Chapter 38 - Chapter 35: Madness Part 2

Beta read by Shigiya, Paragon of Awesomeness and Gamercrusher55

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-Underworld-

The air was thick with the acrid stench of decay and scorched stone. Ash clung to every surface like a tangible aura, swirling gently in the unnatural breeze that swept across the dead expanse. Nothing lived in this area. The sky above bore no resemblance to Earth's, it was a dome of forged light, an artificial ceiling that cast a pale glow over the desolate terrain of the Underworld.

"Argh!"

The cry came from a lone figure dragging himself across the cracked ground. Blood, most of it not even his own, slicking his armor and smearing beneath his hands. The Devil scout who had been sent to investigate the anomalies happening in this area and to find any traces of Diodora Astaroth cursed his luck. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his lungs burning as he crawled past the corpses of those he'd once laughed with. Colleagues. Friends. Rivals. Their eyes stared back at him now, empty, glassy, unblinking.

The smell alone might have brought a weaker man emptying the contents of their stomachs.

He fumbled with a trembling hand, reaching for the last spell he had strength for. Just enough mana left for a desperate teleport, he might make it out if he…

A boot clad in blackened armor came crashing down, smashing into his forearm. A sickening crack split the air.

"ARGH! ARGHHHH!"

His shriek rang out across the battlefield, but it was swallowed by silence. No one would come. There was no one left to come.

"Tch. Shut it with the screaming, will you? You're acting like I've already carved you open," a voice cut through the silence, sharp and dripping with annoyance. It was a woman's voice, low and edged with a threat that didn't need raising. "Broke your arm, clipped your wings—big deal. You're still breathing, aren't you? For now."

Gauntleted fingers seized him by the throat and lifted him clean off the ground. His body hung limply, weightless in her grasp, as though he were nothing more than a paper weight. He found himself staring into the eye slits of a steel helmet shaped like a snarling beast, two curved horns jutting from either side. The metal was stained with dried blood, some of it still fresh, the crimson gleam catching the artificial light like war paint.

"Now," the woman said, her voice level, "start talking."

He knew he wouldn't survive. He could feel the shattered bones, the crushed muscles, the broken magic inside him. But he could still deny her the satisfaction. Drawing from the last flickers of mana left in his core, he activated the inscription hidden beneath his tongue. It burned hot, too hot, and within seconds, his entire head flared with light.

"Oh you motherfuc—!"

The words were cut off in an instant with a loud boom. His body exploded in a burst of gore, taking everything above the collarbone with it.

…

"Bleh. Disgusting," Mordred muttered, hurling what remained — a charred spine with bits of cooked flesh still clinging to it — off to the side. Her gauntlet hissed with residual heat, bits of blood crackling as they sizzled against the cooling plates.

So much for that.

"How many of those dumbasses has it been now?" she asked aloud, not really expecting an answer. "Thirty? Fifty? Ugh. All these Devils are the same, useless to the end. They'd rather blow themselves up than talk. Waste of time…"

It was hard to tell exactly how long she'd been down here. The Underworld's static sky offered no hints as to the passage of time. It never changed, never dimmed, never moved, and it was not like she had a phone or watch on herself at the moment. Her dear Master thought it would matter if she confiscated them as a punishment. 

Hilarious how that girl tried to look intimidating and strict like Morgan le Fey herself, but kept resembling a puppy more than anything else.

"I told you that you should've let me handle it instead, nya!" came a voice behind her; smooth, playful, and far too smug.

Kuroka stepped out from the shadows, her golden eyes gleaming, arms crossed beneath her ample chest. "Now the whole group is dead, and we've got no one left to question. Next time, you can try chasing down another bunch of rogue mages on your own. Or maybe, just maybe, you'll let me try other ways to get information. Nya~"

Mordred bit back a groan, but not even her helmet could fully conceal her irritation toward her current company.

"Shut it, cat! One more word outta your damn mouth and I swear I'll skin ya!" her voice echoed across the field. Behind the helmet, her light green eyes blazed as she glared at the black-haired nekoshou standing nearby, tails lazily flicking while she examined her latest find, which was mostly random belongings of the Devils that Saber had just killed.

Mordred had once been mildly intrigued by Kuroka. The promise of traveling with a powerful yokai cat? Interesting since she'd never seen one when she was alive. But now, after spending what felt like an eternity in the woman's company, the Knight of Treachery was convinced she had met the single most aggravating creature alive… or dead!

"You'd think," Kuroka mused aloud, voice syrupy with amusement, "that a long-dead spirit from the Throne of Heroes would have figured out by now that having a short fuse only gets you into trouble. Ever thought about being calm and reasonable, like Arthur—"

Whoosh!

Kuroka's pupils shrank. Her body jerked backward into a nearly impossible arch, her spine bending like a ribbon dancer's as a silver blade tore through the air in front of her, missing her stomach by mere inches. The dagger she found on one of the corpses shattering like confetti the moment it came into contact with that ridiculously sharp sword that even made her fear being near it.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" Kuroka yowled, scrambling to her feet. "There's nothing even remotely noble about you! Knight of the Round Table my ass, nya!"

"You're the one who keeps running her damn mouth when I clearly said to shut it! Go ahead, find some survivor in this wasteland, screw 'em, and pop out a kitten or ten if that'll finally keep you quiet!"

"I'm not some prostitute who'll sleep with just anyone!" Kuroka snapped back, eyes gleaming with offense. "Only the strongest and kindest will be worthy of making me bear even a single kitten, much less a whole litter of brats!"

"I said to stop talking about that! Why are you so obsessed with getting pregnant anyway?! Can't you think about literally anything else!?"

"You mean besides the fact that my race is nearing extinction…Humph, of course, someone as flat as you won't understand anything about my dream… Who the hell would even want to choose you as a partner to begin with? But since you asked for a change in topic… want me to tell you about my adorable little sister?"

"You already have, like, a dozen bloody times! At this point, I know more about her than she knows about herself!"

"Wow… You were actually listening to me?" Kuroka purred, placing her hands over her chest as if touched. "I'm so happy. You do care after all~! Had you been a man, I would have happily offered myself to you~! Oh wait… can Servants reproduce?"

"Don't call me a girl!" 

"I saw no dick down there when we were in the sauna together, you flat-chested maniac! Trust me, I checked! I will say you have a fantastic looking butt at least, but I'm still pretty sure that mine is more appealing."

"Urgh!" 

Mordred groaned and raked a hand down the front of her helmet. Not once in her life, nor in the afterlife, had she dealt with anyone this infuriating. Kuroka was like oil and grease mixed with smug superiority, oozing around every insult and twisting every argument into a joke she somehow won. She reminded Mordred of Kay back in Camelot, infuriating and pompous, but at least he had the courtesy to talk like a knight instead of a horny gossiping alley cat.

"What did I do to deserve this…" Mordred muttered into her gauntlet.

"Oh, I don't know," Kuroka replied sweetly. "Maybe… almost murdering your Master's big brother to the point he flinches at the mere sight of you? That's probably a good place to start."

"He deserved it."

At that, Kuroka blinked in bewilderment. "What did he even do?"

Saber spat out her reply. "He had a really punchable face."

"…Are you nine?"

The blonde Servant's eyes twitched at that comment. For as much as she hated to even think it, technically this bitch was not that far off the mark in terms of how old she'd been at the time of her death…

Blame her mother for increasing her growth rate.

Regardless, when it came to the matter with her Master, there was more to it, of course. Far more. But she wasn't about to start unravelling her past to the yokai-Devil-whatever pest sitting across from her. The moment still lived clearly in her memory. The ritual, the circle, the pull between worlds, and then the flash of light when a copy of her spirit had been dragged back into the realm of the living.

And then… the first thing she saw.

The person who'd summoned her.

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(One month ago)

Answering the call of the Grail and getting summoned as a Servant wasn't exactly complicated. At least, not for any Heroic Spirit who was willing. In the Throne, there was little else to do beyond reliving the same old glories on loop, like a war story that never stopped replaying. Sometimes they'd glimpse fragments, see flashes of other versions of themselves being summoned into different Grail Wars, and observe such moments as if they were a chapter from a never-ending book. 

Mordred was unable to remember any of that, the moment her spirit core began to surge as the Grail served its purpose to keep such memories separated from the version of her that was summoned. Energy built around her like a storm gathering over an open sea, Magical Energy pooling. Her form, once scattered, began to knit itself together. Bone, sinew, muscle, armor. Piece by piece, the Saber-class warrior reassembled into the image of her former self.

Saber Class.

