There was a change.

Its master had of course been a witness to the battle between hero and monster, and more specifically, to the sudden arrival of a third Servant who struck at the hero.

Its master was not aware of the intricacies of the fight, that the new arrival was allied to the hero or that the new arrival was attempting to save him. Such things couldn't be surmised by mere sight, after all. The hero who possessed that seven-petaled shield, Ajax the Great, fell into a hopeless death.

...and then he came. Benita's Servant, the man wreathed in resplendent armor, the hero who brought a world down upon Miyama: Achilles.

Yes, its master did not know the nature of the alliance that had just been shattered, nor did its master know what Benita herself was currently suffering through the reliving of. All its master knew was what could be seen from the outside and used as a means of guessing.

...but, that was enough.

If the words of Yamato Takeru and Achilles were any indication, the two had been allied, along with Ajax, and this was a betrayal of the latter.

If the reactions of Benita were any indication, this act had dealt a blow to her like few others.

If the memories of its master were any indication, Benita was also allied with the Matou.

In other words...

---

---

-Something raced through its connection with its master.

-Something burned inside of it as it heard that grief-wracked command of Benita.

Sorrow. Frustration. Rage. Determination. Desire. Desire. Desire. Ah, ah, ah, so this is what it means, this is the meaning of becoming a human and indeed it is painful but now it makes sense now it is clear why the master is like this why he chases after that desire because it burns within him a primal impulse that stems from that place without a name and so we charge charge endlessly into that distance and if there is anything that tries to obstruct that tries to delay that tries to hurt then remove it-

"Protect her."

He spoke.

"I will."

It spoke.

"I will attend to the interruptor. You will not be interfered with here, that is the promise of my master."

It did not know how to comfort another. After all, it was still taking its first steps into becoming a living being, but nonetheless, there was something behind those words, a determination that flowed both from its master and itself.

"He has asked me to protect you. I apologize if you do not need such a thing, but I will do so regardless, as I agree with his words. He has deemed you as someone who 'deserves to be happy'. I still do not understand what that means, but-"

An involuntary pause. It was unsure why that came.

"...I believe it is something worthwhile."

And so, it departed from the private room, towards the place where an intercessor had made their appearance. A shambling thing of the same familiars that its brother had just consumed. A construct of Matou, its master told it. As it had not yet learned arrogance, it was thus wary, even with the knowledge of the ease that its brother had managed these very familiars with.

"Leave this place. The individual you are looking for is not accepting visitors."

"...besides that, you are not wearing a hard hat. You are thus not allowed on these premises."

It couldn't help but get that last quip in.

Perhaps this is what becoming a true being meant.

“Owh no…”

Sofia’s eyes widened as her lips trembled. She spent a command seal, and it caused a disaster. Not only did she murder her sisters shot at winning, she antagonized an ally.

She frantically turned her head around to Serafina, tears in her eyes, and regret on her face.

“I’m so sorry! I-I only wanted to...What do I do!? AAaaah, Saber is fighting our ally!” She was practically crying the words out, completely taken aback by this turn of events. She thought she was prepared for a holy grail war, but who was she kidding, this game of death was not meant for her...but her sister was so confident, and she ruined everything for her; she couldn’t quit now, she had to win for her.

“I...I must get to the Matou’s, I have to apologize!” As soon as the words left her mouth, Sofia turned tail and began running down the temple stairs, her twitching knees barely keeping up with her pace as she sprinted down with no care for her safety. If she didn’t get there fast, they would lose for sure; she had one goal in mind, and nothing else could draw her attention while it was there.

---

_Meanwhile

---

As Takeru listened to Achilles, her face visually whitened, his words rang true, and in retrospect, there was absolutely no way anyone would believe her comically villainous words at face value; she never was good at communication. Yet even so, hearing him pronounce his dislike for fighting allies before denying her as one felt like a stab wound infinitely more painful than the bleeding cut on her waist. She never considered herself an upstanding citizen, but friends and allies have gotten her through the worst that life had to offer; and she just killed one and hurt the other...perhaps these actions really did deserve an execution by her ally.

But she couldn’t do that, she could repay her mistakes with so much more than her life, winning would only begin to make up for this turn of events. And so she could simply not lose her life here.

Already she could feel the killing intent as Achilles continued to converse his feelings to her, and in preparation, she faced the setting sun. That which provided life and warmth to all breathing things on earth; both a loving mothers embrace, and a scorching inferno of raw potential floating in space for all to bask in its glory. Her name; Amaterasu, the sun goddess of all living things. Her power still blessing Takeru to this day, filling her body with the mana necessary to face an opponent as strong as Achilles. A soft breeze enveloped her body, slowly twisting and turning and gaining speed. As wind is invisible to the naked eye, it looked like she merely stood there, but in reality, a strong barrier was already in place, imbued with the mana that the sun provided as well as her own. And then Lancer Prime stopped talking.

“Shit”

Was the only word Takeru could utter before being assaulted by Achilles once more; every blow faster than the naked eye could follow. If it were not for her instinct, she would have surely been badly hurt already. But as of right now, with the concentration of a predator coming for it’s pray, Takeru was focusing on every single attack heading her way. And even though she could not dodge or block every single attack, any that were not directed at fatal spots would hit the barrier and lose their power just enough to barely poke Takeru’s skin.

Of course these attacks would add up until eventually she could no longer maintain her barrier or she made a mistake. Time was of the essence as Takeru looked to predict an attack as accurately as possible, until after more than a hundred blows, she found it. When attacking with such speed and aggression, it was almost impossible to maintain the same level of strength as when focusing your attacks in single hard hitting strikes, so when a single strike, one that she understood completely, it’s angle, it’s velocity, it’s intent, would falter for even the smallest percentage, she would move.

As soon as it hit her barrier, she redirected all the wind energy surrounding her to propel herself forward, both the energy of the sun and her own combining into speed almost able to match that of the fastest man on earth. Though the spear slashed the edge of her shoulder as the barrier dissipated, the closing of distance allowed her to do something else entirely.

She would take hold of the spear’s hilt with an iron grip while wielding the sword with the blade reversed in her other hand. As she closed the distance she would both, hit the pommel of Kusanagi directly in Achilles’ stomach, and simultaneously use that momentum to rip the spear out of his hands as the pommel forced his body to move backwards; unless Achilles could find a way out of the situation.

Nonetheless, there was a clear intent on not wanting to fight and hurt Achilles.

@Breo

Queen of Carthage
Forest Outskirts, near Foreigners' Lowlands

Dido's reaction was much the same as before. She shoved her master to the ground to protect him with her body, and her with the fire. Her ability to control it, keeping it from reaching Christopher.

