(A/N: Hello all! I think it's no secret that I've been away from this story for a long time. The last time I updated was almost 4 months ago. Honestly I was just having some really bad writer's block, and had no idea what to do with this part of the story.
The more I thought about it, the more it stressed me out, and the more I put it off.
But after thinking about the problem, I've decided to do a little reset.
Some things might not match up in this chapter compared to previous ones, but that's ok. I intentionally wrote it that way.
From now on, I think I'll be able to update more regularly.
I'm really excited. It feels like turning over a new leaf.
On a positive note, i made a new cover for the novel!
(Image Here)
I can't tell you all how much I appreciate each and every single one of you!)
===Godrick Alter===
A deafening roar tore through the air as one of the massive stone pillars of Avalon's grand throne room shattered in an explosion of dust and rubble. A small figure was sent hurtling through the debris, crashing into the floor with a pained grunt.
Mordred Alter groaned as she tried to rise, only for a colossal steel boot to slam into her gut, sending her flying through yet another pillar. The sheer force cracked the marble beneath her as she tumbled across the ground, coughing violently.
Godrick Alter towered over her, his fury barely restrained, his dark aura pulsing like a living storm. The aftermath of the battle still echoed through the ruined halls, but it was the betrayal of his lover that had ignited this new storm within him. Mordred's words—innocent, perhaps, but ill-timed—had been the final spark.
"You think this is my fault?" he thundered, his voice shaking the walls. He closed the distance in an instant, seizing her by the throat and lifting her effortlessly into the air.
"N–no! I just said—" she tried to choke out, but her protest was silenced as he hurled her backwards. Her body crashed through yet another pillar, stone and dust raining down as the ancient structure groaned in protest.
Above them, the ornate ceiling trembled. Cracks spider-webbed through the foundation as the entire castle began to shake under the strain.
"Godrick, stop!" Artoria shouted, scrambling to her feet. But before she could reach him, Mordred's limp form slammed into her, sending them both sprawling to the ground.
Godrick stood still, his monstrous form rising like a mountain in the center of the devastation. He was breathing heavily, each breath ragged and sharp, like a forge bellows on the verge of collapse. His long platinum hair, darkened by soot and blood, clung to his face until he brushed it back with a blackened, clawed hand.
"You're all failures," he spat, his voice cold and final.
Without another word, the Juggernaut turned his back on them. The great doors of the throne room splintered as he strode through them, Avalon collapsing in his wake. Dust and rubble rained down, burying the pleas of his mother and sister as they cried out for him—begging him to stop.
He never looked back.
===
He stood on the hill outside the shattered remains of Avalon, where once he and his sister had found peace—an escape from duty, war, and legacy. Now, that same hill bore witness to desolation. What had once been a refuge was now nothing more than a vantage point to observe the chaos he had unleashed.
Godrick Alter sat down with a heavy exhale, the weight of his fury still simmering in his chest. He stared in silence as the grand castle crumbled into ruin, great plumes of dust rising like smoke from a pyre. From the city below, the cries of terror and confusion echoed upward like a funeral dirge.
"Filth," he muttered bitterly, eyes narrowing. The world, the people, the legacy he had been born into—it all sickened him.
He was alone now. Utterly, irredeemably alone.
Whether his mother or sister had survived the collapse, he didn't know—and in truth, he no longer cared. Their weakness, their sentiment, their failure to see what had to be done… it made them irrelevant.
Only one thing mattered now.
Ruin.
If it came to it, he would tear the limb from his Alter's body if it meant completing his weapon, his masterpiece, his destiny. Each piece of it was forged for him, and him alone.
His eyes glinted suddenly, the irises flaring with a deep amethyst glow. A whisper, low and seductive, curled in the back of his mind. It wasn't words—but intent. Completion. Wholeness. The call of something far older and darker than mere vengeance.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The fire in his chest told him everything.
He would find his Alter.
And he would end him.
===Shirou===
It had been a few days since losing the Juggernaut, and things were only getting worse.
They had been walking for what felt like hours with no end in sight, no plan to follow.
The English countryside stretched out around them, beautiful yet muted under the cloudy sky, casting everything in dull gray hues as they continued onward, with no clear destination in mind.
What weighed on him even more, though, was how Sakura seemed to be doing everything in her power to avoid him. Every time he tried to speak to her, she either shut him down immediately or walked away, leaving him in growing confusion.
