Minor language warning

I wonder what Berserker would have done in my position. He strikes me as the kind of guy to rationalize each action he makes, except for… well, you know, when he loses his shit. I'm drawn back to a time that isn't my own, a time and place that can only be somewhere off in the corner of London.

Now, how I know that, I have no idea. Just go with it.

The darkness is still and damp. A mouse could breathe, and the whole world would notice in this quiet. The smell of rain lingers on the cobblestone streets, and if I look up, I can see a single candlelit pan. It hangs above me as I try to breathe.

And I breathe.

And I scream.

And out shoots the seven petals of Rhio Aias in its full glory. The shield slices in every direction, annihilating each piece of flesh surrounding me. Sweet oxygen floods through the crevices and I inhale crisp life.

God that's nice! I can practically feel the spirit within me breathe a sigh of relief alongside me. I can open my eyes, the sting of death noticeably less intense for this blistering moment: but we aren't out of this yet.

I roll as quickly as I can, the spirit giving me the extra umph needed to completely my little circle. The petals must be spanning at least ten feet in each direction, and as we're nearing the position we began this little endeavor in, glee fills my companion. The creature heaves around me, and I can tell that we struck something valuable; we cut out a roughly twenty-foot circle from within the creature, I'd be surprised if we didn't hit something important. The petals retract, and while I'd be lying if I didn't note the exhaustion that consumes me now, but I really, really can't afford to think about it at this time.

Unfortunately, the material we disconnected collapses full-force, and all of the beast's weight that we already cut through falls down upon us. At least now it's easier to crawl through, and my body feels slightly rejuvenated from that small sweet chance to breathe. Still, if we had to make a pie chart on my level of exhaustion right now… well, you know those picture of the pie charts that are, like, the entire page is blackened out? I quiet my senses and revert back to my old self, the me that would listen to the secrets from down the street as I lied in bed at night, unable to fall asleep. For a blunt second, I pause, aware of how critical I am in this situation. If it were anyone but me here? Finally, something makes sense, and I turn my head in the direction that the outside world seems to be the loudest. I'd be that weird-ass pie chart. I crawl furiously, dragging my shield.

My body

My life.

I grind my teeth and force my way where the sound seems to be the strongest. Everything piles down from above – if the life doesn't get squeezed out of me, I'd be blessed and will go to church for the rest of my life. Everyday.

Well, every weekend.

Cool air finally resurfaces on my fingertips, and I crawl forward more furiously. An explosion rings out outside, and I scramble. I feel like my insides are melting, the scorching lack of oxygen making me shake.

Shit.

Archer!

I emerge, practically using my chin to drag. My arms fully emerge, and I slam the shield into the outside of the creature, using it as leverage as I thrust my head out into the world.

Is that what life is like when you're born? Shit. I'm glad I don't remember that crap. I inhale again and again, dragging the last of the way out and flopping belly up.

Caster's creature isn't wiggling.

Did I kill it? Well, did we?
I'm oddly aware of my environment, and Caster's blaring crying and shouting and shit slowly emerges. I don't give two fucks - I honestly can't muster the strength to. But what happened to that explosion I heard? My chest rises violently with each breath as I lift my head stupidly and look around.

I can't see a whole lot – I squint to adjust to the light: I mean, it's still a lack-there-of of light, but it's a lot brighter than inside of the creature. Caster's at it and preaching in my direction. I roll my eyes and they land on Archer, and the struggle to breathe suddenly evaporates.

He's a few feet from me, relief stretched across his face. I'm frozen like a deer in the headlight under the light of his face. Archer is knee-deep in the death of the creature, hands covered in muck. Was he digging through all of that for me?

But god, that face. I've never seen him so emotional, I almost can't function. He's first to speak, since I clearly can't.

"I thought you were dead."

"Same." I roll over and prop myself up on my forearms. "Well, I thought I was dead, but I also thought you were dead. I heard something." I choke a little on some bile, and I find myself heaving to relieve my body of the disgust I was nearly buried in. Archer crosses the last bit of distance between us and brushes the tip of my braid out of the way. Between me losing my stomach and Caster walking closer and closer to us, it's kind of peaceful.

