"What-"
It went without saying, but Nine Lives was something he prized. Beyond even that immortal body, it was a technique he had absolute faith in- it was everything that he aspired to attain by becoming Hercules. It was a beacon of heroism, a glorious monument to that great man's achievements.
And yet, at the same time that he had loosed that attack, swords which had barely pierced his flesh scarcely slowing him down, he felt something corrode at him. Like a poison which reached into his core, the 'rule' of another pervaded his spiritual foundation. The aptitude to conquer, to pillage, to
take, that grand authority of the demon king seared at his very existence.
His vision shook, blackness creeping at the edges of it as he felt his magical energy begin to rampage. The great technique he had released faltered- yes, while it was fundamentally something with the power to 'kill the opponent, no matter how many times they revived', it would not be enough with its user crippled.
"■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■---!"
A scream that shook space tore itself from his throat. The force assaulting him from within was not something he could defeat at base- by being pierced by those swords, his body had become 'Samarkand'. It was only a matter of course that he was powerless against the strength of its king.
As his own attack failed to kill its target, Commodus fell.
[Shooting the Hundred Heads -> Twelve Labors]
And so, his body mended itself. Restoration from death. The assault just now had robbed several of his lives. But, in spite of that, he had gained resistances. It was not over yet, the advantage still laid with him so long as he had this immortal body. The enemy was mighty, but-
"...I see."
As he prepared himself to counterattack, others had come. He could feel their approach before he saw them, his instincts crying out. Through his Master's eyes, he could see their strength. Two swordsmen wreathed in great power, and a mage whose eyes reminded him of
hers.
In front, the monster whose endless torrent of power had robbed many of his lives.
At the side, the physician who had revealed his nature, and the king who opposed his ally.
Behind him, three powerful foes who he did not know the natures of.
And from afar, likely returning from their pursuit of the interloper, those two kings who had charged off to do battle.
Could he attempt to win some of them to his side? Surely, it was possible. His enemy, that mad demon king, appeared as the embodiment of evil. If he so desired, he could try to rally the newcomers to join him as the boy-king had. But, he could not bring himself to do that. He had to die here, he knew this- he would not let himself drag others to hell with him.
'Run away.'
'You'll die. You'll die. You'll die.'
'These are not a force you can defeat. You will be utterly destroyed.'"...quiet. I knew that, already."
Those instincts roaring in his skull were silenced, a low breath leaving him as he rejected that one path of survival. In spite of the resistances that he had gained thus far, it was clear that the tide of battle disfavored the Faker. Indeed, "Hercules" could not defeat a group of enemies at this caliber. The demon king he had fought to a standstill was alone a first-rate hero, a monster who would require his full attention to defeat, but the addition of these others had made victory all but impossible.
Yes, the fact that his great technique had been crushed so resoundingly made that clear. Perhaps even against the Monster alone, "Hercules" was not sufficient.
If he was the true Hercules, the genuine article rather than a mere pretender, then there may have been a chance. Perhaps he could defeat even this force, but, even if he was able to accomplish that...
Eyes strayed to that human who had summoned him. One steeped in a curse from before their birth. Merely saving his life did not save him, merely winning the Grail War would not save him. The poison of his life ran deeper than that. This was something even the true Hercules could not stop, for while he could vanquish any threat, the boy's curse was something that laid within. In that sense, even if he was genuinely Hercules, it would have been pointless. The true Hercules would have won the Holy Grail, but would have ultimately failed all the same, unable to save this boy. Defeat, even in victory, so long as that poison burned at the center of the human's soul.
Death bore in on him from all sides. There was no escaping it, he would fall here. Once again, he would die, accomplishing nothing, saving nothing. The pointless death of a villain.
Facing that certain death, he had a thought.
Just once.
Just once, let me be a hero.
Just once, let me save someone.
Just once, let me do something that Hercules could not."Muse, pharaoh, fall back. You have committed no wrongs. It is not yet your time to die."
Yes, Hercules could not save Tom Fruz. Even with all of his power, even with the might to oppose these great heroes, he could not save that child.
But-
"...and boy, it is the same for you. You have to live."
But, there was something else. A realization.
What was he fighting for? He was fighting to uphold the name of Hercules, to have his death mean something, to show his Master something worth witnessing. But, beyond that,
he was fighting because he had not given up on saving Tom Fruz.The revel of battle faded for an eternity within the mind of Commodus, and a moment from the perspective of the outside world. And so, acting purely on impulse, not even seeming to realize what he was doing, the emperor's will reached out. Through the connection that ran between them, he touched the core of his Master, and-
[Twelve Labors -> Descent of Mankind's Once Dazzling Star]
More. More. More. Hercules cannot save him, but you can. Decay that curse. Shatter the core impulse that forms him as a being. Break it apart, rend it, degenerate it, and allow him to become something new.
God Hand, the tool that had let him survive against his enemy. The life of Hercules, made manifest as a Noble Phantasm. The great legend that Commodus had sought after- broke off. Fell away. Came undone. In its place was that weight, that nature of ruin that was Commodus himself, focused squarely upon the core of his Master.
Yes, he was not Hercules. He was, in the end, a titan of ruin. But that was precisely why there was a chance, that was why there was a chance that his power to destroy could sever the curse this boy had been shouldered with.
