To think that with just a mana boost, she could fight both him and Lancer at the same time without so much as breaking a sweat. How much power had she been suppressing this whole time, bound by the foolish, self-imposed rules of chivalry she clung to? The thought was infuriating.
Lancer, despite his usual cocky, irreverent grin, was beginning to frown, his expression tightening into a grimace of genuine concern. The carefree air around him was gone, replaced by a coiled, lethal seriousness. He spun his crimson spear, Gáe Bolg, its wicked point a blur of motion, and lunged again, his strikes quick and precise, a flurry of feints and deadly thrusts. Saber parried him effortlessly, her movements smooth, controlled—unnatural. It was like watching a pre-programmed sequence. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion, just flawless execution.
"Jeez, this ain't fun anymore," Lancer muttered, his voice a low growl of frustration as he twisted mid-air to avoid a slash that nearly took off his leg. He landed in a crouch, the tip of his spear scraping against the stone floor. "Kinda feels like I'm fighting a machine."
"She's not fighting," Archer corrected, his voice clipped and sharp, the words cutting through the din of clashing metal. He stepped back, his twin blades—Kanshou and Bakuya—reinforcing with a shimmering burst of mana. "She's just being controlled. A puppet on a witch's strings."
Saber's body moved with inhuman precision, a deadly metronome of violence. She attacked Archer, her movements fluid and relentless, then shifted seamlessly, mid-stride, to counter a lightning-fast thrust from Lancer, as if she knew exactly what they'd do before they even moved. Her golden sword, Excalibur, gleamed with a mocking light, reflecting the frantic, desperate struggle of her opponents.
"Is she even getting tired?" Lancer grumbled, his voice laced with disbelief, as he flipped back just as Excalibur carved a deep, smoking trench into the stone floor beneath him.
Archer scowled, projecting a volley of low-level blades to force Saber to momentarily disengage. No, she wasn't. Her stamina—the limited magical energy she possessed as a Servant—should have been depleting by now, a tell-tale sign of a prolonged battle. But Caster's mana supply, drawn from killing and hunting people, was likely sustaining her indefinitely. An endless battery for a perfect killing machine. At this rate, neither he nor Lancer would last long enough to break Caster's hold on her. It was a war of attrition they couldn't possibly win.
And speaking of the witch, she was still laughing. A high, tinkling sound that grated on Archer's nerves like a broken bell.
"Such a splendid sight," Caster purred from her floating platform, her voice carrying over the battlefield like a venomous whisper. She watched the chaos unfold below with amused, glittering eyes. "A knight without shackles, without foolish restraint—this is the true Saber, free of the weakness of a human heart."
"You call this free?" Rin shot back, her voice strained and ragged, a stark contrast to the witch's calm. Her crimson coat was torn, a faint wisp of smoke rising from a scorch mark near the hem.
Unlike Archer and Lancer, she wasn't faring as well in her own, separate battle against the floating sorceress. Despite throwing every trick she had at Caster—gem spells crackling with raw power, reinforcement magic enhancing her speed, elemental bursts of fire and ice—nothing was landing. Every attack she cast was either reflected or countered effortlessly by an almost invisible, shimmering barrier of mana.
And to make things worse—
"Bind!" Caster's voice echoed like a command from a deity.
Rin barely leaped away, the floor exploding in a shower of stone as glowing chains, woven from pure mana, shot up from the ground, trying to ensnare her. The spell missed by mere inches, but the raw heat of it singed her coat and sent a wave of stinging heat across her cheek. Damn it!
Caster tilted her head, a wicked smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, come now, Tohsaka. Is that really all a proud heir of the Tohsaka family can do? How disappointing."
"Shut up and die already, you witch!" Rin snapped, launching another volley of crystals imbued with potent magical energy.
Caster flicked her wrist with bored nonchalance. A barrier of swirling light formed around her, and the attack shattered harmlessly against it, the gem fragments dissolving into motes of light.
Rin's stomach sank, a cold, dread-filled weight. This was bad. This was worse than bad. She had been going all out, using everything she had, her reserves of mana dangerously low. But Caster had barely moved. The witch wasn't even trying.
She was toying with her.
