"Aw, what's wrong?" Freed sneered, his tone mocking as he towered over the downed blonde, the so-called-Excalibur resting on his shoulder "Don't tell me you forgot? This sword was made for the sole purpose of killing piece of Shit Devils like yourself. Got it memorized?"
Wrong. He was wrong. That wasn't the reason Excalibur had been forged.
While it was classed as a Holy Blade, it had never been intended to combat Devils. It was the crystallization of the prayer 'Glory' that was etched in the hearts of those scattered before the sword's radiance, the nostalgic, sorrowful, hallowed dream of those placed on the bloody hell called a battlefield, exposed to the fear of death & despair whilst clinging to the desire to be 'Exalted'.
It was never meant to be wielded by anyone other than Saber. Not even Gilgamesh, Ancient Babylon's King of Heroes, with his infinite treasury said to possess the Prototypes of virtually every Noble Phantasm, could lay claim to the Sword of Promised Victory.
It was never meant to be wielded by anyone but Saber. For anyone else to even consider laying a hand on the blade was to spit on the Legend of the Proud King of Knights and all those who had rallied to her side. Even now, reduced to a shadow of its former glory, the blade silently trembled as it fought to reject the touch of the Stray Exorcist.
Shirou blinked, the Faker realizing he'd started running some time ago, feet pounding against the sodden tarmac as he raced from his hiding spot, the hammer in his mind slamming down, the comforting weight of Kanshou & Bakuya filling his grasping hands as he streaked towards the pair, the married twin-swords clashing against the Holy Sword as Freed, once again, somehow managed to bring the sword up to block.
"What the fuck?!" the insane exorcist yelped, his mad eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected assault before leaping back to give himself some room to manoeuvre "Hey! Who the fuck are you-?!"
Shirou didn't respond, not with words anyway, the Faker choosing instead to lunge towards his opponent once more, the Married Twin Blades cutting through the rain to clash against the Holy Sword of Heavenly Flare again and again, Freed unable to do anything but backtrack hurriedly whilst fending off the assault as best he could.
That was the key difference between the Magus Emiya Shirou & the Exorcist Freed Sellzen. While both of their swords were fakes, pale imitations of the originals, Freed was relying almost entirely on the power of his Holy Sword' to make up for his sup-par swordsmanship, whereas Shirou was augmenting his skill, power & technique with those of Archer, who had spent decades honing his skills, refining them to the point he could face down Heroic Spirits despite being a mere human.
There was simply no comparison. In a battle between two fakes, the one with the better skills was sure to be the victor. Excalibur Rapidly might grant its wielder enhanced speed, but even at his best, Freed couldn't compare to the swift savagery of Cú Chulainn, the monstrous grace of Medusa, the unstoppable force that was Herakles or the might of the King of Knights & countless other Heroes the Red-Clad Counter-Guardian had ingrained into his blades.
"I-! Said-! BACK THE FUCK OFF DAMMIT!" Freed snarled, drawing a firearm from his coat with his free hand & firing it at close range, forcing Shirou to back up a step to avoid the beam of light that emerged, deflecting the ensuing shots with his blades "Fucking Die already, will you?!"
"FREED!" Kiba snarled, the blonde swordsman dropping down from on high, having apparently gotten his second wind during Shirou's initial assault, Freed letting out a curse as he was forced to halt his barrage to avoid being bisected at the last second.
"Damned…Tag-Teaming…Motherfuckers-!" the priest spat between gasps for air, glaring down at the pair from his perch atop a nearby dry-goods store "If you're in such a hurry to die then bring it-!"
He trailed off, glancing sharply to the side, as if listening to some unseen voice. His distraction may have lasted less than a second, but to someone like Archer, who had routinely fought monsters far stronger than himself, a second was all the opening needed.
Spirit and Technique, Flawless and Firm.
Hurling the first set of Married Blades at the Priest's neck, Shirou promptly traced a second set even as he lunged forwards, closing the distance between them, his eyes never leaving his target.
Our strength rips the mountains.
"Time-out you fuck!" Freed snarled, deflecting the hurled blades easily, only to curse as he brought his sword around to block the follow-up assault "My boss is calling me! He'll be hella pissed if I'm late-!"
Shirou ignored him. Words were simply wasted movement in this dance, the Faker pressing his assault even as the hurled Blades came around from behind, homing in on their respective 'mates', Freed crying out in alarm as the Married Blades sliced into his shoulder from behind.
Our Swords Part the Rivers
"F-Fucking FUCK!" the exorcist spat, going for his gun once again, only for Shirou to spread his arms wide, a cross-like cut appearing on the Exorcists chest as his arms were deflected to the sides "YOU FUCKING-UGH!"
Our Names Reach the Imperial Villa
"Trace Overedge-!" Shirou incanted, burying his foot in Freed's gut, using it as a brace to launch himself into the air, Prana surging through his circuits & into his blades as he flipped overhead, using the resulting momentum to raise the altered blades overhead.
The two of us cannot hold the heavens together.