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Shared Resonance of Possession Experience	By : ArashiLeonhart Category: +. to F > Fate/stay Night Views: 9792 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own TYPE-MOON and associated verse and characters. I make no money on this, although in Japan, I could.

Chapter List
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All Projections Finished

“This was a bad direction,” Sion said.

Shirou looked confused, glancing around the foliage that surrounded them, then peering up to the sky through the canopy. “The sun says we’re still on the right track.”

The alchemist shook her head, her braid waving such that Shirou could not help but be a bit hypnotized. It was a strange thing to fixate on, but he always wondered how she kept it from getting in the way on the occasion that she fought or how annoying it was to dry and brush out after a bath. Somehow, in the time they had spent together, he had never even seen her braid it—either it was completely down, like just out of the bath, or it was perfectly made, even though she took very little preparation before they took off every day.

It rated up there with the mystery as to why girls’ bathrooms always smelled better than one used by boys, even one as well-kept as Shirou’s own back home.

“I do not mean our path in the literal sense,” Sion said. Though he was prepared for some kind of scathing remark, Shirou had to regularly remind himself that she seemed incapable of sarcasm and would earnestly complain if she felt he was being an idiot. “But now I am concerned about this idea. I believed it would be good to keep me away from the large holiday crowds you spoke of, but now I am worried I will simply kill you instead.”

Shirou burst out into laughter.

Sion gave him a foul look, then glanced around as if to see whether his outburst would bring them trouble, even though they were deep into the woods and had not seen another human for hours. The only thing that seemed to take note of their presence were birds that startled and flew away at the sudden noise; their inelegant stomping through the brush had already chased away any land-bound creatures. “What is funny?”

“The way you phrased that.” The redhead kept snickering to himself as he waved his arms about, gesturing to their surroundings. “Lets follow the beautiful part-vampire out into the wilderness without telling anybody. I’m now that horror victim that you’re always yelling at on the television.”

“I am attempting to bring up a serious concern,” Sion said. Though it would not exactly qualify for the average person, Shirou could now tell that she was doing her own equivalent to pouting.

Which did not help his amusement. He was certain at this point that he was a masochist because it always got him into trouble, but teasing girls significantly smarter than he seemed to just be his thing. Even if it landed him “on the couch” so to speak. “She’ll then reveal that she is not actually beautiful, but some horrendous creature with a jaw that opens like mandibles and then my brains will be sucked right out of my head.”

“Your imagination is strange and vivid.” The alchemist halted before passing through the next set of brambles; she had been using her invisible wire to sunder such obstructions. “Although it is yet apt in a strange fashion. I am not going to suddenly split my jaw in a way that is not natural, though I am concerned that without others around, I may shift all of my focus onto you and be unable to do anything but consume you.”

“I swear, I didn’t watch the tape! Or go into that house! Well, no, wait, I was in Tohsaka’s house before, and that was supposed to be cursed…”

Sion huffed out a sigh, glaring at the young man, though the way she kept her brow furrowed suggested she did not know if he was joking at her expense or not. “I am attempting to breach an important subject and concern, Shirou. I do not want to expose you to certain death if I can help it.”

The expression she was met with was no longer one of amusement, though it was certainly a smile. It lost every bit of good nature and somehow, despite the way it continued to curl his lips, the feeling that Sion experienced when witnessing it was not positive. For a moment, he looked like an entirely different person—one that, instead of being good-natured but a little slower at processing thoughts, appeared instead more like a person who thought significantly faster than even Sion did. It was not that he somehow looked less like Shirou Emiya as he did so, but it was an expression she had seen another have once before—that lonely knight-priestess, standing before the doom of eternal nightmares.

Though Sion did not spook easily, the expression was enough to make gooseflesh rise along her arms all the way up past her shoulders and creeping up her neck. His words, however, despite the natural truth in them, caused that feeling to shoot right back through her a second time.

“All death is certain,” Shirou said. “Nothing you could do will change that.”

