Shinji screeched like a child denied a toy, his voice echoing through the Ryūdō Temple. "Why the hell didn't you attack Tohsaka?! We had the perfect chance! What the hell, Gilgamesh?!"
His fists balled up as he stomped after the golden Servant, his face red with frustration. Gilgamesh, however, didn't even glance his way. He simply walked ahead, ignoring Shinji's pathetic tantrum as if the boy were nothing more than a buzzing insect.
"Hey! Are you even listening to me?! Answer me, you useless king!"
Gilgamesh stopped.
For a moment, everything was still. The air around them became heavy, thick with a suffocating pressure.
Then, in a blur, Gilgamesh snatched Shinji by the collar, lifting him off the ground with a single hand.
Shinji choked, his hands scrambling to pry off Gilgamesh's grip. "H-Hey—Wha—?! L-Let go, you—!"
"Listen well, you miserable mongrel," Gilgamesh said, his voice low, sharp, and carrying an edge that sent an instinctive chill down Shinji's spine. "You have no right, no authority, no standing to command someone like me."
Shinji's breath hitched. "B-But I'm y-your Master—!"
Gilgamesh laughed. A cruel, condescending laugh. "You? My Master? Don't be ridiculous. That priest simply asked me to lend you a hand. Nothing more." His red eyes glowed with something dangerous. "And if you continue to irritate me…" He slowly tightened his grip. "I'll kill you."
Shinji's face turned pale. "Ghk—!"
Then—Gilgamesh dropped him.
Shinji collapsed onto the temple floor, gasping for breath, trembling as he scrambled away on his hands and knees.
Gilgamesh, meanwhile, paid him no more mind. His gaze lifted toward the sky, toward the vast, endless expanse of stars glittering above the temple.
Rider was dead.
Caster was dead.
Assassin was dead.
Lancer was no threat—he was already under that priest's command.
That left only three.
Berserker.
Saber.
Archer.
Both of the final two were fakers.
Gilgamesh smirked.
Ah, how he longed to erase those mongrels from existence.