He barely had time to think between each wall he was sent hurtling through. Though, that was honestly giving him a little too much credit. The Berserker Class was something of a black sheep among all the Servant Classes. A maddened warrior with little-to-no self control that greedily drinks their Master's mana reserves to fuel their unyielding rage. Honestly, most Masters deliberately try to avoid the Class entirely. Of course, there are always those who do seek it, for whatever reason. As it turned out, his own Master not only sought the class, but counted on it as he performed the summoning ritual.
He came to a stop, concrete and steel falling in debrisious chunks. He would be somewhat concerned if he had the capacity for such an emotion. As it was, he only screamed in his rage as they crashed onto his body.
There's something that most don't understand about the Berserker Class. Or rather, the nature of their Madness Enhancement. The Skill sapped their sanity, sure, but this by no means suggests that the Servant cannot think. In fact it was a step much more sad. A Berserker with Madness Enhancement as high as his own was someone cursed with their very thoughts being twisted into madness. Every moment he exists, he thinks of the cruelest and most sadistic ways to please his goal, uncaring of the hypocrisy that entails. To him, this "Holy Grail War" was frankly something of a trivial matter. The Servants he had seen that night were none too impressive. That Caster would be easy to shatter under his imperial fist, however, the Rider's domain was something he needed to destroy. Even lost to the throes of madness, he knew that Servant was a real threat to his own ambitions. The Lancer refused to show himself, and his blood boiled at that rat for it. Some part of his mind was wary of the Assassin, the memories of his own death creating a bud of raw hatred in his chest, and only served to aggravate his rage further.
"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅!"
His body thrashed and struggled, pushing concrete and steel off of his body, shaking the foundation of the very building with the pure madness of the sound reverberating from his lungs. He was angry. So very, very angry at that Saber for stopping him from killing his prey. Not all this rage was directed at the Servant, but that didn't matter. Saber stood in front of him, and so he was the perfect target to vent his plentiful fury.
His Master is a stranger from this futureland of strangeness, but that doesn't matter to him. The most important thing to know about his Master is that he didn't trust him. The insanity of this Roman Emperor wasn't one built on a foundation of foppish expenses and incompetant policy. No, his madness was an affectionate curse from Diana, from the moon itself. He can still very well understand the vengeful will behind his eyes. He would allow it. A motivated Magus was a useful one. With one so driven, he will surely acquire the Holy Grail and use it to undo the curse the people forced onto him due to the goddess's love. So why shouldn't the people of the Earth offer themselves to their Emperor? Why should they resist his rule as Rome?
He flexed his muscles, lowering his stance to put power into his legs.
The sentence of those who defy the Emperor of Rome is clear. The sentence of those who defy Rome is clear. The sentence of those who deny him of his ambitions is obvious.
He sprung forward faster than he was thrown, his left arm raised with his right arm cocked back. With his Privilege as Emperor, he feels the power of the Divine flood himself. As well it should, for he is a God of Rome.
The Emperor of Death was pronouncing an execution, and was coming himself to kill the offender.
The circumstances of this summoning were strange. Not necessarily bad, but certainly not quite good either. Though he manifested, and felt no problems physically, he rather instantly realized that he was not operating with a full store of magical energy. Thankfully, all it took was one glimpse at his master to at least partially understand why. Unfortunately, it wasn't anything to find mirth in. That was something of a bad omen in his mind. To a Servant like him, he would have preferred to start off his summoning with a smile and a gift for his Master. It grated him to be able to do neither so immediately. He would have to take solace in hoping that the smile he flashed to the man's closing eyes comforted him with the message that he was being protected. That is, if the words he had spoken prior did not.
Then he allowed his nose to wrinkle at the smell of blood and bile. He didn't need to ask or think too hard to know: the Servant that he had just knocked away was of the Berserker Class. Not merely thus, but also of his responsibility for his Master's condition.
He shoved those thoughts away, content with seeing the Command Seals burning into place on the back of his Master's left hand. He could not dwell more if he wanted to properly defend the prone man. Even so, the blood quickly spurting from the wound where his shoulder should have been was terribly bad. Ending this battle quickly was far more important than trying to go through with formalities.
The bronze-armored knight turned about again to face the hole he had thrown the Berserker through. His legs widened as he heard an animalistic sound that belonged naught to the lungs of a sane human being. His arms raised when he felt the thrumming vibration of the ground from the violent impact at a single point. That would prove to be the correct response as rocketing through the dust came the irate golden-bedecked warrior.
He saw crimson eyes glowing with madness enlarge at breakneck speeds. It was exceedingly clear to him that his arrival was both unexpected and unwanted. Maybe that was the goal of his opponent's Master: to kill the other Masters just after they had summoned their Servants to ease their own victory. But that doesn't add up; if that were the case, then he would have remembered the Berserker's arrival. So they arrived before he was summoned, but in that case, why would the enemy Master want to kill another Master before they summoned their own Servant?
