Artoria was more than a match for Mordred, in terms of skill. For as adept with a blade as he was, Artoria remained the superior swordsman, having over a decade of experience over the younger warrior. Mordred's strength instead lay in... well, his strength. While Artoria had little issue deflecting or blocking her foe's attacks, each impact that did land across her own blade shook her, physically and emotionally.

Once more, Artoria did not view Mordred as her son, but the sheer hatred with which he now fought her - not mystically induced as it was with his siblings - when contrasted with the way he used to idolise her... it haunted her. To a point, this dramatic shift was her fault for rejecting him. It had all been part of Morgan's plot, she was sure, and she was certain he knew this. But to Mordred, that detail was insignificant, compared to the fact that the king he had adored and sought to emulate for so long had rejected him outright at a time when, surely, in his mind, 'Arthur' should have rejoiced and embraced him.

But Mordred had proven himself an ill fit for the throne in his subsequent petulance, far beyond her prior assessment of him that had suggested the same. So now, all that remained was to put him down, like a rabid dog. A rabid dog that had once been her loyal companion... Picturing thus - once a loyal, adorable puppy that wagged his tail as he followed her around - only made her decision stab at her chest all the more.

But she was determined to go through with it, all the same. Mordred had willingly joined the anti-Camelot faction, manipulated or not. He had had many chances to repent after the atrocities committed by his mother and their comrades. Yet, he persisted, all the way up to staging a rebellion and levelling his sword at his king's throat. For the sake of her nation, Artoria determined that she must put an end to her 'son', lest she allow her history in Shirou's future to repeat itself...

Mordred ducked low and swung up in a shockingly swift motion that caught Artoria off-guard. She managed to block the blow with her sword, but the sheer force of the attack knocked her off-balance, her left hand losing its grip on Excalibur's hilt, while the right just barely managed to hold on for dear life. Mordred spun around to retain some momentum, before bringing Clarent down towards Artoria's head. She managed to avoid the strike through a combination of a deflection with her left gauntlet and a backwards hop.

Mordred grinned as both combatants regained their footing. "Almost had you there, huh, Father? But I'm glad you're as good as I always knew you were. It wouldn't be as fun to take you down, otherwise."

Artoria shook her head, disappointedly. Mordred seemed to pick up on her intent.

"What? What's with that look?"

"You want to know why I rejected you, Sir Mordred? It was more than how you represent the violation of my mind and body by Morgan. You hoped I would not only embrace you as my son, but my heir as well. But you are a poor fit for the throne."

"What?" Mordred gripped Clarent's hilt tighter.

"You are reckless, entirely devoid of maturity, driven purely by emotion and an intense need for validation. You have charisma in spades - as much is evident from this alliance you have amassed - but you have no concept of the responsibility of ruling a nation. Were you to take the throne, Britain would fall in but a matter of years; no doubt to a pointless war you petulantly instigated. Such as this one."

"You-"

"-are correct? I am also to blame for this conflict. I failed you as a father and a leader, Sir Mordred. But I, at least, am able to recognise my faults. Are you?"

With his head lowered, Artoria could not readily identify the emotion driving the sickening shaking of Mordred's body, the pieces of his ivory armour clattering and scraping with each emotional jut and jitter. Perhaps it was rage, perhaps sorrow. Perhaps both, she decided, as his furious, tear-sodden green eyes came into view, follow by his bared teeth screaming her name, marking the recommencement of their duel.

Shirou had contemplated utilising Projection to catch his foe off-guard. But he knew this trick would only work the one time. He knew an imitation of Nero's sword would be ineffective, even with that momentary surprise, given its unusual shape and weight distribution, and the fact that it was up against the real thing. But Clarent could be an effective option. As could Caliburn. Until the time was right, though, he stuck with Kanshou and Bakuya. Well, that and another skill of his.

He launched Kanshou towards his opponent's face, forcing her to bat it aside as she closed the gap between the two. But this was all a diversion to allow him to reach for the bow of a fallen knight and zero in with several quickfire shots. Nero deftly deflected each, showcasing the skill that had earned her her class. It was evidently only when Bakuya was fired from the bow that she became concerned. Firing a melee weapon as an arrow was unusual in and of itself, but Shirou discarding his remaining blade was also a gambit that she clearly had not considered.

