Fate/Infinity

A/N: So start the Einzbern Arc.

Two weeks, a lengthy process to become a landowner—sort of—and days of aimless wondering later, I find myself standing at the doorstep of the Emiya Residence, eager to acquire a new firearm that the Magus Killer had ordered.

This time, it's no longer handgun, but a shotgun—a weapon that, according to his words—designed to inflict greater devastation; a must-have against the golems the Einzbern has incoroperated in their defenses.

Pushing open the ever-welcoming gate, I step into the courtyard and holler, "Old man, you home?"

Emerging from the shack, the Magus Killer approaches me, a case firmly in his grasp. Curiosity piqued, I instinctively attempt to discern its contents through [Structural Grasp], only to be met with a blank. "Magic resistant box?"

I muse, well aware that such specialized containers do not come cheap. Typically crafted from precious metals and coated with exotic woods like African blackwood or bocote, they are often used to house valuable Crests.

Yet, I doubt this is the Emiya Crest, for if it were, we would not be talking; we'd not be meeting at all.

That leaves me with only one other plausible guess: The Thompson Contender and Kiritsugu's Origin Bullets—the deadliest weapons in the Magus Killer's arsenal. "Are you entrusting me with your gear?"

Kiritsugu's gaze meets mine, brimming with disdain. "Stop dreaming. You can't use this, anyway,"

Then, to further dampen my hopes, he clarifies. "The Bullets react to me only."

"Urgh…" I groan in dispassionately. "Why are you even bringing that out?"

"I'm coming with you, why else?"

"Like Hell you are." Chuckling at the absurd

"I am." He insists, his stance growing rigid, while I pinch the bridge of my nose.

"As you are? You'll be a liability." I point out bluntly, fully-aware the words will sting but unwilling to mince them.

He is no longer the same man who went toe-to-toe with the priest, blow for blow.

His body is barely capable of a single use of [Double Accel].

I can't in good conscience allow him to throw his life away, however short it is.

"I'm going, whether you like it or not," Kiritsugu reiterates. "You can't stop me."

I feel my hackles rise at his stubbornness and snap testily. "That's not happening, end of discussion!"

Features twisted by raw anger, the first true emotion I've witnessed from him since we first met, Kiritsugu grunts. "That's not up to you to decide. I'm more experienced than you; I know their layout like the back of my hands. I may be feeble, but I'm not obsolete."

I raise a hand, cutting him off to clarify. "I'm not saying you are, but I know how these things work, alright? It's the fucking classic first step of the hero's journey—the tragic death of the mentor!"

For the protagonist to truly step up and take part in their own story, the mentor or parental figure has to go.

The Act is synonymous with initiation into adulthood—the moment the hero is thrust into the shoes left behind.

It happened to Naruto and Jiraiya, Luke Skywalker and Obi-Wan; fucking Anakin and Qui-Gon Jinn which forced 'General Kenobi' to take up a role he clearly wasn't prepared for, and I'm not having it.

Unlike these characters, I'm no hero, but I don't think Fate gives much of a shit about arbitrary.

Levelling him with a pointed, scathing glare, I continue with my rant. "You're gonna get injured, and then I'm gonna have to choose between you and your daughter. It's just gonna be so fucking messy."

Running a hand through my hair angrily, I complain. "What the Hell am I supposed to tell Shiro? Or Taiga? How am I supposed to justify to your daughter that I let her father die so she could be saved?!"

Even if she were to display a modicum of understanding, the death of her father would only serve to distort her mindset, and frankly, I have no desire to invite that level of melodrama in my life. Kiritsugu's features shift, the anger dissipating from his face, replaced by a tense, empty look. "It's my daughter, Leo…"

He continues sincerely—too sincere. "It's not that I don't trust you, but it's my daughter. She is probably wondering why her dad's not there to save her yet… And I cannot disappoint her, Leo. I have to be there—she has to know not a day passes by that I don't think about her and all the horrible things she's going through; that I never thought of giving up."

Knuckles whitening as he grips the suitcase, the Magus Killer follows with a question. "I have to… You know I have to."

Dragging my palm down my face, I reluctantly concede. "I know."

Of course I fucking know.

It's not making this any easier.

"Ranged support—that's all you're going to provide," I start, hands plopped on my waist. "That's my condition. That's my bottom-line. Either you agree or I knock your ass out, put you in a cage and take the key with me. Your choice, Magus Killer."