Something felt off. It was as if she were a completely different person than the one he had known—but he couldn't pinpoint what had changed.
The group trudged along a muddy road, Jeanne, Artoria, and Mordred at the front, leading the way. The rest of the Masters followed closely behind, with Cu Chulainn and Heracles taking up the rear. Igraine and Sakura kept to the side, walking alone and distant from the group.
Shirou's boots sank into the mud with every step, but he barely noticed. His eyes kept flicking toward Sakura, heart clenching tighter with each passing moment.
She didn't smile anymore.
She didn't look at him anymore.
Even when he called her name — even when he shouted — she would only pause, tilt her head slightly as if listening to some distant sound, and then continue walking without a word.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. Shirou quickened his pace, catching up to her despite the heavy exhaustion dragging at his limbs.
"Sakura," he said quietly, stepping into her path. "Can we talk?"
She stopped.
Slowly, mechanically, she lifted her head to meet his gaze.
For a moment, Shirou felt like he'd been punched in the gut.
Her eyes — they weren't Sakura's eyes. They were glassy, vacant, as if the girl he knew was trapped somewhere deep inside and couldn't reach him.
Her lips curved into a soft smile.
But it was wrong.
A smile with no warmth, no light — just... hollow mimicry.
"Of course, Shirou," she said sweetly. Too sweetly. Like someone imitating affection they'd never truly felt.
He forced a smile, trying to push down the panic clawing at his chest.
"I just... I just wanted to make sure you're okay," he said, voice catching slightly. "Ever since we got here, you've been... different."
She tilted her head again — that same mechanical movement — and her smile widened just a fraction too much.
"I'm perfectly fine," she said. "You don't need to worry about me anymore."
There it was again — that flicker in her voice. Cold. Empty. Almost as if someone else were speaking through her.
Before Shirou could respond, Igraine appeared beside Sakura with a rustle of her long, dark cloak.
"My Master grows tired," she said coolly, resting a possessive hand on Sakura's shoulder. "She needs her strength for the battles to come. Surely you can understand."
Shirou took a step back instinctively.
Something in Igraine's voice slithered under his skin — something ancient, predatory.
Sakura turned her gaze back to the road without another word, and Igraine led her away, leaving Shirou standing alone in the mud.
He stared after them, heart pounding.
Something had taken Sakura.
And he feared that if he didn't act soon, the girl he knew — the girl he had once loved, maybe still loved — would be lost forever.
===
The group eventually made camp as twilight bled into night.
They found a clearing near the edge of a broken wood, setting up their modest tents beneath the dying branches. Jeanne quietly organized the camp, her motions careful, methodical — almost as if she were holding herself together through sheer force of will.
Artoria moved among the group, checking armor, sharpening blades, pretending she didn't feel the suffocating void left by the loss of her son.
The others followed suit, speaking little, moving like ghosts in the half-light.
Shirou sat by the fire, pretending to tend it, but his eyes were on Sakura.
She sat across from him with Igraine close at her side, murmuring in her ear. She didn't eat, didn't shiver against the cold.
She simply... existed, unmoving, save for the slight, unnatural tilt of her head as she listened intently to whatever poison Igraine poured into her mind.
Shirou's fists clenched in his lap.
"This isn't her."
He knew it in his bones.
He glanced sideways, searching for Jeanne. She sat a little apart from the others, polishing the hilt of her banner pole with slow, almost reverent motions. Her golden hair gleamed in the firelight, but her face was drawn.
Still... if anyone would listen, it was her.
Gathering his courage, Shirou stood and crossed the clearing toward her.
Each step felt like it took an eternity.
"Jeanne," he said quietly, kneeling beside her.
She looked up, offering him a faint, tired smile — the kind that didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, Shirou?"
He hesitated, heart hammering against his ribs.
Then, in a low voice meant for her ears alone:
"It's Sakura," he said. "Something's wrong with her. She's not— she's not herself anymore."
Jeanne's hands stilled on the banner pole.
Her eyes sharpened at once, piercing him with sudden focus.
"Tell me everything," she said, her voice soft but firm.
Shirou swallowed hard, lowering his voice even further. "Back on the road, I tried to talk to her. She smiled at me — but it wasn't real. It was... hollow."
He glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was listening.
"Igraine's always with her. Whispering things to her."
Jeanne's expression darkened. She set aside her banner and folded her hands in her lap, her posture tense.