He didn't have a chance to think on that further, not that he would if he really had the chance; His Master's well-being was a mite more important than figuring out the motives of his enemies. The Berserker's fist shot forward with all the speed of his charge behind it. It was a combination that would have ended any human, and in fact a number of other Heroic Spirits. That was the trouble with fighting Berserkers: nearly every strike was one designed to kill, and if you weren't careful, it certainly would.
"Ahhhh!"
His left arm swiped to the side, pushing the Berserker's right arm with it as he leaned forward and countered with his own solid strike: a straight punch directly into the left cheek of that raving lunatic's face. He was satisfied at this momentary victory in such a short exchange when he was caught off-guard. He had thought that his punch would have struck hard enough to offset his opponent's motion, which he was technically correct in believing, but he had underestimated the sheer amount of madness that fueled the Berserker's rage. He felt his enemy's other fist collide into his own right cheek, forcing his head to twist to face the same direction that he had forced the Berserker's own to gaze towards, a breathy grunt exiting his lips.
That is to say, he had managed to stop the Berserker's momentum, but he had failed to truly stop his attack.
"Uooooh!"
The ground rumbled as the Berserker's feet hit the flooring, reeling his right fist back to send another punch forward. He brought his right hand down and with a clang caught the fist, rattling the bones under his skin and armor from the sheer force of impact. The irony was not lost on him as he shot his left arm into a forward cross to nail the other side of the Berserker's face. Here he was, a Saber Class Servant, and he was brawling with a Berserker. Unfortunately for him, Berserkers tend to have the advantage in such engagements. He growled in the back of his throat as his opponent's left fist rocketed into his gut, ringing out the clanging sound of bone slamming against metal and pressing against his torso. He didn't have to look down to know that his armor had been dented.
Not an unexpected outcome, but not a welcome one nonetheless.
"Eryaaaa!"
"Gnnh!"
He brought up his fists to block his face, expecting a follow-up from the Berserker's right hand, but the straight never came. Instead he felt a sharp pain against the right side of his head as a golden shin crashed against the crown of his skull. He was thankful that in his madness, the Berserker didn't aim a little lower. He wasn't counting on such luck to hold out though.
"Haah!"
He took advantage of this moment of imbalance by sweeping his left leg under the Berserker's right, knocking him off his feet. Taking this chance, he lunged forward and took hold of that head of deep blue hair and slammed it into the flooring. He felt the enemy Servant's fist collide with his right side, but without his full range of motion, it smarted much less than those other two hits.
He pressed his own forward momentum, pushing the combat away from the prone form of his Master, lifting the Berserker up in preparation to slam him down again. The thrashing madman took exception to remaining in his grip, and sent a solid hit into his jaw. The sound of bones cracking filled the air as he felt it pop out of place and bow under pressure.
"Auughh!"
The world listed to the left as his balance shifted, and soon he found their positions reversed. The Berserker was holding onto the collar of his bronze-tinted armor, and with a burst of motion he found himself planted back-first into the floor, but this time with enough force to break through to the storey beneath. Both Servants fell through the air wrestling with each other, exchanging blows as they held onto the others' hair for anchorage before hitting the next floor in a sputtering cloud of dust and small pile of debris.
"Fufufuhahaha!"
"Gack!"
The Berserker had landed on top of him, and keenly took advantage of his position to lift his head up and slam it back down onto the floor. His sight flashed white for a moment, and he felt another punch connect with the front of his skull. Things had turned from bad to much, much worse. Almost on instinct he brought his arms up to protect his head. Even though they helped, a feeling of helplessness crept into his head as he took blow after blow to his arms and chest. It wouldn't be long until the Berserker broke through and tore at his flesh and broke his bones…
"AUUGH!"
The impudence of this Saber was astounding. To not only lay his hands on his Emperor, but to even fight against him? It was almost blasphemous. He would smash, tear, bite, break, and grind that offending bronze-bearing swordsman into dust and ribbons. How dare he hold back by not drawing his weapon? How dare he believe he could fight his Emperor with anything less than his full power? How dare he protect himself from his Emperor's judgement?
As the aggrieved party, it was only right that he punished him thoroughly for his mistaken arrogance. But how?
Ah, yes. He would start by tearing his left arm away. It was a fitting punishment, he thought. He started chuckling as the irony struck his insane mind. He would tear away his left arm so that he could match the man he left on the floor above. One had their right, the other their left, it was perfect!
He grabbed that offending left arm with both his hands and braced his knee against the Saber's shoulder. Yes, yes, yes! This was good, it would provide a fountain with which he could refresh himself! He would tear this limb away, and then use him to pulverize that puny man up there!
"OFFER IT… OFFER YOUR BODY…!"
