oka ignored her again.

Kuroka smiled at him before leaving through a magic circle.

"I won't forget the favour you did for me," Kuroka said while leaving. she had only succeeded in her operation to secure Shirone thanks to Shirou drawing away the Dragon Tannin. "Remember to call."

"He won't," Adelina answered on his behalf, Kuroka's laughter the only thing echoing in the wind which fanned Adelina's anger.

Adelina became unnaturally silent.

He wouldn't fault her, nor would he comment.

He wasn't of the opinion to dig his own grave.

Instead, the only thing he wanted to do now was sleep and ready himself for the next meeting with the Gods in the coming morning.

As he walked, Adelina followed, the two left to their own thoughts in the dead of the night. His current lodging in the Underworld wasn't far from his current location and would only take him an hour walk from where he stood. Of course, he could reinforce himself and arrive within minutes, but something caught his eye as he and Adelina walked along.

Xenovia?

He could see her from where he stood on a forest trail leading to the city of Lilith where his accommodations were. She was in a clearing a short distance away, Durandal in one hand, and Durandal X in the other as she used the two swords to practice.

The last he had seen her was when she had separated from him with Serafall and Irina. The fact that she was alone practicing indicated that Serafall and Irina probably went their separate ways to train as well.

Seeing her, he made a detour towards her location.

As much as training allowed one to grow stronger, he didn't want Xenovia to overexert herself for his sake. Although she was socially awkward, she always meant well. Durandal would not have chosen an unworthy wielder after all.

When he and Adelina appeared in the clearing, Xneovia was quick to take notice of them.

She was panting for breath, a thin sheen of sweat coating her skin and reflecting the light of the moon. She wasn't wearing her white battle cloak but the tight form-fitting unitard the church considered battle attire.

"It's getting late, lets go rest," he urged her.

In response, she remained silent.

The strength she had seen Shirou wield even without the power of God or a Demon left her feeling inadequate. Unlike Serafall who had the power and means to stand by Shirou's side, she had been lacking ever since the events of the Excalibur Pieces.

For the first time in her life, she began to doubt her own strength and capabilities. She wanted to be at the side of the man she had gradually fallen in love with, yet feared that she was unqualified.

Her brows furrowed together as she pursed her lips.

She shook her head in response to Shirou's words and forced herself to continue training.

She wasn't even close to the power she had once seen Shirou wield Durandal with. If she could just reach that level then it would be enough.

She swayed on her feet as she readied her swords in front of her, Adelina nodding in approval as she briefly saw herself in Xenovia's tenacity.

Shirou though, was of a different mindset.

He thought back to the girl he had met at the Church Creak and knew that she had a penchant for overworking herself. He couldn't allow this to go on because he actually cared for her behalf.

He moved forward to interrupt her, but suddenly stilled in the next second.

Even in the Underworld, life existed in the forests. It was full of animals and birds scurrying in the foliage and underbrush, but presently, it was oddly silent.

He preened his ears, his actions catching Adelina's attention who also began to realize that something wasn't quite right.

It was something in the wind and the rustling of the leaves.

A faint noise that didn't belong.

The clomping of hooves.

"Don't you dare!" Adelina yelled out, her sword striking forward in an instant.

Steel clashed against flesh as Adelina forcibly pushed back her attacker who hastily fled. In the instant the attacker had attacked though, Adelina was quickly able to deduce the person's identity.

A Minor God?

Unlike regular Gods, minor Gods consisted of the prayer's mankind had once made to rivers and statues granted divinity through faith. Without a proper Religion however, the faith was never concentrated enough for a Minor God to upgrade their capabilities and thus they were only equal in level to High-Class Devils.

The one that had just attacked was a Minor Earth Deity, its body made entirely out of rock.

Eyes glancing from Shirou to the fleeing enemy, Adelina hesitated on what to do but eventually pursued after reassurance from Shirou.

Adelina was as fast as her namesake, disappearing into the distance in seconds.

Only when Adelina was gone did Shirou harden his expression.

"Come out," he called, looking into the woods.

The reason he got Adelina to chase after the other opponent was that he had a feeling that she wasn't suited to face the true adversary in the dark. Not with the strength of Divinity he could feel.

"I'm surprised a human was able to notice me," Loki revealed himself riding on an eight-legged horse.

Staring at Shirou, the unease Loki had felt about Hades's task returned. It didn't help that the steadiness of Shirou's eyes reminded him of Thor.

He shook his head, ridding himself of his doubts. At the end of the day, who he was dealing with was just another life form beneath that of Gods, Angels, or Devils, a mere Human.

