I still know what you're thinking- "Y U NO UPDATE DoZ or AtM?!" Blame the hurricane. I lost power to my house and I had to go pump water out of my uncle's basement. And maybe that's foolish on my part because I store all of my fics on the internet. In the dark age that had temporarily settled at my house where there was no power or internet, I managed to *rage* type out a plot bunny digging around my head for days on end. And it surprisingly turned out to be good when it received positive feed back from a select few beta readers (you know who you are. Thank you.). So, I decided "why the hell not" and I figured I may as well post it as a mini-series to try and find inspiration for more DoZ or AtM.

In my opinion, the Unlimited Blade Works persona of Shirou (EMIya) fits well into the grim-dark setting of Warhammer 40k. His warrior's demanour, I found after carefully going over countless Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes, matches those of the Slamanders, the Sons of Primarch Vulcan. They love to fight and smash, bash and blast, but Vulcan taught them to value the lives of Imperial Citizens and the men working in their ships and homeworld. The sentiment is something that I am very sure that Shirou can understand.

I wrote this listening to "Two Steps from Hell" music (as usual) and Woodkid to put my mind in the appropriate setting for grim-dark. To enhance your reading experience, listen to either "Moving Mountains" or "Iron" (AC3 is EPIC, but Revelations had the best trailer, hands down). But in all respects, it was really hard to write combat from Shirou's POV without going to at least another F/SN crossover or reading some WH40k fluff.

O.K. Here's the general run-down, and in the style of gabriel blessing, here's what's what. And beware; there may be SPOILERS!

1) The cultists are those of Tzeentch. No Chaos Space Marines (Thousand Sons) have attacked Shirou...yet...

2) The planet that Shirou is on currently is Balaam, an agri-world (meaning farmers) in the Bhein Morr Sub-sector of the Gothic Sector, lying adjacent to the Eye of Terror and where Abaddon's 12th Black Crusade was fought in the voids of space. As of now, the 13th Black Crusade (started at 999.M41) is rampant across the galaxy as the eve of a millennium of fire begins, a.k.a. the 42nd millennium.

3) High Gothic is somewhat a mix of the Western Languages (English, French, German, etc.) of our time, albeit butchered, I believe. Is it a stretch to assume that Low Gothic is a form of bastardized, "oriental languages" (according to the Lexicanum)? That would mean that some aspects of Japanese, Korean, Chinese, etc. became part of Low Gothic. I honestly don't know...

4) The ending that I had Shirou take was the UBW True Ending, where he went to England as Rin's apprentice.

DISCLAIMER- sayain673 does not own Fate/Stay Night, any of its affiliates, or Warhammer 40k. They are, respectfully, owned by TYPE-Moon and Games Workshop.

Here we go. God have mercy on my soul for what I have unleashed.

The shriek of the winds accompanied the slashes of black and white as I sundered the head of something that was once human, too many tentacles and scales on its body to come even close to the human genome. Mutated mandibles clacked in its death throes and its yellow eyes reflected the fear of the creature before I had released it from existence, the distaste in my mouth growing even stronger at the inhuman monster that had accompanied the raiders that attacked the settlement. Its head landed in the center of the town, black ichor corrupting the waters of the fountain and its body moved of its own accord, clutching the amulet of an eight-stared icon in a clawed hand as it fell to the dust.

I felt the air behind me distort and I tilted my head to the side, avoiding a beam of red energy that would have blown my head off. There was a host of men, garbed in black robes stained with blood, wearing necklaces made of skulls with the symbol of the eight-pointed star wrapped around their necks. Their leader, identifiable by the blue robes and iconic staff that crackled with malign energies, had a gun trained onto me, smoke sizzling from the barrel as he made strangled noises to his men.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw flames envelop the place that had became my home. I heard the screams of the people that had welcomed me with open arms as they lay dying or wounded in the ashes and smoke. Anger clawed its way to the surface of my heart. This was an incident repeated throughout time, an incident that should never have happened, an incident that had forged me into the man I was today. The flames of war heated the crucible that I was inside of and I had withstood that punishment, swearing to never let another go through the hell I had gone through. And I would punish those who put them through it.