When the lightning struck it was yet again stopped by her fire and, as Dido stood up, she produced a long strip of ox-hide. It was left in a circle around Christopher's feet, "I need you to stay here and this will protect you. I can't fight her if I have to focus on protecting you from her magic."

"Byrsa." Just that one name, and a burst of magic energy was all it took to raise the walls of Carthage to defend her master from this servant. Sure, it would drain on her reserves, but if she didn't needlessly waste energy on any fancy attacks and focused on burning her enemy away, it wouldn't be too much of a drain.

Finally, Dido could focus on her enemy. She turned the direction from which the attacks had come from and began to wonder who it was that had ambushed them while they were talking.

"It would seem you have me at a disadvantage, since you know my identity somehow. In that case, surely you must have some idea of how to fight me, or are you attacking my master because you can't think of another way to win?"

Dido produced yet another length of ox-hide, slightly longer and held it, coiled, clutched in her right hand.

"You can't be an assassin because your concealment isn't good enough. I would hope you are not a caster if those attacks are all you have. Hmm, well it doesn't matter. I might help burn away that mess. Before I do that, I'll have to deal with you, even if that means burning the forest away with you."

With that said, the ox-hide in her hand was engulfed in flame, the now flaming whip used to light a nearby tree ablaze.
@BlueHelix@ManyThings

Lowering her binoculars once the smog from the detonations of high explosive warheads cleared, Strategist felt a grim satisfaction pass through her veins - colder then the wind which blew across the bridge and chilled her through her uniform jacket. Her first action - both as a Heroic Spirit and for her war-machine, and already, they've racked up their first success of this War.

Or did they? A glimmer from the coastline caught her eyes and, as she snatched her binoculars once again, she inhaled sharply as the dying World Tree's baleful glare shot towards her ship.

"HELM, HARD TO PO-" The order was barely out of her lips before - unknown to her - Carly's newest addition to her mask collection intervened. For a split second she saw a speck dart towards the oncoming beam, then her world turned, briefly, bright crimson; she, the other deck officers and anyone else external of the ship's citadel were forced to shield their eyes. When their arms and hands were lowered, the detonation - like both the World Tree and their unknown savior - was gone.

Strategist sighed with audible relief, thanking the Lord and whatever other powers-that-be in this war that 'Dreadnought' had not succumbed to the death throes of that relic. Even so, she knew that time for her and whatever plans she laid had now been considerably shortened. If she and her ship were to operate with impunity, then the planned-for seizure of Miyama's Harbor and any ships it contained would have to be moved up from this evening to right now.

"Marines!" she yelled over the side, catching the attention of her ship's company. "Change of plans!" A gloved fist punched the air as she ordered, "We! Move! NOW!"

A torrent of cheers broke out on the gun-deck as Strategist briefly withdrew to pass down new orders to her officers. "Bring our ship in within three nautical miles of the coastline, by the harbour. Once we are in position, we will disembark any Marine not assigned to gun duty and carry out our assault on the harbor as planned. Captain Reginald," she turned to the ships' commander. "As soon as we are unloaded, I want a continuing patrol and firing arc maintained along the harbor. Any ship that attempts to escape or arrive is to be warned off; all military craft will be ordered to heave-to and prepare to be boarded. No quarter will be given to any enemy Servant who attempt to stymie the landing."

She widened her audience slightly, adding to the others, "I want this one done by-the-numbers, with no civilian casualties if we can avoid it. We're part of a Holy Grail War, not the next Tsushima! I expect you all to carry out your duties effectively and in line with the Articles of War. Is that clear?"

A chorus of replies answered affirmatively and Strategist allowed herself a brief smile; she knew that they would not let her down.

"Very well," she concluded as, behind and below her, the ship's Marines made final preparations to their launches and to their equipment. "Then let's get it done."

-ignore-

@BlueHelix@Reallydumb@Kyoka



A capable general.

That was something that some stories did not describe him as.

Yet he was a man with many things. It was only natural then that he gained things that he did not originally have. Sporting the armor that was the creation of the man of the era of electricity, and sporting the various sacks and vials of the dreaded poison that laid down even the greatest of heroes. What he held was a bounty indeed for any hero, but it was simply a small part of the hoard that would become the power of Persia.

That power, for now was partially on loan. The man beside him was clever, but he was not Iskander. No, despite acting now as a general with the help of Darius, this man was not Iskander.

An ally, a general under his control. He was not a enemy worth facing, an enemy worth devoting one’s existence towards. The hero Odysseus was indeed one of the most celebrated and famous of the modern era. Together they marched upon the swamp, and as they rode, Darius on his elephant of the dead, looking towards the Archer from time to time to consult him wordlessly as though playing at the role of a leader while being a berserker he found that it was a great hero at his side. A hero certainly on the level of him

Yet.

He was so incredibly different. The two men were both clever, and masters of war. Yet they were heroes of a different cloth, birds of a different feather. Even if Odysseus were to be the greatest military tactician in existence, Darius would not see him as a great foe.

For he did not have that drive, that burning drive like that one man.

Would he see Iskander? Would he see that drive?

In his madness, the drive and Iskander were one and the same. Similar to that knight who saw saint and knight as the same individual, the same soul.

Oh Iskander, oh Iskander. Who would be Iskander?

He felt the appearance of a servant as a master called their partner back with a command seal.

Was it you? Iskander!

@Cu Chulainn


The tree must fall, the tree would simply impede the path. It was a thing that was most unkind, a delusion more than fantasy in a sense.

But it was a matter Lancer realized he could not do much about. Nor was there a need. It’d be taken care of. The tree was not a concern. But rather the calamity that it would bring was on the mind of Lancer. The matter of that texture, of that fantasy was a story that closed in his mind as he suddenly made to leave. But before he did he grabbed back his spear from Rider. “The tree’ll be gone soon. But there’s something that’ll happen with the trains. There’s a lot going on where the world fell. If you want a better fight then you should go there.” The words were a direction for the Rider, a suggestion, a tip.

It was all so he would leave, all so he would not stop the boy, or threaten his master when he took to leave with their fight not finished. “I have to go.” he said before leaving, rushing away as if not caring that Rider could chase him down to cut him to bits as though he were indeed just a normal little boy.



Hundreds died immediately. Many others were soon to follow, and others were teetering on the brink. In comparison to the hell of Miyama town that was divine punishment and the cruetly of the world, this was a disaster that was more like the destruction of man. To call this a hijacking gone wrong, or a terrorist act was far from far-fetched. The reason for this tragedy was pettier than he could have imagined. It simply happened out of sheer chance due to a negligent mystic code.

