Laughter fell away. There was something more here. The kings who sought blood, the fear of the nature behind the one who had assaulted their gathering, but beyond that, a feeling of terror began to well up in the Faker's core. It was not until the arrival of Hippocrates that he realized what that terror was born from.

His expression tightened as he heard those words. No, even before it had been said, he knew somehow, knew that the man before him had seen through the faulty lie he had painted around himself. Yes, if the man before him was a physician, it was only right that he could see through the tumor that the Faker himself was.

But, this did not have to be the end. It was simply one man's word. He could attempt to persuade those present that it was not as the doctor had said, he could demand his Master use a Command Seal to have them vacate the premises, he could do any number of things that would see him live another day. And yet...

"...the antithesis of success, huh?"

Why was he smiling? Like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, he let out a quiet laugh. The bravado of seconds earlier had melted away, replaced with a calm acceptance.

He was tired. So very tired. So then, perhaps it was for the best-

"You are more right than you know, physician. Very well. It is as he says, my existence is 'ruin'. If you permit me to live, then this city will fall. Your bodies will fail you, your belongings will crumble, and the Holy Grail shall fall apart. This is my curse."

A bow materialized in his hand, the dull trace of a shudder wracking his body as he spoke. Yes, for in the end, it is Emperor Commodus' role to be the enemy of man, to die as a villain. The antithesis of success- how apt a term, how tragic a sentence.

"If this is the path we will follow, then I ask one thing: let the boy be. He has not known of my true nature, he is faultless. The same for the two who arrived alongside me. The only one who must die is me."

He stepped away, away from that fool of a Master, away from those he had formed that slipshod alliance with. Changing the world? Changing fate? Of course Theseus would say that, of course a true hero could say such ridiculous things as if they were possible. That envy burned in his core.

Because, in the end, nothing here had changed. He was the same. He would always be the same.

"...no, hero Theseus. I am sorry to disappoint, but I am not a hero. I cannot save a person. However, He can."

But, at least, let him use His power to save that life. Even if it is a fool of a human, a child who does not know of the world, one who might die in a stiff breeze. Just once, just once.

Great hero, your strength is needed, for Emperor Commodus is but a faceless villain.


"Come, then. Cull the disease. Slay the monster. Once more, the villain will be toppled, and the day will be saved."

Power flowed through his body, counterfeit might stolen from a greater being. The resignation of a dying man was splayed across his face, but behind that was steel.

"-But, do not think I will simply lie down and perish. Even if I am but a counterfeit, Hercules will not fall so easily."

A promise. An oath to that man. If he will die as Hercules, then he will not see that name disgraced. He will carry that banner of the strongest hero until his spiritual core is crushed. This is all he can do.

So please, just once-

"...boy, don't turn your eyes away. You must watch this to its conclusion."

-Just once, let him feel that he saved someone.

He could still remember her face after all these years. She was crying, but he did not understand why she was. He could only continue to advance, against the odds, and take the world for himself. It was all the thief who had lost his ability to use a bow could do. But she was always waiting for him with a smile and a “welcome home!” and if that wasn’t enough to keep going, she would comfort him, though he would never thank her for her troubles. In the end, he would fight and fight and fight, even after she had passed.

Without once thanking her.

Without once telling her his true feelings.

“You are to leave, Slave. If you die before I say it is okay to die, then be prepared for me to follow you to the afterlife to seek my revenge,” Timur told his Slave, placing his hand upon the top of her head and rustling her well-kept hair a bit before he had turned towards the “invader” of the party.

Not the cute girl that had escaped. As long as a girl was cute, she had reason to be alive. Timur was a feminist, after all. Someone who believed that all women could be saved. That all women could save.

No, this was towards the goliath that stood before Timurlane. The being of ruin. The one that would bring death and destruction to the ritual he had been summoned to take part in.

He would protect her. Granting her control of a small portion of his forces, he would protect her.

“The grail is mine, but a King mustn’t lie to his Slave. I had promised to take it with my hands, and when I say I am going to do something, it is already done. This city, the grail ... I won’t let this man take from me what is properly mine!”

And with that…

A shot rose out from Timur.

A sword.

And then two.

And then four.

Eight

Sixteen.

Until there were many weapons “grasped” outwards from his body.

“You are an abomination, you know that? You take from others so that you may keep everything for yourself. Don’t think you have the right to make the rules here, Hero,” the voice of Timur rose out. Though the savage king was always haughty and overbearing over others, this was the first time one might have felt genuine fear from a single, articulated sentence.

All shots aimed towards his opponent intending to skewer the man who had lead ruin to the world itself.

No matter how long “Hercules” waited there, no shot made it’s hit towards him.

...Instead, the figure of who was most certainly the Master of “Hercules” was the target!

His elephants and their guns were pointed towards “Hercules”. If he were to move, he would not hesitate to stop any aggression he could come up with, regardless of what it could be.

“EVEN IF YOU ARE THE GREATEST HERO OF THE WORLD, I AM THE MAN WHO DEVOURS HEROES! YOU DARE GIVE ME YOUR DAMN ORDER, BASTARD! WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?”

Who was standing there was no longer the person who had stood at the forefront of the banquet. His figure was surrounded by opaque darkness that consumed even the deepest recesses of sharnoth itself. Someone that “consumed”... perhaps the two were kindred spirits. Hell, Timur might have even considered the man a “friend”. But there can only be one person that can bring the world to salvation [ruin], and like his love for women, Timur would never share his world with anyone else!

"I won't let you save anyone, hero. Despair!"

He was no longer the King of Thieves all those years ago.

He was now the Demon Lord.

Hou Yi stared at the pink-haired woman with an expression that just exuded complete disbelief and confusion. This...this bunny maid was absolutely insane! What on Earth was she even talking about right now-

"_{What does talking in red even mean-} Hey hey hey, wait wait wait! What do you mean talk in pink...also why are you posing?! What is going on???"

The Archer could feel herself being pushed to her wit's end just speaking to the girl. She didn't truly believe it to be possible but somehow there was a being more difficult to handle than her own Master - and she had found him only to be accused of both shooting down Santa Clause and simultaneously becoming the new Santa by default.

Rubbing at her temples, she came to a pause as the Servant introduced herself, causing Hou Yi to hesitate for just a moment at how easily she offered up such important information. She stared at Astolfo in silence, yellow eyes tracing up and down her form once more to observe the self-proclaimed paladin.

Did the small Archer truly seem that friendly right off the bat?



No matter what the explanation was, Hou Yi just couldn't shake the feeling that she shouldn't reveal her name right off the bat in front of this person. At least not until she explained the situation to her Master first. Speaking of..