Nero jumped back, keeping her blade in a defensive position in front of herself to guard from a subsequent volley that never came. Once she saw he had re-summoned his daggers, she relaxed some. "A clever trick, dear Saber. I wonder what our clash would have been had you been summoned as an Archer instead."

"As skilled as I am with a bow, the sword is where my passion lies.

"I see," Nero grinned knowingly. "I hope I can one day face you again in another class. But I can settle for just your impressive Saber form for now."

"I'm really nothing special."

"Is that so? A shame, then. You will need to be something special to contend with this. Behold my glory! Hear the thunderous applause! Sit down and praise! My Golden Theatre! Kingdom of Heaven and Hell... My heaven, reconstructed! This is where the limelight shines! Aestus Domus Aurea!"

Shirou had been careless. He was now inside a large Roman theatre that could only be Saber of Red's Noble Phantasm. And a Reality Marble, at that. Shirou had no idea how the emperor's theatre might translate into a combat technique, but he had little interest in finding out. He would need to counter this before he made his next move. And he had just the technique for it.

"Well? Are you not impressed by my Golden Theatre's magnificence?" Nero asked pompously. "Surely, this is a preferable place for the end to our duel than some blood-soaked hilltop. You have earned such a noble site for your final stand, dear Saber of Blue." There was an unexpected harshness to her tone, but she was not unrecognisable for it. There was still a softness to her tone - a friendliness that lamented her need to strike him down. And for all her arrogance, Shirou could not deny preferring a world where he and she could have met as allies

But that was not the world into which he had been summoned. His was a world where this woman was an enemy of Artoria, the woman he loved. As cruel as fate as it was that he must strike down this kind woman who so resembled his beloved Master, he would not run from it. He knew he must use every trick in his arsenal to win this battle and return to Artoria's side. And oh, what an arsenal it was...

"I am the bone of my sword. Steel is my body and fire is my blood. I have created over a thousand blades. Unknown to death, nor known to life. I have withstood pain to create weapons. But yet, those hands will never hold anything. So as I pray... Unlimited Blade Works!"

Shirou felt fire course through his veins as his Noble Phantasm activated. The sunlight beaming into the space through the high windows behind Nero dimmed and vanished, overtaken by the sandy, overcast sky of Shirou's inner world. But no blades emerged from the theatre floor. The foundations of the theatre remained sturdy and firm. The terror gripping Shirou's heart must have been clear on his face, as Nero sighed in pity.

"You assumed my Golden Theatre was a mere Reality Marble, I take it?" Nero asked in a tone that was at once smug and mournful. "You thought to challenge my Reality Marble with one of your own? To shatter my authority and assert yours in its place? Perhaps, I overestimated you, Shirou Emiya. To not recognise that this is no mere materialization of my inner world, but a much greater magecraft... Alas...

"But worry not, you have already earned a most beautiful end. Yours will be a magical show, performed here tonight, for your eyes only."

While he (somewhat) appreciated the sentiment, Shirou cast aside his twin blades. He refused to let it end this way. Even without a usable Noble Phantasm, he could fight with his Projection magic. He might be able to leverage her surprise at his use of a particular blade to get the upper hand.

Nero cocked an intrigued eyebrow at this, likely expecting him to attempt to engage her in fisticuffs - a tactic that would surprise most opponents and buy him an opening, but not one he could utilise to defeat such a powerful foe. But he held out his hand which, while not intended to make Nero halt in her tracks, certainly did so.

"Trace. On!"

The glittering form of Excalibur's sister blade manifested once more in Shirou's hand. His knuckles were white and his body tense, which Nero noticed for only a second before her opponent was within striking distance with his new, longer, heavier blade.

Shirou now had the edge, knowing exactly how Nero fought with her own blade, while his style with a two-handed sword remained a mystery to her. This advantage would only last a short time, he was sure, as analysis was just as much a part of a qualifying Saber's skillset as one's ability to utilise that insight.