That was what she expected. 

What she preferred. 

Berserker was technically another option, but she had no taste for madness. It dulled the thrill of battle, robbed the mind of clarity. No, Saber suited her just fine, her pride, her strength, her right to strike down any enemy foolish enough to cross her. It only made sense that the class most suited to her was the strongest one.

"Oh… Oh my god, it… It worked! I really did it! Do you see this, brother? I actually did it!"

The voice broke through before her body had even fully finished materializing. High-pitched. Young. Excited. Definitely female. From the sound of it, some giddy teenage girl was bouncing around in circles over her apparent success. Mordred's senses sharpened as her form stabilized. Her sight was still blurry, but hearing came in first. She could already imagine the kid dancing on the spot, squealing over her very first summoning.

Not that she could blame her. After all, the girl had summoned her. One of the strongest damn Servants to ever answer the Holy Grail's call.

Hopefully, it wasn't one of those entitled brats who thought they could bark orders and get a knight to heel like a house-trained dog. If it were, she would have no problem putting her in her place with a harsh glare or even a broken bone or two. She had no intention of playing errand girl to some snot-nosed magus who couldn't even draw a proper summoning circle without smudging it.

'Strange. Why am I not getting any info?'

Normally, right at the moment of summoning, a Servant would receive a basic download of knowledge of the modern world, the date, culture, technology, that sort of thing, in addition to being able to comprehend all languages across humanity's history and knowing at least the basics of all other legends in order to identify other Servants. The latter two were essential for ensuring communication with one's Master and giving all the Servants a fighting chance, while the first was intended to keep a Servant from gawking at the state of technology, being lost on how to use them, or choking on unfamiliar slang. But here, when it came to being brought up to date about the modern era… nothing. No new data. No flash of understanding outside of what she already knew.

'What the hell? The brat must've messed something up during the summoning.'

Typical.

Still, it wasn't the end of the world. The Knight of Treachery was nothing if not adaptable. She could learn the slow way if she had to. Stuffing a bunch of magical knowledge straight into her skull without her permission was never her favorite method anyway. It felt like being kicked in the brain by a mule made of textbooks.

Her upper body finally took full shape, complete with the red-trimmed armor and the familiar weight of her helmet snug against her skull. Vision returned at last — and through the visor, she got a good look at her summoner for the first time.

And paused.

The girl looked… weird.

Not in a monstrous way. In fact, she was actually kind of beautiful. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a sharp, bright face that bore a slight resemblance to her own father, though those features were hardly rare for one who had descended from Britain.

What really threw her for a loop was the outfit.

An oversized witch's hat flopped comically atop the girl's head, shadowing half her face. Behind her trailed a flamboyant cape that seemed to have a star pattern on the outer layer like something a stage magician would wear. And the uniform… yellow, puffed out in all the wrong places, made Mordred's eye twitch beneath her helm.

'Who the hell dresses like that?'

For a second, she genuinely wondered if this girl who had pulled her from the Throne intended to fight for the Holy Grail while playing dress-up the whole time. She had to put up with Merlin in his shitty get-up during her time at the Round, so she hopes that she isn't anything like him in personality. 

Her body now solid, Mordred reached for Clarent. Not to strike, but simply out of instinct. Her fingers curled around the familiar hilt as her gaze locked on the bizarre, excitable child who had summoned her.

'She looks pretty naive… and what the hell is she even wearing?' Mordred thought to herself, eyeing the girl who had just finished the summoning ritual. The outfit was weird. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers. More importantly, the kid at least gave off the vibe of being a surprisingly decent mage according to Mordred's instincts. Young, sure, but competent. More than enough mana to keep her on the field without her physical form fizzling out every few minutes. That was good enough.

Probably the heiress of some crusty old magus bloodline that had managed to stay relevant by clinging to their family crest like a roach under a floorboard. Great.

Whatever, it's time for this little mage to realize just whom she had brought forth.

"I have answered the call of your summoning, and manifested as a Servant of the most powerful class, Saber, to be your sword and shield."

Her voice was firm, commanding, as the clinking of metal echoed through the space. Her armor shifted with mechanical precision, the helmet unlatching and shifting down to form horned pauldrons to reveal the infamous mane of wild, untamed blonde hair that crowned her head like a lion's mane. Her light green eyes gleamed beneath a frown carved in stone as she took hold of Clarent's pommel and drove the tip of the blade into the floor with a resounding thud.

"You may call me Mordred, the one true successor to the legendary King of Knights, Arthur Pendragon! Now then, I ask of you… Are you the one who claims to be my Master?"

That was the formal bit done. Now came the usual circus.

It always amused her how people reacted the moment she said her name. In England, it often ended in a fight. Most folks heard 'Mordred' and immediately pictured a helmeted brute with no manners, or… well… making comments about her being a girl. A quick punch or pointing her sword at them usually sorted that out. But since this girl wasn't from her time, Mordred gave her a bit of grace—for now.

"What? Mordred… You're Mordred!?" the girl gasped, eyes going wide like a deer about to get trampled. Her mouth hung open, useless and gaping. It was kind of cute, but unnecessary. Mordred didn't understand what was so surprising. She was exactly who she said she was. If those idiot historians had messed with her legend again, she was going to find a way to punch someone in the afterlife.

"Can you believe this, brother? Is this really Mordred?" the girl wondered, spinning around to face someone else in the room. Mordred's gaze flicked over and found him, a man clearly older than the girl with an obvious resemblance, tall with a smug look on his face and the kind of ridiculous hairstyle that screamed 'pompous stuck-up noble', which was only reinforced by the glasses on his face. And for some reason, he was dressed like a damn butler.

It figured.

Not unusual for a Master to have a sibling or other family member watching or even assisting in the summoning ritual. What was unusual was the weapon in his hand. A longsword, one radiating holy energy. That was strange. Had that been the catalyst? She tilted her head slightly. No… it didn't make any sense. She'd never seen that sword before in her life. Not in life, not in the Throne, nowhere.

"It was said the summoned hero would be connected to the catalyst. If she claims to be Mordred, then this must be the case," the man declared, raising the blade high as if presenting it to a crowd. His tone was something she found patronizing, condescending even. Like he was explaining something to a child, she didn't like his face already, and now she hated his voice too.

He lifted his chin, a prideful gleam flickering in his eyes.

"Saber, upon my name of Arthur Pendragon and the rightful owner of Excalibur Ruler, I trust you will solemnly swear that you shall help lead us to victory—" Crack! "Oof!"

The rest of his ridiculous speech never made it out. Upon hearing the name this pretentious ponce claimed, the blonde's patience hit zero, moving before either of them could blink. Her armored fist shot forward like a bullet and smashed into his smug face, crushing his nose against his cheek. His body was sent crashing against the wall with cracks forming, the armored Heroic Spirit's footsteps echoing across the room as she drew closer. 

"You got a lot of nerve saying shit like that to me of all people, four-eyes. If you don't explain yourself in the next five seconds, I'll make sure to give you a face that not even a mother will be able to love." Anger radiated off the armored woman, while the little mage that was her Master stood rooted in place, speechless at what had just occurred. 

Expecting to see the blonde cower in fear and start to beg for his life, the last thing Modred expected was for him to just point that weird sword at her with an enraged face. Though his bravado caused her to smirk with a feral grin. "Cute, want to cut me with that? Come on, give it a try. I dare ya. Of course, it'll probably be the last thing you ever do." 

"Cough!" Arthur shook his head after coughing a couple of times, wiping at the blood dripping from his nose and mouth, he whispered quietly. "Servant, I don't know if you really are Mordred or not, but after that, it frankly doesn't matter. I wanted to give my sister a chance to prove herself capable of handling a Heroic Spirit, but it seems I'll have to take charge. By the power of Excalibur Ruler and as the next heir to the Pendragon family—you shall hereby obey me as your Master and serve us as your role intends." 

The sword in his hands started to glow, a clear presence of holy energy coming from it, but nothing to make it earn even the smallest mention compared to the sword wielded by her father, or any of the other Knights of the Round Table. Yet at that moment precisely, the same smirk from before froze when a weird sensation coursed through her body like a bunch of snakes entangling themselves around each limb. 

Arthur, on the other hand, while not nearly as skilled in magic as his sister, managed to use a few rudimentary healing spells to at least stop the bleeding, then unleashed the full power of Excalibur Ruler's ability on Saber. 

Yet even as he did so, he could not shake off a bad feeling, seeing the one who called herself Mordred of all people standing still with her eyes covered by strands of her hair. 