To give a berserker such a mystic code was the height of irresponsibility. It was something even that youth found terrible. Which was saying something. But he knew not the culprit, nor found himself with the time to care. Like a blur he rushed through the crowd of injured people. A god-wind, a small spirit that had come to help, a strange miracle. It mattered not what they’d call it. Lancer shattered debris, ripped off caved in metal walls.

A child who cried by their mother’s side, hobbled by a mangled leg that would never be able to walk again, dribbling lifeblood upon the ground and drowning out the flames from the explosion in a senseless waste of the water that was one’s vigor.

The man whose face was scorched, flesh and skin melting together.

The men whose limbs splintered from crashing into the wall and to each other like carelessly discarded dolls.
The woman who lied, still, dying, a bar of mangled metal piercing through her skull, ruining her left hemisphere.

The train began to meld back together, dragging glass from the scorched ground, and burning glass with it

He healed those who were alive.

Limbs connected, piles of flesh that lost the shape of humans, only barely alive by the most technical of definitions became people again. Light returned to crushed eyes. Hearts moved again, bones melded back together.

Familiars warred for the spear in the background as he dashed about, healing and moving people as he went. What was a disaster and triage situation was cleared in but minutes. The servant who moved, astralizing and popping back into a materialized as needed, not bound by the limitations of a physical body, and working at the full speed of a servant managing to prevent death after death. At this point he did not think. Entrusting the guidance of his revelation skill, he sunk into his purpose.

Faster, faster, faster. You are not the hero who dashes like the first start. You are not the hero who holds the world in his hand. You are not the hero who conquered twelve tasks.

You’re simply a boy.

You’re not a knight.

His mind flashed the imagery of that hellish fire, of the people who crumbled away, burned by the black flames due to his presence. It was simply more fuel for him to let his mind sink away, the direction from above becoming like instinct. He allowed himself to be sublimed to its direction, to become like a robot, a tool. If he simply worked, if he simply pushed himself then there would be no time to hesitate, to feel the pain and horror.

This time they were being saved, this time he did not come as a reaper. But what did he come as?

“Mother. I met some knight in the forest. I did not know you could wear rocks. But what strange clothes it was. It shined so bright! Even their horses had clothes too like that.”

“Mother. When I hunted some boar I met a knight again. He held a strange spear, one that was mostly a blade. It was very pretty.”

What was a court? What was a knight? At that point he did not know. Did he understand even now? He who was ignorant of the world, who did not know what something was beyond the name.

The garb of a fool hid the act of the savior that left the site of the railyard whole again. Even corpses were put back together. All the better for those who would live, that they be greeted with the wholesome dead rather than the bodies of those who were brutalized and met with their unfortunate ends.

Each death was one that he could have stopped if he had been as fast as certain other heroes. Each death was one that likely would have been prevented if he asked his master for the use of a command seal.

Ah, he really was a fool. These clothes suited him well. They were truly his noble phantasm, rather than the red vermilion armor of blood and glory that he had taken and admired.

He felt a bit cold as he sat down on top of one of the trains that had been, for the most part fixed due to his ability. The final bit of work had been accomplished. He would wait for a time, waiting for the emergency survives of Fuyuki to arrive.

The dead should be honored, the dead should remain whole.

There was more trouble in the city, a riot slowly starting up. But for now…

He watched over, stomach twisting slightly.

Ah, what was this?

A tear ran down his cheek.

There were many things he did not know, and he still did not know. The world was a simple place he had thought when he was a child, who knew only the forest, his mother and the boars they hunted.

Then they came.

“Mother. Today I met three knights…”

“I wish to see the court of King Arthur. “

“I wish to become a knight.”

…

“Mother, why do you cry?”

The weight of a few thousand.

What then was the weight of a nation? He thought of that king.

What was the weight of the world?

Looking in the direction of Mount Enzo, Percival thought and felt.

If he weren’t so focused on slaying this enemy, perhaps he might have smiled at a display of ability enough to hold his strikes off. Being someone that liked to fight, someone that thrived in battlefields against challenging enemies, it would have been baffling to see Achilles sport such a serious expression while locked in combat.

Ah, why? We could have so much fun killing each other, so why is there absolutely nothing?

Because—

Now isn’t the time to have fun. Now isn’t the time to smile. Now isn’t the time to laugh.

Those who do not enjoy life will not know how to enjoy Elysium when they reach it. He had always held to that belief, and so he tried to make the most out of his run, that is why he had faced all that came his way with a smile on his face and joy in his heart.

But now it is time for duty. Now it is time to mourn. now it is time to earnestly, with no hesitation, with no mercy—

—kill.

Ah, ah, ah, such memories. It is just like back then.

Wordlessly, he threw himself into the dance of death once again, observing as his enemy prepares herself as she wheathered his strikes. Certainly, any one of the blows of the hero Achilles would be enough to be called a fatal wound—even with her own quick reactions, skill and instinct, his spear still found its mark, and the number of nicks would only go up while he remained out of reach. He could see the gears in her mind turning—or rather, he imagined that to be the case. Looking for an opening, an opportunity—it is what he would do in her shoes. Defense alone would not win a battle, and in a protracted fight he held all the advantages, so her only choice if she wanted victory would be to—

—Advance.

Logical.

A spear’s advantage against a sword always lies in the distance. A sword cannot effectively counter if the rebuffs fall short or worse, they are too strong and they leave themselves open, while the spearman only needs to match the footwork, retract his weapon and thrust again.

At the same time, the basis of all combat is to ‘kill the enemy while they are at the wrong range’, something Achilles had been exploiting thus far. Advancing against him was, ironically, the potentially safest route if accomplished.

—However.

The greatest hero of the Trojan War was not someone that had just coasted by life with no opposition, either. He had been trained by the greatest teacher, true, but, at the same time, a hero can only get so far with training alone.

A warrior who stagnated was a dead warrior. Training was the start, but the true measure of their skill was in the challenges they faced along the way, and the answer they reached at the end of their path. Achilles might not have possessed abilities such as precognition, the sharpest mind of the ancient world or a connection to the voices of the gods, but—

—He was still a great hero that had survived the beaches of Troy. He was still a top class warrior that had thrived before the walls of Troy. He was still a man who had pierced the hearts of many in Troy. That was his ‘proof’.

There were heroes who had made their name with singular acts of valor. There were heroes who had forged their legend with great contributions to humanity’s history. There were heroes that had become enshrined fables by killing ‘that which was beyond humanity’.

However, Achilles was not one of that sort. He was not a ‘hero that killed monsters’, such as some of his older counterparts in Greek mythology. That was not part of his legend.

