He sat alone in a room. It was his own. In it was full of steel and swords. Weapons he had forged over the years made after all kinds of blades of legends. Replicas some would call them and they would be correct. The swords of legends were all locked away in multiple special places or museums around the world. He didn't need them anyway as long as he have his trusted two he'd be just fine. Kanshou and Bakuya were the only two he'd ever truly rely on all the time. Ying and Yang swords originally made by a legendary Chinese blacksmiths and Archer had perfectly copied their make and model to create his own versions. He kept his failed versions around and even used them as reminders of how far he'd come.

How far he'd come? That was a funny way of looking at things. It may sound like he had progressed and was looking at where he was now in life fondly but that wouldn't be correct at all. If anything Archer had fallen far from where he wanted to be. When he was a boy, back when he went by the name of Emiya, he had dreams of becoming a hero. He always used to look up to heroes of justice. He wanted to make everyone smile and create a world where there wasn't any sadness. Safe to say he had failed.

He realized in order to become the type of hero he wanted he'd have to fight and defend people who were weak or the people who were suffering through injustice. Sometimes this meant physically fighting and other times it didn't but either way somehow he'd have to fight. He also found out that fighting and doing nothing was almost similar, seeing as when he did fight he would bring happiness to those who he was fighting for but those he fought against would fall to despair.

He had spent his life looking to make a difference in the world. Only to find out that he couldn't quite do what it was he was looking for exactly. He couldn't bring some people happiness without causing distress to others. Feeling that his life was in shambles since he had failed in his only life ambition he'd begun to wander. This led him to begin another type of fighting. Fighting for survival.

The streets were relentless. They were filled with people all trying to do the same thing that he was doing all trying to do their best to survive even at the cost of those around them. Archer didn't like it one bit but he was quickly accepting that this was the way things worked. He was also finding out that he couldn't careless. He didn't have much to his name anyway. Just a bow, some arrows, a couple of blades left over from his fighting days, and the clothes and armor on his body. He'd felt like a broken tool. Until one day someone appeared.

She was majestic in her own way. Speaking with big and fancy but sweet words that you couldn't help wanting to listen to. So listen he did. She offered him a purpose. HIS purpose. He'd fight for her. He'd fight for her and achieve his purpose. He'd save people, he'd give his own life to save people. He would become her sword and he would strike down her foes. The wicked. The ones who tarnished the world and picked on those who were weak.

Archer felt it wrong initially. Was this what he wanted? To become a mercenary? Isn't this why he stopped fighting in the first place? He was tired of helping some people here and hurting others there. She assured him the two weren't the same. The people who she'd have him fight were the truly wicked. The irredeemable. They couldn't be saved, but he could save those that needed saving. It was different she kept telling him. He'd be saving lives not causing harm. Besides what conflicts could be resolved without some type of violence?

Archer agreed eventually. He chose to believe this woman. She started him off slowly and on small things. A small group of rogues causing problems here. A small criminal organization there. Just going in there, breaking them up, capturing them. Leaving them to be dealt with by higher authorities. HER authorities. He actually believed he was making a difference. She told them they would be rehabilitated her way. That she would fix them. That she could take those who couldn't be saved by normal methods and save them herself.

She lied. She was making her own soldiers. Forming her own group. She was the biggest evil of them all. She was everything he had ever wanted to fight against and she had seduced him. Enticed him with her words. Strung him along with her promises. Lies, lies, all lies and he was responsible for the power she now held. He couldn't stand this thought. He couldn't stand the sight of himself in the mirror. He couldn't stand to be alone in his thoughts.

Stupid.. How could he be so stupid to fall for this. He'd need to fix this. He was responsible. But should he? Could he? Everything he did just ended up going wrong. Everything he ever thought always ended up being a lie. Why should he even bother at this point. He'd just do more harm than good anyway. He always did after all. 

He shook these thoughts off. It didn't matter he'd have to try didn't he? He was saved himself, he was the only one saved as a child when a great fire took out his family and his whole neighborhood. He was one of the few who survived. He was saved. He owed it to all those who weren't to make his life count for something. He owed it to them all to save as many lives as were lost that day and then some. It didn't matter if he died. It didn't matter if he had to keep trying until he died and even after he perished. Whatever it took. He'd do whatever he had to.

Complain later. Brood later. Beat yourself up about it later. If you have the ability to make a difference do whatever you can until you can't anymore. That's what he always told himself. With his resolve now strengthened he was off. Off to go and put an end to the crisis he helped create. Or to create another one entirely...