And Saber—Shirō…
Rin risked a glance back, just in time to see Saber's cold, inhuman movements disarm Lancer. One clean, perfect strike, and his spear went flying, cartwheeling end-over-end through the air before embedding itself in a wall with a thud. In the same fluid motion, she twisted and slammed the hilt of her sword into Archer's stomach, a sickening thud echoing through the air as the force of the blow sent him skidding back, his feet dragging through the rubble.
Their best fighters were losing. She was losing. The entire battle was slipping away from them, one desperate moment at a time.
And if they lost—if Caster kept Shirō—
Rin clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white, her nails digging into her palms. No. No way in hell.
She wasn't about to let that happen. She would not lose her friend.
Shirō's blade, Excalibur, slashed across Archer's chest, the razor-sharp edge parting his crimson coat and drawing a thin line of blood. It wasn't deep, but it was enough to stagger him back, enough to make him curse under his breath, a sharp expletive filled with pain and frustration. Damn it… Even with Lancer's help, even with their combined attacks, Saber was still too fast, too strong. And worse—she wasn't even fighting with her own will. She was a puppet, a beautiful, deadly doll, her strings pulled tight by Caster's overflowing mana.
And yet, that expression… or rather, the lack of one.
Shirō's face was a blank slate—emotionless, stiff, her jaw set in a cold line. Her vibrant green eyes were empty, devoid of all feeling, as if the girl he once knew had been hollowed out and replaced with something else entirely. The sight was a dagger to Archer's already frayed nerves.
Archer gritted his teeth, a fierce, desperate vow forming in his mind. I'm going to wipe that empty look off your damn face if it's the last thing I do.
His body moved on instinct, a flicker of red and black as he twisted away from another deadly thrust. He wasn't fast enough to match Saber's brute strength, not as he was now, exhausted and wounded. But he didn't need to be.
He had another way to win.
A single breath. The world seemed to slow down, the sounds of battle fading into a muffled buzz. Archer closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, his focus absolute. He wasn't thinking, he was being.
And then—
"I am the bone of my sword."
The words were not a shout, but a whisper. A low, resonant incantation that vibrated through the very air, shaking the foundations of reality itself.
The world rippled. The ground beneath them twisted, warping like a reflection in shattered glass. The air trembled, bending under the weight of something massive, something unnatural and utterly foreign to this dimension.
Saber stopped mid-swing, her Excalibur frozen in a deadly arc, as if sensing the profound shift in reality. Lancer faltered, his eyes widening in a mixture of awe and disbelief.
What the hell—?! he thought, his mouth agape.
Flames bloomed, not from an explosion, but from the very horizon, licking at the edges of their vision. The castle, the battlefield, the night sky—everything vanished, replaced by a vast, silent expanse of rust-colored earth, stretching as far as the eye could see. Jagged steel pillars jutted from the ground, the broken shafts of countless swords impaled in the wasteland like the remnants of a forgotten, endless war.
An entire world of blades.
A Reality Marble. The very manifestation of Archer's soul made physical.
Lancer let out a low whistle, the sound of it filled with genuine surprise. "Well, damn. Didn't think you had it in you, Archer. This is… one hell of a party trick."
Archer didn't reply. His gaze was locked on Saber, on that soulless face that shouldn't be like that, not from the proud knight he knew.
He stepped forward, his boots crunching on the hilt of a fallen sword. His voice was low, dangerous, a growl of pure, unrestrained fury.
"I'll break that face of yours, Shirō."
Saber didn't react. Her expression remained blank, her eyes lifeless.
"You're gonna beg for mercy," Archer continued, his voice rising in intensity, a desperate attempt to elicit some kind of response.
Still nothing. Just those empty, doll-like eyes staring back at him from within the boundless expanse of his own soul.
Archer's fingers curled around the hilts of his twin blades, Kanshou and Bakuya, his grip tight, unyielding.
If she wouldn't wake up—
If she wouldn't fight back as herself—
Then he'd beat it into her. He'd break Caster's hold on her by force, no matter the cost.
He launched a volley of swords, countless blades soaring through the air like a storm of steel, each one a lethal projectile aimed with deadly precision. They rained down upon Saber with enough force and numbers to cut down any Servant. But—
Clang!