I charged, my body only a blur of red-brown hair and black armor to the enemies in front of me. My blows were a tornado of fury, reinforced by the magic that I alone had mastered. It bore me bloody fruit as three men fell, clutching their chests in vain to contain the crimson liquid from bleeding from their bodies. A black blade whistled towards my unshielded ribs, its wielder hoping to take advantage of my momentary lapse of security. I feinted and countered, twisting the dark blade from his hands with the ivory blade and hacking through the wielder's shoulder with the ebony sword. It exited from his lower hip, bisecting him from shoulder to hip in a bloody, brutal and precise line. The two halves fell to the dirt.

Reversing the blades in my hands, I pushed off of my foot and twisted, bringing a tornado of metal to the surrounding enemies flooding the blades with my od to Reinforce their edge. A raider screamed as his torso was separated from his hip, desperately clutching spilled offal and bloody viscera as he tried and failed to prevent them from spilling onto the ground. Another fell, his chest a ruined mess of torn flesh and blood. Two more fell with butchered ribs that were visible through the mutated flesh. glaring white at the others.

The survivors of group babbled incoherently as they aimed their guns at me. They unleashed a salvo of crimson energy that scythed through the ranks of their own more than it hurt me. I danced around them, dodging those that were wide off their mark and blocking those that were too close with the blades of my swords. The accumulated strain of ten minutes of intense fighting, slaughter from their perspective, accompanied with the energy that struck Bakuya and Kanshou caused the black and white swords to shatter in my hands, sending metal fragments through the air.

The leader screamed at the soldiers and cultists to charge in the name of their god, "for it had given them a blessing" and kill the "corpse-emperor's servant", waving his staff to urge them on. They gave a gurgling cheer at the destruction of my weapons and surged forward to overwhelm me with numbers, some drawing serrated blades while others reloaded their energy guns.

Big mistake.

The raiders closed on me, screaming curses, oaths and threats as to what was going to happen to me when I fell to their weapons.

Trace on.

Their blades descended...

...and met the twin blades of Bakuya and Kanshou, forged by a nameless pair of married blacksmiths who carved their names into legend with the creation of the physical representations of the Yin and Yang.

And brought back from the void by my magic.

Their jaws, mandibles or whatever passed for their mouths opened wide in horrified surprised at the appearance of the two swords that they thought were shattered beyond repair. I released them from their shock as the blades claimed the lives of four more cultists in one, Reinforced blow. They panicked, some running as their leader shouted for order while others brought arms at me, dialing the energy gauge on the side of the gun to what I believed was max power. I brought the ivory blade in a devastating slash across the gun as its partner cleaved through the chamber of another. Something went critical inside the workings of the gun and it exploded as the blades exited, sending flame and shrapnel to their wielders and felling another pair.

Fear was now open on all of their faces.

They had come looking for an easy target, unable to defend itself and do nothing save running and dying as they hacked, shot, slashed and raped their way through to the next one.

Rage, unquenchable only by their corrupt, foul blood, was roaring in my ears as I charged towards the now-clustered group of cultists, their leader shielded by the meat of his soldiers.

They had found ruin and death awaiting them with black and white scythes as they would have justice delivered unto them.

Cultists screamed and soldiers shrieked as the blades danced but I could hold any quarter for murderers, rapists or despoilers.

They had found me.

-Scene Break-

Chapter One: From the Ashes- The First Awakening

Phearus Settlement- Balaam

The light of dawn broke over the treetops that stood sentinel over the farming settlement, bathing the area with the light of a burning star as the planet's rotation took it into the path of the passing luminescence. Farmers of Balaam would be waking up to the roars of a Grox pack that roamed the forests near the settlements and would ready themselves for another day, farming in the glorious name of the Emperor. But as sunlight illuminated the Phearus settlement of the southern continent, the inhabitants of the town had much more dire concerns than farming as they beheld the sight of the bodies.

In the center of the town, scores of bodies littered the ground, twisted mutants and fallen humans outnumbering the dead of the settlement and Guardsman that fell defending the populous. Violent lacerations and blood-soaked gashes decorated the corpses of the attackers, some having cleaved through the entirety of several carcasses. Black and red blood ran together through the town, painting the soils of the world crimson and whetting the constant appetite of the earth with the life-force of the fallen.

Tessa Kors ran through the streets, taking care to avoid stepping on the corpses of her friends and neighbors but she held no such reserve for the mutants and cultists. The flurries of ash drifted down through the buildings surrounding her, the dark clouds scudding above the rooftops, which waved in the wind like questing tentacles, promising a real blizzard of wind before morning. She shivered, wrapping her cloak around her as an ominous sense of foreboding settled around her frame, intensified by the howling winds and dimly lit sky above her head.