But he would not let fear of her power dissuade him. Even a vaunted Servant would fall short before the might of Ruler, after all. 

Just as he was about to order her again, the man's words got stuck in his throat the moment an oppressive cascade of crimson energy burst out of the armored figure.

"HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!!!" 

Mordred disappeared from sight, and the next thing Arthur saw was the ceiling above with droplets of blood in their air and a searing pain in his stomach.

"B-Big brother!?" the girl shrieked, voice cracking as her brother stumbled back, blood pouring from his nose and lips.

Mordred didn't even glance at the girl. She was on the older one in a flash, closing the distance and hammering his face with punch after punch. Her rage practically oozes off her.

"You tried to control me with that?! And you call that toy in your hands EXCALIBUR!? You think this is funny?! You think I'm some kind of joke?! I should kill you just for your disrespectful arrogance!"

Each shouted phrase was punctuated by another blow. Arthur's face was quickly turned into a bruised, red mess. Swollen. Misshapen. She grabbed the blade he dared to call Excalibur, yanking it from his stunned hands. Her eyes narrowed at the holy weapon with a disgust that could melt stone.

"Calling this Excalibur? This trashy toy? Hahaha… you've got guts, calling this sad excuse of a blade a holy sword. But fine. If you want to play the part of King Arthur when facing me, I'll grant you your wish!"

"Argh!"

With a savage motion, she hurled the sword he'd attempted to control her with — his so-called Excalibur — directly into his gut. The blade sank in with a wet sound, blood quickly pooling beneath him as he crumpled.

Clarent rose in her hands, glowing ominously as waves of magic surged through the chamber. Crimson lightning coiled around the weapon, crackling violently. She didn't hold back. There was no reason to. These two, these pretenders, these mockeries, had spat on her name the moment she was summoned. She would burn them down until nothing remained but smoke and regret.

"Clarent… Blood Arthu—"

A piercing screech followed.

"I command you not to kill my brother, Saber!"

The voice rang sharp and desperate, snapping through the tense air just as Clarent began to hum with energy. A sudden wave of red energy burst from the clover-shaped Command Seals, rippling across the chamber in an unseen force that coiled around Saber's mind like a serpent. Her grip faltered. The arc of Clarent stopped mid-air.

"Ngh…! Nnnnaaaaa!" she growled, teeth clenched, body trembling under the binding order. She fought it, Gods, she fought it, but the compulsion held. The Command Seal had taken root like a vice in her very soul. She stood paralyzed, veins glowing faintly red, fury held hostage by her Master's desperate plea.

Then the girl rushed in, shielding her brother with trembling arms and tears running freely down her cheeks. "Please! Please don't kill my brother! He didn't mean it! I'm sorry that he tried to control you, I really am! But don't kill him! He only did it because he thought you were a danger to me!"

The image of her small, sobbing frame kneeling over that sorry excuse of a knight tugged at something Mordred hadn't felt in a long while, guilt. 

Her clenched fists loosened. The haze of bloodlust dimmed, if only for a flicker of a second.

On the ground, the man who dared claim the Pendragon name was barely holding on to consciousness. Blood dripped from his swollen lips as he weakly raised a hand, voice ragged and cracked even as his sister was already working to heal him. "R-Run… away, L-Le Fay… she's dangerous… don't…"

"…Le… what?"

The name froze Mordred in place. Her fury was already dulling, but now it dissolved completely, replaced by confusion.

"Le Fay?" she echoed, this time with less rage and more disbelief.

She looked back at the girl… her Master, with wide eyes. That name. That cursed, maddening name. The same as her mother's. And this boy… Arthur. A brother named Arthur, who'd been wielding a holy sword he called Excalibur.

What in the ever-loving hell was going on?

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(Present)

Her summoning had been, by every conceivable measure, a shitshow.

Summoned by a Master who bore the name of her mother, paired with a brother who had the gall to call himself Arthur Pendragon. Mordred had genuinely wondered, for a time, whether some malicious god was toying with her. And yet, after several days, and countless explanations that circled around her in progressively aggravating ways, she was forced to admit one infuriating truth: this wasn't her world.

These people who'd summoned her were actually from the Pendragon lineage, but not the one from her world.

But in the fallen Knight's eye, they only shared the names of their ancestors, nothing more. It was frankly a surprise to Mordred that their lineage had been what acted as the catalyst that enabled the girl to summon her.

That the summoning system had acknowledged their blood enough to call upon her felt like just another insult amidst this whole mess.

That Le Fay girl? Nothing like her mother. Talented in magic the girl may be, that grinning, awkward teenager was nonetheless the farthest thing possible from the scheming, cold sorceress who had created and raised her. And the boy, Arthur… he was no king. No blade-master. Just a sniveling whelp with a sword he had no right to touch, she could still hear him in her head, declaring he was the rightful bearer of Excalibur. She had nearly broken his jaw a second time for that alone.

And to find out that the toy he'd been waving around had in fact been a reforged fragment of this world's Excalibur after it had somehow been destroyed… Saber couldn't kill him, but she had wasted no time in destroying that weapon, which could only be described as a disgrace to the King of Knights' memory. Then she'd set off to find and annihilate the other fragments as soon as she got a lead on their location.

"Never mind. Let's just go," Mordred grumbled, folding her arms, glaring off into the distance. "We'll find some other Devil scouts."

"Alright, but this time, I'll be the one doing the talking. You just stay behind and don't kill anyone unless I tell you to or one of them does something suicidally stupid, got it?"

"Pft. Whatever."

The two trudged forward through the ruined streets, Kuroka's form already beginning to shimmer with the energy of teleportation. Just as the spell began to weave its threads to signify its completion, a flash of light tore open the sky above them, brilliant and unnatural.

Kuroka froze, her tails bristling and fur standing on end. Her golden eyes widened as a wave of icy dread crept over her entire body. She looked up.

Confusion overtook her first.

Then—

Her thoughts blurred. Her vision splintered. An invasive force tore through her mind like a thief in the night, stealing everything it touched—clarity, thought, even her sense of self.

The last thing she remembered before the darkness swallowed her whole was Mordred's voice echoing through the chaos.

{Break}

(An hour before)

During his long existence, both as a Counter Guardian and as a summoned Servant cast into the Holy Grail Wars of countless parallel realities, Archer could say with absolute certainty that the number of times he had stood atop the back of an actual dragon was exactly zero. He didn't need perfect recollection to affirm this fact. Perhaps he'd ridden something that resembled a dragon, some artificial construct or beast twisted by magecraft — but never the real thing. True dragons, the creatures of legend, had long since vanished, retreating to the deeper layers of the Reverse Side of the World.

'Yet here I am,' he mused, arms folded as he gazed out over the endless expanse of sky, the wind whipping sharply across his face. 'Even Rin wouldn't believe me if I told her this.'

The dragon beneath him, a colossal, ancient being whose scales shimmered like molten obsidian, was the very same one Sirzechs had introduced as an "old friend of their race." A Queen no less, under Mephisto Pheles' peerage.

'Never thought I'd hear that scissor-headed clown's name again… but I suppose I should've expected it,' he thought. Thankfully, this world's Mephisto was nothing like the one he remembered. Like nearly every historical figure he'd encountered here, they all shared names and superficial traits with those from his own timeline, but the similarities ended there. Dig past the surface, and one would quickly see they were different people entirely.

"How does it feel, riding atop a dragon, Servant of the Bow?"

To his surprise, the dragon, Tannin, spoke first. His voice was deep and resonant, carrying effortlessly across the gale as though the wind itself bent to carry his words.

"From what I've gathered, your world no longer has any dragons to speak of, correct?"

"It's… quite the experience," Archer replied, his tone dry but honest. "And while you're not wrong, it's not to the degree you may expect. Dragons still exist, technically… but not in the human world anymore. They migrated. As the magical energy in the atmosphere declined, they vanished to a separate realm, which we call the Reverse Side of the World. Think of it as a sanctuary, cut off from our dying age of declining mystery. As entities that live and breathe magic, dragons and even their lesser kin cannot survive without sufficient mystery, and so delving into the deeper layers of the world untouched by humans was the only way for their kind to survive. The ones who didn't because they were too arrogant to think they'd be affected, all died."

"Fascinating," Tannin replied, his tone intrigued. "I cannot say I empathize. Whether in the human realm or elsewhere, mana has never been scarce for our kind. At least not yet."

"Then what led a creature like you, a being with an abundance of both power and pride, to become part of the Devil race? And not just any devil… a Queen under Mephisto, no less. Were you near the end of your life? Cornered by death?"

