Saber slid back from yet another heavy hit from the mysterious armored Servant. She grimaced as she held up her beautiful blade, ready for another rally. Despite the fact that Berserker had his senses all taken leave of him – hence his name – his fighting prowess was another matter entirely. The cylindrical thing he wielded was nothing more than a pipe that she eventually managed to sheer through. Berserker only grabbed a pair of wooden sticks, which immediately turned black with red veins, and re-engaged.
“AAAAAAAAARRRRTHUUUUURRRR!!!”
And there was the fact that it kept screaming her name and somehow knew her swordsmanship well. She was a master swordswoman, with only a few she would call her peer. But that was it: a few. She was aware that those who could match her skill with a sword would be all over the world, but with the Servant’s choice of dress – a medieval suit of armor – that narrowed things considerably. She had no doubt it was one of the Knights of the Round Table.
The question was, which one?
“Enough of this!” she barked, drawing herself up. Her golden hair was pressed and matted against her face while her drenched dress clung to her slight figure underneath her armor, making her look less impressive overall. Nevertheless, her voice still rang out clear and bright through the rain. “If you must fight me because you fight under a different master, then so be it! I commend your valor! However, it is beneath you to not declare who you are! If you answer to me as your liege, then name yourself!”
The armored figure neither moved nor said anything. For a moment, the only sound was the rain and the faint clash of steel behind them as Morgana and the other Servant clashed behind them. Then the Berserker shuddered, steel groaning at the movement. Saber braced herself – and her eyes widened as the knight dropped the stick and summoned a new weapon. A much larger one, comprised of multiple small cylinders that started rotating faster and faster. The last time she saw such a weapon was-!
“AAAAAAAAARRRRTHUUUUURRRRR!!!!” it howled as the cylinders began rotating blurringly fast. Saber scowled and immediately ran, taking the opportunity to grab Morgana by the head as she moved. Just in the nick of time: As she ran past a corner into an alley, the gatling gun roared to life, its prana-enhanced bullets shredding everything in front of it. The pavement was rapidly pounded to dust as the rubble was reduced to nothing under its withering hail. D’Eon barely managed to dodge in time, though they had to break off with a scowl as blood seeped from their leg where several bullets found their mark.
Saber kept running with Morgana in her grip as she turned another corner, seeking cover and shelter from the knight – no, Lancelot’s weapon. Her memories of her Fourth Holy Grail War were a bit blurry, but there was no mistaking that weapon. What knight Servant utilized a gatling gun like that, after all?
“H-heh, thanks Saber. Things were getting a bit dicey there.”
The Servant of the Sword looked down at acknowledge her Master – and her eyes widened. Morgana was cut from multiple places and was badly injured. His cutlass was still in his hand, but his gaze was dull, blood staining his normally black and white fur. It was clear that the fight against another Servant hadn’t gone well for him despite his best efforts.
She scowled. This was her fault. She had gotten so distracted by the presence of another Knight of the Round and as a result, was negligent in protecting her Master. Morgana had to fight against a Servant all by himself and despite his unique skills and abilities, he was still no match for the enhanced, superhuman capabilities of one.
“Can you heal?” she asked worriedly. Morgana glanced up at her before summoning Zorro. He didn’t have a chance to earlier; every attempt to call forth Zorro before had been interrupted by D’Eon before he could do anything. It made sense – no serious combatant would allow their opponent to summon up their power or utilize their specialty.
The grinning musketeer appeared once more and drew another pattern into the air. A green light surrounded Morgana as his wounds closed. He sighed in relief as his injuries were sealed… but as Zorro faded away, his fatigue hit him like a truck. He collapsed on his rear as his small legs gave out.
“Master?!” Saber asked.
Morgana looked up at her with a weary grin. “Healing with a Persona normally doesn’t do much for actual wounds,” he explained. “It’s usually more spurts of energy to keep everyone going. But guess with how it works now, I can actually heal injuries. But man, it’s way more tiring to use now than before. I’ll be good with some time to rest, but…”
“Time and rest are luxuries we don’t have,” Saber concluded for him, nodding with a stern expression. Still, she noted the term that Morgana let slip in his explanation. A Persona… She heard that term before. She would need to consult the library or perhaps ask Rider about it when they returned.
And they would return, no matter what.
