What could be achieved?
When Jeanne d'Arc sacrificed herself to protect humanity's future, she unleashed 'La Pucelle.' Artoria remained by that young man's side even after becoming an Alter, even taking a fatal blow for him.
So why couldn't Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, this Far Eastern saint, allow himself one final act of willfulness at life's end? Just as he once rose for the masses, why shouldn't he protect his own Servant?
And fortunately, he succeeded—though this time too, it cost him his life.
Perhaps this is the destined end for all saints: to fall before cold fate while protecting someone, something, some ideal.
Saints cannot save the world with their own hands, but their great deeds endure eternally—those beacons of humanity shining through history's long river, for all to admire and recount.
Even an empress who spent her life drowning in power and poison couldn't help being warmed by that light. As the reversed river's waters flowed over the pavilion, the red Assassin seated on its bench gently stroked Amakusa's cheek.
"Is that so? Since this rare opportunity has come... shall I give you a reward?"
"...Reward?" Amakusa tilted his head as if hearing the word for the first time. Acting for personal compensation was likely foreign to him.
That noble purity of devoting everything to strangers.
That dullness born from ignoring all corruption.
But there was no need for that anymore. Only I, Semiramis, know the thorny path this man walked. If I don't act, who else would reward him?
Without waiting for his response, the empress pressed her lips to his. Though brief, the contact made Amakusa's eyes widen. After a moment's surprise, softness surfaced in his gaze:
"Thank you... Semiramis."
This was the first time he addressed his Servant by her true name rather than class.
"Only you would thank someone for a poisoner's kiss," Semiramis smiled wryly. Amakusa raised his hand again—though his vision had faded, he stubbornly reached toward the hazy illusion.
Meeting you was truly wonderful—this was the feeling Amakusa wished to convey.
His hand began falling midair, but this time, the empress caught it, pressing it against her cheek.
Seeing the white-haired youth close his eyes, she instantly realized he had died.
...The man she'd loved before was a withered old man who never forced anything on her, simply asking that she see him off. He'd laughed, saying the dances and songs she'd learned to please men could be performed whenever she wished.
That had been a quiet love.
...Then came the man who took her because he loved her, laughing about how amusing it would be to break her and watch her face twist with regret.
That had likely been passionate love.
Though she felt no regret for killing him, the fact that he had loved her remained unchanged.
This time, the one who obtained her made no demands. He simply said he needed power—to save humanity—and wished for her strength.
It was then that she realized—
What the Empress hated most was herself. That was why she loathed men who desired her and those who worshipped her. Conversely, she found joy in the boy's pure pursuit of power alone.
"My emotions, my body, my love... Others sought these things from me. But you, Shirou, were the only one who sought only my strength and fought alongside me. The only one who wouldn't turn back even if I called..."
Playing with her lover's hair like a mischievous child, the Empress let out a soft sigh.
"But why is it always me who ends up watching others die?"
The old man who begged not to lose her chose death willingly.
The king who sought to take her still yearned for her even as he lay poisoned in his final moments.
And in the end, the man she desired merely glanced back once before continuing his journey.
"How... unfortunate..."
Until the very end, she never understood the value of what Amakusa pursued. Yet even so, she believed following him was enough.
But now that he was gone, what was left for her to do in this fading world?
Gazing blankly at the pale violet sky, within the crumbling garden, two beasts bathed in blood, locked in a frenzied battle amidst roars.
————
"According to historical records, that should be Bashmu—one of the eleven monsters created by Tiamat, the mother goddess of Babylonian mythology. It is undoubtedly a divine beast, the pinnacle of Phantasmal Species. No wonder the Red Assassin took so long and even sacrificed the Hanging Gardens to summon it."
The Hanging Gardens had merged with the Fortress of Millennia before the decisive battle. Now, having collapsed during the conflict, the fortress beneath became the primary target. To avoid danger, the Masters stationed there fled outside.
They could have left then and there—after all, their weapons (Servants) had been destroyed one after another by that young man. With their qualifications for battle lost, no one would blame them for slinking away in defeat.
Yet, for some reason, they all felt compelled to witness the end.
