Fate/Incarnation

Emiya was old.

He was willing to admit as such, it was a fact. There was no one more experienced in death and war than him.

It didn't mean he was strong, far from it.

His greatest physical ability was still in the lowest levels of the Throne. His weapons were all borrowed forgeries that he'd practiced creating until he could make them as easily he did his married blades. Until they were strong enough to maybe not stand equal to their originals, but they weren't left behind either.

His body was made of swords. Countless interwoven microscopic blades interlaced every ounce of his body, enhancing his utterly fragile human body to its natural and unnatural limit.

A boon he'd only mastered after a few lifetimes of contending against Dead Apostles and rogue Divine Spirits as a Counter Guardian.

His blood was of fire, and his heart was of glass. His body was a forge, his blood and mana serving as fuel to the world within.

A world where he was at his peak, a world where no one could cry, a world of endless steel. The realization of his dream, after all the only way for there to be a world where no one had to cry was a world with NO ONE to cry.

His was a timeless existence, bound to be summoned to prevent the extinction of mankind until its natural end. Bound to kill the endless few to save the countless many.

All of that said, how the fuck did he end up here?!?!?!?

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"Return to my side mongrel! I will hear you beg and watch you grovel for this slight against your king!" The first king of mankind, the first demigod. Two thirds god, one third man. The greatest mongrel of them all.

He was a warrior who paved the path all other beings of legend tread. His mystery was second to none on the throne, he was even capable of being summoned as a grand servant if he unsealed his greatest noble phantasm; his perfect precognition, a blessing from a powerful goddess during the demigod's birth.

He was also one of the most egotistical heartless bastards Emiya had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Illya's broken distorted corpse flashed in his mind's eye, almost breaking his composure as the false memory surged forwards.

A golden gladius, twenty seven inches long with no guard forged as a gift during Gilgamesh's childhood and one of his first treasures, shattered the sound barrier along with a dozen other weapons as they made their way to impale Emiya.

The same weapons appeared at his back, traced and shot the instant before he could be skewered, shattering themselves and their originals.

"How about not?" Even as he said those words, Emiya knew he had to move.

This was not an opponent he could ever fight head on so he had to be creative.

A heartbeat later his most trusted blades met his palms. Kanshou and Bakuya, the married blades. Stunning works of human craftsmanship reaching into the domain of the gods. Without any true purpose, they were content to simply exist side by side. Empty, yet whole and satisfied.

How Emiya adored and envied them in equal measure.

He admired these weapons from the bottom of his heart. Their forms were simple yet beautiful, and when wielded together allowed him to deflect magic attacks from even the greatest of sorcerers.

A lunge to the side saved him from being skewered yet again. Bakuya was broken, deflecting Gungir of all spears from his heart, and Kanshou was shattered, knocking Ascalon away from his throat.

Another lunge at his infuriated enemy and another wave of swords were sent his way.

"I am the bone of my sword." His body was made of swords.

His speed doubled in an instant, reinforcement mimicking Artoria's, Saber's he had to remember that, mana burst and allowing him to dodge his way through one wave after another.

"Steel is my body and fire is my blood." His bones were of iron and his heart of glass.

The gap between the two continued to shrink, however the patience seemed to have run out.

In all of its mind shattering glory, EA appeared from a portal.

Emiya could not allow Gilgamesh's hands to touch that monstrosity. That would be the end of their battle, and while he certainly couldn't care less if he 'died', this situation was… new.

It wasn't every day his contract with the unconscious manifestation of humanity was nullified and he was granted a human body along with every other being tied to the throne.

Not just servants, Emiya knew this because he had just traced a bow belonging to Artemis herself the moment they all appeared in what he guessed was a layer of the reverse side. Alaya's influence was either too weak to be noticed or nonexistent, and the mana was too dense for the Age of Humanity.

"I have created over a thousand blades." Overcome countless battlefields, wielding endless steel.

His reality marble was already distorting the dimensions around them, allowing Emiya to trace dozens of unnamed swords around his opponent and force him away from EA. He had to stop the man from unleashing that sword, no matter what happened.

Victory could be guaranteed as long as that thing was out of the way.

"Unknown to death, Nor known to life." Not even once retreating, not even once winning, not even once being understood.

"I will erase even the memory of your existence, Faker! There won't be one piece left of your counterfeiting skull!!!" The king naturally wouldn't take being denied his most prized sword quietly. Of course the bastard wouldn't die quickly.

The Gate of Babylon opened, stretching over every inch of the clearing their battle had made, and slowly went further.

"Trace. On." His blades were remade, twisted, stretched. "Overedge."

"Countless times I have withstood enormous pain to create thousands of weapons." The wielder stands against fate once more, trying yet again to alter destiny.

The Blade Works was faster than the Gate of Babylon. Gilgamesh could not physically take EA out and release its restrictions before being skewered, just as Emiya could not trace enough weapons to truly overcome the Gate.

Even so, Hundreds of fake swords tore out of holes in reality to stand against the endless rain of precious weapons. Each was added to his arsenal, and each was inevitably broken by their counterparts. Emiya forced his burning body forward just as Gilgamesh did.

The dick measuring contest was over, it was time to get down to it.

Under an endless cacophony of steel shattering the two met, sidestepping rogue shards of steel and explosions born from his own broken noble phantasms.

Gilgamesh came at him with Merodach and Durandal, and brought the blades down with speed and strength Emiya normally had no chance of matching. The only trait that was enhanced when he was summoned was his mana storage, his body was just what he'd naturally earned before he'd been executed oh so long ago.

It's why he hated fighting servants. His luck ensured that it inevitably turned into a fucking sword fight because everyone besides him had the survivability of a goddamn cockrach.

"Utterly alone atop a hill of swords, the orphan stands alone once more, striking diamond dust." Failure after failure had made him, loss had shaped him, and hope had broken him.

Between one moment and the next, Caliburn was burning in his hands. Its golden light bathed him, and resonated with the image of the sheath he'd returned so long ago in his mind. His muscles were soothed and his body stopped steaming under the strain of creating so many weapons.

"Cleave the wicked…" This was not a blade meant for battle, but a blade of selection. To decide the next king of Britain, to judge. And it found the King of Heroes wanting.

"CALIBURN!" The world ceased to exist as Emiya brought the blade down. All he could feel was the gentle warmth of the blade invading his circuits, and all he could see was the gentle light covering his form. The blade offered one last pulse that swept through his entire frame, erasing any sign of fatigue before dissipating into lotes of golden light.

He was forced aside as the broken hilt of Merodach almost took his head off. Numerous potals appeared all around his body, each preparing to fire off a sword capable of erasing an entire city block.

"So as I pray…" This world would always be a tribute to the people who had shaped Gaia. The ones who had sacrificed everything for a dream, just as that man had done once before.

"Rho Ais!" The fiery shield that covered the heavens during the Great Trojan War rose from his outstretched palm and gently encased his form in seven layers of petals, each holding the defensive power of an entire fortress wall.

The world erupted into a pillar of fire, dust, and electricity. The ground shook and parted, the wind burst away from the scene, and the clouds parted in the sky.

Gilgamesh watched the dust begin to settle, an attack on that level would never be enough to rid himself of that pest's presence. His body froze in his attempt to reach for EA once more, instead grasping for something sturdier as a red light forced the smoke away from his enemy.

"… I pray to you." But in truth, this prayer could not be for any other than her. The one whose heart had not been saved. His greatest failure. His greatest sin.

"Caladbolg II!" His twisted arrow was launched by a midnight black bow and tore apart the space between Emiya and the golden king. A shield arose, protecting the king who was forced to brace it with both hands in order to not be blown away.

Emiya watched as the man was almost forced to a knee, only standing straight under his arrow's weight by sheer pride as the world continued to break all around them.

His shield was new to him, it was the precursor to the Ais. A single wall of defense, capable of endlessly creating that one layer through its user's mana.

A good addition to his admittedly limited arsenal of defensive Noble Phantasms.

It was time to end this.

He didn't have the luxury of choosing who would enter his reality marble once it was deployed, so he would have to finish this quickly. He didn't like the thought of hundreds of ancient Spirits existing at the foundations of his being for long.

"All I have left to give is this UNLIMITED BLADE WORKS!"

A flash of light as a ring of fire erupted from the archer in red, enveloping both the golden man and all who were watching the two battle.

The world was overwritten. His heart and soul were made manifest.

His greatest weapon. His greatest shame. All laid bare for Emiya and all of the battle's onlookers.

Normally this would be the part where blades would rain from the sky and erupt from the ground to skewer his enemy.

It would have ended in an instant, the blonde would be a pin cushion. The king had no way to defend against Emiya's armory once he was trapped inside. Not without releasing EA.

That would have happened had Emiya not frozen the moment his world came into view.

The sun stuck in a perpetual state of dusk was gone. Replaced by a gentle moon hovering in a sky bearing no stars, the endless haze and clouds all dispersed.

The colossal gears laid broken across the hills and plains, no longer spinning to mark the passage of time.

His weapons, all rusted from ages of blood and battle haphazardly thrown across the ground now stood tall and pristine, planted firmly upright.

And what almost broke Emiya and brought him to a knee lay next to the glowing forms of Caliburn and the half Image of Excalibur at the top of the hill the foundations of his ideals.

Grass.

Small sprouts just barely peeking past the inhospitable ground made from steel and iron dust.

It shouldn't be possible. Nothing could grow in his world.

Nothing.

But there was grass. And sprouts.

Blue Irises. Camellias too; red, white and yellow. Pink Cherry Blossoms and red Spider Lilies.

And at the center of his small garden was a tree sapling. Not just any tree, but a weeping willow tree sapling.

He knew in his heart that the leaves would grow to be gold, white, purple, and black once it was done maturing. Eventually, it would be as if Emiya rested under a rainbow tree every time he closed his eyes.

They were all young. Weak. Fleeting. And Emiya had no idea how to care for them.