What he had learned in the Trojan war—the attribute that separated him from such heroes, beyond even specs, skills or Noble Phantasms. In the ‘premise’ of the Holy Grail War, it was that attribute that made him even more attractive as a Servant.

He had not devoted his life to learn how to slay monsters beyond man.

Achilles was someone that had honed his skill for the purpose of ‘slaying men themselves’. He was ‘a hero that killed heroes’.

Therefore—

It was true that avoiding a thrust was possible if one possessed enough dexterity, quickness and recognized the direction even if they were not just as fast — after all it is still a straight line. It was also true that advancing so suddenly against one might leave the spearman open. It was true that pulling back in a panic would give away the spearman’s advantage, it was true that in closer quarters, a sword would be superior.

But, Saber, did you think it was anything novel?

The moment she had retracted the barrier, the moment she had focused on advancing, the moment she had chosen to hold her sword in so awkward a manner, the moment she thought to be able to hold back an opponent that was stronger than her if it came to it by grabbing his weapon, the moment she had chosen to attack half-heartedly against a man that had expressed his absolute desire to see her dead. Even if she succeeded, what did he have to fear, wearing his godly armor?

Mistake, mistake, mistake. Which one was the first?

. . .Perhaps, the moment she had seemingly fallen under the impression that the Heroic Spirit of the Spear would adhere to normal limitations — it was a flawed foundation to build a plan upon. To begin with, he only had that title because he could defy what should be ‘possible’ with a spear.

The momentum of the thrust stopped dead in its tracks the very instant Saber made her choice to advance and sacrificed her shoulder, only to begin its movement anew, this time to the side as Achilles swung it.

Recognize. Plan. Execute.

Saber was fast, but Achilles was ever a step faster.

Accelerating to top speed in less than an instant, the spear which Saber had allowed to slide over her shoulder now—

—Collided against her head and caved in her skull like overripe fruit.

@addamas

The spirit of Ajax the Great winked out of existence in a single second, and for a moment, Serafina wasn't sure how to feel. Annoyed? Angry? Upset? She thought for a moment, as her sister panicked. Takeru was fighting Achilles, antagonised by the death of his cousin before his very eyes. This was her fault, without a doubt. She had miss-stepped, made a tactical error, and it had led to a domino effect that would no doubt wrack their alliance with the Matou's for the rest of the war.

She stood at the Temple Gate, wondering on what she could do now. Summon a new Servant? She could, but there was something to be taken care of first. Now that Ajax was dead, now that someone had actually died, there was a plan she could go through with. Her gaze lingered on Sofia, who took off on running down the stairs for some reason or another. They couldn't have another Servant die.

"Wait up, sis!" she called, running down a couple of steps to catch her attention, "There's no point trying to call off the fight, she'll be dead before you even get close. Achilles is going to kill her." her hand reached up to run through her own hair, thinking for just a moment, "Takeru cannot hold back against him. But luckily, we know who he is." with a smile, her hand dropped to her side, "Just aim for his heel. Keep out range, and target it. She'll know what to do~!"

With that smile, she turned back to walk away, but caught herself for just a second.
"Um, but if you're going out anyway, can you get me some fireworks, or something like that? I have a Ruler to call."

@Breo @addamas



Static.

She was alone. No, that is wrong. She heard something else. It wasn’t just the sound of her hasty footsteps. It wasn’t just her breathing. The breathing of another within the lowlands of the former foreigner’s district.

There was nobody here.

There was nobody here.

Yet …

…. She saw her.

The only other person in the world. The only other person that at this time Benita could see.

The Traitor. To the person who had betrayed her own sister, there would be no quarter. And there would be no hesitation. Benita had to act as an arbiter for those who had been wronged. Perhaps under normal circumstances, this action would not be taken by someone who was designed to “save the world”, but for whatever reason, Benita could not allow this transgression to continue. After all, what did that mean for ■■■■■■■■■■?

“I see you have come to challenge me in person, Sofia Whitehall.”

The words were spoken out of pure disgust.

“I’ll give your corpse to your sister. And then she will praise me. And I will get that praise and I alone. However, you shall not leave this place.”

The thing grafted upon Benita’s arm, it was a thing of infinite darkness. Something that “should not exist”, and yet it was there. Pertrutions like thrones covered the length of her arms like the vines of a rose. If the darkness were to catch the Whitehall, it will kill her. It will consume her. As long as the screams of that sacrificial doll continued, “she” could kill anything. One should never set foot before “her” if they valued their life. With a single action from Benita, the phenomenon occurred and the beast that scattered death. Even if the Whitehall held armor that rejected that of the weapons of humanity, the arm behind Benita’s back was nothing but far from humanity.

The difference between the two magi was shown in that instant.

Run.

Run.

Run.

“But the fate of a dog would suit you much better. I’ll rend your flesh and keep you alive. I will destroy your body but leave your mind to wallow away. You will die as you suffer. And while you die you will learn that your actions will not be tolerated, scum!”

That “thing” moved. It actually moved. Something appeared wrong in Benita’s vision. ■■■■■■■■■■ no longer clouded her thoughts. ■■■■■■■■■■ no longer obstructed her vision. Instead, there was only the fantastic shadow behind her. She extended her arm, and so too did the “fantastic thing”. It was burning. Just like that time Six years ago. Her right hand directed the thing of “steel” behind her. There was nothing that the fantastic being behind her could not do. It was a being that was her own. A shadow of her own self. Something that was born into the world at her desire.

“Show me what you can do. No quarter will be given to you. You shall die where you stand, Sofia Whitehall.”

This was a battle between two Magi.

A battle between two Masters.

A battle between two Sisters.

Even if they were not related. Even if Benita had no true reason to assist the other Whitehall …

It would gouge out her eyes. It would rip her limbs from her body. It would rend her flesh. It would crush her until nothing but a pulpy mess of flesh and blood and sinew remained. And even then, it would continue until nothing remained.

But first …

Justice would be served. And with a single, simple command, Her arm from moved towards her opponent. And so did the right arm behind her back. It would strike against her opponent. Like a mass of darkness, it would consume the Whitehall.

And that was …

“Kill her.”

Instinct was such a fickle thing, for many times it guarded and saved Takeru, but once in a thousand times, it betrayed her. Or maybe it was just that Takeru misunderstood the message it wanted to convey.

Now was one of those times; the spear that should have allowed her to disarm Achilles was rapidly approaching her neck. People always tell you that your life flashes before your eyes when faced with death, but to takeru, she only remembered the past few minutes. And as those minutes were very often filled with battles, she could essentially rewatch her battle in its entirety, often spotting mistakes and flaws that she should have approached differently.