"I thought I felt something," she admitted quietly. "A... darkness. Faint. Like a rotting presence nearby. But I thought it was my grief clouding my senses."
"No," Shirou insisted. "It's real. I know it is."
For a long moment, Jeanne said nothing. Only the crackle of the fire filled the space between them.
Finally, she looked at him — and in her eyes, he saw the steel of a commander returning.
"We must be careful," she said. "We cannot confront her openly. Not yet. If this is what I fear it is... we may be facing a corruption far deeper than mere mind control."
Shirou nodded grimly.
A heavy silence settled between them — not of fear, but of grim understanding.
Jeanne rose slowly to her feet, her shadow long and wavering in the firelight.
"Keep watching her," she said. "I'll speak to Artoria and the others when the time is right."
Shirou watched her go, a knot tightening in his gut.
The world around them was crumbling — and whatever had taken hold of Sakura was only one of many storms gathering on the horizon.
As he turned back to the fire, he caught Sakura staring at him from across the camp.
Her eyes gleamed in the darkness — empty and cold.
And then — just for a heartbeat — he thought he saw something move beneath her skin.
A writhing shadow, slick and hungry.
When he blinked, it was gone.
Sakura smiled again — that same hollow smile — and turned her face back toward the fire.
Shirou clenched his hands.
Something was coming.
Something terrible.
=== Jeanne ===
The night grew colder as Jeanne wrapped her arms around her knees, staring into the dying fire.
The others had drifted into an uneasy sleep, save for the servants.
Jeanne herself couldn't sleep. She couldn't even close her eyes.
Every time she tried, she saw him.
Godrick — battered, bleeding, reaching for her — before vanishing beneath the waves with her Alter.
Her chest ached with the memory.
Is he alive?
The bond between them — once a constant, comforting presence — now felt frayed.
Thin.
Flickering, like a candle on the verge of being snuffed out.
But it was still there.
Faint, yes — but alive.
Jeanne clung to that fragile thread with everything she had.
She turned her gaze across the camp, eyes falling on Sakura.
The girl sat still as a statue beside the fire, Igraine hovering over her like a shadow.
Their heads were close together, their whispers too soft to catch — but the aura they gave off made Jeanne's skin crawl.
Sickness, she thought grimly.
A sickness of the soul.
She made a mental note to speak to Artoria in the morning.
They couldn't afford division among their ranks — not now, not with Godrick Alter still hunting them.
Jeanne pressed a hand to her chest, breathing deeply, reaching for the bond again.
For the briefest heartbeat, she thought she felt a warmth — a spark of his presence.
And with it, the faintest whisper of words not spoken aloud.
Wait for me. I'm coming.
Tears stung her eyes, but she forced herself to smile.
She whispered back — so soft only the stars could hear:
"I'm waiting, my love."
=== Igraine ===
Deep within the gnarled woods, far beyond the safety of the campfires, two figures stood shrouded in the mist.
Igraine's silhouette was regal, imposing even in the darkness.
Across from her knelt Sakura — or rather, the shell that had once been Sakura.
Her lavender hair hung limp over her face, casting deep shadows over hollow, unblinking eyes.
There was no fear in them.
No humanity.
Only an ancient malice, thinly veiled behind a child's fragile frame.
Igraine approached slowly, the hem of her cloak whispering across the damp grass. She reached out, trailing slender fingers across Sakura's cheek in a mockery of affection.
"You wear her skin well," Igraine murmured, voice low and fond.
The girl's lips twisted into a grotesque smile — one that did not belong to Sakura.
A voice, old and cracked like a rotting tomb, answered from within the girl's throat.
"It fits... snugly," came the rasping chuckle of Zouken.
"She fought, at first. Screamed until her soul tore in two. Now..." Sakura's head tilted slightly, unnatural, insect-like. "Now she is only a passenger."
Igraine smiled thinly.
"A pity. I would have liked to see her break entirely on her own."
Zouken shrugged, a disturbingly casual gesture for the small girl's body.
"We have no time for slow decay. The end draws near. And soon..." His grin widened, teeth flashing eerily in the dark.
"We will receive all that we have been promised."
Igraine's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. She leaned closer, her breath ghosting over Sakura's ear.
"I can't wait."
The girl that was no longer Sakura merely nodded, slow and deliberate.
Her shadow stretched long behind her — twisting, writhing, like something alive.
All that remained was to wait for the pieces to fall.
And when they did...
There would be nothing left but ruin.
===
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