The funeral was full of irregularities.

Shirou was a twice-over orphan, with biological parents that had died nearly two decades before, and an adoptive parent that had died a decade later. He was officially a ward of the Fujimura family, though he had been old enough at the time and left with dual inheritances that he only needed a technical caretaker until he was the age of majority. He had no blood relatives to show for the ceremony, nor even a specific party in attendance that was a clear host to the received wishes and prayers—he was, ultimately, utterly devoid of a familial aspect.

Shirou was not a practicing Buddhist, though his parents had been buried under Buddhist rites—as was fairly regular for the average Japanese. However, he was also known to have ties to the Catholic Church as well. As he had not left behind any instructions in his will, what kind of ceremony would be held would have been a point of contention. The funeral was held in the Emiya house as was instead more regular of a Buddhist tradition, the mourners present looking to a picture and an urn. His body had not been suitable for viewing prior to cremation.

Shirou was, furthermore, a stranger to his own lands. There were only a dozen or so people to pass through the doors beyond the Fujimura family and their helpers. Though only a few years had passed since his graduation from school, only a handful of people his age were in attendance. The standard for an average Japanese man of college age would have theoretically invited many classrooms worth of students from his junior high and high schools and any friends would have been obliged to come. Shirou was not one that had forged many bonds with his peers, or at the very least bonds that had lasted beyond the bare minimum of social requirements.

Still, those that were in attendance appeared deeply distraught. Though, as Sion noted, they also did not seem highly surprised like the friends and family of one who died young might.

Sion wanted to approach, wanted to alleviate the suffering she saw—particularly in the dark-haired girl who had a differing look from the rest. Despite the quiet sobs or sullen faces of others present, Sion felt the most pain emanating from Rin Tohsaka, the one who adamantly refused to show her sorrow. The fact that the young woman held it all inside was somehow more upsetting to watch. It instead gave her the appearance of a soldier or war veteran, shell-shocked and desensitized, not even comprehending that grief was present.

Sion watched from the outside, Etherlite connecting her to one within—a young man with a gaze that in fact settled upon Tohsaka more frequently than the rest. She had seen Shirou’s memories of Shinji Matou and thought that he would be ideal as her eyes and ears, though she was surprised by the amount of grief she also felt from him. His thoughts were ones of regret and dim anger, unlike the self-pity she thought she would encounter. It only truly made the alchemist even more frustrated, to understand that Shirou’s own worldview and what actually existed were once more distorted and false.

Outside, on the roof of a faraway building, she divined the quiet house and its occupants as they gave their final farewell. She watched as the young woman that had once been Shirou’s lover left before the others, watched as a similar looking woman sought solace from Shinji Matou by taking his hand, which Shinji neither acknowledged nor turned away. From there, Sion cut the connection and considered once more whether she wished to approach.

There were many things she felt she should pass along, though she had no clear concept as to how to accomplish it. She had many things she also wished to ask of Rin Tohsaka, but not only did it seem like the magus would not be ready to speak of such things, but Sion’s own current status complicated any interaction she could pose. Approaching either of the Matou siblings did not seem right either, as they were not in a position to answer all of her questions and Sion thought it might simply compound their emotions. None of the other people in attendance were aware of Shirou’s other world, so they were not suitable.

“For such a friendly person, you were certainly otherwise antisocial, Shirou,” Sion complained to the empty air. “Unlike Shiki, you did not have a valid excuse, either.”

“I still do not understand.”

Shirou shrugged, though he was nodding in agreement. Though not as far into the forest as they had planned, it was still far enough from civilization that they could talk philosophy without anyone hearing it. The way he considered that to resemble the basic what-is-sound rhetoric amused him greatly. “I don’t get it either, really. I mean, when I sit down to think about it, everything is contradictory. I don’t have a single thing that makes perfect sense.” He grinned. “Perfect for a magus, right? It’s mysterious and all.”