To witness the lives of heroes, their deaths, and the future of humanity.
Even magi were living beings in this world.
And so, after ordering their homunculi and relatives to evacuate, Fiore, Caules, Gordes, Sieg, Reika Rikudou, and Kairi Sisigou began to run. Above them, a serpentine beast hundreds of feet long blotted out the sky, its shrieks echoing as it slithered like an ink-green storm cloud. Thick liquid dripped from its fangs, sizzling ominously the moment it touched the ground.
Before its gaunt appearance and towering form, the demonic being Sakatsuki had transformed into seemed as insignificant as an ant. With merely a flick of its tail, the young man's waist was torn apart as if cleaved by a greatsword. Poisonous mist spewed forth, and Sakatsuki's body melted like ice. Even with his hyper-accelerated regeneration, he could only barely keep pace with Bahamut's toxicity, trapped in a grotesque cycle of decay and healing—a sight both horrifying and mesmerizing.
This was Bahamut, the offspring of Tiamat, created to oppose the gods. Even the mightiest Servants would struggle to defeat such a foe when united.
Yet—no magi would ever consider Sakatsuki's defeat inevitable. Countless battles had proven this young man's strength. Even if Bahamut surpassed him in raw power, it could never outmatch his cunning.
"To think a divine beast of this caliber would fight for us... What do we do if even Bahamut loses?" Caules muttered to himself, met only with silence. The war had escalated into a battlefield of myths, far beyond the reach of magi of the post-Age of Gods. All they could do now was pray—pray that the Empress's summoned Bahamut would triumph over Sakatsuki.
"Hmm? Lord El-Melloi?" At that moment, Sieg's gaze shifted, noticing the necromancer hastily departing. "Where is he going?"
A thunderous roar from the heavens interrupted the homunculus girl's thoughts. Lifting her eyes, bathed in the pale violet light of dawn, Sieg saw a pair of black draconic wings unfurl. As the demonic serpent Bahamut writhed in agony, massive claws wreathed in black miasma seized its vital point. Sakatsuki's breaths grew heavier, his pupils now fully slit like a dragon's.
"Hey, mongrel. You were having fun earlier, weren't you?"
Just as Sieg in the original tale had abandoned his humanity at the last moment to become a dragon of fantasy, so too did Sakatsuki—spurred by the 'Boar Hide of Divine Punishment'—cast aside his 'Dragonkind Modification' ability. Instead, he actively unearthed the forbidden power slumbering deep within his draconic heart, inching closer to the calamitous form of an evil dragon.
The dragon-slaying hero had at last become the dragon himself.
Though the humanoid figure before Bahamut remained as insignificant as dust, the demonic serpent whimpered in terror, sensing a pressure far surpassing its own—a presence of higher authority!
The slender draconic tail lashed through the void, generating successive sonic booms. Ebony scales armored the young man's entire body as miasma coiled around him. His head gradually became encased in a fearsome yet majestic draconic visage. Watching the struggling serpent, a cruel smirk curled his lips. With a mere flex of his fingers, the massive magical claws plunged into Bahamut's flesh.
"Hssss—!"
Flesh rained down like a storm, the stench of decay thick in the air. Yet this spectacle of violent beauty only further excited the dragon heart and boar hide—both incarnations of phantasmal beasts. Bestial instincts roared within, Sakatsuki's rationality dimming as primal savagery rose to dominate his increasingly monstrous form.
"Pray for your death, Bahamut." The towering, majestic draconic head fully manifested. Sakatsuki gazed greedily at the serpent's body as the phantom evil dragon opened its maw and sank its fangs deep into Bahamut's flesh.
"The Dragon's Feast begins!"
The dying wails pierced the heavens as the Masters on the ground halted in terror, their gazes collectively turning skyward. They stared dumbfounded as the evil dragon spread its massive jaws, savagely tearing into the flesh of the mythical serpent Basmu like a carnivorous beast, devouring this supreme phantasmal species bite by gluttonous bite!