Striking down Ajax in an attempt to save him, speaking the words to Achilles who never needed to hear them, and going all-in against one of the most incredible heroes to ever exist. These moments were melancholic, but they also allowed her to improve, or maybe it was just another form of instinct telling her what to do in its most raw form; and tell it did.

The idea hit her like a train, much like the idea itself entailed. There was perhaps one chance at this - one single opportunity to make it out of the fight alive. Her gaze glanced at his grip, his hand holding the spear some ways down for his slash, and then towards her own grip, at the end of the shaft, holding tightly in her own futility. Attempting to disarm such a man was more than just a foolish endeavor - it was nigh suicidal. But she might just have a shot.

The momentum charged through her body, pushing her forward as she prepared from the disarm. She couldn’t follow through on the attack, but keeping the momentum was a necessity. Every ounce of spiritual energy she could muster was thrust violently into the sword, forcing the winds around it to swirl closer to a hurricane around it than any normal zephyr. And she kept on moving, not stopping to block the oncoming attack, or dodge, or anything of the sort.

In the next moment, not a split second after the two entered into close range, the pent up wind tore from behind her, shredding the flattened and desolate ground around them in a tumultuous release of pure energy. It was more like a jet engine than the ability of a sword, increasing her own speed several fold as she approached. However, that wasn’t her only ploy. Achilles would only have the power of his strike, regardless of the speed, at a certain distance. She needed only close it. With her increased momentum, she forced herself to the side, into the arm and shoulder that clutched the spear, bent on preventing the attack from reaching its full potential.

And then, with the rest of her speed, she barrelled into the hero, pommel swung forward from the blast to catch his waste, and fling them both across the ground. It was an unsightly display, far from a civilised battle between esteemed heroes, but of course this was not one such fight. It was between a man possessed with vengeance, and a woman desperate to survive.

If they fell, Takeru would keep going, allowing the extreme winds behind her to propel her even further forwards. Past her adversary, over his head, and out across the wastes as she surrounded her body with wind to make herself invisible, hoping for a head start before Achilles could recuperate. At least… until Sofia could broker a truce with his Master.

---

on the way to the Matou estate





As petite feet ran across the concrete, the Whitehall girl was crying tears of regret in her defeat. She never wanted this, Achilles and his master must be hurting so much because of her, let alone her sister, who she completely betrayed. She had to make it up, there was no way she could ever face them again if she didn’t; and it would all start with an apology, and a punishment.

Luckily for her, it didn’t take very long for Sofia to find the master of Achilles at all...but her expression and words saddened her deeply. Benita already knew what had trespassed, and even though her words told a lot, her face told more than those words could ever accomplish.

Benita was angry, mad, furious, and it shook Sofia to her core. for all the expectations she had, this was miles away from the things that crossed her mind. this girl was ready to kill her, she didn’t even hesitate...and Sofia would accept it...if it wasn’t for her sister.

Serafina, the sole reason she entered this grail war, to stand by her side and make their dreams a reality. She failed her, but by dying here, her failure would be all that would be left of Sofia, and that was unacceptable. So as Benita prepared her magecraft, Sofia quietly stood there, tying her bandana around her neck before uttering the last words before the coming battle.

“I’m sorry...”

No sooner than Benita released her demon upon Sofia to feast, did the Whitehall girl turn tail and ran towards her sister. She clearly understood the difference in skill-level between the two mages, and she knew that she could only stand a chance when with Sera.

As she ran however, she released the runes of unrelenting force, sending a staggering wave towards the demon and Benita to hopefully slow them down.
simultaneously, She took her mystic code dagger from its scabbard and held it in her hand in case of emergencies.

It had dealt with the intercessor. She had no sway here until she had donned a hard hat. Multiple hard hats, in the case of her current form.

-However.

The foreman had left. It did not yet truly understand what it meant to be human, it did not yet truly understand what the homunculus felt. It had flashes of images and memories, but it as of yet lacked the context needed to give those minutae meaning.

Thus, seeing the foreman leave as dusk fell, it thought only one thing.

Ah.

She must be going on break.

And so, it moved, hastily following after Benita as it let out a sharp whistle in an attempt to catch her attention. In its hand was gripped a meticulously-wrapped lunchbox, something that one of the yakuza had prepared earlier in the day with a practiced ease that made it evident that he was likely a father. What a responsible man.

"You forgot your food-"

Its voice cut off. Yes, even if it could outpace Benita by far in "speed", it was frozen to the spot as it realized that something was off.

She was not turning around. She seemed to be thinking of other matters. She did not seem to want her food. It surmised that the food was left behind on purpose.

Ah.

Well then.

Break time.

Its younger sibling was left in charge of the construction site for the time being. After all, it was now on break.

-However.

It did not bring food.

Nor did a kindly yakuza happen to pack it some food.

Thus, it would have to arrange something for itself.

Spying something some thirty meters away, clearly visible on the leveled land even if it was not capable of seeing through its spiritual senses, it found a suitable place.

A food cart that was just about to open.

Receiving the rather sizable bottle of moonshine, he smiled and thanked the owner of the establishment. He took a sizable pull of the drink, and felt his mood rise with the burning down his throat. It tasted just as it should have, like absolute swill, like home. Ah, that was the stuff.

...but good things couldn’t have lasted. He sensed rather powerful presences invading his and his Master’s demesne, which meant that either they were idiotic as one could be, or immensely strong. Both were of concern, and thus, he sent a message through the mental link he had with his Master. As he did so, he handed his bottle of rượu đế to the one-armed man who waited with him.

“Unfortunately, I won’t be able to accept your offer. Someone’s been rather rude, and I have to take care of some business. But you were rather polite, so try some of this. You seem to be a Western servant, so try something new for once, besides your wine. Careful, careful, though. It’s quite strong,” Rider spoke. But, he intended to come here once more, once the business was… taken care of, so-

“...perhaps we can drink together some other time, however.”

And as he spoke, he disappeared back to the Southern Moor.



Arriving in his territory, he assessed the presences he had detected. One was hidden, but nothing could hide from him in his domain. A pity that it had to be that woman, he did intend to thank her for revealing to him that base earlier. The other…

The other had great power, indeed. But power was nothing in the hands of those who did not use it properly. A madman advancing at the head of an army of skeleton warriors, seemingly unthinking as well. He supposed that was the plan, an enormous hammer to draw his attention, while a hidden dagger would strike at the heart of their demesne and provide cover. A workable plan, albeit simple and heavy handed. It was too reliant on the fact that the female Servant would be able to stay hidden, and that the enormous, dark Berserker would be able to provide a sufficient enough distraction with his sheer power and forces.