Without waiting for his response, she assumed that he was either already watching or his curiosity would pique and he would rush over to a viewpoint to observe Hou Yi's interaction with Astolfo. Forcing a tense smile on her face, the Archer reached out to take the bunny maid's hand, shaking it and trying with all her might to keep that awkward smile atop her lips the entire time.

"A-Ahh...yes. Astolfo, you said? Mhm, I see, I see. My name is...uhh.." Her gaze shifted to the sky. "Sunny. Sunny...Yi. Archer Sunny Yi. Yup! T-That's me..."

---

_{@SSW@Cu Chulainn}


Blink. Blink blink.

"Y-Ya know, if you're going to say my name, you can't just follow it up by immediately messing it up again a second later! Chris! Ch-ris! C'mon, I know you must be the bestest and most strongest servant so the least you can do is just! Say! My! Name!!"

She didn't even realize that she had started stomping, a small huff coming from the girl as she turned her head to the side once before snapping it forward once more to toss her short hair from her face. She continued to grumble and huff as he shoved his tunic to the side, the girl only pausing once her blue eyes caught a better view of the toughened skin underneath.

Walking up to him, she observed the man curiously, a glimmer of excitement sparkling in that child-like gaze of observant titillation. Once more, the young witch found herself bouncing on her heels. He even called her properly by her name to boot!

"You know what, you're like absolutely right! True fashion is wearing whatever you want and still looking good in it! Ferdiad, my Servant, shall we find ourselves a little entertainment for the night?"

Chris's smile was mischievous, the look of a kid who had nothing better to do with their time than get into trouble. Of course, she wasn't looking for trouble, per se. What the gal wanted was something much simpler than that. She was like a kid on Christmas morning, ready to try out her new toy. And more importantly - she was ready to show off to all the other kids how much better her toy truly was.

---

_@Relex

The master is going to use a command seal.

God spoke to Xerxes again. Though in this particular case, Ormazhd might not have even bothered. It was clear from the knowledge of two pursers that this Lancer likely wouldn't be able to escape without aid from her master. Worse, she'd be having to protect her master, and wouldn't dare turn to face an enemy, especially two after using a noble phantasm. She wasn't running on fumes by any means, but even a strong warrior might begin to feel the first pangs of exhaustion after utilizing a noble phantasm on the level she had done. She wouldn't escape, without that command seal.

He could attack, but was attacking a master something he was planning to do? No, that wasn't his nature. Xerxes wanted to fight heroes, not kill other like a common assassin. But, he could not let this pass. Everything was happening in one moment. And he let his fingers go, and the arrow he had notched and aimed was set loose.

Normally, for a Rider the distance might be too much. But he had called upon the skills of an archer using his authority as a king. Naturally, his aim at that distance might wobble, but Caster had blessed him with eyes like an eagle, and he could see the retreating enemy. Normally there might have been something in the way... But he was in the sky, and nothing was blocking his view, or his arrow. Lancer might have been in a position to dodge, but she had her back turned to him, and was running with her master in her hands.

All these factors came together, and he fired his arrow. As the mage was focusing on her command spell, Rider's arrow would clear the distance between himself and Lancer. It was not a shot to kill. Could he manage that at this range? No, a servant would never be felled by a single arrow. Rather, he had aimed at her exposed back.

Should the arrow strike... It might not even matter. She had been told to flee, and with a command seal burned, she likely would no matter the injury. But after that? An arrow in her back would be a reminder. A punishment from the great king Xerxes. Only cowards were ever struck in the back. She would bare that knowledge, and even if Lancer moved on... She now knew she could never truly escape judgement.

She would vanish, regardless of if he managed to actually get the reminder in. Either way, it was annoying. Perhaps this is how Leonidas felt when had had only managed to leave the two scars upon the young king's face. After all... That memory still burned. He would reminisce on it later. For now, his dragon merely hovered in the air, observing the cat boy who likely lost out on his prey.

Maybe this wouldn't be a total loss.

________________________
@Seirei No Hai@Flood@Gracefully

Coming late into the party where everything goes chaotic was a girl hidden in darkness. Using Presence Concealment to hide herself from the battle ahead, at the very least she was mentally recording everything to Walter if he is getting this and isn't in trouble flirting with someone hotter.

Though for a cold-blooded Assassin to be thinking like that, she just disregards it. Serenity had just been given the permission to kill anyone who was easy to pick off however... the competition all seem to be powerhouses and while her Noble Phantasm is just as deadly, she's not confident in taking them all out at once, for all she knew one of them could have a skill that nullifies Poison and approaching someone to poke them is a dangerous move, even for an Assassin.

But why focus on the Servants? There has to be Masters around that's tethering them and the only one that seems to be standing out was a fabulous-looking flower boy in the Park. Who else...? Hard to tell, she kept her killing intent low, only aiming to prepare once there was a sign of weakness.

Although a surprise overcame her, her eyes quickly turn to the other Assassin making headway for one of the Masters, only to be foiled by what seems to be another enemy Servant, Caster perhaps? The girl had the look of one, long robes, the whole get-up but it wouldn't be wise to attack just as they had... no...

...she had to wait...

[@Whine and Die] @Scallop

Hilltop Church: Streets

The next time Stelle stopped to check on Assassin he was already carrying her commands. However, before he could core the decisive blow he was halted.

Everything happened too fast for a human to follow but since Stelle was using Assassin's senses, she could pick up everything with clarity. "Assassin, retreat! Fighting those opponents isn't wise until we have more information. Shake them off and then, follow one of the enemy Masters back to their workshop. Once you've done that, you are free to do whatever you wish for the rest of the night."

After laying down her instructions, Stelle continued to walk around the Church district, searching for a good place to set up a proper workshop. Shinto was pretty much in the middle of the war zone, staying there would be bad. Even if no one found them, there was always the chance of them being caught in the collateral damage of one of the other Servants' battles.
Shinto Town: City Streets

"Oh, come on. I ain't gonna eat you or anything like this." Caster pulled the Walter a little closer, enough for his arm to touch her chest. The puppy perched on her shoulder glared at him and growled as soon as it noticed that. "Just so that you know, I'm the nicest thing you could find in these streets."

"Isn't it more chivalrous for a man to give out his name before asking that?" she said as they began to walk around the streets, casting the impression of a merry couple for any passersby. Cassandra used her Clairvoyance every now and then, to look just a couple seconds in the future, to see if Walter was planning anything and how he would react to her advances. "Anyway, you can call me Cassandra. What about you, pretty boy?" she answered right after seeing how he would react, effectively twisting around her curse to her own benefits.