"The explosion you heard was the other servants. Some took themselves out." I look up, my confused and exhausted resting bitch face still struggling to keep my mouth open. I try to look out at the bank just beyond my sight to see the man with green hair who swept in to my rescue cut the head off a child. The head rolls and the man falls to his knees, exhaustion coating over his bloody body.

What the actual hell.

"What about Rider?"

"Don't worry about it." He looks over his bloodied shoulder at Caster who is obviously PO'd that we aren't listening to his woes. He offers a hand to help me up. "We have our own problem to deal with."

"Good point." I start to reach up for him and hesitate at the last second; I've only known this guy for, what, a day? I thought we was going to rape me on that beach. All he would ever do was look down at me. I thought that was the extent of our… none-existent relationship. My eyes follow my hand as I reach down for my shield. This thing is awful helpful. The Heroic Spirit inside of me seems to recollect itself, coiling up and reconcentrating its energy.

But now? I reach the last distance between us and grab him by the forearm. He heaves me up on my feet as an equal.

His arm isn't working – his left one, that is. It dangles uselessly by his side. He also has some gnarly gashes on his legs and some blood on his brow. As for me, I'm severely oxygen deprived, so much so that I'd be surprised if I walked away from this with everything working properly in a week's time. I heave, aware that my body is shaking, but functioning at least to the point that it is still useable.

We stand shoulder-to-shoulder as Caster stops walking towards us. Sweat lines his massive forehead. "God, this guy's gross," I mumble quietly, hardly audible with my short breath. I can see Archer glare at me from out of the corner of his eye. "You're one to talk." I glare back.

"E-NOUGH!" Caster wails, arms wagging around, hag-lady nails long and digging into his palms. "You have disgraced me! After all of my hard work for oh so long! I have nearly graced this plane with my dear Joann d'Arc, and you DARE impede on my plans!" His buggy-eyes glisten a little, and for some reason, this has an impact on me; I take a deep breath and relax my body.

I can't reason with this idiot. I was hoping I could, something deep down inside of me was hoping we could bring a peace after all of this crap. Then again, this is the man who is responsible for killing dozens of people… hundreds, probably, if not thousands, if we count all of time.

Takao wouldn't want me to kill him. Would he? Something nags me from the corner of my brain, and the maniac's sorrow finds a way into a dark memory that wasn't mine. Maybe it was a dream, an illusion of some sort from a million lifetimes ago. I can almost see a nose outlining my vision, and for some reason, I'm convinced that it belongs around my neck.

But this is the weird part: I know that I have wronged. I know that there is no redemption for me. Like Berserker, this man killed many for some sort of cause. Lancer too. And Archer… well, I'm still not all that sure what he does… or did, really. But what was it? What was his reasoning for severing frail and innocent lives? Was it his love for this… woman? The girl who peeks at me, from this heavenly vision, from the clouds? Who was she?

"It doesn't matter," I growl, more at myself than at Caster. No one moves on this chessboard. "You know that what you have done is wrong. Then why try?"
"WHY?" He bellows, the force of his lungs forcing saliva to catch on his lip. "Why would I do what I do? Is it not simple? Life itself is not worth living unless one has someone to live for! And the one that I live for, I bring to this realm! I bring back to life!" He shakes his hands at me, trying for the last time to conquer what he will never have: a basic grasp of reality. "I seek to bring her back! Is that so wrong?"

"Nah, the idea isn't." I grip my shield and hone my eyes on my target. "But the method? Cool motive, still murder."

And I dart at him, a cry rising in my heart and erupting from my mouth. My knee is up and I grab him from the face before his last-minute manifestations can get to me.

Who am I kidding. I know all too well what he's talking about. It's almost like looking in a mirror. He only acts because he has some underlying reason to act out, something he hasn't always had. He's trying his damndest to bring that reason to this world. He's trying to reason through the pain.

That's what Lancer did. He just wanted to give the world to his family, and to have his family live without what shame he was burdened with. Berserker did the same – everything for knowledge… or something like that.