A weary, half-hearted smile tugging at the corners of his lips, the Magus Killer gestures towards the shed. "I've got a Walther WA 2000 stashed in there. Mind grabbing it for me?"

Sighing, I reach for the box.

"So, think I could take this baby out for a test run?"

"No."

"I'm just saying," I start condescendingly. "If you die, I'm going to loot your house, alter your Will, steal every single thing of value you have and leave your daughters to dry, so buckle up and show me the real Magus Killer in action."

"You have a funny way of encouraging people."

I offer a nonchalant shrug. "Sure, it's kind of unorthodox, and yeah, it's got its flaws, but it is effective about 70% of the time,"

Then pause, casting a sidelong glance his way. "So, what's your verdict? Is it working, or should I tune that figure down a bit?"

"Tune it up."

The Magus Killer's lips curl ever so slightly as we make our way to his office, where a third suitcase awaits on the table.

"I can taste the scent of fresh steel…"

"What's distinguishes 'fresh' steel from the ordinary one?"

I pause, considering the nuance for a moment, then shrug. "Hmm, I don't know. It just has the scent of… Newness to it."

Not unlike the scent that clings to freshly printed pages or unworn fabrics.

The kind only seasoned gun-nuts would recognize—the crisp, untouched fragrance of freshly forged steel polished to a shine. "What is it?"

I've always had a soft spot for the Striker, though I'm not against trying out other models. Given Kiritsugu's penchant for the vintage, I'd wager it's an old-school gem, maybe even from the World Wars.

"Crack it open. Whatever you're expecting, I guarantee it will exceed it in spades."

Without a moment's hesitation, I practically pounce on the suitcase, my fingers practically itching to unveil its contents.

As I pop it open, I can't help but let out a gleeful hum, then the tune America by Killing Joke.

Truly, what theme song could be more befitting for unboxing a shotgun than the rallying cry of REVOLUTION?!

Why, the mere thought has me positively aching to 'spread a little democracy' to the barbaric far corners of the world, one shotgun shell at a time!

I flip open the suitcase, an involuntary exclamation escaping my lips, "Well, I'll be damned… Would you look at this beauty!" Gaze transfixed on the firearm nestled within, I lick my lips. "It's a custom job, in case you're wondering. I'll give you the Gunsmith's contact later."

'It' is a triple-barreled shotgun with a revolving cylinder mechanism, featuring an enhanced magazine capacity, coated in a metallic ebony sheen which perfectly compliments the ornate silver decorations…

A weapon to fell dragons, figuratively of course.

"All beings, great and small,

Bow equally before the gun.

Life's disparities fade to naught—

When staring down a loaded one."

Kiritsugu's brow furrows slightly as he mutters, "Are you composing a poem?"

A faint, indulgent smile playing at the corners of my lips, I gently bestow, "Equality—that shall be your name."

Caressing the smooth metal tenderly, like a father doting on his newborn. "For all is equal before the 12 gauge's call. Amitābha."

"It uses—"

"SHE!"

I correct as Kiritsugu's lips twitch.

"She fires a specialized round that's twice the length of a standard 12-gauge shell, there's triple burst-fire and single-shot to choose from, just flick the switch. The augmented magazine can hold up to 21 rounds, while the recoil will get rerouted to boost the shots… Her bullets come with [Explosive Round], [Armor-Piercing] and [Infernal Shot]."

"Have you tested her?"

"No, I haven't. The recoil would shatter my wrist if I try. She's a monster of a shotgun, but I think you've got what it takes to handle her."

"Don't call her a monster, dammit! You're gonna hurt her feelings!" I scold, dragging my fingers down her length to console her. My Automag V is beautiful, but even modified, I simply have too many more effective options to play around with.

This though… This is as effective as firearm gets. "I could not take the bullets with me, but the shipment is waiting at the dock."

That's where the gun range we frequent is located too—two birds in one stone? Perfect.

We just reach the door when we stumble on Shiro trying to sneak in unheard. "Shiro? Isn't today a school day?"

She grins… which is rare because Shiro doesn't really do grins. She smiles, sure; she laughs, yes! But even though she's more… Emotionally there than Kiritsugu, she's picked up many of his mannerisms, including the fragile gentleness of the dying man.