Caster let go of Walter's shoulder and picked up his arm, making them look even more like a couple enjoying the night now. "Why don't you tell me more about you while we go have some coffee?"

---

@Scallop @King Cosmos @Reflection

Spring-Heeled Jack - Assassin

Fuyuki Park – Can’t Even Murder Someone in Peace These Days

Something was amiss. No sooner had Assassin appeared than did an opaque barrier snap into place around the two vulnerable Magus, walling them off from his attempted attack and preventing it from reaching them. Had he been anticipated? Or were these Masters, or more likely one of their Servants, so paranoid as to prepare defences against an assassination attempt from an Assassin who may or may not even have been present? Whatever the case, he had been thwarted, swindled and even bamboozled, robbed of a kill that was rightfully his and just out of reach. There was only one possible way he could react to such injustice, only one thing he could do to salvage this situation. Magical energy thrummed within him as he prepared his secret weapon.

He ran away.

Cycling Prana into his legs he launched himself into the air, not pausing for a single moment to see what kind of follow-up awaited him now that his presence was revealed, his boosted jump carrying him up and away even as the young Saber landed next to where he had just stood. If he had hesitated even a moment longer the sword that swung down would have cleaved his arm from his body, or at least shattered every bone in his hand as it deflected his metal claws, as it was it hit nothing but air as Assassin looked down on the scene from above.

Assassin landed some distance away, though still within the ‘combat area’ as it was, and stood facing Saber and the two Masters that had been sealed away from him. There was another figure as well, a youthful looking thing with white robes and an expression that was impossible to see through the distorted static beneath her hood; A Caster? The barrier must have been hers.

“A beast? Evil? Me?” Assassin placed a hand to his chest and recoiled from the words as if struck physically by the accusation. “I’m but a man, more human than you I daresay, who enjoys playing pranks.”

Now that another Servant had appeared, and a Knight-class at that, there would be nothing Assassin could do to hurt either of the Masters; this night would end in disappointment for both him and his Master. There wouldn’t even be the possibility of turning things around and snatching some kind of win from this so long as the Caster had her barriers in place; she had anticipated him, laying this trap even as she fought the Saber, and no doubt had plenty of other tricks in store should he continue this. He would love to do something about that, ripping her throat out for example, but this was his loss to accept.

There was always that, but even then he would struggle to defeat a Saber head on even without Caster’s interference.

“Oh, you never need to tell me to run away Master; it’s my specialty.”

Assassin bent his legs and pumped more magical energy into the limbs before throwing himself skyward, leaping high into the air and letting his momentum carry him out of the park and back to the roof of the building he had perched on earlier. He activated his Presence Concealing along the way, his presence vanishing as he landed in a crouch.

Would any of them follow him? There was no chance of them turning on each other again now that he had left he felt, but perhaps they would be more concerned with their Masters’ safety than pursuing a declawed Assassin. Or they might turn their attention back to the true demon in their midst.

@Parallel Hearts@BB@Argonaut@Scallop@Flood

---

The Terror of London remerges.

A chilling presence looms at the back of Kotaro's spine.

Death's doorstep calls out for the detective's life.

Kotaro saw up close in personal the face of terror. Its killing intent was clear as day.

A demonic figure stood behind in the shape of a mustache-twirling caped phantom wearing a mask.

He froze.

In that brief moment, Kotaro's perceptions heighten having the dread feeling of being closer to death. His circuits were wide open, firing countless neurons to his mystic eyes. He takes a glimpse of his perpetrator before his final(?) moments. A sense of satisfaction knowing who this mystery assassin is, before he kicks the bucket. Even in the face of death, his curiosity and the search of answers always comes first.

it's rewind time

A mental image of a film-like tapestry rolls out in memory, the sound of its reel was heard and each strip contains Assassin's movement in the past as it plays out frame by frame like a total recall episode of a vintage motion picture in his mind.

A torrent of events flashes before his very eyes in an attempt to get some juicy deets from where this servant came from. Upon fast-forwarding to some events that didn't seem to interest him, The detective stumbles upon something beneficial in his probe on Assassin's manifestation.

it was the sight of a ticking clock and cog works spinning.
A blurred face of a woman carrying a briefcase and smoking apparatus in the other.
A summoning circle.
A hotel room filled with smoke somewhat similar to a rural setting.
Assassin talking to his master(?).

It's a vague memory etched in his mind, with their identities still intact but that's all he has to work with for now.

Alas, There's no way that he could react, nor dodge that attack at that speed.

And yet he lives with the intervention of another servant and the ludicrous enchanted speed of his Partner, Momotaro. Lunging forward by Caster's magic with the utmost precision to aid the vulnerable masters.

I guess math and physics really do save lives.

"It appears i'm not dead, hah! Bloody good show partner! and that heroic landing, mwah...brilliant!" the Detective can't believe it either. He applauds and steps back behind Saber, heeding his advice, knowing there was an assassination attempt on his dear life.

Rather than attend himself, Markansas sent a puppet in his stead, disguised in a mask. Though enemy Masters might notice something wrong, not sensing the presence of a command seal, and with the puppet’s inhuman movements, there were plenty of distractions in any case.

In contrast to his usual bombastic persona, Markansas silently watched the various ongoings while trying to avoid notice.

Upon his Servant’s request, Markansas examined the competition. The various kings gathered around all seemed interesting in their own way. Many of the Servants reached ‘King of the Abyss’ in parameters, and others were at the level of ‘Deity of Chaos’. He reported this to his Servant without the usual flair; quiet and practical.

When the attack came, Markansas merely gave a chuckle. Whoever had decided to attack such a gathering of kings and heroes had been foolish indeed. For a moment, it seemed that the banquet was over as several Servants moved to chase down the intruder. But then, the doctor appeared.

"Come, then. Cull the disease. Slay the monster. Once more, the villain will be toppled, and the day will be saved."

How unfortunate. How truly, truly unfortunate.

For Markansas, the concept of ‘hero’ and ‘villain’ were one and the same. Identical in function, differing only in aesthetic. Both served to unite people, to inspire them, to exist beyond the ordinary of humanity. Just as curses and blessings are the same, just as a holy sword can become a demonic sword...

Of course, there was a difference between ‘saving others’ and ‘killing others’. But when two wishes clashed, it was often simply the victor who became a hero, who decided the definition of justice.

The nature of his ally was obvious now. Someone who fate had thrust the role of villain upon, who had attempted to embrace the role of a hero. A tragic story.

How impressive. Markansas spoke to his Servant. This war is truly impressive. Ah, but to think the glorious clashes between hero and villain would be so sad. I’ll use a Command Seal to bring you out if it gets dangerous. But I’ll be abandoning this puppet to see things to the end.

“You think a mere demon lord can compete with the King of Infinite Hells? Die in shame to my weakest of minions!” The pathetic voice of a cowardly master, one who swaddled himself in lies, one who hadn’t even attended the banquet himself. But in that moment, his voice did not waver.

A cursed birth that existed to prevent the success of heroes. One whose fate was always to be ‘ruin’. A person without malice, forced into the role of a villain.

There could be no question that such an existence was a ‘scapegoat’.



The conditions had been set. The entity with the designation ‘Hercules’ became a being that took on the grudges of the living.

Banquet, Academy

The gauntlet had been thrown down. The declaration of war made. The doctor would ‘cure’ this infection. And Orpheus-

Against his initial instinct, stood by the Faker of Ruin.

“I apologize, Healer. But for this Moment, I will stand by these fellows. A fair three-on-three, to wrap up the night.”

The guitar in his hands takes on a sleeker, modern look, transforming as Orpheus picks the tune in his mind. The rhythm starts, prompting the beginning of the fight. The allies of Orpheus- the Berserker and the Faker, as well as all their Masters, improved their defenses and felt the soothing wind heal their wounds over time.

Any assault against the Masters however, would not be forgiven. No more speeches. No more talk.

“Orphic Rhapsodies.”

The world shifts, and the music takes a new hue. The songs can be heard more clearly- but more than that, the songs are alive. The tune evolves, more emboldened, stronger, faster. The Masters of their troupe are given a barrier of nature and magic to shield them from the combat of servants, and another such barrier rises behind the Servants of the opposing crew.

A grin broke through on Caster’s face. This was what he lived for. To stand within the the very eye of the Event, and play to his heart’s content, refusing to be chained by the world. Ah, such a thrill had not gripped him since his days upon that boat.

He did not desire a victor. No, what he desired was a memorable Outcome.

For that, he would play.



Behind Hercules, Academy

"...boy, don't turn your eyes away. You must watch this to its conclusion."

"I will." The words come out as a whisper. The legend. The Hero. Everything Tom Fruz knew about myth- was Hercules.

He refuses to cry. To cry would be to break that final oath with his Servant. The night has shown him much- the rebukes of the other Servants have shaken his faith. They have brought his hopes low.

He cannot win. He cannot access the Miracle. He cannot be saved.

But still.

"...I trust you." The eyepatch which covers the newly implanted eye is removed. He will not look away.

"Before you are Hercules, before you are anything else..."

"...ah, you as well. If I was a tyrant mad with weakness, then you are a tyrant mad with strength."

Facing the demon lord, the Faker's blood began to boil. The flow of magical energy around him was writhing, changing. Something impossible was taking shape.

It hurts. It hurts. The spiritual foundation is not meant to contain such things. A man is not meant to become a god.

Stop hesitating. Stop cowering. He would not be weighed down by weakness. He would not feel fear. He would not feel resignation.

The boy still believes in you. Your allies still believe in you. The muse seeks to play your story. For their sake, you must be strong.

So, stand up. Focus.

Make the energy usage from the magical energy circuit feasible. Backload processing through raising the corrective influence of the world. Analyze, interpret, and design a solution. Do not delay, this is not a foe that you can underestimate. An attack is coming, you must be faster.


Faster.


Faster.


Faster.


As those swords shot out, he moved.

No, perhaps it was mere moments before the attack was made.

Regardless of if the elephants launched their assault upon him, he would not be delayed. "Something" appeared over his form as his figure blurred, coming to a stop in front of Tom Fruz, his back turned to the human as he faced those swords head-on.

"Not enough-"

Life penalty, body penalty, freedom penalty, fame penalty, fortune penalty.

Arrows launched out towards his opponent. Three of them met swords, but the rest wove through that hellish lattice of steel, shooting towards their owner. At the gaps in his armor, at the vital areas, at every weakness those eyes could bear witness to.

Clouds of dust were kicked up as those swords met arrows, the Faker himself becoming obscured from sight in the clash that ensued between himself and the thirteen swords that remained.

This is foolish. With the combat skill of Hercules, he could surely have shot down the remaining thirteen swords before they had reached him. Instead, he had gambled upon attempting to hit the enemy. For this hubris, he will be pierced by those very blades he ignored. All the more so given that the assault from the artillery of the Rider's elephants has surely at least scratched him. To take such damage at the beginning of a fight is nothing short of idiocy.

And yet...

Give the penalty that extends so much punishment, mud, darkness, and malice.

When the dust clears, he stands, unharmed. The bombardment from the elephants does not seem to have even brought a scratch to him. The eleven swords are nowhere to be seen. In their place are thin scratches, barely breaking the skin along the Faker's fists as thin rivulets of blood stain his hands. Under the blessing of the music god, though, even those only last for a moment before fading, mending together in the blink of an eye. All the while, those arrows continue their path through the air to pierce the demon king.

"Do not get carried away, monster."

The boy stops, frowning at the spot that the Servant had left. An arrow flies into her, but it isn't his. He doesn't much care about that. He's annoyed, making faces, lips twisting up and teeth clenched. "Tch." He shakes his head and spits on the roof of the building he's on, clearly disappointed that it turned out like that. What a couple of cowards. Starting a fight, and then running away when there were any consequences at all. What pitiable cowards they are. "And they do all that, and just blink away. What a waste. What a weak will, to challenge someone and then duck away so quickly. I guess honor and pride is far too much for a barbarian to hold, isn't it?" He's not talking to anyone but himself. Really, he's pretty worked up about the whole thing.

In that moment, he's made his choice. He's going hunting. It isn't to the benefit of those kings over there - he doesn't much care. It isn't to the benefit of the war, to remove some dangerous element. No. He feels personally slighted that she fled, instead of fighting him. What a waste of time this all was. There was no point coming out here if all he was going to do was flee.

Well, maybe that isn't true.

He looks up, to the sky. Isn't that kind of thing... too obvious? That's what he thinks. What an ugly creature that man is riding. What a repulsive monster, taking the form of something majestic. For what purpose? Perhaps that man on that mount feels powerful, if he rides some profane creature of bone in the shape of the highest form of monster. Or maybe he just has a really bad sense of aesthetic. Who knows!

Maybe that's why he does what he does. Maybe he's still riding high off that need, off that desire to kill something. Maybe he's bored. Maybe he just doesn't like the look of that man, high and mighty on his dragon.

Archer, in the blink of an eye, has three arrows in the air. They tear through the sky - their aim true and steady. They're meant for the man's heart - two of them are. One of them is meant for his head. The magical reactors. He's really just trying to kill him outright.

"Ah! Good, someone else come to do battle. I was bored enough with her running away, I'm very glad to see you, now."

@Reflection

Poor choice.
Xerxes could see the gears grinding in the Archer's head. He could see those eyes looking up at him. He was ready. There could have been words between them. Maybe a hello. No. That was out of the question it seemed. As the archer was preparing to raise his bow... The dragon dived. A flap of the wings, the body twisting in the air, and...

The arrows missed Xerxes completely.

In the moment those arrows had begun to leave the archer's bow... In the moment he'd taken aim and let his fingers loose... No matter how fast he was, the king had already been ready to act. He had already known how to react. In that moment the dragon began to move, Xerxes had slipped down into the depths of his dragon. The soldiers moved aside, they parted to give him space. He was suddenly surrounded by his army, and they would protect their king.

The three arrows, that had been aimed at where Xerxes had been, simply could not hit the king, when he was no longer standing where they would have struck. The dragon though, had its sights on the archer, and was soaring down at him. Its mass plowing down upon the cat boy, but it was not the singular dragon that came crashing down upon Parthenopeus. A single dragon was too easy a target. Rather, it was already breaking apart.

What came crashing down was almost fifty soldiers. Large men with shields, smaller skeletons with swords and spears, others that carried chains that lashed at the air. They all came crashing down upon Parthenopeus, and the king?

He landed, but not as one man, but surrounded by several shielded guards.
"Boredom? You attack out of boredom? Perhaps I am the one who was bored of poor showings from others around me. And right now?"

Parthenopeus was being attacked from all sides. Skeletons swinging their swords, others their chains to wrap around a limb, the shield wielding men would swing their shields forwards and knock aside any arrows he might try to fire off into the crowd. And the crowd was growing. More and more. Till a hundred soldiers where striking at him from all angles, even covering the nearby rooftops.

"I am still bored of you."

________________________
@Gracefully
________________________



Eesh... It was a bit hard watching Caster flirt. She wasn't bad at it or anything, as far as Ariadne was concerned. Maybe a bit forward? Not that it mattered much. Just watching was good enough for Ariadne. She kinda wished that Caster had left 'Lord Apollo' with her, so she could feel safer out in the open like this, but it couldn't be so bad in the end. After all, Caster probably spied ahead if there were any assassins. Can she do that? She'd have to ask.

Either way, Ariadne watched from a nearby alleyway. A bottle of wine in one hand, and a charm in the other. The plan was rather simple, people were more willing to talk if they were drunk. She just had to get him drunk, from a distance. Not hard. She did it all the time. In fact, as she removed the cork, she was doing that right now.

The smell of wine drifted away from her, and onto the street. That scent of fermented grapes struck the air, and lingered. An intoxicating scent that would surely start to erode the wills of those in the street beyond her alleyway. She raised the bottle to her lips, and took a swig. The taste of wine poured into her mouth, and a wave of karma pulsed outwards. It was not a curse, merely a bacchic rite.
"I call upon loud-roaring and reveling Dionysus. Primeval, double-natured, thrice-born, Bacchic lord." She chanted softly, and let the scent of wine drift further through the air. "Taste, and drink. Party and revel. Let fears burn away, and see beauty in all life. Free yourself from the cage of mankind's will..." She took another sip, and brushed the charm against the bottle.
"Hearken to my voice, O blessed one, and with your fair-girdled nymphs breathe on me in a spirit of perfect agape."
The people on the street outside, those who might be stumbling back from work, or merely out late on a walk, could feel the spirit of revelry in them. Feeling it push out their woes. They laughed louder, they told their secrets, and they saw beauty in the world. With luck, the master her servant had found would be one such man.

________________________
@Scallop

Altera retreated with her army, for this was what was natural for the barbaric Hun clan. They would rise like the tide and crash upon their foes, then retreat in preparation for the next assault. This was what was natural for her, for her clan, their tried and true method of destruction. The enemy pursued to retaliate, but she was fast enough that she had little doubt she could escape.

Whether it be three, four, five, a dozen or a hundred, Altera would destroy them all. This was her purpose, given to her along with the role of Scourge of God. She was given the Authority to Destroy and she would exercise this Authority with impunity, this was only the beginning of her war after all.

An arrow is fired, she cannot react appropriately with Master in arms. She closes her eyes and moves, reducing what would have been a mark of shame to naught but a scratch on her cheek. She looked back for just a moment, looked back on the civilization that would strike out at her. And she smiled, a cruel vicious smirk as she looked upon that which would fall. She begins to turn back, ready to fight this great king, this man who would be reduced to naught but ash, when her Master spoke.

"Lancer. By Order of Command Spell, I order you to get us to safety immediately."

The Authority of a Command Seal burns into her, suppressing even her desire to destroy as the world begins to blur around them. She was not pleased with this decision, but understood its necessity. She would forgive her child this impudence once, for she acted in the interest of her father. "Very well then Cordula. To safety it is." And thus the world bent around them, space contorting and cracking as Altera landed in their home. "This has been a good night. I expect even better tomorrow." She said simply as she wiped away the thin streak of blood on her cheek with a palm, staring at her life essence intently. Her tongue peeks out of her mouth as she licks it up, her lips twitching upwards as she relished in the taste of iron.

---

William and Amara stared at each other for what felt like a solid minute, William patiently waiting for the girl to respond to his query while also keeping a note on the sounds going on behind him. Sounded like Yamato was winning, good job Yamato! While thoughts of Inversion Impulses and Incubi heritage ran through Amara's mind, worry upon worry piling as William saw through her illusion (quite shoddy honestly, though it wasn't half bad for a first try), William was thinking about what to have for dinner. He would have to treat Yamato to something good, she did a good job fighting off the incredibly dangerous Oni tonight. Maybe steak? Did they have steak in Japan? He had told the Einzbern Homunculus that Japanese people had steak for breakfast, but he was also lying his ass off in half the conversations he had with her. Maybe more.

Oh, and then she was gone. "Hm. What a strange girl. He remarked as he turned back to the fight-

William felt a shiver run up his spine as Death's scythe hovered over him.

There was no time to react, the air around them seemingly chilled as William did his best to pull both Kotaro and himself out of the way. He wasn't really the athletic sort in truth, so it was likely an exercise in futility, but he had to do something. He couldn't die here and he couldn't just let this poor boy die in his place, they had to move, even if it meant nothing in the end they had to move. A storm of flowers exploded forth from his cloak, multiple illusions weaved around the duo to distort their true position, anything and everything to try and stop the inevitable.

William closed his eyes instinctively, unwilling to look death in the face, unwilling to face his fate. Truly, he was a coward to the very end. He fell to the ground and... lived. William opened his eyes slightly as the flowers began to settle around them. And then he laughed, a real laugh rather than the noises he made while toying with others. A laugh of pure disbelief as he clenched his hands open and shut.

The reality of the situation comes crashing back into him as he stands up, shaking slightly as he steps away from Kotaro and the Saber. "B-Berserker! You won't believe what just happened! We nearly died just now, it was absolutely exhilarating!" He hides the slight shake in his voice as best as he could, attempts to play it off as though it were just another moment of the game, just the after effects of the adrenaline rush, but only the observant detective would be able to see through William's lies. For just a brief moment, William feared for both his and Kotaro's life, even trying to save the detective. Perhaps he wasn't just a good for nothing scoundrel.

Allies with whoever killed the spear person? THESEUS?! Altera...did he mean Attila the Hun? Wait. The Fake Hercules was eroding everything and the Grail away?! But he did want to make people smile...ugh. It was all a hell of a lot to go through rapid-fire, from the alliance promise to the barriers popping up around herself and other masters. She was at least able to grasp what was going on, but more than that-

"To become someone who can make the people smile."

-...so that was it, huh?

To become a hero, a great hero who can make the people smile. A cursed life of bringing only ruin to everything, and yet to aspire to rise above the conditions of one's birth to something more. A well intended thing indeed, and yet what had been that saying? "The road to hell is paved with good intentions"? Such felt fitting here, as was a tinge of genuine sorrow.

Though speaking of smiles...

Even her teacher, her servant, now bore a grin that spoke of nothing but pure joy. And yet...Yes. Perhaps it all now made much more sense to her, what she had been told not too long before.

"Set the mood, witness the interactions, and record the stories being told"

Simple advice, yet also so very insightful.

Orpheus was a bringer of civilization through his music, to even the wilds of the world and the Underworld itself. He had made rocks weep, journeyed into the Underworld for his beloved, and was even the origin of the Orphic Mysteries and called "the father of songs". Such was all part of his legend, much like his journey with the Argonauts. Yet as a musician, as a hero, he had ever been a witness to those legends and lives and events and even his own tragic tale. That was what he had desired all along, wasn't it? Wielding music and song to engrave upon the cruel world, and even upon human history and human minds as well, memories of greatness and glory, of tragedy and folly, and of so many lives and deaths long past.

...He was truly a musician. Virtually if not literally a modern day rock star at that, all railing against the world, venturing beyond familiar shores and boundaries with glee, and burning the stories of others and themselves into eternity. It was then no surprise, ultimately, that he was literally a grandson of memory itself.

Heh. So selfish this path to heroism was, and yet she could not help but truly admire it and respect it all the same. It brought a genuine smile to her face, even.

Zoe then turned her head only a little to look over at the man who called himself the "King of Infinite Hells", her gaze like steel even though she kept an eye on the servant battle before them. Something about that guy...hmm...she had to know. That bravado, that personality that seemed to ooze the part of the actor and one who had embraced his own self-proclaimed role so tightly. Yes. It spoke to her somehow, so different and yet so familiar somehow. Though looking hard enough, it wasn't hard to see the oddness in the movement...and in the lack of a Command Seal burning.

"You, who proclaims himself the King of Infinite Hells! I am The Great Chosen One Who Shall Save The Entire World!

I stand as the hero of the world, and you as the villain of all hells! Yet I feel a strange familiarity from you, from your words, even from behind this mask you wear.

We stand as two sides of the same coin, much like blessings and curses, and so I must ask...what is your true goal in all of this? What do you seek to gain by donning the guise of a villain?

What truth behind the veil of anonymity do you pursue, even by seeking to draw the ire of others upon you by taking on such a status? Ruin? Greed? ...Salvation?"

A heroine had to confront the villain still, of course! Especially ideologically. That was definitely important...er, even though they were on the same side 'technically-kinda-sorta" for the moment? Not like she could currently do anything about the fake Heracles right now anyhow. She had watched enough movies, however, to know how to deliver lines like this though! She'd practiced quite a lot on that, in fact, among other things.

---

The oni had seemingly taken a direct from her attack, even that strike of air unleashed from her blade to try to fell one of Japan's three greatest disasters. Such was good, but the oni wasn't dead yet either. Yet something else, she could feel it enter and jet towards the vulnerable masters, and yet then the other demon-slayers was there and the other servant presence leapt away again. This would not do. No. This could not do. The beast would turn its fangs upon the intruder, and yet it could not before this disaster ignore it. Something would have to be done.

Danger. Idiot Master. Another threat. Kill.

Without skipping a beat, Yamato fired off another burst of wind from her blade at the Oni. After all, her blade was already still pointed at it directly. Yet the gust, as intended, also sent the Berserker flying back from the oni in a powerful but calculated movement. From here, Yamato rapidly unleashed another powerful wind jet to move herself directly and very quickly towards where she'd last felt the other servant initially move in from. With the channeled rage of a brutal wild animal, Yamato sped towards the building Jack was perched on with her sword now pointed out towards it. The Berserker then let loose another mighty jet of wind quickly, aiming to cleave off the top part of the building and anything upon the roof (and above it for that matter) in one shot.

"I am still bored of you."

The words don't strike into him, or rattle him or anything like that. If anything, it's kind of funny. It's kind of funny that he would say something like that, and it's kind of funny that he thinks it has some kind of weight. Perhaps he's the king, and the man facing him the fool. That - it doesn't matter, really, does it. The line of thought is abandoned as quickly as it's had. He has much better things to be doing than listening to that kind of thing.

Like 'dodging everything in the world'. It's - in a word - utter triviality to shift and dance along the attacks of his soldiers. To step around the slash. To twirl away from the chain. Even a hundred isn't enough to pin down the boy, to force him to move in a way that ill-suits him. Attacking like this, they may as well not be there at all. They are, however, inconvenient in even one way. They make it harder to shoot the Rider with an arrow. They're in his way. Perhaps he could -- No, parish the thought. Hardly worth it, right now. He doesn't need a thing to defeat this oaf. At least, not yet.

His hands are never stopped, even during all this, arrows tearing through soldiers, piercing shields to kill more of his army. But even he knows, as fun as it is to kill these things, that it's a waste of energy. So, the endevor is abandoned nearly right away.

"Ah, I see! Well, perhaps you can have enough fun as I take my own." His fun just happens to include killing Xerxes. The pleasure of murder. The thrill of a fight. Well, this is barely a fight for him, so far. The only thing on this field that interests his is the enemy Servant. Perhaps, if used differently, the soldiers would be a real problem for him, but thus far, they have not. Perhaps if it were more than 'from all angles', and was more like 'from all angles, at all times', he would be struck.