“That is not exactly what ‘mystery’ is referring to in terminology, however.” Sion had crouched with her back to a tree, her body language somewhere between shying from him and an animal backing up before pouncing.

Though Shirou was certain she would not appreciate the description as such.

“You want to be a hero, an ally of justice. You know that it is possible because you have seen the end result. Yet you do not like the end result’s own personality. However, if you go down that route, you will inevitably reach that same conclusion. While you know all of this, you still pursue it. All for something that was not even your own conception.” She sighed, staring at the twigs at her feet like their random pattern would likewise give her insight into his inexplicable logic. “So you know that you can safely venture out here, because one way or another, your dream will occur, even though it might not occur to you, yet you want it to do so, but do not.”

“Stop saying it aloud, you’re making my head hurt.”

“It seems someone made a mistake when naming your ability ‘Reality Marble.’ When your supposed absolute reality is not even real within your own mind.”

He laughed. “It is real to me. Just, uh, not really mine? I guess…you know, magecraft is tied to your mind. So it may not be real if ‘real’ is something that comes from me, but to me it might as well be?” He shifted in place, dead leaves cracking beneath his feet. “You saw why I think this way, that my old man wanted these things and I’m just trying to fulfill them in his place. Means all this isn’t real for me either, just the continuation of somebody else’s work. But I live it, right? So, it’s real for me.” He watched Sion’s face, the way her gaze never changed, and sighed. “I’m not making any sense, huh?”

“No.”

Shirou sucked on the inside of his cheek, both to keep himself from repeating what he had already said and to try and focus on a new way to explain. He usually did not get so far in speaking his thoughts on magecraft aloud—Rin had always gotten fed up with his processes that she would move onward to another subject or start the insults game. He missed the insults game—at least there, he knew he was making sense. Also, for some reason, it often led to some of the more pleasant times he’d spent with the she-devil.

Something he apparently shared in common with that guy.

Thoughts of the man he may one day resemble led to a new approach. He remembered the dreams he had of that guy, the vision of his possible future—and how it was both not his, yet most definitely was something he kept as his own. “You saw it, so it was real for you, right?”

Sion frowned at that. “I do not classify such information as ‘real’ or ‘fake.’ It is data, and I store it as such within my memory.”

“Your memory.” He clenched his fist, barely refraining from giving himself a congratulatory cheer. “So, you know, they talk about this sort of thing in psychology and philosophy a bit, right? What differentiates your memory from my memory, if you have both?”

“I do not understand your meaning.”

“Hmm.” He considered for a moment. “You said you were raised in Egypt. Completely different place from Japan, eh?”

“Certainly.”

“But you have my memory, my ‘data’ from growing up in Japan. How is that any different from your ‘data’ from when you were growing up in Egypt?”

“Ah. You mean to say that if I classify it as data, there is no difference.”

He grinned again. “Really, I think it’s the same for the average person too, they just don’t have your fancy terms and all. It’s just something that happened, something they remember. So it doesn’t matter if it was theirs or not, right? So long as they remember it, it is usable.”

She looked dubious. “Possession equals mastery.”

“Not mastery. Just ‘cause I’m in possession of my old man’s goal doesn’t mean I’m any more proficient at it than somebody else. But I do get to learn from his example a bit, get to carry what he had. And, well, even if he wasn’t perfect and all, in my mind he was everything I ever wanted. There’s nothing more implacable than that to me, so it’s an absolute in my mind. What I remember was that strength, so I get that strength.”

“Your replication of weaponry is the same.”

“I guess.” He looked a little embarrassed now, as the focus had shifted to his own abilities. “I ‘remember’ Saber’s sword, or Lancer’s spear, or whatever, and I remember how strong they were, consider what got them to be so powerful. So, yeah, I guess it’s the same.” His gaze turned skyward, though not to the faint blue beyond the canopy of green but to some memory far away. “Memory is a powerful thing, isn’t it? It’s really the only thing I have.”