I'm still unsure how this affects her overall, but it's not like I can just tell her to grin more.

Spread the words, folks! Forget, 'You should smile more.'

The new mantra should be, 'You should grin more.'

Not tested, not approved, but guaranteed to get you a girlfriend in no time! And if it doesn't?

Just know army recruiters have always got your back.

"Class let out early, huh?" I shoot the clock a pointed stare, its stubborn hands stuck firmly on 10 AM. "Well, that's about as convincing as a fox guarding the henhouse."

She slumps like a deflated balloon, all the fight going out of her. "Alright, fine—I skipped, okay? Happy?"

"And what's your excuse?" I press, quirking a brow.

She steals a nervous glance at Kiritsugu, eyes pleading for him to swoop in and bail her out. But the Magus Killer is still as a statue, gaze fixed resolutely on the ceiling—all he's missing is a casual, conspicuous whistle to really drive the point home she doesn't have an ally. "You don't have to go to school either."

"If a cocaine-addict tells you it's bad

hat's an evasion, not an answer."

This whole thing probably looks grossly unfair to her, but it's not.

There's nothing that stuffy school can teach me that I can't pick up from the library tenfold. And let's be real—do I really see myself going back to trading Yu-Gi-Oh cards? Is that craze even a thing yet? "We- Well…"

"Is it Magecraft related?"

She shakes her head, 'Truth.'

"What is it then?"

"It's a secret… Are you two going somewhere?"

Distraction, typical.

I hold my stare.

School isn't that important for Magi,

Even the most cash-strapped magi can rest easy knowing they've got the basics covered with just the core three Spells. But for Shiro in particular, school's an absolute necessity.

I need her out there mixing it up with kids her own age, instead of letting her mind wander off into the ether.

Plus, let's face it—she's still young, with a whole world of possibilities ahead of her. Her path isn't locked onto the heroism track just yet.

And I'll be damned if I don't at least try to nudge her toward something a little more… Stable and achievable.

Everyone wants to be the next Spider-Man until they realize they've also gotta deal with the whole Peter Parker side of the equation.

And as much as I might joke about it, that social circle of hers has got to expand, one way or another.

She doesn't even have to go out and make a lot of friends—just a few casual acquaintances will do; enough to keep her… Grounded.

In fact, all 4 of them need this—Rin; Sakura; Illya and Shiro alike.

"W- Will you be home for dinner?"

Ah, it's another party…

Is it normal to have so many parties?

I press my fingers into my temples, letting out a weary sigh. "So, anything we need to snag on the way back?"

"Uh, a few cases of Ramune soda would be great." That seals it—it's another 'meeting.'

Not that I'm complaining; a bit of revelry is just what the doctor ordered after the long training montage I have had. "Right."

A few blocks down, Kiritsugu pipes up. "You let her off the hook a little too easy there."

I wave him off. "I'll have a chat with Rin about it later."

After all, only the resident tsundere will come up with the idea of throwing some kind of party or gathering.

Taiga's too scatterbrained to think that far ahead, and Shiro, bless her heart, is still too inexperienced and immature. No, this could only be Rin's suggestion. I'm 90% positive she has sniffed out something, since she's rarely this whimsical without reasons.

After gathering the necessary ammunition and safely stowing it away in the [Storage Ring], we make our way to the gun range.

Even Kiritsugu, the infamous Magus Killer himself, concedes that his marksmanship skills have grown a bit rusty over time, hence we decide to hunker down for a grueling 5-hour session, each of us in our own private room to avoid any potentially… Messy accidents.

Kiritsugu was right—this beauty is an absolute beast, the kickback making my teeth rattle as I let loose round after round downrange.

The targets never stand a chance, disintegrating under the onslaught.

By the time we call it a day, my ears are ringing from the noises and my arms weak like jelly, but the satisfaction is one I will not forget any time soon.

"Right, we just gotta get Ramune sodas, and that should be it for the day."

The drinks are a curious mix—grape for Taiga, strawberry for Rin (strange choice, I know), and the more conventional orange for Shiro.

Grabbing the beverages off the shelves, I suddenly find myself face-to-face with the last person I'd want to run into.

"Oh, fuck." I mutter under my breath, whirling around in a futile attempt to beat a hasty retreat and drag the Magus Killer with me, but I'm too late.

