Rhou Nerius Of End (Fate/ Stay Night x Male {Otherworldly} Reader)

Chapter 1: Enter- Bouka, fast as fuck.

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Hell.

That was what one can describe such place full of wreckage. A wasteland devoid of nothing but chaos, as hot flames of fire burned through the endless plain, so does it's inhabitants. One by one, disembodied screams of unholiness reverberated through the plain of never-ending flames. Bodies— nay, rotten corpse that were meant to burn throughout this sea of fire scattered around, some have been already rotting— maggots crawling through their open mouths and hollow eyes— some of it were still seemingly fresh, many dressed in rusty worn-out iron armors and some wearing torn and burning robes. On some even cases, corpse that were all but torn apart, sliced in half pieces, guts and internal organs— such as lungs, kidneys, brain matters, eye pieces, and even testicles— leaving their owners, have been left there for naked eyes to be seen.

To those that would onlook such tragedy, they might just kneel down and puke at how gruesome and disturbing but yet sad this was.

A battle, a full-blown war even, of the very best warriors and accompanies of one community; an event that would lead to both ways of victory and tragedy, where one would be the winners and the other would be the losers, leading to the great stroy of one history and the sad tragedy of one but great tale of battle that would last forevermore.

And the one that transpires in this hellish leftover of battlefield seems to be the latter than the former.

A tragic tale of win and loss.

Ontop of a hill, a hill made from the bodies of countless soldiers stacked from one to another, a flag was there to flap it's now puny symbol to represent it's non-existent army. A symbol left for the families and relatives of this fallen troops to grief and curse upon. If only bloodshed as brutal and tragic as this could never happened, then many of these troops would've gotten back to their proud families, to their lovely wives, to their joyful sons and daughters, and to their cheerful comrades. But alas, fate can never be controlled as life is not as joyful as a mere children's bedtime stories. Fate can never be altered, it can never be stopped, it can never be controlled; as for those who change their fates written before they can even be born to this pitiful world, should not just met a tragic end, but suffer to an end worst than even death.

"Accept your fate, accept destiny, accept reality for you shall never rise to this world." A voice spoke in a low and grumbling tone. It was ragged, some might even trace the spite of rage burning into this remark; however, if one was to listen carefully, they might hear the grumbly tone of sadness, sorrow, and grief. Yet to whom was this voice even came from?

There, ontop of the former said hill of bodies, kneeled one man. Battered and heavily injured, he was all covered in blood a mixture of the troops and his own. A deep wound was cut open to his torso, leaving a massive slash that was visible from front and back, while stabbed to his shoulder was the pole to which the forementioned flag stood flapping.

It was no doubt that this man, whoever it was, is already at his deathbed. His life was rapidly fading, his eyes grew heavy, while his hair casually flowed through the weak breeze of air. Yet even so, even so that his life is already at it's most limit, he smiled.

It was faint but the trail of weak and sorrowful smile came across his lips as he stared down at his lap, a place to which one female figure as laying, sleeping for all of eternity never to awake forever.

Despite his weak hand that seems to shake uncontrollably and furiously, he brought it down and caressed the female figure's cheek.

"Oya..sumi... O...ya..sumi.." He whispered under his breath, humming it on a weak attempt of melody.