"Hahaha!"

Rather than take offense, Tannin released a thunderous laugh that rumbled through the air like a distant storm.

"Do not underestimate the Dragon Kings," he said, voice boisterously proud. "We may not hold the titles of Dragon Emperor or Dragon God, but our pride burns no less fiercely. If death had come for me, I would've faced it head-on — fighting, roaring, until the very end."

'Heh,' Archer thought, his lips twitching. 'That's… exactly what I'd expect from a dragon.'

"Then if it wasn't fear of death," he continued aloud, "what could tempt a Dragon King to become a Devil? What was the offered price that you found so irresistible that it made you swear your very soul to someone like Mephisto?"

"The survival of my race."

Tannin's voice had lost its earlier mirth, dropping into a solemn tone that made even the winds seem quieter. Though Archer couldn't see the dragon's face, he could imagine the grin vanishing, replaced by the stern expression of a creature who had witnessed too much.

"Fate has not been kind to us," the dragon continued. "Though we are known as one of the most powerful races to ever exist, our numbers have dwindled to near extinction. We've been hunted, slaughtered, used as weapons and trophies in wars that were not our own. Now… there are fewer of us than even the Fallen."

A pause, weighty and grim.

"I took responsibility," Tannin said at last. "In exchange for my service, I asked for sanctuary. A place for myself and my drakes, my hatchlings, to live and grow without fearing death. Without fearing the next hunt. Does that sour your impression of one who calls himself a Dragon King?"

Archer didn't even hesitate.

"Quite the opposite," he replied, his tone calm but sincere. "Even if the title of 'king' is usually tied to strength, the fact that you chose to safeguard your kin instead of seeking your own glory… that makes you more worthy of the title than any measure of power alone. I've never met the dragons in my world, but I've heard the stories. Bowing to another's will? Making a deal for their kin's protection? That's not something most dragons would ever consider."

A deep, rumbling hum came from below him, halfway between a laugh and a thoughtful growl.

"Our pride," Tannin said, "can often be our greatest weakness. Still… to receive such a compliment from a hero — I'll accept it with honor."

Archer let a few beats of silence pass before asking, "Then tell me, why help us at all? Why come here personally instead of remaining in your sanctuary with your young? Why risk yourself for something that offers no personal benefit to you?"

There was a pause before Tannin responded, but when he did, his voice carried a quiet certainty.

"To keep my kind safe."

That answer alone might've been enough. But Tannin went on.

"I know little about your kind, Servant. I won't judge the heroes summoned nor the lives you once lived. But what does concern me, what makes me cautious, is the very nature of your existence. You are familiars, pulled from other worlds, bound by the will of another. And the idea that such power can be summoned by almost anyone so long as they have enough power to make it through the necessary rituals… It's dangerous. More dangerous, perhaps, than even the Evil Piece system."

Archer's expression tightened as he listened.

"I do not claim to know if there is a limit on the number of Servants that can be summoned," Tannin grimly continued. "If so, good. But if there isn't and the practice spreads, if mages, Devils, or others begin summoning dozens, possibly hundreds of Servants into this world… the destruction could be beyond anything we've ever seen. Another war might be inevitable. And this time, it could wipe out what little remains of those who survived the last."

He let the words settle.

"So I've taken it upon myself to help contain this phenomenon. To make sure your kind doesn't become a weapon unleashed without restraint. I hope my purpose doesn't offend you, Servant of the Bow."

Archer closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the wind roar around them as they soared. He opened them again and spoke evenly.

"No offense taken. In fact… It's probably the most reasonable thing I've heard since I arrived in the Underworld."

Who would have thought that the first entity to think so clearly and care about the future, making rational decisions that so closely mirrored his own, would turn out to be a dragon, of all things?

Archer couldn't help the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"And if anything, Tannin, I share the same sentiment."

Tannin was right; this was dangerous. He still didn't know the reason for their summoning. And if Servants really could keep on being summoned, it wouldn't be good for anyone. While there were plenty of noble Heroic Spirits on the Throne of Heroes, many others were far more volatile, and that wasn't even getting into the potential motivations of those who might seek to summon them. If it really was possible to summon a virtually infinite number of Servants under this world's system, then he was in complete agreement with Tannin on containing it.

With that, silence fell between them. A still, thoughtful quiet settled as the wind whipped past. He took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder, eyes trailing toward the others clinging to the broad back of the dragon, riding the sky in solemn silence. Each of the Devils in Rias Gremory's peerage wore the same expression, distant, distracted, as if their minds hovered somewhere far from the present. He couldn't blame them. After all, they were most likely heading into a battle with another Servant. And this time… one of the Servants would almost certainly have to die.

It wasn't Rias, Akeno, Yuuto, Issei, Asia, Kiyome, or even Gasper who looked the most weighed down by that truth. No, the one who looked the most affected was the white-tailed girl sitting just a few feet away from him. She had her face buried in her knees, arms looped around her legs as she stared off into the clouds. She had been like this from the moment they arrived in this layer of the world, or so the others had mentioned. Which meant whatever was bothering her ran deeper than the threat of an enemy Servant.

"Something on your mind?"

He kept his voice neutral, but not cold. He couldn't afford to let her or any of them slip too far into their own heads. Not now, not when they were nearing the location. A single moment of distraction, whether they ended up facing Berserker, Caster, or something worse, could get someone killed. That aside, he couldn't deny his own growing concern about whatever it was that had her this subdued.

"Archer?"

She spoke his name softly, turning her head to glance at him, her eyes fogged with something between confusion and sorrow. But she quickly looked away again and gave a small shake of her head.

"It's nothing."

"Doubt that. You've been like this ever since we arrived at the manor. Akeno said as much before Tannin even arrived."

"She's just overthinking again," the girl answered, forcing a shrug. "I've just been feeling down, that's all."

"I'll make you the chocolate lava cake you wanted if you tell me."

He hadn't even finished the sentence before she visibly perked up, eyes lighting up in surprise. Then, just as quickly, she tried to reel it in and act disinterested, but the damage was already done. She failed to hide the flicker of hope that crossed her face.

"You meanie."

"Blame yourself for having sweets and desserts as your weakness."

"It's not a weakness. It's because you're the one who makes them."

"How sweet."

She shot him a glare, but he only smirked in return. It wasn't intended as a pun, but if it snapped her out of her funk, he wasn't going to complain.

"You won't have to worry too much about whichever Servant we're about to deal with," he said, shifting his tone to something more serious. "While none of you are at a level where you can handle one. I'll make sure they don't get close, and Tannin is also here to protect you. I doubt it'll be anything like Rider. Her presence is what scared you—not just the fact that she was a Servant. Others won't hit you the same way. Hopefully."

As he spoke, she tightened her grip on her skirt, eyes hardening with a flicker of frustration. Her voice trembled with restrained defiance.

"Why? Didn't I perform well? I… I can use that power too…"

"Barely."

He didn't soften the truth. Sugar-coating things wouldn't help her. Not here. Not in this kind of fight.

"I'm no expert when it comes to ki, Touki, or Senjutsu. But even I can tell, you hesitate. Every time. Even when you use a little, you're unfocused. Sure, it gives you a spike in strength, but your head isn't in it. You're too distracted to really contribute when it counts. Against weaker opponents like Riser's Peerage, you are unstoppable, but against a Servant, it's a very different story."

"That's because I can't afford to lose focus," she snapped back, voice trembling now. "If I do… that power will drive me mad. Just like my sister… I…"

Her words trailed off, the weight of memory crashing over her like a wave she couldn't stop.

And this time, Archer didn't respond right away.

He'd heard it before, the risks that came with dabbling in the ancient art of Senjutsu. The moment one took in too much nature energy, they risked being overwhelmed by it, their mind consumed by the malice buried deep within the world's fabric. Yet even with that knowledge, he raised an eyebrow and gave her a look that hovered somewhere between smug and playful.

"Funny," he said, tilting his head. "Back then, I don't recall you going mad or losing yourself in the slightest. If memory serves, you were on the verge of crying over how many arrows you had to dodge."

His teasing was met with a flurry of small fists thumping against his side. Koneko's pout was almost too cute to take seriously, though her flustered face suggested the memory wasn't quite as amusing for her as it was for him.

"A big brother should be more gentle with his sister," she grumbled, her fists still pounding away, albeit more like determined taps than actual punches.

"That was me being gentle," he said, brushing invisible dust off his shoulder with exaggerated flair. "Tell you what. Next time we train, I'll make sure you get full control over that power of yours. Instead of it driving you mad, I'll make sure your fear becomes your ally and helps you to tighten your grip on it. Sound good?"