Who am I, a rat who, for the longest time, didn't feel any compelling reason to live, to judge him? He has a goal, an ambition, and that alone isn't wrong. That's something I never accomplished.

Not until now.

Now, as I kill a man.

My hand grips his face, and my body explodes.

.

I open my eyes to a blank whiteness. There is no wind, there is no bank sand to sink into. There is no darkness. The calm is surreal, something that can't be compared to or explained through words. There is no reason to fear. And yet-

"I…" I sit down, wrapping my arms around my folded legs. I dig my short nails into my legs, praying for the pain that I can't sense. "I'm afraid," I whisper into my knees, tears rolling freely from my eyes. "I'm so, so afraid."
A kind hand rests on my shoulder. I peek up to see a gentle face I have never seen before, yet I have always known.

It is Takao. It is my Heroic Spirit. It is me.

My vision blurs as I look at the face, my chest swarming with guilt. I cry freely, each syllable I speak drowned in chocking sobs. "I'm- I'm so sorry. I let you down, didn't I?"

"And what makes you say that?" This voice… it is… new. Is it Takao? No, it isn't. It isn't mine either. But my body tightens under the pressure.

"It's… because I'm so afraid. I'm afraid of what I will become after this. It's because I'm afraid of how to move." I release my legs and look at my hands; they are clean, but dipped in filth. Filth I will never scrub off. "What use are legs when I can't run? What good are hands when all they do is drag through mud? Am I-" I look back up, and the face is blurry through my wet vision. "Am I dead now?"

"Do you want to be?"

The kind voice beckons without hesitation, drawing at my heartstrings. Maybe it knows that I cannot answer. "Being fearless isn't the same as being brave." The face rises up, and a hand extends down at me. My hand. Takao's. The Spirit's. A white gauntlet. "Being fearless is idiotic. Bravery is choosing what to do when you are afraid."

I must be a mess in this holy place. But whoever this person is, they don't seem to care. Indigo light warms the floor I sit on and filters through my vision.

Decide, here and now, once and for all.

.

.

.

.

Decide who you are.

I can feel death swarming my body. Contact with Caster has lit a torch in my soul, a fire that burns like white hot knives. The pain stabs at me, immobilizing my body, as I'm consumed by my every fear. My hand grips his face, and I can feel his slimy skin contracting under my fingers. I can feel every cell in my body squirm, contract, and die. I can feel death, and I can understand it. As Caster's face contorts, I can feel the beating hearts of the remaining heroic spirits. They all cry out, a collective sigh of death, and fade into stardust. The woman with the sword… she was a murderer unlike any other. All of them were, really. The big one with the wild face was a legend across the ages. The one without shoes was an advocate for peace. But here they fall, and a peace settles in their bones as they're released by the modern world's gravity. They all die in pain, but not in vain.

I can feel each and every one of them. Every instant that they lived. Every memory that they made. Every swing of the sword, every release of the arrow. Every drop of sweat and blood, it all rushes through me, a beating strong enough to destroy what little innocence I still have.

I can feel Rider. He breathes very deeply as he grips his staff. Goodbye, old soul. I will join you soon in your rest.

And then there's Archer.

And for the first time in my life, I know exactly who I am. I am a girl in a world on fire, my hand reaching up in a dim hope that someone will swoop down and carry me away. I am a little redhead boy who dedicated every chance he had to better the world. I can see his fingers as they line up with mine between the raindrops that fall from crying angels and the fire that licks the atmosphere. I can feel his agony, and in this split instant, it is mine.

But he fights the release. He screams, a barbaric thing for this world to ever bear witness to, as he fights his descent. I can feel his pulsating blood and his trembling hand, and most of all, I can feel the weight of his heart.

And, somewhere buried deep in that mess, is something that I can connect to: something that, hey, it might even be mine.

Death wraps its darkness around me, the pain rising like a tidal wave.

But like HELL I'm about to let it best me.

I supply the willpower, but it is Archer who fuels me, and my Heroic Spirit is what mobilizes me. My shield rises high above my head, catching the light of the Holy Grail and reflecting the sun itself.

As I scream, my arm comes down.