The first was nullified by virtue of his Noble Phantasm. As for the second...

Vietnam was a small country. But that did not mean they were weak. China had oppressed them for nigh-on a thousand years, but they had always, always fought. The cornered rat bit the hardest, and they were no rats.

Three times the Mongol hordes had stormed into his homeland. They, with their great hordes, with their thundering horses, their arrows that could blot out the sky. Thousands upon thousands of men, so assured that they could crush this upstart kingdom.

Three times they were thrown back.

Why?

Because the men they fought were defending their homes. Their families. Their livelihoods. They answered the call of trying times, and they fought. They fought, and fought, and fought. They fought under his command, and they won. Oh, surely, they did not face the barbarian hordes face-on. Only a fool would do that. And well-

“A good general needn't deploy. A good deployer needn't fight. A good fighter won't lose. A clever loser won't die."

He was no fool.

Cut off their supplies, never allow them to rest. Burn your lands, so they can take nothing from you. Prepare what is left, so when they attempt to steal, they are punished. Attack where they are weakest, when they cannot respond. Divide them, until they are no longer united in a mighty whole. And then retreat back into the dark, the jungles and swamps that are yours, and never theirs, and do it all over again.

That was what he and his men did, up until his greatest triumph, and sent the Yuan running back to China, cutting them apart all the way up on that road.

Indeed, he had no men. He could not afford to scorch the Earth. There were no supplies that he could capture and steal. He was outnumbered by far. It was unlikely he could hide, considering the woman was able to see the area that he could not by herself, and that he would have to be wariest of all, as the greatest tool he had, that all in the ragtag army he had was stealth. But, he had prepared these grounds. He knew this land like the back of his own hands. The invading force, these transgressors, were indeed mighty, but...

He was Trấn Hưng Đạo, and he needed nothing else but himself.



Within a few instants, he formulated a plan, and began setting it into action. His traps were checked over, and began activating. While simple ones like rolling logs and pit traps would do little to capable Servants, they served their purpose well in sweeping away their minions, and the commotions caused by them served to distract his foes. His skills activating alongside with his territory greatly weakened the Servants, limiting their abilities and power, and with his intermittent attacks and retreats, they were guided down a certain path. Certainly, it was difficult to guide the woman down, as she was sane and likely of sound tactical mind, she was forced to follow the madman and his army. Admittedly, an army cut into ribbons, and weakened even further, but well, the Servant could still generate them.

It would have to end soon. Either with the enemy Servants dead or fleeing, as his failure was not an option.

@ReallyDumb @Yukitamas @Kyoka

@Breo @addamas



The distance between Sofia and Benita was too great. There was no way that Benita’s arm could close the distance. There was no way her hand could break it’s way through the unrelenting force of the attack that was coming towards her. It was impossible for her hand to break through that wind. After all, her body was “compact”; something that her siblings had teased her about many times before this.

Therefore, it was impossible for Benita to break through the spell. It was impossible for her to catch her opponent. It was impossible for her to claim victory in this fight.

But …

Demons are beings of “impossibility” given form.

“My right hand cannot grab you,” Benita said, a look of triumph upon her face. However, behind her stare there was malice. Absolute hatred. She hated this person.

This person was everything that Benita hated about others.

This person was everything that Benita hated about her Sisters.

This person was everything that Benita hated about herself.

She focused herself into her hand. That beautiful right hand from behind. She saw the entirety of “it”. “Hope” taken shape as a hand. The hand of a god smiting those who had committed sin. A hand of pure “affection” that gently caressed those whom had committed their wrongdoings, absolving them of their crimes.

Clash. The hand tore through the runic assault like it was nothing but glass, shattering into nothing before the presence of a greater “it”. What was once a “mystery” was reduced to nothing before this hand. This beautiful hand of “love”. A clawed hand that tore.

“But ‘their’ hand can.”

She silently extended her hand forward and so too did their body. It was “impossible” to dodge. But even if they had managed to dodge the claws, their minds would have been flayed by the tear in information space, drilling into the world with such deep claws blackness into the world.

She also extended that “other” hand forward, as if she was tracing a path towards its target. A superficial existence of “love” that Benita was marked with. Those beings that existed as her “arm” were things that wished only for “love”. One should never set foot before “it” if they valued their life. The phenomenon occurred and the beast that scattered death.

“Too slow.”

There was something that “it” on her back could do. There was something that “it” and she had to do. What would she do with this hand? Benita knew what she wanted to do, and that was why ーーー

“Don’t cry.”

Tearing apart, melting, and whipping out; that “other hand” is a blade that vanquishes evil. This “hand” breaks through the body of Sofia as if they were nothing. This demonic hand that was the pinnacle of her magecraft; the culmination of her craft and the knowledge implanted onto the girl.

She didn’t need her instrument for this. After all, it was merely a bug on the side of the road. Something insignificant to those around it. A being whose powerlessness would only bring ruin and despair. Benita was an arbitrating angel, and this was her punishment.

The hand raised.

A being of joy.

A being of grudge.

A being of love.

A being of hate.

Of imagination and destruction.

“You of steel: My arm. I say this to you. Melt, like the sun.”

The girl, Sofia Whitehall, was no more. And with her, “justice” was served. Benita only hoped that her death was painful. “That hand” would make sure of it. Even if she was not dead, the alternative was much, much worse.

That damned demon...It completely ignored her rune attack. Sofia knew that she was not that powerful, but she at least hoped that her mystic codes could give her a fighting chance.

This was bad, really bad, worse than falling down a ten story building with nothing but concrete waiting at the bottom. Sofia was about to be a swiss cheese and Sera was not yet in reach to help her.

There really was only one option that could get her out of this mess; so with a sharp turn, Sofia turned around to face this anomaly, presumably a demon curse, and she raised her hand towards it.

the emblem on her hand turned a bright shade of red once more, and with the power of a command seal, she released all the energy contained within the seal. It was a curse versus a curse, one greater than the other, a battle of concepts in which the most powerful curse dispelled the other.

But a command seal, a curse provided by the holy grail, the same grail that allowed heroes from the past to duke it out in the present, had so much raw power; to say it dominated this simple demon curse would be an understatement.

But as she held her hand in front of her, she had started moving forward, running even; sending waves of magical energy in all directions as the demon arm was being dispelled by the seal. With the help of the mystic code runes around her neck and holding her knife in two hands with the tip facing towards Benita’s stomach, she ran towards the homunculus with heightened speed and strength that the petite girl could never match under normal circumstances, until she collided with her.