Koneko shivered. And not because of the cold. His eyes gleamed with a grin that practically lit up his entire face like a badly timed stage light. "I promise I won't use anything too destructive. You can handle a few Caladbolgs."

"You demon…"

Her face flushed a dangerous shade of crimson, less from embarrassment and more from outrage, as she resumed her assault, redoubling her efforts to leave a mark. And while he was technically a Servant clad in armor, a few of those blows actually stung a little.

"Hahaha!" he laughed, half from amusement and half from the absurdity of it all.

"You're a sadist," she snapped. "Just as bad as Akeno."

"A sadist? Me?" He gave her an innocent blink before raising his hands in surrender. "Now you're just being unfair."

"You enjoy being a jerk too much," she muttered, eyes narrowed in mock irritation.

"Can't argue with that," he admitted, his smirk making a swift return. "I tend to get a bit like this when someone's trying to lie to me. Isn't that right?"

His tone softened as he looked at her properly now, noticing how the tension in her shoulders had eased ever so slightly. She let out a small sigh, one that seemed to carry a weight she hadn't been able to shed until now, then leaned into him without really thinking, her head brushing his shoulder with a natural sort of trust.

"I think…" she began, barely above a whisper, "I think I sensed my sister."

He paused. That name tugged at a distant thread in his memory—Kuroka, the infamous black cat. A SSS class stray classification. She had killed her master while lost to her own power over Senjustu, or so the story went. Koneko had been left behind… until the Gremory family took her in. How much of that tale was true, he couldn't say. But the look on her face told him what he needed to know.

"Near the mansion?" he asked, sharp now, not in tone but in focus.

"I don't know," she replied, her voice quieter still. "I caught a familiar scent, but couldn't find her or sense her properly."

Best to treat the information as valid. If the woman were truly here and worse, if she had hostile intentions, then she would've attacked already. Or perhaps she was simply lying low, cautious because of his presence. Either way, it was a risk he couldn't ignore.

'If she's here,' he thought grimly, 'and she's working with the enemy… I'll have to deal with her myself. Koneko can't be dragged into that.'

Reaching out, he gently placed a hand atop her head, ruffling her snow-white hair with care. Then he leaned in a little and whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

"You really think she'll harm you? Or anyone else? Not with me around. You know better than that by now. No matter who attacks us — be it a Servant, a stray, or an Ultimate-class Devil — I'll make sure none of you get hurt. That's a promise."

"She's dangerous," Koneko muttered, her fists tightening around the hem of her skirt. "And you can get hurt. I don't want that."

"I can heal," he reminded her, his tone unwavering. "Better than anyone else here, in fact. And if your sister's strong enough to put even my life in danger, then the first thing I'll do is make sure all of you are safe. I won't pick a fight I can't finish. If trouble comes, I'll get us out of there, no matter what."

She looked at him then, truly looked at him, her golden eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, silently, she raised her hand and held out her pinky.

"You promise?" she asked, in the softest voice yet, while holding up a pinky finger.

The childish gesture might have made him laugh at just about any other time, but now it only made him smile with quiet warmth as he locked his pinky with hers.

"Heh, lots of promises lately," he chuckled, looping his own pinky with hers. "Isn't there some saying here? That if I break the promise, I've gotta swallow a thousand needles or something?"

"Nope," Koneko said flatly, her voice tinged with mischief. "If you break your promise, then you have to bake me a palace-sized cake. And fill it with sweets."

He groaned in mock despair. "Ugh. That sounds far more torturous than needles. Let's stick with the needle version, shall we?"

"Too late," she replied with a sly smile. "The contract's already been established."

She looked visibly better, her eyes brighter, her posture more relaxed, as her gaze wandered away from him and then squinted into the distance. Whatever humor had remained on his face vanished in an instant.

His smile fell flat.

Brows furrowed, eyes narrowing, he stood up abruptly, so suddenly, in fact, that it caught the attention of everyone around him.

"Archer, is something wrong?" Rias asked, concern creeping into her voice as she tried to sense what he had clearly noticed. Her eyes scanned the horizon but saw nothing.

"So you've noticed it as well," Tannin rumbled, his wings slowing as he descended, landing on the ground with a heavy thud that shook the earth while they all jumped from his back.

The others looked around in confusion, the tension rising like steam from a kettle. Yuuto and Koneko instinctively shifted into battle stances, weapons forming or fists clenched, each one poised for an enemy they couldn't yet see.

"I sense another Servant," Archer said grimly, remaining atop Tannin's shoulder with Rias next to him.

The statement made the air grow heavy. Even the light breeze that had rustled through the trees seemed to halt.

"There's someone else there, too."

From his vantage point, Archer could clearly make out the figure stumbling down the hillside some distance away — a woman. She had dark skin, light brown hair clinging to her face in sweat-soaked strands, and glasses that were cracked down the middle. Her body was covered in burns, blood, and tattered clothes barely clinging to her. She fell more than ran, tumbling as if escaping something beyond terrifying.

Then he saw it. What was following her?

His eyes widened, breath catching.

Blue hair like rippling mercury. Eyes blackened, empty. Gold armor that gleamed not with nobility, but with something twisted and ancient.

Definitely a Servant.

'Damn it… No wonder that brat of a Devil went missing. He summoned a Berserker and clearly failed to consider the consequences.'

"He reeks of blood," Tannin growled, arms folding over his broad chest, trails of smoke curling from his jaws. "Even from here, I can count on one hand the number of beings who've ever made me feel this way. He reminds me of Vritra… that old serpent."

Rias and her Servant leapt down from the dragon's shoulder and stood side by side as her eyes strained to see what he saw.

Recalling Archer's earlier Hawkeye Skill and how she could share her Servant's senses, Rias tapped into their connection, letting his sight become her own while also using her Master's Clairvoyance ability to analyze this new foe. Immediately, numbers, letters, and runes swirled into her mind's eye, lining up into stat blocks and classifications.

And what she saw made her heart drop like a stone.

"An EX-ranked parameter?" she gasped. "And it's in Strength! His Endurance, Luck, and Agility are all higher than yours as well, Archer. This… this is not good."

He nodded, unsurprised. His own stats, while well above average thanks to this summoning system seeming to prioritize manifesting the Servants in as most powerful a vessel as possible, were far from being in the highest echelons when compared to the true monsters that lurked within the Throne of Heroes. He wasn't lacking by any means, but there were legends that stood beyond logic, beyond reason.

"Remember, Master," he said calmly, "jumping to conclusions based solely on parameters is a rookie mistake. Stats don't tell the whole story. You're ignoring a dozen other factors."

Still, even he had to admit it: this was not a Servant to take lightly. Not now. Not ever.

Rias nodded stiffly, her hands clenched at her sides as she continued scanning through Berserker's profile. Every line etched a new mark of dread in her chest.

"Mad Enhancement…?" she murmured, reading the line aloud. "Wait… what does that mean? Inducing him into a state of blind rage… sacrificing mental clarity in exchange for even more power?"

Her voice quivered just slightly.

"It's the standard class skill for a Berserker," Archer explained calmly, his bow already resting in his hand as though it had been there the entire time. "Just like how an Archer-class Servant such as myself is granted Independent Action, allowing us to move and act freely without relying on our Master's supply of Magical Energy — at least for a limited time. And finally, Magic Resistance, which should be self-explanatory."

"Increases parameters… with EX-ranked Strength," Akeno murmured, her voice tight with unease. "This is ridiculous. Rider was already an overwhelming opponent with her Strength parameter at A, and even then, we barely made it out of that fight intact."

Those around could see it, the doubt, spreading like cracks along the edge of Rias' composure. Her red brows knit in deep thought, lips slightly parted as she tried to make sense of the situation spiraling ahead of them.

"I agree with Rias," Akeno added honestly. "This is far too dangerous, Archer."

They were the only group Archer had ever encountered who fretted so openly over the safety of a Servant. Oddly admirable. Foolish, maybe, but admirable.

"Then I'll just have to focus on keeping him at bay. What about the person he's holding? Who is she?" Archer asked, glancing briefly toward his Master to shift the conversation toward something more pressing.

"I don't know," Rias answered, eyes narrowing. "I don't recognize her. She could be one of the scouts my brother sent ahead."

"No wonder none of them came back," Archer said flatly. "With him around, she's lucky to even still be breathing. What do we do now, Master? You'll need to decide quickly. That woman won't survive another minute."

