The king, in an armourless state, gazes upon the world before him. It is nothing but swords—countless blades beneath an endless golden sky. A desolate land. A graveyard of steel, devoid of life. Every sword that exists here is reproduced at a mere glance.
This is a world—a world that Emiya Shirou, and only Emiya Shirou, can create.The only magecraft permitted to him.
"Ah, a Reality Marble. Pretty impressive," the king muttered, glancing to his left, then to his right. His eyes finally locked on the figure standing before him.
"So, what exactly can you do with an unstable mental landscape?" he asked, as portals formed behind him, each one ready to unleash a weapon.
Clank! Clank!
Or so he thought.
Every single portal suddenly slammed shut—before he could even react—cutting off every sword, spear, and axe without exception.
"What?" he thought, turning sharply.
Shirou moved his lips.
"Don't be so surprised. Everything inside this place is fake."
The camera shifted toward his mouth.
"But there's nothing that says a fake can't rival the real thing. If you claim to be the genuine article… then I'll simply surpass the very idea of you—and bring you down."
and shifted on his eyes
He reached down, grabbed a sword from the ground, and pointed it toward the king.
"Let's go, King of Heroes. Do you have enough weapons stored up?"
"Tch," Gilgamesh scoffed under his breath. "Don't be too arrogant, mongrel."
The king opened the Gate, unleashing countless Noble Phantasms, all aimed to tear the world apart.
Shirou dashed across the deserted land, a blur against the endless field of blades. Two armies of swords—one forged by history, the other by imitation—charged toward their final clash.
"HAAAAH——!"
He met a longsword with another of equal length. The weapons collided with a deafening crack, shattering upon impact—fragments flying like shards of light across the battlefield.
"How dare you!" the king roared.
The storm of steel continued. Blow after blow, the clash intensified.And slowly—but undeniably—Gilgamesh began to retreat.
"Guh... Why?! Why am I actually losing to a lowlife's sword?!"
Shirou slammed his blade against each emerging Noble Phantasm, not giving the king a single breath.
He wasn't thinking.He couldn't afford to.
His body screamed, his mind threatened collapse. But he knew—if he hesitated, it would all end.
"That's why I have to move forward," he murmured.
The moment he laid eyes on the king's next Noble Phantasm, he traced it instantly—Reeling in its exact replica, he swung it with everything he had!
"Impossible—am I truly being cornered by such a sham...?!"
"Fuh... HAH————!"
The sound of clashing swords echoed across the battlefield.
In that very moment, the King could no longer endure Shirou's assault—He was forced to destroy Shirou's sword with his own.
And that…That would be the cause of his defeat.
He is the greatest Heroic Spirit—A man who possesses over a thousand Noble Phantasms, casually stored at his leisure.
But he is merely their owner, not their wielder.
Unlike the heroes who earned their weapons through trial and blood,He alone stands apart. And for that reason—He is the only one this boy can defeat.
Even if only for this fleeting moment.
Then, the world begins to collapse. unkown to the protaganist nor the mesapotamia king.
The golden sky tears. The swords vanish like illusions.Everything fades without warning.
"...The end."
Or is it?