As her servant tackled their opponent, so did Sofia bring Benita to the ground, leaving the dagger behind in her body. With her back facing the ground, letting the demon out again would be nothing less than troublesome. But Sofia did not stop there, she kept running, past the small girl, with her heightened speed she ran as fast as her legs would let her, until Benita was no longer within sight; Sofia had unknowingly left both her sister and her opponent behind to deal with the incoming mortar fire.

Some would call it a bet. Others a prayer. Others still would deride it as a cornered rat lashing out.

Achilles would do nothing of the sort. His enemy had chosen to place her life on the line and commit to her course fully, with no hesitation, looking at the end of the road and facing him head on.

His blood boiled, and he hated that he had to show this to the killer before him, but, begrudgingly. . .

Even if it was to escape, even if she had killed his cousin, even if she was an enemy he absolutely cannot forgive, he would not mock that determination. Rather, in her last moments, he would acknowledge it and answer on his own.

To have held off his hundred blows.

To have evaded his killing strike by a hair’s breadth.

To possess the determination to trudge forward.

I will acknowledge you, then. The determination in those eyes, the gleam of one who strives to live just for one more second, the commitment to one’s path. I will respond to it in the only manner I am allowed to now.

It is the only gift I can give — to an enemy I hate, but that I will not disrespect, to an enemy that is about to die, this is my farewell.

I will answer your every attempt and absolutely—

“—Shatter them all right before your eyes.”

Saber had managed to avoid death once again. That, in itself, was commendable and something that spoke highly of her abilities as a warrior. But she had made one fatal mistake.

To begin with, Achilles had nothing to fear even if she did get close for a variety of reasons. Beyond even his confidence in his skills, the fact was that close range was where ‘Achilles absolutely held the advantage’.

Tackling an enemy is not a strategy that will work if you cannot make them so much as budge from their spot. Her mistake had been attempting this against someone that was as an unyielding wall, right before her.

The key of the matter was in Achilles’ divine armor, the greatest work of the Olympian blacksmith, Hephaestus, that was doubtlessly one of the many proofs of how beloved by the gods he had been during his lifetime. Beyond even the unfair effect it had working alongside his immortal body, the quality and protections built into the craftsmanship made it an absolute first-rate Noble Phantasm worthy of the second greatest hero of Greece. In terms of pure defense, it outweighed even the skin of a certain hero from Germany that had bathed in dragon’s blood.

Furthermore, the mistake had only been made worse by the fact that what she was attempting counted, for all intents and purposes, as the appropriate situation to trigger its second passive effect of enhancing the abilities of someone that was already a first-rate hero to their absolute limit.

Defenses that even the Rank of A would fail against.

Strength that approached that of monsters absolutely beyond man.

The bravery to try such a course of action without flinching, confident to the point of absurdity.

What she had attempted to tackle could not be said to be a man anymore — rather, the more fitting term would be ‘moving fortress’. And so, crashing against him, Achilles’ free arm came to envelop without so much as budging backwards, trapping her.

“Come to think of it.”

Ah, so this is it, then?

“When you killed my cousin he could not even move to escape his death, could he?”

The arm pressed—

“I guess it’s only fair, then.”

—and pressed—

“Now, stay silent, and enjoy the sunset. This is your requiem.”

—and pressed—

“I’d normally go for something more dramatic, you know? But as it is, well, I’m really angry right now, so this is the best you’ll get. Maybe if the circumstances were different. . .”

—and pressed.

“Maybe then we could have had a fun fight. But, sorry. This is an execution, you see.”

And Yamato Takeru, Saber of the Second Holy Grail War, died.

@addamas

Tesla stared out into the distance with sleepy eyes and a somewhat grumpy expression on his face, quickly glancing at the battle between Achilles and the unknown Servant with intrigue as he waited for the mortar cannons to annihilate the three Masters. The Persian Master had woken him up to get him to fire upon the three Masters, dragging him from his desk in the middle of his nap to show the sisters fighting amongst themselves in his strange cup thing. Tesla recognized the opportunity, but bemoaned the situation. Couldn't they have waited for him to finish his nap before becoming targets?

The mortar cannons had been going full force for a few minutes now, in reality he had activated them remotely the moment he had confirmed their location from the roof of the Church. The sisters fought amongst themselves, summoning amalgamates of curses and flinging runes in an attempt to preserve their own lives. What they did not know, was that they had already been penetrated by lines of death, invisible to all eyes but his own as he watched the rain of death fall upon their position with the wrath of god. What they didn't know was that they had been dead since the moment Tesla gazed upon them. A loud yawn escaped his mouth as he rubbed his eyes, feeling the mortar cannons shake his bones as they continued to fire.

There was little warning for the trio, a distant boom reached their ears from the direction of the Church, bright flashes of light emanating from the roof as they had been earlier in the day. Whether or not they would be smart enough to figure out it's target was of little consequence, for they had not the speed to move from their place of death. The first to be struck down was Sophia, she simply wasn't fast enough to escape from the rain of plasma and death that fell from the sky like so many raindrops. She was turned into chunks of meat and blood from a shell of plasma landing a few feet to her left, the shockwave instantly killing her. Those chunks of meat and blood then turned into mere atoms that composed a human body when the next strike hit a moment later, annihilating any trace of her existence from the world. Benita was the next to fall, having been knocked over by Sophia in her mad dash to escape she had not even the time to pray as as she witnessed the wrath of god fall upon her and annihilate her with a single blow. Serafina would witness all of this transpire over the course of but two seconds, before being annihilated herself by a mortar strike from behind, the shockwave turning her body into a substance resembling thick soup. Tesla did not turn off the mortar cannons for another five minutes, just to make absolutely sure that the three sisters were absolutely dead. There would be no recourse, no survival, only the decimation of three humans who thought they could stand among gods without protection.

Sound of cannons being fired in rounds echoed across the newly transformed fortress of the Rat King. Each suit had their ears muffled or covered with their cotton, wine corks and even their own hands from the continuous roar of the Territory. With every shot that was fired, another one followed... and it wasn't just them. It was also their newly made allies who opened fire at the unnatural sight that took form before their very eyes and that in a matter of minutes, the tree fell... shelled to pieces by the combined forces of the Admiral and the Piper of Hamelin.

Operation: Ragnarok Readvent was a success... at least for the most part.

With a smile, Enzo turned to his army of suits. Both hands raised and spread outward. Everyone! The Operation was a success!" Loud cheers erupt from the gathering just below the academy's stage before he took out a whistle to blow into it and snap everyone out of their little victory. "Hey! We're not out of the woods yet, gentlemen! Prepare all defenses for the night!"