He left the decision to her; he always did. And while he personally had his reservations about engaging this specific enemy, it wasn't Heracles. That made a world of difference. Rias clenched her fists, her teeth grinding together as she stared helplessly at the figure being dragged like discarded baggage. Through Archer's hawk-like gaze, she could see everything: the woman's desperate struggle to break free, tears streaming down her cheeks, mouth opening in silent screams. The pain, the terror. Time was vanishing fast, and her death felt moments away.

"…I trust you, Archer."

"Understood."

The bow was already drawn before she'd finished speaking. In the next blink, an arrow shot across the field, silent, swift, precise. It pierced the air and struck its first mark cleanly; the hand of Berserker that had been holding the woman by the throat. The woman dropped from his grip with a soft thud, her body crumpling to the dirt like a rag doll. Another arrow followed a breath later, this one aimed squarely at the enemy's skull, but at the last instant it was deflected, stopped by a braced forearm.

'Fortunately, he doesn't possess a Skill or Noble Phantasm as absurd as God Hand,' Archer noted to himself. 'Which means I'm not restricted to using only A-rank or higher Noble Phantasms. Saves me some energy. Then again, with Rias as my Master, energy conservation isn't exactly a concern.'

Still, even in that frenzied, maddened state, Berserker had managed to block the second arrow. That required awareness, sharp instinct. But he hadn't sensed the first attack. That meant something.

'So he can be caught off guard.'

From the rising dust and ringing tension, Berserker stepped forward, his body shaking with fury. The first blow had only made him angrier.

"Master," Archer said quietly, his gaze locked on the madman approaching. "It would be best if you and the others evacuated the area. Take Tannin with you. Standing this close to a fight between Servants is as good as a death sentence. I don't think I need to repeat myself, do I?"

He gave her a sidelong glance while his hand reached back for another arrow, this one not ordinary. He pulled out a mystical projectile, thinner than the others, laced with faint magical inscriptions along the shaft. It glimmered slightly as he adjusted his grip.

'Not much use in close quarters,' he thought, nocking the arrow to the string. 'Too brittle, really. But its strength is comparable to a D-rank Noble Phantasm, and in open range, it's a perfect projectile. It cuts through the air like paper, no drag, no wind resistance.'

His fingers blurred, releasing not one, but a flurry of shots in rapid succession. The arrows tore through the space between them, high-pitched whines echoing through the battlefield. Berserker barely registered the attack as he sprinted at his new foe. One struck his knee, then another, then more. Five in total. The barrage took out his momentum, cutting into his legs and thighs, sending him tumbling forward before a final shot caught him mid-lurch, launching him back through the air.

He crashed to the ground with a jarring impact, rolling once, then again until his body slid to a halt near the same spot where the woman still lay, stunned and too weak to move.

Frozen. Watching.

"Tch… she's probably in shock right now and won't be moving anytime soon. If I use something like Caladbolg here, she'll definitely get caught in the explosion."

Archer's gaze narrowed as he observed the battlefield from his elevated perch, the glow of his bow pulsing faintly in his hand. His target stood far too close to his would-be victim, too close to risk unleashing the full power of a Broken Noble Phantasm. He would need to lure the enemy further away before resorting to anything that destructive.

"I'll just have to bait him in a little closer before I start using that kind of projectile."

"We can't just keep running away every time, Archer…" Yuuto muttered under his breath, tension tightening his grip on his sword. Out of everyone present, he looked the most frustrated, his pride clearly battling with the strategic necessity of retreat.

"No, Archer is right," Akeno spoke, her sudden agreement surprising both Yuuto and Koneko, who stood silently at her side. "If we stay here, we'll become a liability. Have you all forgotten what happened with Sona when she tried to help Rider against Saber?"

Her words hit harder than even she expected, forcing everyone to momentarily fall silent and contemplate that.

"It's best we keep our distance and find other ways to support him. Rias, you can still monitor the battle from afar through Archer's senses, can't you?"

Rias hesitated, clearly torn, her bright blue eyes flicking between the growing chaos of the battlefield and the companions beside her. As much as the thought of leaving him behind twisted her gut, her Queen had a point. Their presence would only make things harder for Archer.

"…Fine," she said quietly.

With a nod, she turned and led the others toward Tannin, the massive dragon already lowering his body to let them climb aboard.

"While I will certainly escort your Master and friends to a safer location," Tannin rumbled, smoke coiling from his fanged maw as he glanced over at Berserker, who was once again charging forward at a rapid pace, "let me at least leave you with a parting gift. They don't call me the Blaze Meteor Dragon for nothing. For an opponent such as this, I won't be holding back."

With that, the Dragon King flew into the sky and reared back his head, his chest swelling as an unearthly roar tore from his throat, loud enough to make the clouds tremble. A swirling inferno of fire built in his mouth, then launched skyward, condensing into a massive sphere of flame, at least five times the size of his jagged skull, hurtling like a comet through the air.

With what was practically a meteor several times the size of a human heading straight for the enemy Servant. Crimson eyes glaring back at the ball of fire with no signs of fear, the man roared as the ground beneath him shattered with a single leap into the air. 

His body became a golden streak of light as he shot straight for the meteor with his fist cocked back, letting out a guttural roar before, much to everyone's disbelief, Berserker punched the damn thing. 

The explosion came instantly.

The forest trembled as trees disintegrated in waves, the shockwave ripping through the ground in all directions. Earth cracked and lifted beneath Archer's feet even from this distance. Debris flew like shrapnel across several hundred meters. The blast had scorched an entire section of woodland into charred ruin.

Caught in the center, the Devil woman had somehow survived. A barrier, strange and unfamiliar, had surrounded her at the last second, deflecting the brunt of the fireball but sending her spiraling through the air, vanishing into the trees in the opposite direction.

"Haha! Witness the might of a Dragon King!" Tannin's voice boomed triumphantly through the clearing. "I may not be the strongest among the Dragon Kings, but my breath attack is something I take great pride in. There isn't a single one of my kin who would dare stand against it without a solid plan."

"I suppose dragons are the same fearsome entities no matter what world they end up in," Archer remarked with a wry smile.

It was true. That attack had absolutely lived up to the dragon's name, raw power that mirrored the force of an actual meteor. For him to match such destructive force would require a Broken Phantasm, a last-resort kind of weapon. And yet, Tannin had launched it with little effort on his part within seconds.

'Something to remember,' Archer noted silently. 'If I ever face a dragon myself, I won't give them time to charge their attack.'

"Oh? Interesting," Tannin murmured, his gaze now focused on the smoldering crater below.

From within the wreckage, light shimmered. Gold glinted beneath the smoke, catching the pale glow of the artificial moon overhead. A figure stepped forward, blue hair fluttering, golden armor cracked with parts missing. Burns marred his body, but they were superficial at best, with slightly worse ones centered around the Servant's still clenched fist.

"So that's a Servant," Tannin muttered. "To take a full-force attack like that head-on by punching it, of all things, and come out with barely a scratch… I'm impressed."

Archer offered no more words as he stepped forward to meet the enemy, only a promise in the quiet look he gave them.

Tannin met his gaze with a resolute look in his eyes. "I'll keep them safe."

With a powerful beat of his wings, the Blaze Meteor Dragon lifted into the air, spiraling high above the battlefield as Archer refocused his attention on the shimmering figure before him. He was already preparing his next volley, fingers gliding to each arrow with cold precision.

"What a persistent fellow," he mumbled, losing the first shot.

Each arrow was timed — one after another, at specific intervals. They never missed. Every shot landed precisely where it was intended, not to wound, but to control. To pin. To keep a distance.

'Even with A-ranked Mad Enhancement, close-quarters combat with him would be the worst-case scenario for me,' Archer thought, watching the enemy advance despite everything.

He would have to keep this up. At all costs.

Even with all that, he remains a formidable opponent, whether in hand-to-hand combat or wielding a blade. 'I could use Kanshou and Bakuya to trade a few blows, maybe push him back, but a direct assault won't work unless I wear him down first. My odds improve the more exhausted he gets… or the more mana he drains from his Master.'

As he let loose another volley, Archer scanned the ruined forest ahead. Scorched trees, shattered rocks, broken terrain — all of it bore marks of the earlier exchange. Somewhere beyond the haze, the enemy Master had to be hiding, or perhaps was being kept hidden. Berserker was still standing, still active, and that meant one thing: his summoner was nearby. No matter how far gone a Servant was under Mad Enhancement, especially at Rank A, even they wouldn't be insane enough to risk exposing their Master. Not unless they wanted their existence cut short.