Kiritsugu pokes his head out, a questioning look on his face and a bottle in his hand… Just as Kirei turns around.

Covering my face, I let loose a deep sigh and brace myself for troubles. "Small world, ain't it?"

There's no drawn-out stare-downs—the two of them take one look at each other and immediately start squaring up.

'Yeah, no way I'm getting in the middle of this.' I tell myself, all while knowing damn well I'll end up doing just that.

The moment their little tussle kicks off, it's painfully clear who has the upper hand. Kiritsugu's got no weapons to fall back on, Angra Mainyu's Curse laying waste to his body, while Kirei's in the prime of his life and specializes in up-close brawling.

This isn't a fight the Magus Killer's going to walk away from victorious normally, let alone under these conditions.

With a kick, the priest obliterates the counter just as I catch his foot, saving Kiritsugu's head from the 'dropped watermelon' treatment Glenn got. Yes, fuck you I'm going there. "Guys, now I understand there is some bad blood here, but behave yourselves!"

I hiss, before sending a wry smile at the shocked cashier, gesturing for her to stay silent. Luckily, it's almost dinner, and we are in a pretty remote part of town, else I would have a whole lot more witnesses to hypnotize. "We are in public!"

Snapping to attention, the two exchange a pair of withering glares which Kirei's the first to break.

"Oh, well, you're boring anyway… There's nothing left to break."

Kiritsugu's hands clench, tension coiling through him like a spring ready to snap at any second. "I thought you were dead."

"I was." The priest shrugs. "I got better."

"Should have stayed dead."

"How's that dream of yours going?"

Seeing them both gearing up for another skirmish, I hurry to put a stop to it. "Kirei… Settle down. Kiritsugu, let's get our stuff paid for and leave, it's not worth it."

"Walk away… You know how things ended last time we fought."

"Kirei!" I glare at him, hands just itching to summon Senza Esitazione. "Learn when to quit!"

But the priest just grins, his twisted smile stretching from ear to ear. "It was me, Magus Killer… I throttled your little sex doll to death while you were away."

Puckering his lips, the bastard kisses the air, as if savoring the memory. "She wasn't exactly responsive at first, but let me tell you—what a sight it was to behold, watching her futile little struggles… Chef's kiss."

That's the final straw.

The Magus Killer lunges at the priest, his eyes ablaze with unbridled rage as he unleashes a flurry of swings.

Kirei is a natural fighter, his muscles carved by martial arts and conditioning.

In contrast, Kiritsugu relies on tricks and mind games to lull foes into a false sense of security.

With only is fists to rely on, he's no match for anyone.

The cashier's bloodcurdling shrieks pierce the air, leaving me no choice but to intervene before Kirei can beat the Magus Killer to a pulp.

With the priest distracted, I forgo any notion of defense and pounce, locking my forearm in a vice-grip around his throat.

Kirei flails helplessly in my stranglehold as the Magus Killer proceeds to rain down blow after blow on his defenseless form.

I knew something big was coming—a decision I'd have to make, whether I like it or not. But this is a whole other level of messy.

Always a pain when your buddies become mortal enemies.

Then again, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see Kirei's the one clearly in the wrong here.

Gotta draw a line somewhere, even amongst friends, and the priest just pissed on said line.

Pinning Kirei to the ground, my arm squeezes the life out of him until his oxygen-starved brain begins to give.

Kirei coughs and sputters, futilely making a few last-ditch efforts to pry me off, but with Kiritsugu raining down blows in a wild rage and me choking, the priest quickly throws in the towel, wheezing out a resentful, "Th- This is why you're not invited!"

Can't say I feel too broken up about the bitterness in his tone—this is on him.

I already diffused the situation, and he just had to egg the Magus Killer on.

As the saying goes, 'Fuck around and find out.'

I yank the Magus Killer back, heedless of his guttural battle cries while he wails on the unconscious priest. "Alright, he has had enough!"

"What?! You're defending him now?" Kiritsugu snarls, eyes blazing.

"Hey, hey, I'm on your side here, pal."

I insist, dropping the priest to the ground and raising my hands in a placating gesture.

"You're protecting him!? Do you know what he is? Do you know the things he has done?!"

He hisses again to hammer home his point. Meanwhile, my mind races, scrambling to come up with some kind of reasonable excuse. 'Goddamnit, Kirei!'