The lights shine on the open crates on either side of the mafia heir and with a sequence, another set of suits ascended the steps to the stage and began throwing firearms for the crowd. Questions linger among them about what comes next. Each person set up with a rifle and a packet of ammunition or two. "A lot of you aren't gonna be sleeping tonight and we're all going by shifts! I'm sure those bastards are gonna send their own over here after what we've done to their precious tree." He announced just as the gatling guns were mounted on the walls, on the side of every entrance. Should anyone come this way, they will be met with lead and grudge. He isn't going to show any intruder mercy tonight or any night for that matter. Not even in the day time. With proud strides exiting the stage, he entered his office, a telephone on the desk ready for him as he returned. He bid his man out the door and dialed a few numbers to the men he distributed as a watchdog or a scout troupe in each district of Fuyuki. In his hand were numbers for every one (except the Foreigner's District where it was crossed out with one line down the middle).

"Piper, I want you to be ready for retaliation, whoever is angered with what we did will most likely come all the way here. I've already made preparations of my own, should the worst come on our side. Be ready to detonate everything you have."

Yes. Fuyuki will receive no quarter when this war is finished.

@Argonaut @MrCellophane @Paradox Witch

---

Inside a "borrowed" building, nevermind the old geezer tied up in the backroom being kicked around by armed men in suits was a young lady picking up the ringing tone of the nineteenth century phone. She was staring out her window where the two cars are parked just below. "Hello~ Miss Geneva speaking... ENZO! How great it is to hear the voice of our dear leader~" She giggled, twirling the cord.

"Cassandra..." Enzo's voice echoed over the vintage telephone. "Report. Anything going around in the Native District?"

Her finger stopped coiling around the wire, turning to the open sliding window out the building and looking at the chaos just ahead of their safehouse. "Oh that... well the whole place is..." A man passed by the building, yelling something in their native dialect and was eventually shot dead center by a rifleman in the balcony next to her. ...in chaos... these nips are going wild. Destroying property, tagging walls with ink and screaming whatever-the-hell these people said. I have no idea what got them riled up... must be the lies the government said to them or something..."

Now that she mentioned it, if the authorities aren't going to do something was wrong. The day they were sent out to be a scout team, Cassandra did notice that there was a local gang that was supposedly hostile against foreigners, the Yakuza, they call them. Neighborhood heroes so long as you're a Jap and are living here.

Ah well. Not like racism mattered to her, a golden opportunity presents himself however... if the Yakuza aren't quelling this chaotic turn of events then maybe the mafia will. "Ah... Boss Enzo, can I make a request?" Silence followed, then a sigh.

"What is it?"

"Could you send a few cars my way? I know what these nips can do for us~"

"...I'm listening..."

"I was thinking we put a stop to the riots and the people hiding in our homes would gladly depend on us more... of course... it won't be immediate but gradually they'll warm up to us and distrust the lack of assistance than what the Yakuza are giving. Should they pose a problem, I don't mind killing a few monkeys in suits."

"Cars are a little much, I'll send two more and some carriages. Pull this off and you might get a raise."

"Wonderful, many thanks Boss." Slamming the phone down, she stands up. Slinging a rifle over her and taking the revolver from the desk, she marched out with a handful of guys. Exiting the terrace, a few dozen... all armed and ready to regulate. If these rioters are smart, they wouldn't dare try to get near one of them lest they get shot.

Gently opening the traditional gate and walking further to the source of the noise, she raised her pistol and fired six shots trying to get at them through fear. If a gun won't do it, perhaps a firing squad will...

...then again how is she supposed to know that these work on the Japs? It worked once on a casino in Las Vegas.



@Cu Chulainn

Ah.

Ah, the food cart was closing.

No. No, that wasn't allowed. That wasn't permissible.

It had to reach there before it closed.

"Hero Achilles, a betrayer does not deserve a glorious death."

And so, with a speed that touched into the realm of a Servant, its arm extended.

No, not extended. Lengthened.

Its arm streaked out even as it itself moved, cutting through the air to reach its target.

Yes, indeed, the outcome had been decided. Yamato Takeru's death was determined. But, there was an instant, the barest instant of time, and it was in just the position to take advantage of that instant.

Its arm touched Yamato.

Sever.

"Something" broke. Lacking magecraft knowledge, she would likely be unable to gauge what had just happened, but her Master certainly would. If they were still alive when this occurred, there would be no doubt that they would understand.

After all, their line to their Servant had just been cut. But not merely that, that alone would be insufficient, since its goal was to-

From within it, something pulsed. An alabaster eye.

The space around it...

-Quivered, boiled up, undulated.

What covered its body shone white, bright white.

-Like a dark night. Like a shadow. Its form changed. The white light coming from the eye formed a strange pattern. It shook. It shook. It shook. And then-

-Next, its right arm warped. Eating, tearing its flesh. Black pervasions pierced its shoulder. They had the same hardness as what dwelled within its body, scraping against each other, grating, grating, grating. The same change was taking place along all its body. Its skin broke, its flesh broke, and the darkness shook, shook, shook. And then, finally...

-A white fracture ran through its body, tearing open its chest.

"Pitiful one who stole the name of Susanoo, your voice wasn't heard."

Seal.

Something impossible occurred.

The Servant, Yamato Takeru, vanished.

...no, not vanished. She was sealed, locked into that alabaster eye buried inside of it.

And so-

"Thanks for the meal."

It devoured.

Take.

She tried, she failed. It seemed that her prowess as a heroic spirit could only take her so far; against someone as powerful as Achilles, her legend could simply not stand a chance.
But not for lack of trying; Yamato Takeru was a woman of pride and determination and pulling out in this way would only disgrace to Lancer Prime, and so she embraced her fate, letting it run its course, no matter who the victor would be.

What Achilles did, allowing her to speak to him a final time before removing her from this world, was a kindness she could never repay.

“I’m sorry...I failed you master.” her voice was sore and crackling, with every breath she could feel life slip out of her.

“I’m sorry that I failed you Achilles...and your cousin. I never meant for this to happen.” with a crack, her spine started to break, Even with all the might that she exerted, there was absolutely no way she would ever escape his grasp.

“Heh...I guess i still have a lot to learn, but...I at least enjoyed the time i spent here.” With all her might, she turned her eyes to his, desperation and acceptance both residing within their golden color.

“K-keep the city safe, alright? This war is not one they need to be a part of...And please, my master, she’s innocent...I...convinced her to do this...Plea-”

No, something was wrong; why couldn’t Takeru finish her last sentence? what was holding her back, was it too late? did Achilles finally end her life?

...No, this was something else, her vision was getting blurrier, but it didn’t feel natural; something was taking her away...no...no...she didn’t want to go there; anywhere but there!

Please somebody help her, anybo-------------

Yamato Takeru was gone.