...Why, in all the realms of possibility, was he now locked in mortal combat with his King? The reunion he had envisioned bore no resemblance to this cruel reality.
He had pictured a proper meeting, one where he would offer his knightly salutations in a moment of poignant grace—a scene so moving it would have stirred the very souls of those watching.
Yet, where was that storied reunion? Instead of a tearful encounter, he was trapped in a lethal exchange of blows. The reason was frustratingly simple.
It was because his charming little Master, Illyasviel, had invoked the absolute authority of the Command Spell.
—'By the power of my Command Spell, I order you, Berserker. Fight Saber, but do not utter a single word.'
—'Wh-what?! You would waste a Command Spell on something so trivial?'
—'But I want to torment Shirou a little longer. I'm sorry, Berserker. I won't let you kill Saber, alright?'
—'You little...'
The memory alone made his head throb. He had known she possessed the temperament of a child, but to expend a Command Spell for such a whim was maddening. Because of that decree, even as he faced his King, he was forced to keep his lips sealed tight.
Could he not resist with his mental fortitude? The compulsion of a Command Spell was not a mere mental assault; it was a physical law of the world. Moreover, as he was currently drawing his prana directly from his Master, resistance was doubly impossible.
He sighed inwardly. To dwell on what had already transpired was the height of folly. Obeying Illya's command, he was forced to trade blows with the King of Knights.
Clang! The screech of steel against steel rang out.
'Careful now!'
A dire complication had arisen. Unlike Elius, who maintained his reason and was desperately holding back, Artoria was fighting with everything she had. Hidden behind his visor, she failed to recognize him and fought with the cold efficiency of a dragon-slayer.
He was forced to parry strikes that were intended to kill. While the occasional arrows flying in from the periphery were a nuisance, they could not pierce the Mystery of his White Dragon armor, so he disregarded them.
...Surely, Artoria would recognize him soon. She had to.
How could a mere visor—a strip of enchanted steel—be enough to hide his identity from her? He clung to that belief. Yet, as the duel raged on, his heart wavered when he saw her blade begin to seek his vitals with increasing lethality.
Surely, she would see him?
"...Your strength is formidable. You must be a hero of great renown. Even lost to the throes of madness, your bladework remains sharp. I am impressed."
She would... surely see?
"Since we cannot exchange words, and you have no freedom even to speak your name, the only discourse left between us is the clash of our steel."
Would she... truly see?
"Therefore, I shall answer your prowess with a strike delivered with all my might."
A-Artoria?
Artoria lunged forward, ignoring the risk of being cut by his own blade, and thrust Excalibur directly toward his face.
'Gah!'
Instinctively, he caught the blade with his hand. Did she truly not know? Not even now?
"Unleash the storm! Strike Air!"
Artoria...?! Artoria!
The hammer of compressed air erupted at point-blank range, a focused hurricane aimed squarely at his head. He twisted his neck at the very last microsecond, narrowly avoiding the core of the Noble Phantasm. That was truly lethal. Had he not known her techniques, his head would have been reduced to mist.
The sight of the cobblestones shattering into dust beneath the pressure made his blood run cold. If those were his bones... the thought was chilling.
'Wait... my vision feels unusually clear...'
With a clear, metallic ring, something hit the ground. He looked down to see fragments of black metal—the pieces of his shattered visor.
As the remnants of the mask dissolved into motes of prana, he raised his head to look at Artoria. Her emerald eyes were wide, trembling with a sudden, profound shock.
"Wh-why... Why are you..."
He offered a bitter smile inwardly. Finally, she had recognized him. The way her hands shook as she gripped her sword told him just how deep the shock had struck.
"Saber!"
Suddenly, Shirou Emiya came running toward them. Armed with a reckless bravery he didn't understand, the boy charged toward him. Elius stood motionless, curious to see what the youth intended. Shirou reached Artoria in a frantic rush.
"Snap out of it, Saber! We have to get out of here. Saber!"
"W-Wait, Shirou. Eli... Elius... just a moment—"
"There's no time! Here!"
Despite Artoria's attempt to protest, Shirou looked as if there wasn't a second to lose and grabbed her hand.
Snap.
Something inside Elius's mind broke. Boldly. Right in front of him. That brat... that wretch... actually dared to lay a hand on Artoria!
'I will kill you, Shirou Emiya!'
His grip on his sword tightened automatically. Channeling the most violent Prana Burst he could muster, he watched the retreating back of the boy who was pulling his King away. He would sever those hands so they would never touch her again.
As he lunged forward to bring his blade down on the boy's wrists, his intuition blared a warning of imminent doom. The threat was coming from above. He glanced upward to see a spiraling projectile hurtling toward him.
It was a threat his White Dragon armor could not withstand. The warning bells in his mind screamed for him to evade. Damn that Archer. To use such a tactic now... he scowled, but he had no choice but to dodge.
However, as if to pin him in place, a gemstone thrown by a third party shattered, erupting into a magical barrier that exerted immense pressure upon him.
"Now, Archer!"
Rin Tohsaka's voice rang out from the distance. He glared at the girl through the crushing force of her spell. Such petty tricks! Gritting his teeth against the weight, he gathered his prana and released it in a single, explosive burst.
The barrier shattered like glass. But the arrow was already upon him.
'Son of a—'
A blinding light, birthed from a twisted blade, swallowed him whole.
***
"Elius!!"
A massive explosion engulfed the Berserker. A mushroom cloud rose into the air, the destruction reminiscent of a missile strike. As the roaring faded and the dust began to settle, a single silhouette became visible through the haze.
Rin, seeing the figure, whispered in disbelief.
"He's still alive... after taking a Noble Phantasm equivalent to Rank A head-on? How...?"
The Berserker who emerged was far from unscathed. His visor was gone, blood trickled from his forehead, and his armor was cracked in several places.
Yet, the wounds were not fatal—certainly not for a Servant of his caliber. Before they could process the shock of his endurance, Illya's voice drew everyone's attention.
"Hmm. I've underestimated you, Rin. Your Archer is quite capable. Very well. Come, Berserker."
At her command, Elius composed himself and stepped to her side. Illya turned to Tohsaka with a playful smile.
"I intended to end the boring parts first, but I've had a change of heart."
"What? Are you planning to run?"
"Yes. I've found your Archer interesting. So, I'll let you live a little longer. Until then, bye-bye."
Let's play again later, Brother.
With those words, Illya turned and began to leave with her Servant. Artoria, however, cried out toward the retreating shadow of the knight.
"Wait! Please, wait... Eli!"
The Berserker paused for a fleeting second. Then, without a word, he resumed his pace. Artoria watched his departing back until her strength failed her, and she collapsed to her knees on the cold ground. The others could only watch her in silence.
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