Pain triggered Basmu's survival instincts. It struggled violently, its razor-sharp serpentine body coiling around the demonic figure with crushing force in an attempt to strangle it. But black light flashed as enormous dragon claws expanded and sliced the serpent into segments. Sakatsuki chuckled darkly, spewing forth a breath laced with curses that incinerated Basmu's venom and spread to its head, using its flesh as fuel for the raging flames!
The god-slaying serpent unleashed its final scream before its body convulsed several times like electrocution and fell completely still. After confirming its death, Sakatsuki didn't discard the corpse carelessly. Maintaining his magically formed dragon head, he bent down to feast.
Crunch, crunch.
Flesh, hide, and bones alike were ground between teeth as the beast fed—no table manners here, especially when the sky served as his dining surface. Basmu's bloody remnants rained down upon the Fortress of Millennia, corroding countless magic circuits in moments. The fortress that once stood atop the mountain peak was visibly melting away.
"It's over..." Gordes muttered numbly, his legs trembling as unprecedented terror gripped him. "An enemy like this... we can't win against such an enemy. There's absolutely no way!"
"Uncle Gordes?"
"Don't you see, Fiore? That's a dragon—the evil dragon Fafnir has appeared!" As the Master who summoned Siegfried, Gordes understood better than anyone what Sakatsuki had transformed into, which made his terror all the greater. "Run... yes, we must run, Fiore! That's Fafnir—the legendary evil dragon! That's no longer human! It'll kill us all!"
"But—"
A draconic roar interrupted the Masters' conversation. With his prey fully consumed, the satiated demon turned his gaze, cold reptilian pupils locking onto the Masters below. In the next instant, nightmare-like wings spread wide as Sakatsuki extended his claws toward Sieg who stood frozen in place—aiming straight for her heart!
Ah, is this death?
Only after Sakatsuki vanished did Sieg belatedly realize her peril. As she closed her eyes awaiting the killing blow, a figure shoved her aside—only to be impaled by the razor-sharp dragon claws instead.
"This... Red Assassin!"
Fiore gasped in shock. The one who took the blow for Sieg was none other than the Masterless Empress, Semiramis!
Golden spiritrons scattered as burning pain traveled up Sakatsuki's arm, partially restoring his rationality. Frowning at Semiramis—whose spiritual core was destroyed yet still glared defiantly at him—he murmured:
"This sensation... poison? I see. To poison me, you resorted to this method of approach."
"With my Master dead, I was already a walking corpse," Semiramis replied, her voice laced with vengeful satisfaction. "How do you find the taste of my 'Arrogant King's Wine'?"
"Is that all?" Sakatsuki sneered, withdrawing his arm as the Empress collapsed weakly to the ground. He looked down imperiously at the leader of the Red Faction. "This sensation... you've sealed my regenerative abilities? But what does it matter? Even with Mordred's King Sword, you probably couldn't even scratch my dragon scales."
While Sakatsuki had been speaking with Semiramis, the Masters had already fled for their lives. He paid them no mind until another voice sounded beside him.
"True. With just my King Sword, I can't defeat you."
Sakatsuki turned. The Empress dissipated behind him, and what met his eyes was the last remaining opponent in this Holy Grail War: "...Mordred."
Perhaps finding her shattered armor cumbersome, Mordred had simply discarded her protective gear, wearing only simple combat attire. She stared at Sakatsuki as she tossed aside her Noble Phantasm—the King Sword tainted by hatred.
"What? Planning to surrender?" Sakatsuki raised an eyebrow, but Mordred didn't respond. Though Lord El-Melloi's emergency treatment had restored her mobility, any exertion would likely reopen her wounds.
Yet despite this, her eyes remained as defiant as a lion's, showing no trace of surrender.
Before the dark and monstrous demon, the girl solemnly assumed a stance with an empty grip. In her hands, a radiant holy sword gradually took form.
About three feet long, its hilt and guard were a translucent blue-gold. The blade bore ancient and mysterious inscriptions, its silver-white edge flowing with starlight.
"This is—?!" Sakatsuki's pupils contracted. This time, he couldn't afford to underestimate the girl before him—all because of the Noble Phantasm she now wielded, whose true name was—
"Excalibur!"