However, before long, they noticed something: How quiet it was. No more screams of Berserker and the roar of his gunfire died down long ago. All that remained was the sound of falling rain. However, neither of them relaxed for a second. Like hell they would believe an enemy combatant like Berserker would just up and leave. It wasn’t like they even ran all that far. They had to be ready for an attack at any-
The walls beside them burst as Berserker charged out, howling. Instead of the gatling gun or even pieces of debris it had been using as impromptu weapons, Berserker now wielded a beautiful longsword, though tainted and profaned. She barely raised her own just in time to block the strike, being forced back under the sheer mad strength of the knight. The black fog from Berserker is gone, and it was like a haze in her mind was lifted. With that blade, there was absolutely no doubt about it.
“Zorro!”
With another call from Morgana, a gust of razor wind slammed into Lancelot from behind. He roared in rage as he stumbled forward from it, allowing Saber to regain her balance and swing her blade, shoving Lancelot off her. She smiled appreciatively to Morgana, who only gave a tired grin in turn. The other Saber Servant hadn’t returned yet, but she would need to keep a close eye on Morgana. He was in no condition to continue fighting. If that Saber Servant reappeared, it would be a trivial matter to finish him off.
“Lancelot,” she stated. At the mention of his name, the Berserker Servant froze, his sword – Arondight – clasped in a death grip in his gauntleted hand. “To see you like this is pitiful. I know my actions as a king have driven you to this point and for that, I apologize. However…” She raised her blade. “Right now, I’ve worthy Masters to defend who strive for worthier goals. For that reason, I cannot allow you your due, nor can I even afford to face you honorably as a knight would. And so, I will strike you down without fail. En garde, Lancelot!”
“AAAAAAAARRRRTHUUUUURRRRR!!!” Lancelot roared once more. The two knights charged, and profaned and pure clashed against each other in the rain-soaked streets of the ruined Lyon.
----------
Morgana hated feeling useless.
It hadn’t been the first time he felt that way. Back when his memories were missing, the gap between him and the other Phantom Thieves had slowly but surely been eroding away. His leadership and planning had been supplanted by Ren and eventually Makoto, easily utilizing his knowledge beyond even his own abilities. Then his navigational skills had been eclipsed handily by their genius hacker, Futaba. Ryuji didn’t help, his usual insults unknowingly becoming as sharp as daggers as they chipped away at his fragile confidence, leaving nothing left.
Finally, he exploded and left. He attempted to repeat what he had before when he encountered Haru, fashioning her into the ‘Beauty Thief’ as they tried to confront her father’s palace by themselves. It was partly his way of getting back at the other Thieves, as petty as it was, and partly his way of trying to prove to himself and everyone else that he still had worth. Memories or no, that he was still strong and capable and intelligent.
But he failed. He failed to infiltrate the palace and failed to protect Haru. He got himself hurt in the process. For Morgana, he thought that would be the end. He explained Haru’s situation to everyone else to the best of his ability, then he would leave before he became a liability. There was no need to drag everyone with him into his own goals – they had surpassed him long ago, after all. But Haru coaxed him, and he revealed his desires: That he wanted to stay with everyone to the very end.
And to his utter surprise and delight, they immediately accepted. Nobody wanted him to go, and it was apparent that despite everything, they missed him dearly. Ren and Futaba especially – deeply ironic considering they both outpaced him in so many different regards. To that end, he vowed that he would commit his all for their sake. Ren’s enemies were his enemies. Morgana was their comrade, and he would stand with them to the very end.
But vow or not, some things simply couldn’t be surpassed by sheer willpower alone. Despite his boast and challenge to D’Eon, he could feel that instinctual chill down his spine like when he fought the blackened Rider back in Fuyuki: D’Eon was far, far beyond his ability to deal with. And worse, he didn’t have backup. Saber, as powerful as she was, had her hands full with the black knight Servant, meaning he had to deal with the French spy and duelist alone. And as knowledgeable as he was, even he was drawing a blank on D’Eon.
Giving him no more time to think, D’Eon stepped forward, their rapier flashing in their hand. Morgana had a very, very slight advantage that he was considerably shorter than most foes D’Eon ever had to face against, but that was swiftly negated by all their other advantages: Speed, skill, strength, and instinct. D’Eon may have been ‘just’ a spy, but they were a Servant and knew combat well. Morgana was put on the backfoot as he did everything he could to deflect D’Eon’s swift strikes, but for all his agility and experience, that didn’t save him entirely: Several strikes moved past his cutlass and cut him, leaving ribbons of blood that stained his pristine fur.
Morgana scowled as he retreated to buy himself time, only for D’Eon to pursue easily. He had been becoming increasingly aware of how unviable his Metaverse form was for actual fighting: His head was much larger than his body overall, and with how low he was to the ground, it was basically a gigantic ‘hit me’ balloon for anyone with even a modicum of battle sense. He had been training with Archer to try and reduce that weakness of his, but a few days’ of training wasn’t nearly enough to fend off experienced warriors. If only he had his increased agility and strength from being in the Metaverse, but unfortunately, he had no such mercy.