He was Loki, God of Deceit and Lies, bringer of Ragnar?k and he feared no Human.

Nordic runes surrounded him, spreading outwards to form a dome that enveloped the area, preventing anyone from noticing what was occurring.

"Sleipnir," he called to the horse he was riding.

It was the eight-legged stallion of Nordic Legend, the mount of the All Father and a child of Loki. Although it was Odin's mount, it would obey its father's will.

It neighed, its robust size exuding the might of a divine beast on the level of the Pegasus.

Its hooves echoed the trembling of the earth, its speed capable of traversing the nine realms of the World Tree.

Loki had called on Sleipnir's use for the sole fact that none could match its agility. No mortal weapon could reach it, no man able to swing their steel fast enough.

And yet, why was he feeling that it was still inadequate?

He stared down at Shirou and urged Sleipnir to quickly whisk Shirou away.

Meanwhile all Shirou did was stare, God informing him of the capabilities of the horse approaching.

It was an enemy whose speed could make it impossible to hit?

His circuits thrummed from within him, converting the energies of faith and magic through the circuitry of his being.

He pulled Xenovia to stand behind him as his eyes flashed with an azure glow, sparks forming over his palms reminiscent to bolts of lightning.

He was the Bone of his Sword.

It didn't matter how evasive an enemy was, for the spear manifested within his inner reality would surely hit.

A prototype.

His arms positioned themselves forward, the spear forming in his hands fluctuating with ancient Nordic Runes that came alive over the spear's tip, wisps of crackling magical energy singeing the ground.

Loki's eyes widened unbelievingly, realization dawning on him.

T-That was-!

Its aim was true.

The skies of the underworld seemed to darken, Rossweiss still in the Human word intaking a sharp breath.

The feeling.

The aura.

An energy that was unnoticeable or insignificant in the eyes of the other Gods began permeating through dimensions, making its way to those residing within the Nine Realms.

It was an imperial decree resounding with the reverberation of the Raven's caw.

The Eyes of Odin.

The Swaying One of Old Norse.

"Gungnir," the Spear that never Misses.

It didn't matter how agile Sleipnir could be with its eight-legs able to simultaneously move in any direction, once Gungnir was thrust, there was only one result that awaited.

The spear of the All Father struck forward, piercing and heavily injuring Sleipnir enough that the horse collapsed right before Loki's eyes.

Loki on his part was stunned before his composure shattered.

Gungnir?

How was it possible.

If he was really against Gungnir, then even his own life would be in danger.

Forget capturing Shirou, Loki felt it best that he kill the human and save himself any future troubles.

A Grand Nordic Spell erupted from around him, blanketing the skies in intertwining runes and sigils that thrummed with untold power. From his palm he released an ethereal crystal, its light bridging a road to the Heavens and powering the Nordic Seal.

The Light of Alfheim.

This was his strongest attack using up the majority of his divinity. There was no way any mortal could survive it, Gungnir or not. He didn't care if Hades refused to aid him. All he needed was to disrupt the Alliance anyway.

"Kuan," he invoked the Nordic Rune of Fire, Malady, and Death.

An invisible pressure descended down from the heavens, sigils wrought with fluctuating power expanding forth into a weapon that bore down from above. It was no sword, no spear, no armament of any sort, just unadulterated magical energy powered by the light of the Elves of Alfheim of the Nine Realms. The world of incinerating light.

The attack formed in an instant, unable to be stopped through ordinary means.

Unfortunately, Gungnir wasn't the only weapon Shirou had in his possession.

As the Grand Nordic Spell struck down with impunity.

An orb formed in his left hand, a sword's blade emerging from the tip.

That Which Comes Later Yet Cuts First

The Gouging Sword of the War God and the ultimate form of a counter attack.

Fragarach, the Retaliator, Divine Weapon of the Gods.

Noble Phantasm of the Fraga family enhanced by the true energy of the One God.

It was a weapon able to warp casualty, making it so that the sword would always strike first before an enemy's attack, rendering it null.

Ichor spewed forth from Loki's mouth, his gaze dropping to the hole gouged into his chest, vision swimming as the magic tying him to his attack severed in an explosion of intense heat and light. He couldn't understand it anymore.

What kind of Human was he facing?

A spear that never misses, and a sword of retaliation, the combination alone was absurd.

His body unwillingly crumbled to the ground, his resentment for Hades and the other Gods mounting as he theorized what they were using him for. Revenge was the first thought forming in his mind, but it would come later. Slowly, Loki's body began to deteriorate, revealing the corpse of another person entirely.

It caught Shirou off guard, but before he could react, he heard Xenovia's muffled gasp from behind him.

Exhausted as she was from overtaxing herself, she could barely resist as Loki appeared in a bedraggled state and bound her in his divinity, the Durandals in her hands sealed away by numerous restraints.

"Come with me or the girl dies," Loki said in a rasp.

The loss of another fragment of his divinity had greatly weakened him, but it didn't mean that he was incapacitated or that he was out of trump cards.

No matter what, it was true that regardless of what Shirou did, it wouldn't be fast enough to save Xenovia if Loki was truly intent on killing her.

The fact that Xenovia had become a liability at this moment greatly weighed down on her mind. She tried to speak, but found that she was unable to under Loki's suppression.

Damn it.

D-Damn it all.

She cursed, closing her eyes as tears of frustration welled up from within her. She had worked so hard to not end up in such a situation and yet it happened regardless.

She understood that the people she was comparing herself to were leagues above her, yet was the gap really that big just because she was human?

In her misery and self-doubt, something within her began to stir.

There was a reason why Shrou was first transported to the creak of a small church.

The pieces stored within him.

Memories of Heroes of Old.

Xenovia was neither Devil, Angel, Fallen, or God, but Human. A race short-lived, but whose potential was unmatched, and she was unique.

She wasn't overly strong, nor did she truly stand out in any other way compared to other women who worked just as hard as her. But unlike others, she was acknowledged by swords; a natural sword user, the light within her one of purity and grace.

Time seemed to stand still, thoughts lasting an eternity and reflecting a presence unlike anything Loki had felt before.

It was oppressive yet not, violent yet calm, like a tranquil tide or the clinking of massive gears.

Loki didn't know when it happened, but it was if he could feel the edge of a blade pressing up against his skin, and the feeling originated from the girl caged within the shackles of his divinity.

In Xenovia's moment of guilt, and helplessness, a sword answered her call.

She didn't want to be weak.

She didn't want to be a burden.

Durandal X thrummed in her bound hands, the sword whose legend spoke of the miracles held within the peerless might of its blade, radiating out with an ethereal teal coloured glow. Sharp and poised, the magical restraints binding its power shattered one by one until the aura of its grandeur could no longer be hidden.

A catalyst linking one world with another.

-Thou who art clad in steel and battle born instinct; those who fight fate with thy sword.

Loki's eyed widened in shock before he was forced away from Xenovia by a wave of foreign magic.

A link to the throne spanning out across the sky and piercing through the barrier concealing the area like a honed and sharpened blade.

Loki's expression darkened, unable to understand what was going on, yet comprehending what was happening was the least of his troubles.

What did it mean for the situation now that he was no longer holding Xenovia hostage?

He cursed inwardly while directing his attention away from Xenovia and back towards Shirou, but even then, he was surprised with what he saw. Rather than use the opportunity to make a move on him, Shirou did something completely unexpected, a monument modeled in the shape of a Knight manifesting in his hands.

The Servant of the Sword.

There was an air of regality surrounding it that spoke of a certain grandeur no longer seen in the present age of man.

When swords and shields were the pinnacle of all weapons and the most one could rely on was the skill of their blades.

The heat of their mettle, the vigour of their shouts, and the courage of their hearts.

A time of war, blood shed, and glory long since passed.

Man and sword.

Heroes and Legend.

Bearers of Sacred Steel.

It was a calling that came from the soul. A resonance from one who bore a Sacred Sword and the predecessors spanning across time.

The monument of Saber surged forward, melding into Xenovia's body and fading. She who was already chosen as the natural wielder of Durandal felt something reverberate within her, her eyes closing while accompanied by the squalling of a drawn blade.

It made Loki's skin crawl.

Nothing felt right.

Not the way the situation had gone, or the ill foreboding steadily working through him.

Something flashed in his eyes.

A human should not be able to output such an aura.

It was as if he was no longer looking at a simple mortal any longer.

Yet regardless of what had just taken place, Loki knew he had to leave. Without the barrier concealing the area, it would only be a matter of time before enemy reinforcements arrived, and Sirzechs wasn't someone he wanted to openly confront in his true body.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't be that easy.

As he turned to move, the one he was still the weariest of was Shirou and the absurdity of his abilities. Therefore, he neglected to pay attention to what was occurring near him, and by then it was too late.

Xenovia stood before him, something in her eyes causing a chill to travel down his back.

Words were not said.

Nothing wasted.

Only the tip of a blade pointed forward.