She heard the panicked shouts of her parents and siblings calling her back where they had hid during the night, but she ignored it and ran faster, ducking her head to look through alleys and alcoves. Their panic had logic in it, as their newest addition to the settlement had told them to barricade themselves inside before he ran off to join the Planetary Defense Forces. But what good could he have done? He did have a muscular body (something that she wished she hadn't been paying so much attention to) and was capable of strength, but it would've been all for naught against daemons and mutants.

"Tessa! What in the Emperor's name are you doing?!"

She glanced to her right and the bedraggled form of Enforcer Drake limped over to her, black Carapace Armor badly scored with shards of metal and white cloth tied around his bald head. Noticing his left leg jutting out at an odd angle, Tessa hurried over to him and he gingerly accepted the shoulder she offered him, wincing as she continued to walk.

"Thanks," he grunted out as she helped him limp through the smoke and ruin. "Damned witch whoreson threw me across town. Clean break when I landed on the roof of the barracks." He hissed slightly as his leg brushed against a fragmented beam of wood. "But why the hell are you out here? Your family-"

"Is safe," she interrupted, answering his unasked question and hoping he wouldn't pry further. "Have you seen him?" she rushed to ask as they rounded a corner.

His mouth twitched in confusion. "Seen who?"

"The man that's been staying at my house for the past two weeks! The off-worlder..." she struggled to remember how to say his name. Throne, it was such an odd name for her to pronounce, speaking in Low Gothic. Though in the back of her mind, she supposed that the absence of the proper pronunciation was due to the smoke, fire and corpses of mutants and men that littered the street; undoubtedly, those factors had contributed to her temporary lapse of her guest's name.

"Never mind." she stated, deciding to take a different approach to finding him. "Did you see anyone with red-brown hair? And eyes of gold?"

Drake started suddenly, squeezing her shoulder to the point to where it began to hurt. She gave a small shriek of pain and he immediately relaxed his grip on her. "I'm sorry, Tessa," he apologized, looking both mortified and grim as she gave him ahurting look."But...that's the man who's been living with you?" Despite their surroundings, she still was able to flush red. "He's a guest, Drake!" she protested as they rounded a corner. "And he's been a big help to the farm. But you have seen him!" she implored, hoping that the red tinge on her face would die down as the cold wind blew around them.

"I recognize the description," he confirmed with a tone that she could have interpreted as anything; apprehension, agitation and fear. "But I wouldn't have believed that he's your...guest." Tessa turned to him and in the dark illumination and flickering embers, she saw his teeth bared in unease and heard his breath come out in deep rasps. She had never seen Drake as tense and uneasy as this. Not even during the Cartel Wars that had rampaged through the entire planet ten years prior..

"What's wrong?"

There was a brief moment of silence as they walked through the ruins. He took a deep breath and shook more ash out of his eye, shivering but she couldn't tell if from the cold or the massacre. "Look at the corpses," he muttered, gesturing limply at the mutants with his good arm. "Look at how they died. The small company of Thunder Fists we have at Phearus is equipped with only lasguns and combat knives," he intoned, mentioning the name of the PDF garrisoned across the planet. She took a brief look and turned away in disgust, but she saw that they were covered in bloody, yet precise, lacerations. "And the strokes of the blade-work are too elegant to be Captain Kane's chainsword."

He looked her in the eye before she could respond and she could see agitation visible in his blood-shot eyes. "Tessa, I saw your guest with red-brown hair and eyes of gold slaughter his way through the horde of chaos forces. He slew them with no hesitation, wielding black and white swords that dripped with blood. And when his blades were destroyed," - he paused to take a deep breath and make the sign of the Aquilla with his hand- "He used some kind of warp magic that spawned forth new weapons out of the void.

"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself, Tessa," he finished with a grim look on his face. "But that man is more dangerous than the cultists and mutants combined."

Those last words were like a great bell of ill omen, tolling its doom inside Tessa's head. She honestly couldn't believe what Drake had told her. She started to shake at the Enforcer's revelation, desperately trying to refuse this information about her guest. Her guest that smiled warmly, helped till the soil and cook for them could not have possibly been responsible for the deaths of the forces of chaos. She refused that such a gentle man could be a cold-blooded killer.

But Drake's tone and eyes conveyed otherwise.