Dodging to the side to avoid a thrust from taking out his eye – leaving behind yet another weeping cut to the side of his head – he raised his cutlass as he focused on D’Eon once more through the pain. The elegantly dressed Saber didn’t seem particularly into the fight, he noted. But it wasn’t like they were toying with Morgana either – it rather felt like dealing with the Phantom Thief was a frankly annoying chore that they would rather not bother with if they could help it. In short, they were holding back.
Ignoring the blow to his pride, he had to wonder why. From what little he saw of the doppelganger’s Servants, it seemed that they followed her orders out of obligation rather than any sense of loyalty. Martha had directly disobeyed her orders despite her hostility and the Lancer and Assassin from before seemed more interested in their own agendas than following her orders. However, that didn’t matter too much right now – D’Eon didn’t give him any openings to exploit, and while their martial prowess was well below Saber’s, it was still far beyond what Morgana could deal with. The best he could do was buy time and occupy D’Eon so they couldn’t assist the black knight.
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At least, that was the plan until he was unceremoniously grabbed in the head by said Saber as she ran. Any complaints Morgana had died down as the roar of a gatling gun issued out, the resulting bullets turning the cobblestone he was just standing on into nothing but dust and rubble. His peripheral vision caught D’Eon retreating as well, bleeding from the leg as multiple bullets had sunk in. Despite everything, Morgana had to give a small smirk of satisfaction. It seemed that at the very least, his opponent was in no condition to pursue them – though it still stung him that he couldn’t do a thing against the Servant.
Once they had a moment to recover, Morgana summoned Zorro to heal himself. The wounds had thankfully sealed up, allowing him some blessed relief and removed the danger of infection or bleeding out, but it only added further to his fatigue. Then afterward, he used another Garudyne to distract the black knight, nullifying his ambush as Saber proceeded to engage him and knocked him away. He rested against the wall, only partially listening in to Saber’s words as the rain steamed against his overheating body.
As the Saber and the black knight – Lancelot apparently – clashed, he kept careful watch of the whole situation. Lancelot kept screaming madly, his wild blows forcing Saber to give ground with each and every one, but each move of his wasn’t that of a madman despite everything. No, Morgana could see that his blade was still wielded with the precision one would expect from a master swordsman. Saber was no slouch herself, her holy blade meeting his profaned one each time, but she was gritting her teeth at the effort needed to keep up with her compatriot.
Morgana frowned. He knew they didn’t have long – wyverns would be on them before too long and the enemy would have a chance to regroup. He considered a retreat but immediately discarded the thought. Judging from his madness, Lancelot wouldn’t let them retreat easily. And with his combat prowess, he could easily inflict a lot of damage to their group by himself – neither he nor Ren would be able to resist him even for a millisecond, Jeanne, Marie, and Mozart simply weren’t strong enough, and while Archer might put up a better showing, he wouldn’t be better than Saber.
No, he needed to be dealt with here and now.
Scowling, he slowly stood up, his limbs aching and heavy. His wounds were gone but he could still feel the phantom pain. He hadn’t pushed himself nearly this hard back during their Metaverse escapades, but frankly it didn’t matter now – if they didn’t pull through here, they’d never see anyone again. And he saw Ren’s pain from everyone being ripped away from him. No, he had committed his loyalty to Ren. No matter what he suffered through or how much he needed to do this, he would see things through.
Calling Zorro to him once more, he felt his circuits fire up again. This move was one that he learned with Ren back at that jazz bar, so long ago – and it paid dividends then. It would do so here. He pointed to Saber. Three lights – orange, green, and purple – flashed around her for a brief second before fading away – Heat Riser. The resulting energy drain nearly caused Morgana to collapse once more, using his cutlass like a crutch to avoid falling flat on his face. Gritting his teeth, he looked up at their Servant. “Go get ‘em, Saber!” he called out.
Saber blinked as the lights had surrounded her. Suddenly, she felt stronger and lighter on her feet. Her armor seemed to have a faint glow around it too. By her estimation, her stats must have shot up at least a full rank. She smirked at the encouragement as she raised Excalibur once more. Her Masters were certainly rather versatile, weren’t they? She didn’t know how long this power boost would last but she would have to repay them in kind before it faded away.
“AAAAAAARRRRTHUUUUURRRR!!!!” Lancelot howled once more. Undeterred by the lights, he charged Saber once more, raising Arondight. Saber took a quiet breath, lowering her sword and pointing the blade behind her. Another hurricane gust of wind blasted forth, rocketing her towards her insubordinate knight as Morgana covered his face from the splashing water.