Alas.

He turns from a blow, and jumps. High. It's a good jump. Perhaps mother would be proud. No, likely not. He doesn't much mind that, though. He's high in the air, now. A target, surely, for spears and such. He'll deal with those when the time comes. Surely, they can't reach him before he's ready for them.

Draw.

He draws his bow. And then draws it further, the very picture of archery. It's somewhat slower, but to his speed and dexterity, this is fine. He takes aim, again, for the heart of that king. This arrow is not the same as the others. He locks eyes with the king, nothing but a playful smile on his lips, his eyes bright. The picture of youth and joy.

Loose.

The air tears through the sky, a direct line for that king. And then, he turns, eyes checking his sides as he begins to fall, stringing arrows out towards more distant soldiers, and the ones near where he's to land.

@Reflection

Military Tactics... The ability to control an army, and get the very best out of them. In life, Rider had relied on others for such things. Artemisia most famously. The guidance they had given him had allowed him to become a great ruler, nearer to the perfection he had held himself too than he might have without such council. But now... He did not rely on her as heavily. For the king of Persia had become stronger in a new way. The ability of his army only rose under his command, and a greek warrior could only do so much in a crowd.

After all, when in a crowd, it could be difficult for even an archer to aim a shot amidst dodging and weaving. For ever soldier that might be killed by a loosed, unaimed arrow, the soldier would be replaced by another. These were the persian immortals after all, and for each that fell, they were replaced without hesitation by another. As such, in order to aim properly, there was only one avenue open to the archer. Xerxes knew this. In truth, he had planned for it. He had expected it. So when the time came to react to it, everything fell into place.

When Parthenopeus bent his knees to leap, that was the signal that all had been waiting for. And multiple things happened at once.

First, the king's soldiers moved to defend him. In particular, three. Three of his largest shield-bearers moved in between himself and the boy. Their shields raised higher into the air, slightly tilted to best absorb and displace the force of the incoming arrow. Xerxes behind them. A layer of three impressive shields as thick as walls, and three giants holding them. Iron, meat, iron, meat, etc. The arrow had to pass through three layers of man and metal. And no matter how impressive the arrow, even arrows had their limits.

When Parthenopeus' arrows hit the first shield, it pierced. Through metal, and then through flesh. Then a slight gap of air, and then metal and flesh again. The overdrawn arrow was impressive, and the king might have felt the need to applaud him for it. Whether or not it broke through the third soldier didn't matter. By then it would have slowed by a small amount. A small amount, just enough for the king to leap aside. The force of the impact of the arrow where he had once stood was meaningless, and the shockwave knocked him slightly further. But by then, more shield bearers were gathering, able to repeat such a maneuver again if called upon.

Second, as Parthenopeus was leaving the ground and taking his aim, he was attacked. Amongst the hundred soldiers of Xerxes that had gathered, not all could attack him at once. So, those on the other rooftops had taken on bows and arrows. They had been waiting, and took their own aim. Their own arrows as overdrawn as they could manage, ready and waiting. They all fired at once.

As Parthenopeus was still overdrawing his arrow, he was attacked from all sides by the bladed arrows of the persian army. Nearly fifty arrows from all sides. Left, right, back, forwards. Even some aimed a bit higher, to fall onto him from above. Skewered in the middle of a rain of arrows.
Below him was no better. Wherever his arrows would pepper, the soldiers waited. Their spears waited, glistening and sharp. He could not kill them all before he had to land, and they would all charge in at once. Stabbing, swinging their whips around. If they could not capture him alive, then dead and impaled would do well.

"Perhaps if you surrender, I can teach you how to temper that attitude of yours! You would make a fine warrior in my army. The joys of war you seek would be endless under a king such as I!" Xerxes shouted, a laugh building in his chest. The archer was certainly of an infectious attitude. "Imagine it, all the world falling to my armies, with you leading the charge! First for glory, first for blood, and first for that fun you seem to crave!"

________________________
@Gracefully

It would be a lie to say Jigen wasn't a little shaken by the true, raw power of servants on full display - well, maybe a lot shaken, but he did his very best not to show it too much. At Saber's suggestion Jigen firmly nodded, intending to follow his lead, although... there was something... a little different about the Greek hero, wasn't there? He didn't look any different on the outside, but Jigen sensed a subtle change somehow. Now might have been the time to wonder about it, but there was a lot going on all at once - the Caster, Theseus' friend, putting up the projection and the false Herakles riling up his servant. Then, the biggest surprise for the student -

"Then, I'll leave the kid to you while I do so."

...huh? Wait, wasn't a master supposed to stick by their servant? Didn't Saber just suggest they go together?

"Saber, wait, I - " the boy was cut off by Saber's apology and the assertion that the enemy on the big screen that had attack was too powerful, too dangerous to leave alone - and apparently, too dangerous to have to worry about protecting a master as he went into battle against her. Jigen supposed he understood, but... well, it stung, just a bit. Nothing he wasn't used to though, he'd get over it and become a partner that Saber wouldn't have to worry about bringing along with him during a fight. If he survived the night, that is.

As Jigen stood beside the Rider and the master smushed close to his chest, the boy's fists tightly clenched as he watched Saber leap away in pursuit of the enemy, the other banquet-goers moved into action. A few new faces appeared, one making a bold claim, and finally - a fierce torrent of attacks from close-by. A battle, something expected, but Jigen was still an inexperienced master. He had to trust Saber's judgement, trust this other servant and his master to protect him, trust -

Wait wait wait, was he really content to be some bystander after all? Though they'd only met earlier that morning, Jigen did trust in Saber - and he trusted Saber's friend the musician as the magical barrier raised up, so the young master broke away from the man he'd been entrusted to and made his way behind it before the situation got any worse. Agh! Should I wait for Saber to get back or should I go support him? I should go, right? Surely the answer is 'go!' Jigen thought to himself, completely unaware that the enemy Saber had left to pursue was already far out of his reach. Still, he waited for an opening to escape and reunite with his servant.

---

Patiently, Berserker listened to the information his master fed him about the other servants. Patiently, he listened to Faker and the others trade jests, insults, and even honest words. Patiently, the boy king watched some servants depart and others arrive - and patiently, he mulled over the masked servant's words. His eyes flickered over to the servant beside him, curious to see the man's response. To the pharaoh's momentary surprise, he found a serene smile.

Berserker smiled too, then - not a peaceful one like Faker, but a small grin baring his teeth. Begrudging, amused. Even now he didn't know Faker's true name, but the man had been right when they first met - they were alike after all.