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Every single blade—parried. Deflected. Saber's movements were mechanical, precise, as if every attack had been predicted before he even made it. She barely seemed to move, a golden blur of motion, yet every strike from Archer's storm of blades and Lancer's frantic thrusts was rendered utterly useless. The sheer efficiency of it was unnatural, a flawless defensive pattern.
Archer's frustration boiled over, a hot, acrid taste in his mouth. "Tch. You just don't get tired, do you? You're just a machine, a puppet!"
Saber didn't answer. She just stood there, her pristine white wedding dress untouched by the dust and grit of the Reality Marble, her glowing blade gripped firmly in her hands.
"Damn it, is there anything that gets through to you?!" he roared, a desperate, pained sound.
He launched forward, twin swords flashing, a whirlwind of steel. Shirō met him head-on. Sparks erupted with each clash of steel, the sound echoing across the desolate landscape. Every strike he threw, she countered. Every gap he aimed for, she covered. He poured mana into his movements, pushing himself to his limits, his bones aching with the strain—
And still.
Nothing.
She was faster. Stronger. More precise. Her movements were flawless, her defenses impenetrable.
Lancer, watching from a short distance with a growing sense of dread, clicked his tongue. "Tch. Damn. If this keeps up, we're screwed. We're gonna burn through our mana and get taken out one by one."
Archer's blades ground against Excalibur, both locked in a deadlock of sheer force. He gritted his teeth, a bead of sweat tracing a line through the grime on his face as he leaned in, forcing all his weight forward. "Oi, Lancer. You do have that thing of yours, right? The one-shot kill?"
Lancer's grip on his spear tightened, his expression turning grim and resolute. "Sure do. But if I use it here, with this witch's curse on her, she won't be the only one going down. It's a guaranteed kill for anything in the vicinity, including you."
Archer's eyes flickered, briefly considering the risk. It was a hell of a gamble, but they were out of options. His Reality Marble was holding, but for how long? Caster's power was immense. It might be their only shot.
Lancer sighed, a deep, weary sound, as he lowered into a stance, his body coiled and ready to spring. "You better not whine if you get caught up in this, Archer. I'm not holding back."
His spear, Gáe Bolg, began to glow, a malevolent crimson light spilling from its tip.
Lancer's spear gleamed with a lethal, crimson light, the sheer pressure of his mana surging through the air like a coming storm. His stance was low, predatory, the very air around him vibrating with the killing intent of a cursed weapon. Archer, standing opposite him, pulled back the string of a newly-projected bow, its crimson arrow crackling with overwhelming magical energy. The two warriors locked eyes briefly—a silent, desperate pact. No words needed.
They had to take her down.
Saber—Shirō—stood in the middle of this maelstrom of death, unwavering. Excalibur, golden and pure, shone brilliantly in her hands, a stark contrast to the dark forces gathering around her. There was no hesitation in her stance, no fear, only an eerily calm expression that sent a shiver of cold dread down Archer's spine.
Lancer grinned, a tight, humorless smile. "No hard feelings, princess."
Then he vanished.
A single blur of movement, and his spear was already thrusting toward her heart. It was a strike that defied cause and effect, an attack that had already hit its target before it even left his hand.
At the exact same time—
TWANG!
Archer's crimson arrow, imbued with enough power to level a small building, was released, splitting the sky as it hurtled toward her like divine judgment itself. The combined force of their attacks—a paradoxical blow that struck from the past and a single projectile of devastating power—should have overwhelmed her, should have broken her, body and soul—
But Shirō didn't falter.
She held.
Excalibur clashed against Gáe Bolg, golden light pushing against crimson death. The sheer force of the impact cracked the very ground beneath them, a spiderweb of fissures spreading across the metallic wasteland. The shockwave sent dust and debris flying in all directions, obscuring the view for a moment. Archer's arrow struck as well, colliding with the force of their weapons, creating an explosion of magical energy that should have obliterated anything caught in its center.
And yet—
She was still standing.
Unmoving. Unyielding. A perfect knight, an unbroken doll, the center of a storm of destruction.
Archer clenched his jaw, his eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and horror. This can't be happening. We used everything. Everything…
Lancer clicked his tongue, a curse forming on his lips. "Tch. You gotta be shittin' me. Even after all that?"