The sound of a shriek jolted out of her reverie and Drake tensed, his good hand reaching for the shock maul holstered at his hip. It continued, accompanied by incoherent noises and shouts of panic that soared through the winds and ashes. She heard the rumble of synthetic boots and out of the cloud of ash, the soldier of Phearus garrison emerged, clutching lasguns as they ran towards the source of the noise. Captain Kane led his troops, reciting passages of courage from the green primer he held in his hand as they streaked across the ruin.

"C'mon!" Drake suddenly started and he hobbled towards the sound of the noise. "Get me to them!" Tessa obliged and helped him on, following the Fists to the source of the noise.

-Scene Break-

"Come any closer and I'll summon a daemon of Tzeentch!" The leader of the cultists screamed, his tone slurred by the puss-filled tumors adorning the side of his face as in one hand, he held a pistol trained at me and with his other hand, energy, crackling and malign, gathered in his hand. The people who were watching us had began to scream and panic, clutching loved ones and neighbors and babbling prayers to their "God-Emperor" that would probably have little effect on the current situation. "Drop the swords, too, boy!"

I looked at him disdainfully. His blue robes were completely drenched in blood and black ichor, the yellow hood torn back and dangling from a bloody medallion and his blue-purple eyes were bulging wildly. The icon of the eight-pointed star lay broken on the ground, its mount on the staff shattered and ruined. The spineless bastard had only survived because of the living shields that were his subordinates, no, mindless rabble that followed his madness.


I had no idea what in the Root a "daemon" was, but judging from the reaction of the settlers, a daemon had to be as bad as, if not worse than, a Dead Apostle or any other supernatural monster that Gaia had spawned. I wasn't about to risk the lives of the populous just to satisfy my own curiosities of this new world I found myself in, though. Without another word, I threw the black sword as hard as I could through the air. It whistled over the broken ruins, vanishing into the clouds of ash and smoke. The cultist's eyes tracked the blade before it disappeared from his sight.

His mouth twisted into a parody of a smirk as he thumbed the safety of the weapon and I heard the small whine of energy gathering in the chamber. "Drop the pale blade. And put your hands where I can see them." I complied, staking Bakuya into the ground and raising my hands in a non-threatening gesture, sending a small flow of my Od into my battered black armor and Reinforcing the metal.

"What manner of psyker are you?" he hissed at me as the malign energies in his hand began to grow dangerously larger. The people screamed louder in response. "My witch sight cannot sense any warp-taint in your body, boy, but you are not severed completely from the warp. Yet you can wield strange sorceries that are even a mystery to me. What are you?" he growled, spitting out the words as if it pained him to speak it.

I glanced over his shoulder and grinned, surprising him with my sudden display of amusement. The langauge of the locals was still an anathema to me, but I had learned enough over the course of two weeks to convey a response to the cultist.

"My name is Shirou Emiya," I calmly replied, in a butchered form of the locals' "Low Gothic", the dark grin on my face growing larger with every passing moment. "And tell whatever dark diety you worship that I am an Ally of Justice."

He looked at me in what appeared to be incredulity before the whistling sound returned in the air. Alarmed, he turned his head to see what the cause of the sudden noise was. Shrieking for his blood as it flew in the air, Kanshou ripped through the leader of the cultists, tearing him in half and spraying corrupted ichor across the ground. The bisected body had no time to hit the ground as I lifted the white blade from the ground and caught the black in my other hand, as both blades were physically drawn to each other, no matter the distance of seperation. The leader's eyes quivvered, bulging in fear at me before they glassed over as the damage I had wrought took its toll on its victim.

"There he is, sir!" a shout came out from behind my point of vision.

"Firing lines, now!" I heard a rough voice bark out. "I want all guns beared on the witch!"

I sighed and turned around. The sight of about twenty men with energy rifles greeted my vision and the lingering note of the weapons charging lingered in the air. A man in a trench coat raidiated authority whilst holding a green book in one hand and a sword with churning teeth that screamed for blood in the other.

Damn. Not exactly the first thing I wanted to greet me as the sun rose over the fires of the morning.

I am in need of advisors in order for this fic to work. Nasuverse and 40k experts are my preference. Don't hesitate to shoot me a PM or a Review when offering any advice or comments.

If you have any comments, threats, flames, criticisms, etc. please don't hesitate to PM me or post a review. I will accept it with my head held low and my body and mind humble. Just try not to overly curse me if I did anything overtly stupid.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter.