fate: devil of art

**Chapter Two: The Beginning of Madness**

𝘼𝙡𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝘾𝙖𝙢𝙪𝙨: "𝙈𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨."

It seemed that even the lowest of creations had a place in the cosmic blueprint of existence. The worship and fantasies of humans had transformed him into a mythical spirit, his existence etched in a mysterious place called the "Throne of Heroes"—a realm beyond the boundaries of the material world, dancing along the axis of time, freeing heroes from the cycle of reincarnation. Elias's fame, like a farmer's dagger, had granted him the power to battle ancient secrets—though, as a rule, the deeper the roots of a mystery, the greater the strength required to unravel it. Yet, his fiery name shattered this law.

His gaze fell upon Ryōnosuke Uryū, who was looking at him eagerly. In Elias's hands, a necklace with a green crystal, like the tear of a spring goddess, materialized. This gem was a paradoxical blend of innocence and corruption; shaped by the soul of a child yet intertwined with the creeping shadows of Aldrich. Creatures that Elias had materialized through his own power, trapping their existence in a semi-physical form. The shadows beneath their feet suddenly came to life, flowing like a river of darkness into the crystal, turning its green into a poisoned emerald. The necklace shone like an anchor, imprisoning these monsters.

"Take this as a token of our friendship," Elias's voice was laced with a deceptive melody. Ryōnosuke's eyes sparkled as he grabbed the necklace, a childlike greed evident in his movements. "Elias-chan! This... is amazing! What does it do?"

A half-smile played on Elias's lips. "These bound creatures will obey you. But be warned..." His clawed fingers scratched the crystal, "each time you call upon them, they will devour a piece of your existence." Behind this warning, a seductive tone lingered, as if he eagerly anticipated his companion's gradual collapse.

Ryōnosuke clutched the necklace to his chest. "No one has ever given me such a gift! In return, I have a proposal... Why don't we go hunting? A few children, some fresh prey..." His pupils dilated, as if he were already envisioning the bloody scenes. Elias responded only with a mysterious smile, memories of his past life slithering like venomous snakes—days when he painted on the canvas of existence with a brush dipped in the blood of infants, tearing apart that pure innocence with an artist's greed.

While Ryōnosuke indulged in his bloody fantasies, Elias's mind soared like an eagle through the skies of schemes. He needed a place—a gallery worthy of his masterpieces, not some lowly hideout like Gilles de Rais's. He needed a multitude of "third-rate" individuals—those pitiful humans whose existence was only good for fueling magical energy. The energy Ryōnosuke could provide was insignificant, especially in a war where powerful masters and their superior servants participated. Elias's emerald eyes glimmered in the darkness, an insatiable desire to meet these rivals burning within him.

***

𝙀𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙨 𝘾𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙙: "𝘼𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙡𝙚. 𝘼𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙡𝙪𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚. 𝘼 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙖 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙥 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡, 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙜𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙨. 𝘼𝙝, 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙤𝙨! 𝘼 𝙨𝙮𝙢𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙖𝙡𝙫𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙙𝙚. 𝙄𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙨𝙢𝙤𝙨, 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙣, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨... 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙤𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙘𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙞𝙣 𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮."

Under the moonlight, which draped the city like a silver mask, Tōkiomi Tōsaka began his deadly game. In a dark basement, Elias stood before an ancient mirror reflecting the scene of a murderer being killed by an Archer. He yawned in boredom: "Even without prior knowledge, it's clear this is nothing but a farce." After a search, he finally found the gallery he desired—a place with extensive basements that became his magical workshop. Its previous owner, a third-rate artist, had dared to claim an understanding of beauty—a boldness Elias answered with creative torture.

Ryōnosuke Uryū, like a loyal hound, busied himself gathering "third-rate" individuals. Elias saw him as a useful tool—a simple-minded creature whose pleasure in slaughter guaranteed the completion of dirty tasks. In the silence of the basement, Elias's blood-stained brushes were ready to create a masterpiece unparalleled—a fusion of suffering and beauty that would shake the world.

Time passed slowly and heavily. Golden rays of sunlight danced like soft fingers over the bustling street. Two women, like two blossoming flowers in the spring breeze, walked gracefully. Artoria's golden hair burned under the sunlight, while Irisviel's red eyes wandered the street. Passersby couldn't help but glance at them, as if ensnared by the magic of their beauty. Shops, with their colorful displays and the warm scent of fresh bread, filled the air with life. The shouts of vendors and the laughter of pedestrians completed the chaotic symphony of the city.

Artoria, with trembling hands held by Irisviel, was drawn toward a large stall. The smoky aroma of grilled meat twisted in the air, and the dance of spices burned the tongue. The growling of Artoria's stomach echoed like a war drum in the sudden silence. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and Irisviel laughed—a soft laugh, like the whisper of the first snow.

The stall owner emerged like a figure from mythology, his black hair reminiscent of strands of night cascading over his shoulders. His green eyes, like molten emeralds, sparkled with an ancient mischief. His beauty was a blend of angelic splendor and demonic corruption, as if he had hidden his burnt wings behind the counter.

"Two kebabs with rice, please," Irisviel's voice, silvery and calm, cut through the noise. Artoria sat on a wooden bench, her eyes gleaming with hunger. The stone mask of her face cracked under the assault of the food's aroma, and a childlike smile appeared on her lips for the first time in centuries.

Plates fell one after another like sacrifices at the feet of a hungry idol. A mountain of clean bones and empty plates told the tale of Artoria's mythical appetite. Cold sweat dripped from Irisviel's forehead. "I'm really sorry... she eats a bit too much," her voice trembled, but the beautiful man only smiled—a smile that hid the chill of the abyss.

"No payment is needed," his voice, sweet and poisonous like the sound of a flute, said. "Ladies, you are my guests today." His pale fingers touched Irisviel's lips, imposing a deadly silence. Artoria, for a moment, saw a halo of light around his head—a halo that quickly turned into black smoke.

Before leaving, their last glance fell on the man at the stall. His smile now resembled the grin of a hungry wolf. Behind the counter, in the smoky shadows, lay the dismembered body of a young man. His eyes, bulging out of their sockets, screamed in silence. Elias, with blood-stained fingertips, plucked out the corpse's right eye and placed it in his mouth. The taste of fear was sweeter than honey on his tongue.

"Artoria... what a radiant soul," his whisper was demonic and trembling. "I want to paint your fall... a glorious fall, with broken wings and eyes full of tears." His face flushed, his breaths quickened. He kicked the lifeless body and tossed it aside. The stall once again smelled of grilled meat. The stench of death was hidden beneath the smoke.

***

Night, like a veil of black silk, stretched across the sky, and the moonlight—this celestial quicksilver—flowed over the earth, cloaking it in an ancient magic. Lancer released his mysterious energy like a river of phosphorescent light, The servant summons Haru to an epic battle. Only Artoria accepted his invitation—a battle that pushed the limits of time's collapse, until rider, the embodiment of existential paradox, entered like a whirlwind of contradictions. Everything, like an original version of fate, reached its climax atop a container, where Elias, with a face flushed with the thrill of creation, watched the scene. His gaze, like a shy girl peeking at her beloved from behind a curtain, was fixed on their inherent beauty—a beauty that burned his soul like fire.

Amidst this scene, a group of third-rate individuals—parasites with an aura of corruption—had placed themselves at the center of ugliness, but the others were all enchanting and dazzling. Saber, with a spirit brighter than the stars of dawn, symbolized a first-rate angel who tempted Elias to create a fall. Irisviel, with the purity of a newborn just separated from heaven's embrace, represented an endless innocence—the very innocence that had captivated Elias.

But among them, rider and Gilgamesh stood out. rider, like a discordant blend of angel and demon, was a combination unseen even in ancient myths. Half of her being was engulfed in absolute darkness—like a dungeon of oppression—while the other half radiated a golden kindness. Her soul was a vibrant canvas of contradictions: red lust, indigo sorrow, and green hope that flickered away. This visual paradox made her a living masterpiece, as if painted by a master artist with a spiral style. In contrast, Gilgamesh—a pure demon of the second rank—possessed a wild beauty, fiery selfishness, and demonic pride; a beauty that was both captivating and deadly. At first glance, Elias saw him as an unfinished masterpiece—as if an artist had given up on achieving perfection.

Lancer, a fallen angel of the first rank, with a soul filled with loyalty and guilt, reminded one of the tragedy of "Lucifer" in Milton's Paradise Lost. But the most intriguing character was Kiritsugu Emiya: a black hole of despair and conflicting love. His existence shone like a forbidden apple—a temptation that drew Elias into its depths. He could simultaneously be a savior or a killer; love as vast as a galaxy surged in his eyes, yet his hands were ready to strangle that very love. This existential contradiction made him a symbol of "transcendent art"—art that fuses pain and hope in a single frame.

Elias, with cheeks flushed from excitement, took up a brush made of light. The canvas before him depicted the Holy Grail War—a battle where each soul was a unique painting of colors and emotions. His green eyes, like two dancing stars, wove intricate plans in his mind. He knew this battle was not just a stage for victory but a workshop for creating eternal masterpieces. Each stroke of the brush blended the gold of angels and the red of demons onto the canvas, as if inspired by the acrylic techniques of a master painter.