'But if that's the case, why doesn't he avoid the council and myself?' she wondered, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to piece together the enigma 'It's clear he knows or at least suspects what we are, yet why go out of his way to avoid the Gremorys but not us?'
Did he not view her peerage as a threat? Admittedly, putting aside their mutual status as siblings to the current Satans, Rias' own reputation as the 'Crimson Haired Ruin Princess' far outstripped her own, but other than their physique there wasn't much difference between the Gremory and Sitri heiresses. Indeed, when it came to strategy and tactics, Sona was Rias' superior, having personally selected each member of her peerage to complement one another, whereas Rias had, almost literally in some cases, been handed her members on a silver platter.
'In hindsight, I should probably have made a move to corner the Red Emperor Dragon sooner…' she muttered, though part of her shuddered at the idea of admitting Hyoudou Issei into the Student Council. Saji was bad enough, but despite his flaws her pawn at the very least knew better than to act on his desires, whereas Sona had little doubt Rias had to abuse said desires just to keep Issei in line.
Still, worrying oneself sick over minutiae solved nothing at this juncture. At the end of the day, while Emiya Shirou was a Magician, he was still a student at Kuoh Academy, which meant that so long as he followed the rules and avoided causing trouble Sona was prepared to cut him some slack.
Well, that and the fact he'd pretty much won the entire council over with his cooking. Rias still flushed as scarlet as her hair whenever Sona brought up the 'Devil's Food Cake' incident.
"Sona…" Tsubaki called out, her calm tone belying a sudden sharpness, the air around her queen thickening as she subtly braced herself for combat "Over there."
Sona glanced up, the book in her hands snapping shut as she followed her Queen's gaze, her eyes narrowing not at the shady looking figures clad in church robes loitering by the school gate, but the object wrapped in bandages one of them bore on her back, the Holy Energies coming off it causing her skin to shiver despite the distance between them.
'A Holy Sword…' she muttered, struggling to maintain her mask of calm as she met the gaze of the Church's Agents without fear 'Just what on earth is going on around here?'
A world of iron dust and forge smoke...
Crawling like ants beneath his skin, his flesh, violated by foreign steel, burned as it fought not to reject, but to incorporate, the steel that was similar yet inherently different to its own.
His body is made of swords…
Again he stood upon the Hill of Swords, gazing upon the endless twilight of his borrowed dream, his body perforated with the blades of his enemies.
His blood is of iron and his heart of glass…
The sound of metalwork filled the air, the giant gears that filled the sky obscured by smog and iron dust as they endlessly added to his arsenal.
He survived through countless battles…
A field of corpses, cut down by his hands, a tree whose branches were laden with cadavers. Young and old, Man, Woman and child, all he had cut down in the name of peace.
Never once retreating…
Now his neck filled the noose, the spears of those he fought to protect perforating his flesh as their leaders looked on imperiously.
Never once being understood.
A ring of light, a promise of aide, a foolishly accepted offer that led to further bloodshed, his bloodied blades wielded against his will in the name of peace.
He was always alone…
He knelt atop the Hill of Swords, atop the corpses of his enemies, atop the corpses of his allies, surrounded on all side by the pinnacle of weaponry, the blades of Heroes and Villains alike.
Intoxicated with victory on a Hill of Swords
Alone he knelt, forever alone, forever denied the rest he deserved, forever denied the right to choose whether to take or save a life.
Thus, his life has no meaning.
Another battle, another call to duty. Against his will he climbs to his feet, his soul screaming at his body to halt as his once precious blades appeared in his hands.
His body was certainly made out of swords.
Shirou awoke with a yell, the Faker's ochre eyes wide with alarm as he reached out as if to hold someone back, only to blink, the ever-distant image of the Red-Clad Counter-Guardian's back vanishing from his sight, replaced with the image of his room in Azazel's mansion.
'When…?' he began, wondering how on earth he'd gotten to his room, only to grimace at the sharp, burning pain in his left side, his right hand coming up to grip his left shoulder tightly as he closed his eyes. 'Go back…' he muttered, visualizing a 'wall' of sorts between the circuits which bout Archer's arm to his body, a purely mental exercise he'd been taught to help differentiate between his and the Red Knight's memories 'Go back…'
There was some resistance, naturally, the Prana of the arm warring against his will as it fought to invade his circuits, but eventually he managed to separate them, the barrier Rin had taught him holding for the moment, allowing only the barest trickle of invasive Prana through.
'It's been a while since I had to fight to force it back…' he muttered, grimacing as he opened his eyes, regarding the wrapped limb as if it were an animal on a leash 'Guess I've been pushing myself too hard…'
Whatever else could be said about Kotomine Kirei, the man's skills as both a Priest and a Magus had been the real deal, allowing him to pull off a feat that, by all rights, bordered on Miraculous when he, in direct opposition to Natural Providence, successfully transplanted the arm of a Heroic Spirit onto a Human.