Deviot_Aviot
08-19-2008, 03:14 AM
ok, i was browsing my faviote site for reading fanfics the other day under the Fate/Stay Night Section when i came across a great piece of art!
It was titled "Miracle" and is a Fate/Stay Night x berserker crossover...
It has several chapters and each one of the is Awesome!! especially the one where Gilgamesh x Guts + Archer and Berserker x Guts...
I've extracted a bit from the earlier parts of the series and edited it a bit to fit in as a sos fanfic. It was originally Archer x Guts with Emiya watching...
Althought not one of the fabulous parts but i guess this would do as a slight teaser ;)
If you want the link to the full-story as written by the writer "Grunt" in the fanfic site, (its free) pm me
Disclaimer: i do not own this story...i've only edited a bit on the names and the weopens...and maybe much on the ending...
Enjoy~
_____________
He can't help it.
The blacksmith of ess can't help it...
It's impossible for him to look away from this battle.
Every time he tries to avert his gaze his eyes move as if possessing a will of their own.
His own body forces him to watch this match between the one villian he recognizes as Alastor and another man he didn't know.
He can not look away, but neither can he bear to look at them anymore.
For the cursed sword wielded by the Warrior attracts him.
If his body tells him to watch than his entire being tells him to get as far away from that big slab of iron that man wields. He knows that as sure as the sun will rise again in the morning, if he watches this battle just a little bit longer, he will understand it. Understand the thoughts that brought forth its making. Understand the history that made the sword what it is today.
The thought of forging this sword makes him ill.
His stomach churns at the very idea of creating that thing. He doesn't want that. Giving shape to this sword through his own body is something he simply can not do. To forge something so blatantly cursed, his minds screams at the hatred needed to forge this weapon.
After all only hate could burn hot enough to melt the demonic blood this weapon is made of. That is all there is to the blade that could kill even the mightiest of the fantastic creatures in a single blow. Hate and Blood. Blood and Hate.
Yet
Some dark part, deep inside his soul tells him gleefully, one day, he will have a use for that cursed blade and he knows that too. He wants to protest, to deny that possibility, but that voice will not allow such self-delusion.
One day, he will re-forge this sword, make it exactly like what he saw today. He will drink deeply from its hatred and swing it with all the rage he has within himself.
That is what his body tells him, because this body was made for creating swords. That is the only truth behind that statement.
So he burns it into his memory, this sword that screams for blood and death every time it cuts through the cold air.
He watches even when he knows it will damn his soul to do so.
This man swings that blade so easily, swings it as if it were but an extension of his arm.
Too fast for a blade so thick.
Too strong for a sword so heavy.
Too skillful for something so dirty.
Even with his limited skills he can see the difference between the assassin and his black-armored opponent.
One has acquired the skill to fight even Game Masters. A dance-like movement, graceful, yet a hidden rage lurks behind those gentle moves. And the longer the fight lasts the hotter that rage burns, as if it was being drawn out by the mere presence of his enemy. It is those movements that he understands. Within his mind the Assassin can see himself doing them even before actually moving his body. Its only natural. Those moves fit him perfectly, as if they had only waited for him to discover them.
The other one simply holds his blade, his stance reveals nothing, yet they all know that his skill is beyond the Assassin.
When it comes to swords that black-armored warrior is just that good. It is a simply truth.
For anyone else that giant blade would be a hindrance at best, a fatal weakness at worst.
To the Warrior it seems like it is the most perfect weapon he has ever used.
It is crude, cumbersome and far too big as far as swords go.
But the power it holds is as undeniable as is its thirst for blood. The reach it grants him serves him well and to him who can wield that sword with one hand alone, its weight is more of a comfort than a hindrance.
Sword and Swordsman. Power and Skill.
It is a deadly combination.
Deadly for even the most powerful of Assassins.
--
Confronted with such a relentless onslaught of attacks the Assassin gives ground.
But he does not falter. His beautiful twin blades have been shattered once already.
That taught him the folly of blocking that mans strikes.
So he dodges.
He parries.
But he does not block anymore. It would be too wasteful to have his blades broken again.
He draws his opponent in. His skill might not be able to reach the Warrior but there is something he can see. With those eyes schooled by battle after battle he can see it.
The road to victory.
That single path that only appears once in a battle.
He can see it, taste it and most importantly follow it.
Now all he needs to do is to force his enemy unto that road. Just one step, that is all that man needs to take on this road and it will be over. From then onwards the only viable outcome is his complete victory.
That is his ability honed by combat, by waiting the true moment his opponent shows weakness, which is when he’ll strike in a fatal and critical blow.
He smiles, cynical as always.
Victory is not assured, but that has never stopped him before.
He can not stop it.