He strained his muscles as he began to pull. It was not just flesh that he would have to tear away, but ligament, cartilage, and even the armored shell around it. It was no matter, it would merely take some time.
It was a shame that the plebian put up a fight. Something about him itched the sliver of sanity in that far-gone mind, something that scratched the idea that he might not be fighting a member of the common folk. Something about his bearing and how he carried himself. It's unfortunate that he could be nothing more than a plebian, he might have made a good asset for his rule. They were enemies though, and so those thoughts of what could have been were twisted and violated into feelings of rage and hatred. This was not some potential ally, this was an enemy to be reviled and destroyed in his name and for his ambition. There was nothing else to consider other than how he would go about it.
The feeling of those bronze-tinted gauntlets smashing into his body did nothing to deter his action, but did everything to build his rage and fuel his muscles further. He felt the Saber's arm start to shift and slacken, the bronze-colored armor groaning as the metal was beginning to stretch. Any moment now, and it would pop right off and feed him with the essence trapped beneath his skin…
And then suddenly he couldn't see.
"HRRAH!"
He cocked his fist back, and with as much strength as he could manage, smashed his right hand into the Berserker's face once more. This time he could feel the bones and teeth cracking under his impact. Fueled with the valor of a warrior that looks into the face of death and hell merely to use his weapon, that punch knocked the Berserker down into the floor. The vice-grip that had held his arm captive loosened, and he wasted no time to spin and kick against the offender to create distance between them.
"GUOOOR!"
Jolting up to his feet, he rolled his left arm to make sure that the shoulder was still in place. Thankfully, he had time to ensure that it truly was. This was good because the exact moment later he was face-to-bleeding-face with the Berserker once more. The madman spat and a spread of broken teeth and blood erupted from his lips to blind his vision. It was only for a moment, but that moment was enough to land another solid hit into the dented portion of his armor at his gut.
"Gouh!"
The strike sent him flying across the room they were in, crashing through a wall into what looked like an abandoned office space. He found his footing as quickly as he could, his left hand shooting down to grab at the scabbard at his waist. He needed a weapon: he couldn't deny it any longer, but…
He couldn't draw it. Not yet.
He pulled it from his belt and took hold of its hilt with both hands. For the moment, even though it was blunt, he needed speed a little bit more than raw power. He would come to thank himself for it.
"AHHHH!"
Once more those deranged fists sought his body, but this time he smacked the both of them in the same motion, opening the Berserker's guard. Of course, now he was a bit wiser to his combat flow, which is why he didn't immediately take advantage of it. Why? Because he took a backstep to avoid his foot from rocketing up straight into the bottom of his already-broken jaw.
"Haah!"
Now was his chance. He lunged forward with all his might and swung his bludgeon at the one leg still planted to the ground. With a solid thwack and the snapping sound of bones bending in the wrong direction.
He allowed himself to grin, but he wouldn't let himself be lulled by the small victory this time.
"HRRRAH!"
The Berserker had committed to the backwards somersault, planting his hands on the floor as a brace to bring his raised foot back down like an axe. He stepped to the right to evade it, but the strike still made a small crater in the floor and set cracks snaking across the surface.
That was fine, he was able to line himself up in that moment.
His grip had shifted to the opposite side of the sheathed blade, taking hold of the tip of the scabbard with both hands with the hilt as the striking end. He held the weapon up like some kind of bat or club for golfing. For only an instant he mused at how he knew these things in good humor before going through the motions of a swing.
That is to say, Berserker was the proverbial ball in this proverbial pitch, and he was raring to put his whole being into hitting it out of the park.
"HOUAAAA!"
Needless to say, for those who looked up into the sky that night, they saw a golden figure smash out from the side of a building before flying through the air and crashing into another building a couple dozen meters away.
He simmered in the hatred that growled in the back of his throat. His blood boiled as that impudent blond haired and hazel-eyed Saber was burned into his mind. He had come to a decision as he stood up from the rubble of his new landing site. First, he would gorge himself on the first person he saw. They would offer their body to him, and he would be refueled and ready to end the Saber's life.
"A-ahh!"
Ah, perfect, there was one right here. A young girl must have lived here, but that hardly matters to him. He is her Emperor, so she will surely offer herself to him. His eyes were transfixed to the girl's, and his broken knee creaked and cracked audibly as he lurched forward.
"Offer it up… your body… your soul! Oh, Diana!"
She fell onto her behind as he reached for her heart.
What is this? His arm resisted his command. No, wait, it was forced to disobey. It was moved by another force. The girl? No, she was staring up at him terrified. That made him angry. Why should she be horrified of her Emperor?
"Uoooh!"
He looked at his hand and saw and arrow sticking out of it. It had nailed his hand to the wall. What was a wall doing there? He effortlessly tore his limb from the wall, creating a hole where the arrow was yanked out of the woodwork.
So there was the Archer. Finally, now all but the Lancer and the Assassin were accounted for.
