So that was the creature Angelesia had chosen to challenge. 

Saber had lived in an age of gods and monsters. Most people she had met counted her among them, in fact. All the same, hers had been a campaign against the world of men. It was exceedingly rare for her to meet another warrior she even needed to not look down upon, let alone [i]up[/i]: among the more lamentable deficiencies of England had been its near total lack of giants. Detestable. 

So this? A rare thing. A beautiful thing. From the shadows cast by the sea of falling autumn leaves, Saber pauses to gaze upon the shape of this Princess, this "lioness" who shook the earth with her terrible roars of anger. For a moment even thoughts of vengeance and Actia are driven from her mind, so captivated is she by (in particular) the towering blade that sweeps through the air demanding her own head for her brazen act of thievery. 

How her body quivers! She'd never had the chance to test herself against a creature like this in life! Even now, counting only her vision and her instinct against the knowledge of the full potential power of her ghostly body she is not sure if she'd even win a fight against the gorgeous and majestic Jezara. Saber's entire fighting style hinged on being the larger combatant; her strength was even contingent upon leverage. Could she be fast enough to outmaneuver a foe who outranged her? Could she be clever enough to outwit a creature who commanded armies in the form of flocks of birds and held the hearts of beautiful witches in her palm? 

With a command seal powering her, she could-- no, that did not warrant thinking about. Not because it would never happen, though it wouldn't. And not because it would be "cheating", though in several senses it would be. The problem was that it skipped past the value of the exercise to the end. But now that the idea had entered her mind she was having difficulty mapping the scenario without it. It felt like poison in her mind; even this tiny indulgence skipped straight to "win". And she knew exactly who to blame for that poison.

[s]Diaofei[/s] Actia.

If her Master's heart had simply been whole, none of this would have been necessary. If that garbage bitch hadn't inflicted so much pain the flame of vengeance would have found nowhere to catch in the first place. And if she hadn't, she would also have had a Master with pure magical circuits and a clean flow of mana and she would not have even needed to worry about engaging in these pointless mental exercises to strengthen herself in the first place; she could simply have fought what she wanted to. No matter how she chased the problem it only ever came back to Actia. She needed to die. Everything would be fine once she was dead. The only thing that mattered was following the path that best lead to that happening.

Her grip on Fallweaver had tightened without her realizing. Not until the yelps of pain threaten to expose her position. Quickly she adjusts her grip on the witch, no longer tossed over the shoulder but nestled so she can sit comfortably in the crook of Saber's elbow. Easier to secure the familiar this way, and simpler to clap a hand over the offending mouth as well.

"Apologies," she says, and means it.

This truly was a beautiful world. Everything about the planet after Ragnarok was just as the poems had described it. It would have been such a joy to conquer it. With a sigh, she turns her back on the majesty of her surroundings and runs on. Every color near her seemed like it burst off of the leaves and grass and even the dirt before her foot trampled all of it into the same dull ash. Light filled every corner of her vision ahead of the shadows that creep across it all and take the vague shape of new warriors; mere shells of her brothers with only one task set to them this time. 

They carry something like torches in their hands. Saber pays them no mind, but merely sprints in a straight line toward the place where Angelesia and Lancer awaited her return. She had a job to complete. And dreams to forsake. Not for the sake of the world, but for Actia. In the name of the woman who burned her Master the forest catches too, for no higher purpose than another moment's distraction.