Sion had no direct response to that, merely considering his words. They struck a chord to her, though she had no way of expressing it as he did. Memory was the means by which she kept data, not the driving force to existence like he made it to be. Though as one that studied magecraft, his way of thinking was perhaps closer to the conceptual keys of what made up humanity than hers was.

The Emiya residence was silent hours after the funeral, its grounds abandoned for the houses of the living. Sion knew there were plans for what would happen to it afterward, but for now it was empty, and for now Sion could view it as much as she wished.

Not that there was much to view. Even in what she had seen through Shirou’s memories, it remained much the same—rather austere and vacant. Though some of that could be attributed to the Zen style Kiritsugu and then Shirou had kept it in, the majority of its vacancy came from the reflection of the owners themselves. Shirou was not a “things” person, the kind that cluttered up his living space with signs of, well, living. Besides the assortment of tools and unused mechanical parts in the shed, the well-worn kitchen utensils, and some of the dojo equipment, nothing particularly said anyone had once lived there. It would not take much time at all for everything to be cleared out for a new owner to move in despite how large the house was.

It reinforced the conversation they once had of memory, however—

Despite the data she had collected from him not originating from her, the detail it contained on the back porch was somehow greater than anything else. She knew every line in the wood grain of the floor, the number of shingles she could count from the roof eaves, how wide it was down to millimeters when the doors were open. She could recall the faint scent of steam from a bath that had been taken, the feeling of a summer’s breeze coming from the eastern side, the distant sounds of cicadas making an occasional hum.

When I was young, I wanted to be an ally of justice.

Though it was not her own ears that had heard this declaration, the memory was clear as could be in her own mind’s eye. It was a little confusing at times to consider it so—within Shirou’s own memory, this information was well-maintained yet not so intricate. Like any regular human mind, he would have eventually even forgotten how it went exactly as he made new memories over time. The signs were already there that Shirou was beginning to see atrophy to this data at the time of his death. It would have been different if his memory were eidetic, but the only part of him that seemed to stand true for regarded weaponry.

So, in the end, he not only had a borrowed goal, but his reason for carrying out that goal would have been lost. In the end, it did not matter whether he remembered or not. He could not have seen the beginning of the road after journeying so far down it toward the end destination.

Let me fulfill it for you.

Sion’s own family entrusted to her the goals of their line. Even as twisted as Wallachia had made it, the reasoning behind his transformation had been within the objectives their family, and Atlas as a whole, strove for. It was not a foreign idea—

Sion wondered if the laugh she let out was even her own. A foreign idea, an entrusted dream, a borrowed goal…all these things seemed to make circles within her own mind.

She remembered once when he had laughed and smiled in the same way. All death is certain, he had said. Nothing he or she did could change that.

Even still, she now knew…even still. He remembered a promise he made, and the dream he promised to carry out.

Now she remembered it in his place.

The mists swirled and the air was heavy. The humidity was oppressive to one like Sion, who had not known the feeling of such thick moisture in the air without a sudden torrential downpour. The Top End area of Australia was perhaps the most foreign location she had visited thus far and the alien nature surrounding her weighed heavier in her mind.

It was too readily becoming a familiar sight to Sion, the darkness that compressed into an entity above all others within the town, a black moon to the white that should have shone over the landscape. In the distance, she could hear the moans and cries of others now suffering the torment of nightmares that would consume them. Some were pitiful, others horrified—some were wails from children and others the full body shrieks of adults.

She ascended the tallest building to stand before the darkness that loomed over it all.

The orb seemed to bob in acknowledgement of her presence, and though it did not have a face, turned in place as was proper in address. “You have calculated my appearance pattern to a near absolute,” the darkness said.

Sion stood before it, shivering despite the warmth of the location—shivering at the bleakness from the existence above her. She briefly pulled at her jacket so it tightened around her shoulders, the sensation grounding her to the moment. “When you understand all of the variables, the result is not unexpected.”