Lancelot gave a startled squawk at the sudden speed and ferocity of Saber’s attack as she raised her blade and slashed. The peerless blade sliced through his breastplate, spilling blood. Braking with her blade, Saber whirled about and charged again. The Berserker tried to counterattack, but his timing was off just enough that Saber got under his guard and sliced off his hand, Arondight clattering to the ground. Another cut across his torso was all that was needed to finish it.
Saber panted slightly as she looked at the black knight, collapsing on his knees and bleeding profusely. “I did not wish it had ended this way, Lancelot,” she murmured. “I never did. Whatever madness possessed you in life… I apologize for it. For now, you have done your duty. Please, go and rest. May you find whatever rest you are worthy of.”
The knight growled, golden dust beginning to fall off his figure. With slow, heavy movements, he reached up and took off his helmet, dropping it as his strength failed him. His long, matted, purple hair clung to his face, its normally handsome visage twisted and warped in madness. However, tears streamed from his eyes, which only reflected sadness and grief.
“M-my king,” he gasped out in a strangled voice. “F-forgive… me….” With that, he dissolved into golden light. And soon, it was just Saber and Morgana, with nothing more than the ruins and the rain to keep them company.
A sudden roar roused their attention. Whatever thoughts the two had were shoved aside. “Come on, Saber,” Morgana called out. “We need to head back to the gate – we’ll figure out the situation from there!” Saber nodded, once more taking the weakened Morgana in her arms as she began running towards their rendezvous point.
Then their eyes widened and were almost blinded as a gigantic sphere of light appeared in the middle of the town. Morgana recognized the feel of it immediately:
A Palace.
----------
Archer scowled as moved from alley to alley, trying to avoid the dragon – easier said than done as it rampaged through the mostly desiccated buildings, each swipe of its claws, sweep of its tail, or even flap of its wings razing them to the ground. Maintaining his distance, he kept up a slow but steady stream of exploding sword arrows that didn’t do anything much besides annoy the dragon. It was his job, of course, but that didn’t mean it didn’t suck. He didn’t even have the luxury of backup either – everyone was too busy with their own battles and duties.
Honestly, he wasn’t surprised that the Jeanne d’Arc doppelganger had dispatched such a large force to take care of them. After that little show of Ren bringing out Satan with his magecraft coupled with the fact that Martha had been handily dealt with by them, it probably brought them up several notches on her threat meter. They had turned from a ‘nuisance’ to ‘immediate threat’, and she was using whatever resources she had to squash them out for good. Good on her for at least immediately recognizing that they were a problem that needed to be dealt with directly.
Still, judging from the fact that the doppelganger was still screaming and futilely ordering her dragon to turn around, she still had a lot of notable flaws to exploit: First, she was extremely short-tempered in contrast to the actual saint, blindly rushing like a bull and trying to bulldoze all her problems with her rage. Second, none of her subordinates seemed all too loyal to her, from what little he saw of her Servants and how the dragon completely disregarded her orders. And third, the bulk of her forces comprised of wyverns, which were beasts, meaning her strategies boiled down to ‘throw them at whatever’s causing a fuss’. Sure, she didn’t need much more for medieval France, which couldn’t mount an effective resistance against wyverns or Servants, but against stronger foes, she would struggle considerably.
He moved off to the side, misdirecting the dragon as it wrecked the building he would’ve ran to had he continued straight ahead. Maneuvering to its flank and behind, he hopped up onto a roof. He only had a few seconds before the dragon would notice him, but that would be enough. Most of what was going on was concealed by various buildings and rubble, but he could see many of the wyverns stirring and getting up, roaring in rage and panic. The doppelganger couldn’t issue orders but she didn’t need to – in such close proximity, once they took flight, they could easily start tracking everyone else down.
The red-mantled hero smirked. This might be an opportunity to take care of a large number of their problems in one fell swoop.
“I am the bone of my sword.”
He quickly jumped to another rooftop just as the dragon’s tail smashed down, disintegrating the building he had just been on as it caught wind of his location once more. Nocking another arrow to his bow, he fired it – not at the dragon, but at the cluster of wyverns. The arrow split into multiple as they thudded against the hides and wings of the wyverns. Not enough to harm then, but enough to annoy and irritate the hell out of them. And more importantly, in a clear direction that they knew precisely who had shot them to begin with.
“Steel is my body, and fire is my blood.”