Another flurry of arrows screamed through the air like anti-material sniper rounds. Each strike hit with the force of a cannonball, disrupting Berserker's charge, staggering him step by step. The monster tried to dodge at first, using the debris and uneven ground to his advantage. His speed and reflexes were impressive, but it made no difference. Archer's aim remained impeccable. Every shot curved to meet its mark, as though the arrows themselves refused to miss.

"Master, what other skills have you seen on him so far?" he asked Rias through their connection.

He kept his gaze locked on Berserker's movements, the golden Roman-style armor still gleaming beneath the grime and damage. He had a few names in mind, possibilities based on appearance and behaviour, but no confirmation yet. The gleaming Roman cuirass and regal bearing helped narrow it down, but only slightly. Too many historical figures from that aggressively expansive empire had earned a place on the Throne. Too many had fallen far enough to become Berserkers.

'Leave it to me, Archer!'

Perhaps eager at the prospect of assisting in real combat against a Servant, Rias didn't hesitate. She reached through their link, connecting again and taking a good look at Berserker with Master's Clairvoyance, allowing her to discern a Servant's strengths and weaknesses. He kept Berserker occupied.

'Alright, I see three skills outside of his class abilities. First is… Sadistic Constitution. Doesn't seem all that great to have, since it boosts aggression but drains his sanity faster, especially since he's already got A-ranked Mad Enhancement.'

Sadistic Constitution? That alone spoke volumes. A tyrant, no doubt. One who'd drowned himself in cruelty, possibly infamous even in his time. He held back a scoff. So that's what gave this Servant his wild ferocity.

'Then there's Glory of Past Days. What the hell? It says this increases his strength too, but there's a price… though it doesn't explain what that price is!'

Glory of Past Days? That gave him pause.

This was new. A skill he'd never encountered before, and that meant something. He'd faced countless Servants in his time, clashed with legends and monsters alike — but not once had he seen that one. It wasn't uncommon for rare or obscure skills to appear, especially unique ones tied to personal history, but it was still frustrating trying to figure out what they actually did. At least now he had another hint. If the skill drew power from memories of peace, from golden moments before the fall… then it must represent a duality. 

The man he used to be, versus what he became. A noble ruler twisted into a tyrant. An emperor who once ruled wisely… until he didn't.

"You mentioned a third?" he asked, twisting the spiral sword in his hand. The familiar weight shifted and compressed as the blade reformed into an arrow, sleek and wicked, pulsating with power.

He drew the bowstring taut, magical energy pouring into the projectile in a tidal wave. Red light cracked along the arrow's surface, veins of power spreading like lightning, exuding raw heat and tension.

'That's right, it's… Dear Lucifer, are you kidding me!? How can someone even possess something as unfair as that? This is ridiculous!'

"Master, focus!"

'Y-Yes, the last skill is Imperial Privilege. I-I don't know how it's even possible, but—'

"I know what it does," he cut her off sharply, his tone darkening. That kind of skill belonged only to a select few, those who could temporarily gain a skill or trait they didn't normally possess, through the sheer weight of their imperial authority. His mind quickly ran through the list of names capable of such a thing while also possessing the other skills that had been listed, crossing them off one by one until only one likely suspect remained.

"I see now. We're most likely dealing with Caligula."

No sooner had he finished the sentence than a figure emerged from the smoky debris, rushing toward him at alarming speed. It would seem that his previous attack had only managed to piss Berserker off.

'Caligula? That name sounds familiar…' Rias muttered quietly to herself.

"A rather infamous Emperor of Rome," Archer explained, "Initially benevolent and beloved by his people as a wise ruler when his reign began, he was then cursed by the moon goddess Diana to descend into madness, cruelty, and corruption until he was assassinated by his own Praetorian guards a few years later. He's known as the Emperor of Death."

As the distance between them was closed far too quickly for his liking, Archer readied his mystic bow once more. This time, he summoned multiple copies of his arrows and fired them all at once, turning them into shattered projectiles designed to detonate upon impact. But this time, what he saw next shocked him.

Instead of dodging or shielding, Caligula's hands blurred and knocked the arrows clean from the air.

"What?"

Caught off guard, Archer rushed to release another volley of arrows. All of them, however, proved useless: the weaker ones were easily dodged, while the stronger projectiles were smashed aside by Caligula's fists midair.

Imperial Privilege. Berserker had used it to give himself Protection from Arrows.

'It truly is a dangerous Skill, one that can easily turn the tide of any battle, even if cornered or at death's door. But with Berserker's Mad Enhancement severely clouding his judgement, that skill won't be as effectively used as it could by most Servants, so that gives me some leeway.'

With less than a hundred meters left between them, Caligula lunged, hands raised behind him to deliver a devastating blow. Archer narrowed his eyes and took a defensive stance. Swinging his bow forward and Reinforcing it, he used the upper part of his weapon as a shield, meeting the fist head-on with a resounding clang.

The ground beneath him cracked and shifted. The upper limb of his bow bent with a terrifying screech but held… Until it didn't.

Even if this wasn't a true Noble Phantasm, it was still durable enough to reliably fire Broken Phantasms. But against a Servant with EX-ranked Strength and additional skills on top of that to further increase his raw power, the destruction of his bow came as no surprise. 

While a bit surprised at how his previous volley of attacks did not seem to have weakened the golden-clad Heroic Spirit as much as he would have liked, as the shards from his bow scattered around the two combatants, their eyes finally stared back at one another, one set showing raging madness while the other reflected only focused discipline. 

Then the impact of the blow hit Archer and sent him crashing backwards, literally sending him airborne for a few seconds, but he used this to his advantage. 

'I can't risk staying close for long. That said, two of his Personal Skills are double-edged swords from the sound of things, and the longer I continue stroking the flames of his anger, the more he risks losing himself to them to the point of being consumed by his own hatred.' 

Two familiar three-pronged swords twisting into the shape of thin jagged arrows shot at Berserker like magical bullets from thin air, yet once more, they were not dodged as the Servant of Madness intended to tank them head-on. 

'Fool, I wasn't aiming at you.' 

The streaks of light struck the ground beneath, rather than detonating in a ball of fire, the ground beneath crumbled into a deep hole. Archer had pushed Excalibur Destruction's ability to its limit, to the point the fragment was almost a Broken Phantasm in its own right—forcing the ground beneath the former Emperor's feet to give out. 

"A-Aaaah!" 

His enraged roars surfaced from the dark depths, which Archer paid no mind to, 'I don't know how long he can keep Imperial Privilege active, nor should I give him the time to switch it with another skill. Can't tell if there is even a cooldown period between each change, but I'd rather not take the chance to find out.' 

Several swords answered his call from within his soul, forming around him in the shape of large greatswords, and Caladbolg once more came to rest in his palm. The twisting metal with the surge of magical energy within lasted for a few seconds before he shot everything into the hole at once. 

A rain of steel accompanied by the fiery light from Caladbolg rushed down and filled the hole with a pillar of fire rising from its dark depths. "Hm!" Shielding himself from the blazing fire, Archer gracefully landed back on the ground. 

"That went surprisingly better than I thought," he mused to himself, sensing his connection to Rias activate and her voice filling his ears. 

'Did you beat him?' she asked in an amazed tone, to which he immediately shook his head. 

"Highly unlikely."

His prior attack was mostly meant to buy time and hopefully wear down his opponent a bit. Even if the explosions were so close that it wouldn't matter if Berserker had Protection of Arrows, he would still be caught in the inferno — but Archer doubted it would be enough to kill the Servant. He waited, seeing no movement from within the hole, but Archer narrowed his eyes, sensing something was off when nothing occurred even after several more seconds. 

'It… can't be that easy. B+ ranked Endurance, along with him surviving Tannin's breath attack, displayed a powerful overall defense. Even if Caladbolg ended up mortally wounding him, he shouldn't be defeated this quickly. Unless his Sadistic Constitution really eroded his mind more than I anticipated,' he thought.

"Master, don't come any closer till I confirm that Berserker is—!?"

A chill ran down his spine. Within fractions of a second, Kanshou and Bakuya were formed within his palm, raised to guard his face just in time for something at the corner of his eyes to come rushing from the shadows and strike the flat side of the blades. 

"Hn!" 

Cracks formed on the weapons' surfaces, but he didn't have the luxury of worrying about that when a familiar figure reappeared above him, Caligula's golden armor gleaming against the artificial moonlight, with his maddened snarl no longer anywhere to be seen. 

His foot came crashing down, aiming to squash Archer's head like a watermelon. 