The form of the man that appeared brought a sense of amusement with it. He swept into view with the swirl of his cape following the lines of shadows that conjured him, standing tall and menacing like no performer of The Phantom of the Opera could hope to achieve. The beatific smile he wore was not one that fit his face, however. “Then I congratulate you, heir of my line. Your transformation is not wasted if you understand this inevitability.”

“I will not go along with your plan, however.”

Sighing, the form paced around her, eyeing her as a doctor to a prizefighter, seeking out the imperfections that would lead to defeat. “I believe, then, you have failed to truly understand.”

“I have come to stop you. My predictions have led me to you every time since then—you will not be able to escape.”

Disappointed eyes closed and the Zepia form lost its air of amusement. “Prediction does not allow you to do the impossible, things that have no probability of occurring. To do the impossible, you must transcend mere calculations. It seems your form is still as imperfect as I thought initially.” His eyes opened once more, this time in slits. “If you stand in my way now, I will destroy you.”

“No.”

A shrill scream sounded from below—the kind that could only be followed by the person falling unconscious afterward from a lack of air. A howl in the distance like a wolf punctuated it. Still, Sion’s silent statement was stronger, more palpable.

“No. I will stop you. I have made the preparations.”

The smile returned to Wallachia’s face, then shot past amusement and went straight for the extreme. Teeth gleamed despite the darkness and his expression changed from one a human could wear to something more like the enjoyment of a predatory animal: terrible and ferocious. “Preparations.” The laughter he made was likewise more animal than man, and matched the howls of the beasts that terrorized those below.

The night of terrors darkened further as all remaining sunlight in the sky fell away. With it came a complete din of mewling and crying as the manifesting demons grew in power and number.

“The same preparations you made the last time?” The man turned from her with a flourish of his cape, stepped into the darkness of the orb and disappeared from sight. “I tore that one asunder. His presence meant nothing, just as any others before him.”

“No.”

“Oh, yes. He certainly stopped me that once. Such alien magics from a boy that seemed too thick in the head to create such a complex spell. Still, he died, just as all others have—died in terror, died suffering from the fear within him. It literally ripped out of his body, those weapons, killed him from the inside-out despite appearing as if he were being penetrated from without. Terrible to behold.”

“No. You misunderstand.”

Why was he amused, when she said she would kill him? Why did he give a smile when he said words that could only have been poison on his lips?

She knew that he wished to continue on, to fulfill his dream. She knew, from what she had seen of his life, that he would deny that death would come for him in any fashion, because he would fight against it and win. He would surpass it until his dream was fulfilled.

Then, why?

You saw it, so it was real for you, right?

“The soul resides in the mind.” As the darkness stared her down, waiting to hear her words, she stared back. “His life was taken from you, but his existence is here. Right here. And here he will be, with me, until my life has ended.”

The darkness said, “Then your life ends here.”

“No.” Her fists clenched, the bangles around her wrists shaking. “You can’t have him. I won’t let you have him.”

Her mind overflowed with the words said to her, the thoughts she had, the memories that were not even hers.

Prediction does not allow you to do the impossible, things that have no probability of occurring.

What is real and what is fake. Calculations and predictions are based upon what is possible. What is impossible is nonexistent. What should not be. Imagine it. Visualize it. Make it real.

I’ll reach it.

I’ll definitely reach it.

If everything I have is broken, I’ll use what I don’t have.

Even if what he sought is nowhere…

—if “nowhere” is impossible—

There’s nothing more implacable than that to me, so it’s an absolute in my mind. What I remember was that strength, so I get that strength.

He made real what was impossible. He made normal what was never to be.

Sion pulled once on the threads of her Etherlite.

The broken circle she had made with it filled in as the strand went taut. The primary source of magical energy formed and flowed.

The threads connected to people in the town provided more. Magecraft was, after all, a form of equivalent exchange. To survive, they would be providing their own salvation.