The wyverns shrieked and roared. Quickly gaining purchase on the ground, they began taking wing, flying towards Archer in every attempt to shred him to pieces. So far so good.
“I have created over a thousand blades.”
The doppelganger looked over at the wyverns, then back at Archer. Her face twisted into mocking amusement. “Well, I didn’t think you were quite so eager to die, Archer!” she called out from her seat on the dragon’s back as the mentioned Servant dodged a fast lunge from the dragon before blasting him in the face with yet another arrow. “The other Servants will take care of your friends, but I guess you’ll have the honor of going first!”
“Unknown to death, nor known to life.”
“Well, what can I say, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you need more stimulation in life,” Archer drawled like he wasn’t being hounded by a gigantic, winged creature of death as well as countless flying lizards who were doing their best to claw him to death. He winced a bit as a claw nicked his cheek but otherwise ignored it. “Courting death is for fools, especially battle-hungry ones, but then, it seems you’re all too used to that, aren’t you?”
The doppelganger narrowed her eyes. “What was that?!” she snarled
“Have withstood pain to create many weapons.”
Archer shot yet another swarm of arrows at the wyverns that he hadn’t gained the attention of yet, making sure to garner their enmity in turn. “You go around, killing this way and that, lashing out like a petulant child,” he noted. “Perhaps it never occurred to you that someone might get pissed off enough to challenge you in turn, and kill you just as you’ve been killed? You’ve no small amount of blood soaked on your hands, doppelganger.”
The darkened Servant gaped, then threw her head back howling in laughter. “O-oh my god, you’re serious,” she gasped out between bursts. “You’re actually serious!” She looked at Archer with a sadistic glare as more and more wyverns bore down on him. “I don’t give a damn what you think I am – I’m exacting my damn vengeance. No more, and definitely no less. They’re all fucking weaklings who only want and need – and discard you when you’re more useful dead. Among these weaklings, who the hell would get pissed off and strong enough to go against me, huh?”
“And yet, those hands will never hold anything.”
He chuckled in turn. “Oh, I never said anything about the people here,” he casually added. The situation was getting extremely dicey for him now. He was completely surrounded by countless scores of wyverns, the dragon still had its sights on him, and the doppelganger had her full attention on him in turn thanks to his taunting.
Perfect.
“They may be weaklings who fall at the first sign of weakness, but whenever someone like you lashes out, there will always be someone to bring you down in turn.” His smile turned into a wry, knowing grin. “A hero of justice, perhaps.”
“So as I pray,”
The doppelganger’s eyes widened as he finished his aria, but it was too late.
“Unlimited Blade Works!”
A ring of fire burst out from Archer, quickly engulfing all the wyverns, the dragon, and the doppelganger as they were all blinded by a burst of light. Before long, the light diminished – and the doppelganger gaped at what she saw.
They were no longer in the town of Lyon. Before them was a barren plain, as far as they could see. The sky was dark and hazy, with impossibly large gears turning in an unfathomable distance. But that wasn’t all – all around her were countless swords embedded in the ground. And these weren’t just normal swords. Even a quick glance told her that each blade here belonged to some hero or another. A cold sweat broke out on her back as she quickly figured things out.
This was that damned Archer’s Noble Phantasm: A reality marble. His own inner world and existence brought out into reality – and he had dragged all of them into it.
The wyverns squawked and roared in confusion as they looked about their new surroundings. Even the massive dragon looked uncertain. Then it snarled as it locked eyes on Archer. He was standing on a small hill with that damned smirk still on his face. He held in his hand a sword. The dragon’s eyes widened as it quickly recognized the blade. It wasn’t as powerful but there was no way it could ignore the blade’s presence, not when it was the bane of his own existence.
Archer held in his hands a copy of Balmung.
Calling forth his bow once more, he notched the sword once more, lengthening it until it turned into an arrow. Above him, more copies of Balmung as well as other dragonslaying swords like Gram. The wyverns and even the dragon shrunk away, the former shrieking with instinctual fear. Though unintelligent, they knew that the swords pointed in their direction were nothing less than tools to end their existences. The doppelganger scowled. They were playing by this bastard’s rules now – and he held all the cards.
The red-mantled hero loosed the arrow, and Balmung immediately tore a hole through one of the wyverns. It collapsed on the spot, dead as a doornail. The doppelganger’s eyes only widened at the sight, then looked back up in trepidation. The wyverns began shrieking louder in panic as the dragon roared.
As the rain of swords began descending on Archer’s serpentine foes, the dragon reared its head, its jaws alighting in infernal might, then it breathed out pure destruction.
Thus, the might of a dragon met the countless blades of Archer’s realm.