[—(/-\)—]
It was hopeless. The cold, mechanical efficiency of the puppet Saber was a wall they could not break. No matter how much they pushed, no matter how much power they poured into their attacks—she wasn't breaking. Archer's mind raced, a frantic search for any possible weakness, any gap in her defense, but there was nothing. They were running out of time, running out of mana, and running out of options.
And then—
She screamed.
It was a sharp, agonized cry that tore through the desolate expanse of Unlimited Blade Works, a sound so full of pain and raw humanity that it made both Lancer and Archer flinch. It was the sound of a living person, not a machine, and it was a sound neither of them expected to hear.
Her body trembled, a violent shudder that shook her from head to toe. Her grip on Excalibur tightened, the knuckles of her hand turning white with the strain. Her head snapped back, her eyes squeezed shut, a low, guttural growl escaping her lips as if she was fighting a battle against her own body.
And suddenly, in a movement that was both horrifying and heartbreaking, she turned the blade on herself.
The sound of metal piercing flesh was a wet, sickening noise that rang through the entire battlefield, a final, terrible note in the symphony of their struggle.
Silence.
Lancer's eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief and horror. The carefree grin was gone, replaced by a pale, stunned expression. "What the hell—?!" he stammered, unable to comprehend what he had just witnessed.
Archer's bow, which had been pulled taut with a final, desperate arrow, lowered. The magical energy crackling around the projectile dissipated into the air, forgotten. His breath caught in his throat, and the words that escaped his lips were a mere whisper. "No way…"
The golden blade, shining with divine radiance and a beautiful, pure light, had been thrust straight into her own abdomen. The hilt was still in her hand, the tip of the blade protruding from her back. Her pristine white wedding dress, once a symbol of innocence and purity, was now darkening with a spreading stain of fresh, spilling blood, staining the pure fabric in a deep, vibrant crimson.
Shirō gasped, her body jolting violently, as if a switch had been flipped inside her. Her eyes, wide with the unbearable agony of a mortal wound, were no longer lifeless. The unnatural stillness that had plagued her—the lifeless, emotionless gaze of Caster's puppet—was gone, shattered by a pain so profound it had broken the curse.
The light in her eyes returned, filled now with raw, unbearable pain, but also with something else: a fierce, defiant will.
The control was broken.
Caster's influence was gone.
Lancer took a hesitant step forward, his voice low and cautious, as if afraid to startle a wounded animal. "Oi, Saber—"
She staggered, her knees buckling beneath her weight, barely keeping herself upright with a trembling hand on the hilt of her sword. A thin trail of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. The sheer force of her will was the only thing preventing her from collapsing.
Archer clenched his fists, his body trembling with a mixture of relief and a burning, white-hot fury. "Damn it… she's back—but she…" his voice trailed off, the sight of her wound a painful, damning indictment of their failure.
Shirō let out a pained, rattling chuckle, forcing a weak, trembling smile through the agony.
"...That… sucked," she managed, her voice a strained whisper, before the effort became too much.
And then—
She collapsed, the sword still in her body, her eyes closing as the world went dark.
[—(/-\)—]
Back in the real world, the illusion shattered. Caster's scream, a piercing, inhuman cry, tore through the air like a wounded animal. The sudden, violent severance of her connection to Shirō hit her like a shockwave, a psychic backlash that was both physical and magical. She staggered, clutching her chest as if something vital—something of herself—had just been ripped from her.
"No… impossible…" she whispered, her hands trembling, the graceful movements that defined her gone, replaced by a desperate, panicked instability. "How could she… she broke my spell, but… how?"
She never finished her question.
A blur of movement, and Rin was already upon her, her own exhaustion forgotten, replaced by a surge of pure, righteous fury.
This was her chance. Caster was wide open, her concentration and her mana shattered by the sudden collapse of her connection. A single blow, a single spell, and she could end this.
But before she could land a strike—
Kuzuki.
The man appeared between them like a ghost, moving with inhuman speed. His fist, his terrifying, lightning-fast fist, struck Rin's stomach with brutal force. The impact was like being hit by a freight train. It sent her flying back, crashing against the stone floor, the air forced from her lungs in a choked gasp. She coughed violently as a white-hot agony erupted in her ribs.
