Hey, readers!
This one-shot is part of The Voidwalker Chronicles, where Nero Angelo—a being born outside time and fate—walks across broken worlds, not to save them… but to right what should've never gone wrong in the first place.
This time, we're diving into the chaotic tragedy that is Fate/Stay Night—but Nero wasn't summoned by command seals or Grail rituals. He was called by the silent cries of those forgotten by the war. This is not a retelling—it's what happens when someone stronger than the Grail decides its reign is over.
Canon divergence? Absolutely. Emotional damage? Probably. Justice? Without mercy.
Let's begin.
The battlefield was a graveyard of broken dreams.
Servants clashed with divine fury, tearing the night sky apart with every blow. Flames consumed the ruins of Fuyuki. Blood mixed with ash. Cries of pain echoed louder than the chants of Masters desperate for victory.
At the heart of it all, the Holy Grail pulsed—twisted, corrupt, hungering. A womb of curses.
In a shattered alley, Shirou crawled forward, burned and broken. Beside him, Rin struggled to rise, her Command Seals glowing faintly. Illya cried out, powerless, as the darkened form of Saber Alter strode toward them like a fallen angel.
"It's over," Saber said, her voice a haunting echo of who she used to be.
Then the sky cracked.
Not a metaphor.
A literal rupture split the heavens, as if the world itself could no longer bear the weight of this war.
From that breach, a figure descended.
White hair drifting like feathers, a tattered black cloak fluttering behind him. His eyes—pale silver and utterly empty—held no anger, no sorrow… just a silence that devoured everything.
Nero Angelo.
He didn't arrive with a chant. No summoning circle lit the ground. No command seals burned on any Master's hand.
He was not part of this game.
He was called by the cries of the forgotten—the servants who died begging for meaning, the people consumed by a wish twisted into nightmare.
The Grail spoke first.
The Grail (echoing through the world): "You are not welcome here."
Nero (softly): "That's true. But neither are you."
The Void Sword appeared in his hand—silent, black, endless. Not forged by man or magecraft. Not created by divine authority.
It was born in the space between realities, and it came to end this one.
Saber Alter lunged.
She didn't hesitate—no questions, no hesitation. Just a cursed knight obeying a cursed command.
Nero didn't even draw his blade fully. A shift of his wrist—her strike missed. Another—her knee buckled. He moved with stillness, each motion defying logic, rewriting cause and effect.
"You've suffered long enough," Nero whispered.
With a single touch, the darkness around her shattered like glass. The corruption peeled away. She dropped to her knees, gasping—not in pain, but in freedom.
"Wh… what did you do…?" she choked.
"Returned what was stolen."
Above them, Berserker roared, charging like a thunderstorm, stone cracking under his feet. Nero turned—not even facing him fully—and raised the Void Sword.
One swing.
The world paused.
The titan fell, not dead—but stilled. At peace. For the first time, Heracles' soul was calm.
Elsewhere, Servants reacted.
Archer nocked an arrow, eyes narrowing. "Another player? Or a storm?"
Lancer snarled, speartip crackling. "Doesn't matter. If he threatens the Master, I'll put him down."
Gilgamesh grinned. "How curious… a mongrel with power outside the Throne. Let's see what color your blood is."
Some stepped aside. Some attacked. Some begged for answers.
But none of them could stop him.
Nero moved like inevitability. Not fast. Not violent. Just unavoidable. Servants fell not in death, but in release. Chains of fate broke in his wake.
And the Grail began to scream.
It writhed, tendrils of curse and desire lashing out at him. "I am salvation! I grant the deepest wish!"
Nero: "You grant corruption."
He raised the Void Sword skyward.
And the heavens shattered.
A thousand voices poured through—Servants long dead, civilians erased from history, mages who never had a choice. Their cries filled the world, not with rage, but with clarity.
They had never asked for war.
They had only wanted freedom.
Nero's voice cut through the storm:
"I was not summoned.
I was not chosen.
I am the silence between prayers.
I am the justice that does not ask.
And you—" (his eyes lock on the Grail) "—you are done."
The world held its breath as he stepped forward—
—and brought down his blade.
To be continued.