"So that is your true nature?" A rhetorical question, but one the pharaoh voiced all the same. "Interesting." His tone was light, near boyish with genuine intrigue. The man under the guise of Hercules who laid low people and empires alike - despite everything, he still desperately clung to the idea of heroism. More than the brutes who fled and the brute still remaining, Faker strived to be a hero, to change himself. It was touching, almost, and even separated Berserker could tell through his bond with his master that Faker's words had seeped deep into the man's core, his words were unneeded. Berserker agreed.

Understood.

He felt his master's magic in Faker, heard the musician's notes mingle with the shouts of the banquet's host signal the start of a battle. Three on three, was it? In that case...

Berserker's gaze fell upon the long haired Rider protecting two masters. Though much shorter than the other man, Berserker was distinctly 'looking down' on him. The demonic servant he would leave to Faker - that man wouldn't be felled by such an assault, as brutal as it was. Cold and swift the small pharaoh approached the Rider. In one hand a dagger of dark design manifested, in the other a slim, ornate horn of bronze. For a servant with his master so close, a mind would be a terrible thing to lose - and so, a tune of madness to accompany Caster's triumphant song. Berserker brings the horn to his mouth and blows it in the Rider's direction, it's sound both charming and discordant at once, confusing and enraging.

“Gahahaha! You must really be made of something sturdy there, Archer,” Rider mused as he noticed that the enemy was not felled by his assault like he had expected. Instead, the various swords had pierced his body, as if a reminder of his desire to protect his Master, sticking out from his body similar to a pincushion.

“But how long will you be able to protect you Master, Hero?”

Sword would meet arrow, staying their course away from Rider. He would not allow himself to be damaged by the filth before him; by the malignant tumor that would threaten his providence. The world was his; that meant that losing the Grail and Fuyuki would be an insult to Rider. And that insult could not stand.

“YOU ARE MINE, ARCHER!”

His power attempted to grab from his “territory”. The things his body was touching would be drained of power, and thus he would draw upon that power. To utilize what was “conquered” and turn it into a future conquest. To convert money from razing the greatest cities in the world, only to bring fortune to oneself. That was the true power of Timurlane, the greatest conqueror (Self-claimed). The man who would take from the world and grant himself the riches of the world.

However, the “power” he was expecting never came to him, and thus, this arrow’s course was only knocked off course rather than completely away from Rider like the others. Though his armor was of the highest quality, even it could not completely defend him from such an attack, the shock of such crushing and waning through his body.

“An interference? Geh, you are good, Hero. But playtime is over. You can't win! I am the greatest conqueror! I am the khan of destruction!”

The sound of grinding metal against metal. The attack’s impact was no longer there, interlaced between it was a grotesque contortion of metal like a chromatic tumor.

A wave of swords shot towards “Archer”, once again his Master’s life would be in trouble unless he was to defend against the barrage. In addition to this, the “razor storm” that once protected himself and his Master during the javelin barrage would once again be placed up to better protect him against the attacks levied against him. The Elephants were there for backup in the event that he took action against Rider. There was no way that Rider would lose. After all, he was the greatest.

Even if he had to drag himself through the mud, he would never lose.

That was the promise he had made.

That is what it meant to take a country for oneself.

Recover.

Stay your course.

Shoot him with your swords.

"Well met. Let us see who can endure for longer, Monster-"

In the same moment that those blades were loosed, Commodus fired his bow.

There was no doubt, these hundreds of blades were not trivial tools of war. Each and every single one of them would be enough to smash one's spiritual foundation into pieces. It was a swarm of steel that would have eradicated any ordinary Heroic Spirit.

And yet, the barrage of arrows that he fired were downing those blades by matching them shot by shot. Each arrow shot down multiple swords, but surpassing their force was the speed of the barrage- Commodus was nocking multiple arrows at once, and drawing his bow too fast for the eye to follow. And that was not all. His arrows changed trajectory in midair as if each shaft had a will of its own, precisely shooting down those blades.

Even with this, there were those he could not completely evade. Some simply fell or shattered off of his skin, but not all of them. And so, steel stole his flesh. He felt a pressure try to pull on him as those swords pierced him, only to grasp at air.

A sword plunged into his midsection, but still he fired.

A sword tore through his leg, but still he fired.

A sword buried itself into his shoulder, but still he fired.

A sword pierced his heart-

-And, Commodus stopped.

Yes, there was no doubt. Even if he had the capability to endure and battle with grievous wounds, having one's heart pierced was a decisively fatal blow. The steel rent that node of his spiritual core apart, blood burst out of his form, and the onslaught of swords continued forwards to mow his corpse down.

Space bent.

"---"

Dead eyes flared to life. His body writhed. Chunks of flesh, slashed-open muscles, ruined heart, all of them were mended in a mere moment, as though they had never existed. The fallen man was raised again, swords that had impaled him breaking off and dissipating away without a moment's warning.

Scarcely missing a beat, his arrows shot out once again, with the same strength that they had held moments ago.

...no, were they stronger now?

"Not enough."

The precision, the rate of fire, each aspect of his archery was improving as the fight drew on. He was learning the patterns, learning how to account for the speed of those blades' travel, waiting for an opening. The instincts of Hercules guided him- he would not let himself fall to a tactless storm such as this.

An opening would not come, of course. A master of war such as his enemy would show no weakness. There were moments when there were fewer swords approaching, but there was no opening, no room to breathe when he would not be disemboweled before he could take that breath.

In spite of that, he saw something, his expression tightening.

The Faker drew his bow back, and just as it seemed it was about to snap, a blade snuck past his own offensive and met his skin. The time needed to prepare himself had been too much, he could not hope to prepare a trump card to break through with this unceasing barrage bearing down on him-

-And yet, that sword, despite having the quality to pierce his immortal body, stopped after just piercing his skin, unable to penetrate any further. Yes, because in the first place, the same strategy would not work twice against this body.

A smirk.

"...Nine Lives."


That bow was released, and something took form in the sky above the academy.

It was nine arrows shrouded in pure divinity. A culmination of skill and heroism, clad in dragons. It was not the secret art of a legacy, but a myth that the great hero had created and perfected alone.

The dragons roared, the air shattering under their scream as they streaked forward. Devouring the swords, devouring the air, devouring the space itself that laid between the two, the legendary technique ran forwards to take his opponent's life.

And yet, he did not lower his guard for a moment. Even using that great technique, his instincts cautioned him- his foe would not be felled so easily. This was not an enemy he could underestimate.

"You wouldn't fall to something like this, would you?"

Even he knew not why he was smiling.