____________________
Dev: I need to cut the part here because of the word limit >< but i will post the other part below~
It was titled "Miracle" and is a Fate/Stay Night x berserker crossover...
It has several chapters and each one of the is Awesome!! especially the one where Gilgamesh x Guts + Archer and Berserker x Guts...
I've extracted a bit from the earlier parts of the series and edited it a bit to fit in as a sos fanfic. It was originally Archer x Guts with Emiya watching...
Althought not one of the fabulous parts but i guess this would do as a slight teaser ;)
If you want the link to the full-story as written by the writer "Grunt" in the fanfic site, (its free) pm me
Disclaimer: i do not own this story...i've only edited a bit on the names and the weopens...and maybe much on the ending...
Enjoy~
_____________
He can't help it.
The blacksmith of ess can't help it...
It's impossible for him to look away from this battle.
Every time he tries to avert his gaze his eyes move as if possessing a will of their own.
His own body forces him to watch this match between the one villian he recognizes as Alastor and another man he didn't know.
He can not look away, but neither can he bear to look at them anymore.
For the cursed sword wielded by the Warrior attracts him.
If his body tells him to watch than his entire being tells him to get as far away from that big slab of iron that man wields. He knows that as sure as the sun will rise again in the morning, if he watches this battle just a little bit longer, he will understand it. Understand the thoughts that brought forth its making. Understand the history that made the sword what it is today.
The thought of forging this sword makes him ill.
His stomach churns at the very idea of creating that thing. He doesn't want that. Giving shape to this sword through his own body is something he simply can not do. To forge something so blatantly cursed, his minds screams at the hatred needed to forge this weapon.
After all only hate could burn hot enough to melt the demonic blood this weapon is made of. That is all there is to the blade that could kill even the mightiest of the fantastic creatures in a single blow. Hate and Blood. Blood and Hate.
Yet
Some dark part, deep inside his soul tells him gleefully, one day, he will have a use for that cursed blade and he knows that too. He wants to protest, to deny that possibility, but that voice will not allow such self-delusion.
One day, he will re-forge this sword, make it exactly like what he saw today. He will drink deeply from its hatred and swing it with all the rage he has within himself.
That is what his body tells him, because this body was made for creating swords. That is the only truth behind that statement.
So he burns it into his memory, this sword that screams for blood and death every time it cuts through the cold air.
He watches even when he knows it will damn his soul to do so.
This man swings that blade so easily, swings it as if it were but an extension of his arm.
Too fast for a blade so thick.
Too strong for a sword so heavy.
Too skillful for something so dirty.
Even with his limited skills he can see the difference between the assassin and his black-armored opponent.
One has acquired the skill to fight even Game Masters. A dance-like movement, graceful, yet a hidden rage lurks behind those gentle moves. And the longer the fight lasts the hotter that rage burns, as if it was being drawn out by the mere presence of his enemy. It is those movements that he understands. Within his mind the Assassin can see himself doing them even before actually moving his body. Its only natural. Those moves fit him perfectly, as if they had only waited for him to discover them.
The other one simply holds his blade, his stance reveals nothing, yet they all know that his skill is beyond the Assassin.
When it comes to swords that black-armored warrior is just that good. It is a simply truth.
For anyone else that giant blade would be a hindrance at best, a fatal weakness at worst.
To the Warrior it seems like it is the most perfect weapon he has ever used.
It is crude, cumbersome and far too big as far as swords go.
But the power it holds is as undeniable as is its thirst for blood. The reach it grants him serves him well and to him who can wield that sword with one hand alone, its weight is more of a comfort than a hindrance.
Sword and Swordsman. Power and Skill.
It is a deadly combination.
Deadly for even the most powerful of Assassins.
--
Confronted with such a relentless onslaught of attacks the Assassin gives ground.
But he does not falter. His beautiful twin blades have been shattered once already.
That taught him the folly of blocking that mans strikes.
So he dodges.
He parries.
But he does not block anymore. It would be too wasteful to have his blades broken again.
He draws his opponent in. His skill might not be able to reach the Warrior but there is something he can see. With those eyes schooled by battle after battle he can see it.
The road to victory.
That single path that only appears once in a battle.
He can see it, taste it and most importantly follow it.
Now all he needs to do is to force his enemy unto that road. Just one step, that is all that man needs to take on this road and it will be over. From then onwards the only viable outcome is his complete victory.
That is his ability honed by combat, by waiting the true moment his opponent shows weakness, which is when he’ll strike in a fatal and critical blow.
He smiles, cynical as always.
Victory is not assured, but that has never stopped him before.
He can not stop it.
____________________
Dev: I need to cut the part here because of the word limit >< but i will post the other part below~