resist!" A sharp feminine voice rang out, filled with disdain.

The Lancer both turn toward the voice.

A beautiful woman with long golden hair, dressed in a stylish black short jacket and matching pants. Black boots clicked against the ground as she stepped forward, her white shirt slightly unbuttoned, exuding confidence and authority.

A cocky, excited grin stretched across her lips as her golden-red eyes gleamed with amusement.

"To think you'd show up here!" she said, voice rich with amusement.

Fate's body tensed the moment he saw her.

Even though her face and gender were different, the spirit within him recognized the presence immediately.

And before he could stop himself, the name slipped from his lips.

"Gil."