But…

His hand reached out shakily to lightly touch a single petal of a cherry blossom. A shaky breath left him when it didn't immediately whither to dust.

This was real. It shouldn't have been possible but it was real.

…He would give anything for this world to support any kind of life.

"It's quite strange isn't it?" A soft voice whispered behind him. Emiya was too scared to look away from the miracle before him to properly defend himself, but the sky being blotted out by an entire world of weapons all poised to kill every single person he'd dragged into his reality marble should get his message across. "To look inside of yourself and realize that you too have the potential to promote life rather than only erase it."

"It shouldn't be possible." His tongue felt thick in his mouth, his words almost slurring out as the world groaned around them. More blades tearing from the earth itself in a shower of molten steel to join their brethren in the sky. "There's no rain here. No shade. No earth. Just blood and steel and dust. How is this possible?"

The voice behind him laughed softly and he felt a weight settle onto the ground beside him, joining him in his reverie.

"The soul is quite the strange thing. At times, it can be as unchanging and immovable as the world itself." Her words were gentle and soothing, something the counter guardian hadn't heard in a long time. More than likely it was meant to set him at ease, however the blades that zeroed in on every vulnerable point of her body spoke well of his rising tension. She was too close, they were all too close and he would not allow them to take this miracle from him. "And sometimes, even the oldest and most stubborn of souls change."

Strangely enough things were silent. Gilgamesh had not spoken a word since their arrival and none of the incarnated Servants were attacking.

Emiya was for the first time in what felt like millennia unsure what to do. His hands ached for the hilt of his blades and his magic thrummed above and around him, waiting to be unleashed.

He was confused and his body was out of control and he did not like this. What was he supposed to do?

"For a change like this to occur, something truly beautiful must have occured." It was a question framed as a statement. One he had no interest in answering.

His promise to Rin was no one's business but his own.

"Leave." His silver eyes turned to look at his opponent, only to find him bound by golden chains and more perplexed yet annoyed than Emiya had ever seen him across the various times they were summoned at the same timelines. Standing beside the fuming king was an androgynous being with green hair and fair features. Both the chain and person share the same name.

The only thing capable of restricting the king of heroes. The beast of the gods, and friend to humanity.

The only true equal Gilgamesh had ever known.

Enkidu.

Emiya reached out for his world, and used a skill he had cultivated when Rin managed to summon him as a Caster rather than an archer.

Territory Creation.

The world groaned and suddenly every former servant was back where they were before he'd summoned his world, looking into a fiery transparent wall spanning only the newly made clearing, the divide acting as a portal to another world.

The boundary had been set, his blades plunged deep into the ground beneath the outside world, latching directly onto the ridiculously large ley line beneath, supporting the distortions of his world and taking the upkeep from him.

If it had been any other time, Emiya would have disappeared from the world. All of the throne of heroes gathered in one place? That was a special type of hell just waiting to happen. One the wrought iron hero wanted no part of.

There was only one reason he hadn't killed the king of heroes and his only friend when they were so distracted by each other.

Emiya was scared.

Afraid of the possibility that the first and only measure of life his soul was capable of supporting would disappear if he even looked away from it, let alone allowed his reality marble to fade away.

And besides, the show Gilgamesh and him had put on should deter the weaklings from trying their luck.

"I can help."

And then there was one.

He finally got a good look at the woman who had dared to get so close.

White hair. White robes. A staff.

What the fuck?

He knew this woman, from what he'd traced from Caliburn and Excalibur.

That's not the part that confused him.

It was the part where she was supposed to be a he.

"Get out, Merlin." He didn't have time for this. "And take off that illusion, I know exactly who you are."

"Do you?" Her gentle smile had remained despite the utter lack of anything resembling civility from him, as well as the hundreds of anti mana weapons aimed directly at her heart. Warm eyes the color of blood gazed up at him, her hands slowly pointing behind him as she faded into flower petals lost in the wind. "Well, I suppose that can come later. You have some more pressing issues to take care of."

"Senpai?"

Static shot down his spine, his ears rang and a young woman with purple hair flashed in his mind's eye, every bit as broken as Emiya himself.

It passed and he was left staring at one of the newer recruits for the cohnter force.

She preferred to go by Majin Okita Souji.

He just called her kohai.

And behind her, still within the domain of his reality marble, was… a few other individuals.

One of which happened to be an alternate version of his adoptive father. As well as his 'little sister', two other children her age, one of which looked entirely too similar to himself and his father, and a woman who looked just like Illya…

Fuck…

Okay, priorities.

His magic burst to life around him. He knew exactly what he was making. He knew every inch of that place. Not just through fragmented memories of endless summonings, but through his own formative years of practicing his craft.

The mana solidified before him. Fencing to surround the hill that served as the foundation of his soul. Walls were built from the ground up, the entire process flashing in his mind.

Shogi doors. Flooring. Windows. Mats. Cabinets. Utensils. Furniture. Lights.

Everything was replicated.

Down to the last creaky step.

And the hero of wrought iron welcomed his only family home as blades and other weapons formed countless barriers over his fragile garden.