"You should know better than to drop your guard," Kuzuki stated, his voice as empty and flat as ever, a cold, emotionless machine of violence. He looked down at the fallen Rin with all the concern of a man observing a particularly interesting rock.
Then, suddenly—
A rumbling.
The very air around them twisted, a strange, shimmering distortion. The world around them, the stone walls and the temple, began to break apart like shattered glass. The fabric of reality itself folded and cracked, unable to sustain the existence of the Reality Marble that had just collapsed.
A gust of wind howled through the battlefield as the golden wasteland of swords vanished, dissolving into a shimmering mirage. The illusion was gone, replaced once more by the cold, ruined stone walls of the temple.
And there—standing in the center of the dust and debris—
Lancer, his spear dripping with residual magical energy, stood beside Archer. And in Archer's arms—
A bloody, unconscious Shirō.
Her wedding dress, once a vision of purity, was ruined, soaked in crimson. Her breathing was shallow, a faint, rattling sound. Her face was pale from the blood loss, a ghostlike pallor. But the unnatural stillness was gone—she was free.
Before Caster could even react, Archer's eyes gleamed with a lethal, burning fury, a cold, silent rage that promised no quarter. He lifted a single hand, his attention fully focused on the two figures standing before him.
And then—
A storm of blades.
Swords upon swords, summoned in an instant through sheer, unbridled rage, filled the air around him. They shot forward like a hurricane, each one faster than the last, tearing toward Kuzuki like divine retribution itself.
The killing intent was absolute. There was no hesitation, no mercy, only a desire to annihilate.
Kuzuki barely blinked, his body shifting to move—
But Caster moved first.
With a final, desperate gasp, she threw herself in front of him. A shield of flesh and blood for the man she loved.
The blades pierced her. One after another.
Steel sank into flesh, the sickening sound of metal tearing through her skin a horrifying chorus. Blood burst from her wounds as her body became a pincushion for the onslaught of Archer's wrath. She barely made a sound, a faint whimper escaping her lips as she gasped, the pain washing over her in waves.
Her hood fell away, revealing her delicate features—her once-proud, cunning gaze now filled with nothing but exhaustion and a profound, heartbreaking sorrow.
She swayed on her feet, her body broken, barely clinging to life. And yet—
She turned, leaning her bloodied head against Kuzuki's chest, the last ounce of her strength devoted to him.
"Master…" she murmured, her voice weak, a final, fading whisper. "Are you… okay?"
Kuzuki looked down at her. His expression remained unreadable, his voice as monotone as ever, a stark contrast to the tragic scene playing out.
"Yes, Caster."
Caster exhaled softly, a fragile smile gracing her lips.
"Thank God."
With that, her body flickered—then slowly, steadily, she began to fade away, her spirit dissolving into golden particles, carried away by the wind and the fading magical energy of the battlefield.
Kuzuki said nothing.
He merely watched as the woman who had devoted everything to him disappeared from existence.
Then, with a quiet, deadly purpose, he turned toward Archer.
He stepped forward.
A single, deliberate movement, his face a mask of cold fury.
His hand clenched into a fist, the same fist that had so effortlessly sent Rin flying.
And then—
He lunged.
A blur of motion—his strike aimed straight for Archer's face, a blow meant to end the battle, and the Archer, in a single, brutal moment—
But before he could reach him—
KCHHK!
A crimson spear, a weapon of certain death, pierced through his chest.
Lancer stood behind him, gripping his weapon tightly, his expression cold and unyielding. The action was swift, and decisive.
Blood dripped from the tip of the spear as Kuzuki staggered. His breath hitched, a faint gasp of air, his body locking up as the cursed spear did its work. And yet—
Even now, there was no fear in his eyes. No pain.
Only stillness. A perfect, final stillness.
With a final exhale, his body gave out—
And he crumpled to the ground.
Dead.
Silence.
Rin averted her gaze, unable to look at the lifeless body. Her stomach twisted—not out of sympathy for the man who had just nearly killed her, but something else.
Something bitter. A hollowness.
But that was nothing compared to the sight she turned to next.
Because there—
On the cold stone floor—
Lay Shirō.
Covered in blood.
Barely breathing.
"Emiya-kun!" Rin's voice broke as she rushed toward her, the sound of her fear and desperation echoing in the silent temple.
[—(/-\)—]
TBC