And they would provide another component as well…

Her eyes clenched shut. The words in her head were withdrawn, the sword to her memory’s scabbard. Her voice rang out loud and clear as her thoughts ran parallel, synchronizing to one unique purpose.

“He is the bone of my sword.”

His body was made of swords.

Number one, two, three: activated.

“Steel was his body and fire was his blood.”

His blood was of iron and his heart was glass.

Determining creation ideology.

“He created over a thousand blades.”

He survived through countless battles,

Synchronization of hypothesis to template.

“Unaware of loss,”

Not ever once retreating,

Extracting world egg theory.

“Nor aware of gain.”

Nor ever once victorious.

Systemic errors detected, omitting.

“Withstood pain to create many weapons,”

The bearer lies here alone,

Realigning unknown factors.

“Waiting for another’s arrival.”

Forging iron on a hill of swords.

Projection procedure replicated, understood.

“He had no regrets; this was the only path.”

His life truly had meaning.

Sharing resonance of possession experience.

“His entire life—”

His body was made of—

All processes complete. Deploying—

Flames burned away the scenery, the building on which they stood, the streets below, the walkways and houses and workplaces and everything else. The fire spread to the boundaries of the city before halting, contained by the form of a perfect circle of invisible wire.

All things within reach of her mind.

All things bound to her memory.

“—Unlimited Blade Works.”

Swords stood throughout the landscape, throughout a burned hilltop, black silhouettes to a red sky. The smell of industrialized metals permeated the air and no breeze could sweep it away.

“Merely overlaying a Reality Marble over my own will not avail you. You have no ability to wield what is not even yours. Like him, I will destroy you if I must, and then I will continue, and your final death will have been for nothing. Absolutely nothing!”

Her tears blurred her vision, but for that—

It would have been impossible to envision it so perfectly otherwise.

“Your words are correct. I cannot wield this, and merely deploying this over your existence is like placing another layer over what already is. Unlike him, I cannot contend with your world, cannot replace it or reality with this. It is not mine, after all.” Beyond her words, the still-terrified screams and cries of the dying could be heard, now intensified by the sudden change of landscape and the alien knowledge that it brought. “All of the people and plant life and the shades of nightmares made real—I cannot remove them.”

All death is certain. Nothing you could do will change that.

He had not said anything after that on the subject, but she understood that those words need not be said.

“TATARI manifests the fears within people’s hearts. The fear of terror, of death, of destruction.” She clenched at her own arms, once more as if to ward off a sudden chill. “All death is certain, but humanity still strives to survive. It will refute its own extinction to the last breath.”

He was and was not the young man she had known. Like through a filter, like through eyes tormented by the grief of his memory, it was a perfect replication, yet not. He was taller than she, though he always had been. He stood as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, though it was not—and yet it was. He was a knight, only not, yet he carried with him the virtues and the distortions of such a warrior.

“Do you know what happens, what occurs when those fears manifest? What would normally happen, if your existence were not a mystery?”

He wore red and black, though he had never worn such colors in his life. His hair was pale like the moon instead of earthy like the world around him. Though he was and was not the young man she had known, he was certainly the same person.

“Prediction does not allow you to do the impossible, things that have no probability of occurring. There is a paradox to that, however.” She still did not understand that paradox, still struggled to wrap her consciousness around the very idea. For all of the processes in her mind, it was something that still eluded her, still continued to bend to the will of a greater mystery. “That which is impossible still occurred within this world. The one you destroyed last is the one that already existed beyond the truth that you can see. He is the last you will destroy, yet the one you never could destroy.”

Even if the justice he fought for was nowhere—

What was there was still real. The ideal of a hero who wanted to save anyone he could. Even from a death that was inevitable.

The hologram took form—

All death is certain. But even the unconscious mind of humanity seeks another answer.

One knight stood between them, answer in hand.

I wasn’t wrong, her memory recalled.

To be concluded.
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Shared Resonance of Possession Experience