Dodging the blow by just a hairbreadth, this gave Archer a moment to readjust himself a short distance away from the opposing Servant. Nonetheless, he was left slightly gasping for air even as he tossed the ruined blades aside and created a new pair. 

'What… was that?' 

His limbs shook, not from fear, but rather from the sheer strain of just blocking that single attack. No less destructive than Heracles' strikes, he reckoned, which in itself was a problem. 

'I shot and sent him to the bottom, his next action should have been either trying to jump or climb out, thus giving me the opportunity to shoot him back down or use the large boulders against me. But how did he get so close to… wait, I didn't sense his presence.'

Looking at the figure before him, no longer attacking him but instead staring back at him with an unreadable expression on his face. 

"It seems you are not as fully drowned by your rage as I expected, Berserker." He probed for any kind of reaction with his words, sensing something odd going on with his foe. 'Is the Master communicating with him? Directing him, even? I could take this opportunity to attack, but it could just as easily be a trap.' 

Archer readied his stance when he saw Berserker shift, but rather than focus on him, Caligula slowly turned his face up towards the sky. More specifically, at the moon. A confused expression crossed Berserker's face until Archer heard him whisper. "She… is not here." 

"What?" 

His question was left unanswered when the figure rushed back towards him, and Archer was forced to go on the defensive. Fists and claw-like hands trying to get a hold of him, which were either dodged or deflected by his swords. 

'His moves are changing… He's still a brawler, but he's not fighting like a mad beast the way he did before.' 

These attacks became more precise, becoming a mix of offensive and defensive approaches using the vambraces on his forearms as shields and incorporating more kicks and techniques that did not belong to a person completely lost to his madness, nor were they the result of ingrained instinct. 

Each deflection felt like averting the path of a giant warhammer. Disregarding the increasing number of cuts and blood coating Caligula's body, the man kept on fighting relentlessly, seemingly only getting more precise the more this went on. Whenever Archer tried to create some distance, the latter would just rush at him with a roar. Whenever a blade shattered on one side, the attacks became more concentrated over there, and every step back that Archer took, the harder his opponent would advance. 

This was starting to remind him of his initial confrontation with Rider. 'I have to change my approach, he won't let me back away and use my bow again. So I should forget about that for now. Kanshou and Bakuya can inflict damage on him, but he's starting to get better at deflecting my attacks, just like I am with him. If that's the case, then…' 

This time, when Kanshou was the one to shatter again, rather than recreating the sword, another weapon formed in the shape of a golden spear. Caligula's attempt at blocking what he had expected to be another shortsword ended up failing to defend against the spear's thrust. The point brutally pierced through his palm with a burst of blood splashing on Archer's face. 

The spear was pushed deeper through the enemy Servant's hand until it came out of his forearm. "Aaaarhh!" A pained howl was ripped from Berserker's throat, and Archer used that window of opportunity once more. Spinning Bakuya around in his hands, he lunged forward, attempting to swing the sword at his throat.

Only for that same sensation of dread from before to return stronger than ever.

"—!"

Caligula's eyes once again met his, and this time, a feral grin could be seen forming on his face. 

"I… remember…" 

He stepped, the bloody pierced hand continuing to push forward, coating the still embedded spear shaft in blood, until he grabbed Archer's hand with a grip strong enough to crush his fingers. "Ha!" His elbow struck Archer's black armor with the force of a charging bull, shattering it in one blow and injuring him so severely that blood spewed from the white-haired Servant's mouth. 

The one saving grace was that Caligula had released him when his punishing blow landed, sending him tumbling while the other Servant pulled the spear out from his flesh and now held it within his grasp. 

Meanwhile, Archer had to force himself to focus through the pain and remain standing as he tried to make sense of what had happened.

'Damn it… sneaking up on me, adapting to my moves, even pulling off a fake-out at the cost of taking a hit — that's not the work of someone lost to madness. But how? Rank A Mad Enhancement should be even worse than Heracles' Rank B. Even with Imperial Privilege, he shouldn't be this coherent. Something's dulling the madness.' Archer gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He glanced at Caligula, who was once again staring at the sky like it held the answers to the universe. And then it hit him.

Caligula wasn't staring at the sky. He was staring at the moon. The fake moon.

He remembered Grayfia telling him about the moon in the Underworld being artificial, how it was just an illusion made to make the environment more accommodating to the multitudes of reincarnated Devils. His eyes widened when he recalled more details about the tragedies of Caligula's legend — including the source of his madness and all that it implied.

Breaking the spear in his hands like it was a twig and taking a deep breath, Berserker suddenly began to laugh even as blood gushed from his hand. "Hahaha… hahaha! HAHAHAHA! She's gone! She's really gone! I cannot sense the Goddess anymore! HAHAHAHAHA!" 

A large wave of Magical Energy gathered around Berserker, arms wide open as he faced the moon with a feral grin, crimson eyes shining brightly and inducing in Archer a rare sense of panic. For at that moment, he did not fear for his own life.

'Master, teleport everyone as far away from here as you can right now—!'

"The Moon, the Moon, curse me!" Berserker shouted, his voice reaching the ears of all that were nearby, still carrying a hint of madness within. 

"Flucticulus Diana!" 

Berserker unleashed his Noble Phantasm right as Archer formed another set of Kanshou and Bakuya in his hands, along with his repaired armor and shroud. The fake moon that hung above the sky turned a bright blue glow, casting a near-blinding light over their surroundings. Archer shielded his eyes, feeling the foreign presence of the Noble Phantasm's influence trying to encroach upon his mind. Against a power such as this, Magic Resistance alone would not be enough.

But with the abilities of the Married Blades raising his Mental Resistance and his shroud protecting him from hostile environments — he managed to resist it.

Still, he felt a heaviness in his head. Keeping to his better judgement… would be a challenge.

But…

'Master! Can you hear me? Rias!' He called to her, but got no answer from the other side. 

Right as silence threatened to engulf everything, he heard a bestial roar followed by a figure in the distance flying through the air in an arc before landing a short distance away from him. 

"Huh?" 

That… was not Rias or anyone else from her peerage. This was a woman with dark hair in a revealing kimono and cat-like features covered in bruises, who had been freshly beaten unconscious. He looked from where she'd been flung, and from the depth of the forest, he saw another figure get closer. 

"You've gotta be kidding me… What is she doing here?!"

The clang of metal armor, the wild, untamed blonde hair, along with Clarent in hand, covered in blood that in all likelihood was not hers. Saber stepped forward.

Madness filled her eyes, her sclera having turned black much like Caligula's. Unlike him, she has no way to resist the effects of the moonlight, and now she stared right at him with nothing but bloodlust on her mind. 

"Raaaaaaaaaaah!" 

Woosh!

"—!?"

Feeling the wind shift, Archer disappeared from his spot and reappeared further away just in time to avoid a large ball of fire that came crashing onto his previous spot, the shockwave alone momentarily making him lose his footing and making him drive his sword into the ground to keep himself steady. 

A thunderous roar came from the sky itself, the same one resembling a certain Dragon King and making his prior fears come true. The one saving grace was that neither Rias nor anyone else was on the dragon's back, nor was there any blood on him. 

"Hah… hah… hah…"

The Servant of the Bow took several deep breaths, his mind racing with every possible outcome while staring at the sight in front of him with a bitter smile. 

A tyrannical emperor who showed signs of regaining his sanity, a Knight of the Round Table whose eyes had turned bloodshot with madness to the point of being unable to distinguish friend from foe, and finally the large black Dragon King hovering in the sky above — smoke coming out of his maw… looking at them all like a raging beast who'd just found fresh prey.

His insides were still aching from Berserker's earlier attack, soreness was present throughout his body, and he had practically no idea what had happened to the others.

Nonetheless, he stood up with the Married Blades gripped firmly in his hand, their familiar presence providing one small comfort amidst this mess.

"…"

He said nothing, it would mean nothing to anyone present to hear it.

Here and now, he could only do one thing. To that end, his hold on the handles of Kanshou and Bakuya tightened, and he took his stance.

"I am the bone of my sword."

------------------------

The next 5 chapters of Snafu, and my other Fate fics (Fate Coiling Sword with 3 chapters, A Fake Familiar Reborn with 3 chapters, Steel Eyed Faker soon to be 3 chapters, Hound having 3 and To love a sword having 4 chapters) are already available on my P@treon. With 4 more Broly chapters at /NimtheWriter. Also, I post commissioned arts on each story, already posted a few on an Archer's Promise, Broly and Snafu.