"Look, you'll get your chance later! But not now—not here! Think of Shiro and Taiga! What'd they say if it's discovered you killed someone in broad daylight? What'd people say?"

Because whether one likes it or not, the actions of their friends and family always reflect socially on them as well. "There are only you, me and the cashier. Nobody will know if you and I keep it to ourselves."

"I- I swear I won't tell anyone. Please, don't kill me! You guys need me to delete the camera footage!"

Listening to our conversation, the cashier pleads for her life.

"Buddy, I know what he is, but I owe him."

He's getting married—that has to be a personal milestone of some sort, right?

"As long as he lives, Shiro; Taiga; even the Tohsaka girl will be in danger… You are willing to risk that?"

"You saw how easily I took him apart—"

"Are you willing to risk that?!" Kiritsugu reiterates.

He spits through gritted teeth.

"I can—"

"It's a simple 'yes or no' question, Leo!"

"I- I don't know! I don't fucking know, okay?!" I admit, perhaps a touch defensively. Label it selfishness or whatever, but I don't want the people close to me to die.

Who the hell would? I could barely function when my first cat passed—how the fuck am I supposed to process something like this?

"But I'll find a way!" Maybe I could sick Gilgamesh on Kirei, or force him in a Geas. "If you'd just—"

"Get out of my way, Leo."

"Or what?"

Carefully, I position myself between the two.

"You're ready to make an enemy out of me, for him?"

"I have to." Throwing Kiritsugu's earlier words in his face, I shrug. "For what it's worth, I would do the same for you…"

After calling a cab to drive the priest back to the Church and paying the cashier 50% more than the cost of the destroyed goods, I subtly implanted suggestions to delete the security footage and come up with a plausible cover for the mess.

The ride back to Kiritsugu's estate is blanketed by a silence so thick, I can cut it with a knife.

'Feels just like home.'

Even the others in the party, Shirou and Rin and Taiga, pick up on the oppressive atmosphere, surprisingly mature enough to keep their mouths shut. But the tension's got my skin crawling, so I seize the chance to make a hasty exit, a hidden bottle of Shochu tucked under my coat. Might as well take the edge off—it's February, and the cold is biting. "You doing well?"

I choke down another mouthful of the burning liquor, grimacing as the alcohol sears my throat. "About as well as can be expected."

The tsundere figure perches on the railing next to me, silhouetted by the moonlight.

"What happened? Shiro said you two were fine earlier."

I heave a weary sigh. "Well, we were fine, and now we're not. Hate to say it, but that's just how life goes sometimes."

I'm fairly certain Kiritsugu's only tolerating my presence out of fear I won't put my all into saving his daughter. "Not much we can do about it."

She fixes me with a probing stare. "Is this… Related to the job you two were preparing for?"

I nod ruefully. "Perceptive, aren't you."

"I'm young, not blind." She shrugs.

"Don't put words in my mouth, Rin." We sit side-by-side, taking in the scenery.

"Is it going to be dangerous?"

"It's the Supernatural, Rin. It's always dangerous."

"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it." She snorts, reaching for the drink in my hands, but I give her a light slap on the wrist. "I'm not cleaning up your vomit again, Rin."

Blowing at her wrist and glaring at me, the tsundere mumbles, "You were cautious before, but you have never spent so long locked up in your Workshop… Be honest with me, Leo, do you think you'll come back from this?"

My lips twitch as I ponder my response. "I'm… Optimistically cautious of my chances."

"You will return," She says, poking at my ribs. "I trust you will."

"Thanks, I know it doesn't seem that way, but it means a lot." I offer a small, insincere smile.

Silence settles between us again before she finally pipes up. "So, can I have a taste of that Shochu?"

I level her with a stern glare. "Answer's still no."

Before we know it, time has slipped away, the days blurring together until I find myself on a plane with Kiritsugu.

To properly drive home his disapproval, the Magus Killer's parks himself up in first-class while relegating me to economy.

Oh well, as long as it's not my wallet taking the hit, I'm not complaining.

Easing myself into the seat, I exhales in relaxation, when a child's sharp cry pierces the cabin.

"Oh, my fucking God!"

Good mood ruined, I turn to see a familiar woman—the same one whose spawn made my first flight a living Hell, and curse. "Ah, crap…"

They better not be a recurring troupe or I'm gonna lose my mind.

— — —

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