Something was crushed, and so, his attention pulled back. That split-second fugue came to an end. Beaten and bloodied, no longer immortal, he stood tall before his opponents.
And yet, in those eyes, something new formed. Not a dying man's resignation, not a self-deprecating coyness, not a frantic fear of death.
There was something there. Something in the feelings that ran through him in that moment. He looked upon the boy whose soul he had tampered with in the gamble that he could save him from his fate. Had that gamble paid off? Had the boy survived such a foolish treatment? Whatever the answer, in the realization of what he had just done, something else came.
He had done something not as Hercules, but as himself. And with that knowledge came something else-
Not yet. He would not fall that easily, for there was one task that remained.
"...No, I see now."
His lips parted, the words flowing out as though they had been pent up for over a thousand years. His long-lost desires blazed anew.
He would die here. Here was a fitting hell to end his life.
The strength that had left his body did not return, but in its place was something else. Fire entered his eyes. Defiance of the world, defiance of his fate.
If he could glance upon himself now, he would likely be shocked, for his eyes now bore the same fire of that man he admired so much. As though that man's figure overlapped atop his own, his fist clenched, a grin steeped in a thousand emotions splitting his face.
"I suppose that I should act like a hero for once."Not for himself. Not for the Grail, nor even for his Master.
He would simply fulfill his prerogative as a hero.
Come now. Even if you die, even if you're hated, even if for now and forever you remain preserved as a monster, set all of those thoughts aside. Set aside your fear, your hatred, your ideology, and in their place burn the fire at the heart of every human.
You are not a warrior. You are not a champion. You are not a god. But none of that matters. It doesn't matter that you'll lose. It doesn't matter that you'll die.
Look upon your enemy, for on this day,
he is the villain, and
you are the hero.
"This feeling...this is why you were strong, isn't it, Hercules?"The name of that man leaves his throat, a hoarse whisper in which that other existence is rejected. Yes, because on this day he cannot deny his own self any longer, and by accepting it he will charge forwards headlong towards certain death.
"...well then, shouldn't it be my turn?"Rise again,
Commodus.
Though your strength is a far cry from
His great might...
...it surely cannot be naught.
From the perspective of those outside his mind, there was mere nonsense being witnessed. He had not taken advantage of the window of his resurrection from his clash with Timurlane, instead flaring up his magical energy for some unknown reason. He had muttered words to himself, and forsaken his immortality. The flow of power around him was weak, far weaker than it was before. Even those three Servants who only just arrived, having barely glimpsed him a moment earlier, when he had still been Hercules, could tell this. What stood here was no longer a god, but merely a man.
"...that power that tore at me, Monster. That was 'ruin', was it not?"The veil that hung over his parameters fell away, revealing his weakness to all. He was, without question, weak.
[Eye of the Mind (False) -> Born in the Purple]
[Battle Continuation -> Septem (False)]
[Bravery -> Incitement]
"Shall I show you how that power is meant to be used?"So then, why?
Why did the instincts of each Master and Servant present scream that he had become more dangerous?"My name is Lucius Aurelius Commodus."[For He Is Another Hercules (False) -> For He Is Another Hercules (True)]
And so, around him, the world broke.
A purple miasma took form around him as space bent. A poison, a sentence, while the man himself shone as a glass figurine in the eye of a hurricane. The 'weight' that had settled on all things with his summoning was raised, that degradation accelerating. Beyond even this, though, the academy was a special place, a place where that 'ruin' was made into something truly terrifying.
Thanks to the great muse, this was a place where the texture of the world was weakened, and a place where civilization reigned supreme.
Thanks to the King of Babylon, this was a place where all things would proceed in line with the commands of fate.
Yes, indeed, this had become an area where that terrible Noble Phantasm was permitted to surpass its own limits.
Each being present could feel it bearing down upon them, crushing them. If the Faker had not been burning his spiritual foundation as fuel to survive in the fight prior, he surely was now- this was undoubtedly a grand suicide, a decision he could not step back from. Beyond that pressure, the miasma that had settled around him was on another level entirely. This was not the result of the two who had unknowingly empowered the emperor, but simply a result of control, of fine manipulation gained over the Noble Phantasm.
Even without the gift of Revelation, any Servant could tell- that fog was concentrated 'ruin' itself. If one of them were to touch it...
A single arrow was notched, that same miasma coalescing around it.
He was no longer Hercules, but the patterns were retained. Like muscle memory burned into his spiritual foundation. It was no longer the almighty strength of Hercules, rather being merely something that anyone could achieve with enough effort. But, that was enough.
"Fall."The arrow was released, and broke apart into streaks of light, into pillars born of that same ruin. Towards each of the opposition, it shot forwards. The demon king he had opposed, the king of Babylon who had dueled his ally, the physician. Even those who he did not know for certain were enemies yet- the mathematician, the swordsman, the mad warrior, for he had accepted that they were all his opponents. It was not a Noble Phantasm, it was merely a prayer. An imitation of a god's technique, released with the will of a man. And yet, it carried a weight with it that surpassed anything the emperor had previously brought to bear. It was a radiance that surpassed the legend of Commodus.
The battle had begun in earnest.
Come, let us die brilliant deaths.
Nine Lives: Rust and Iron
Let the Ten Crowns of Gluttony be Toppled