However, her power in this place was far too great for Shirou to be able to match. She blocked his strikes with more and more ease with each passing second, and came mere inches away from cutting him down several times. He backed off, trying to recentre himself, only for Nero to come rocketing his way with her blade ready to swing. He just about managed to bring his blade up to block the oncoming strike.

"Laus St. Claudius!" Nero exclaimed, her blazing blade slamming into his with force enough to knock him fully off his feet, while the Roman emperor soared over his prone form, coming to a stop far enough away for him to get to his feet and take up his stance again. Only to then realise that his projection of Caliburn had been sliced cleanly in two, molten steel coating the stump like a gory wound as it began disintegrating in his hands.

"Your technique is impressive," Nero offered. "You have skill in your two-handed style; albeit not as much as your usual style. It was a noble gambit to catch me off-guard. And that sword, from its intricate beauty, must surely be a recreation of the Sword of Selection I have heard so much about. Alas, you have lost your edge, quite literally. I applaud your determination. But I believe I have now seen all that you are capable of, and must bring this battle to an end. I sincerely hope you will find Mars to be on your side when next you are summoned to compete in a War.

Nero raised her sword above her head with both hands and rotated it in a perfect circle before her, leaving ephemeral afterimages of the blade in its wake, resembling the minute hand on a clock, ticking down to Shirou's end. Shirou sensed that this next technique would be enough to finish him off and remove him from this War.

He then thought of Artoria. He was sure she could deal with Mordred by herself, at least for now. But if Nero cut him down now and joined her Master in his duel with his father... If Artoria faced the two together, she would not survive. He questioned if even her Servant self could survive against two such opponents. And if that happened, all of his efforts would be in vain. All of his struggles to make himself eligible to return her to change her fate would have amounted to nothing. She would continue to lament her failure in her final moments, and become a Servant to join the Twenty-First Grail War. And the cycle would continue for all of eternity.

"No," he growled in defiance of destiny. He tossed aside what remained of the broken blade. He was done copying.

Everything he had attempted thus far had been an ineffectual replica of something greater. Dual daggers. Archery. Projection. Unlimited Blade Works. These were weapons and abilities he had claimed from others. It was not enough to match the unbridled self-assurance of Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. Nero was Nero, and that gave her strength. Shirou was not Archer. He was not Artoria. He was not even Shirou Emiya.

He was the Sir Shirou, the Knight of Fate. Summoned and sworn to fight for Artoria Pendragon and her dream; to give the woman he loved the bright future she had suffered so greatly in vain to achieve. He was not the bone of his sword. He was...

"I am... the sword of my king. Duty forged my body and conviction is my blood. I have journeyed over a thousand years. Unknown to death, nor known to life. I have withstood fate to become a weapon, waiting for her hand. I have no regrets. Through me, she will cut a new path. My whole life was Artoria's Blade Works!"

A mighty rumbling shook the foundations of the Golden Theatre. First fell dust. Then tapestries. Then balconies and pillars and walls. All around them, the legendary Golden Theatre crumbled and collapsed, giving way to an idyllic, grassy field under a bright blue sky. A gentle breeze caused the blades of grass to swish and sway around the blades of steel that lay embedded in the earth all around them.

Both Sabers knew several of the weapons: Excalibur, Rhongomyniad, Clarent, Excalibur Galatine, Arondight, Longinus, Ira Lupus and all the other weapons of the Round Table knights: Shirou's fellows. Each weapon was arranged in a wide, uneven circle around a central point in the garden: the grave of Artoria Pendragon, upon which lay Avalon, a bouquet of roses held within.

Shirou's eyes remained closed. He had no need to look upon these artefacts, for he felt them in his very bones. He held his hand over his chest, pressed it firmly against his flesh, and then pushed deeper. His hand entered his chest, guided by an inherent sense of understanding of who and what Shirou Emiya, at his core, truly was. He had long known, but now he understood. He gripped his heart tighter than any dread or sorrow or longing had ever dared squeeze. And then, he pulled.

His hand emerged from his chest, now holding the hilt of a sword. This sword was predominantly Japanese in design, albeit with some European flourishes, such as the hilt's crossguard. The hilt itself was tiger-striped in red and blue, representing Shirou, this conflict in which he fought, and the woman for whom he did. The curved blade was half glimmering platinum, half light-rejecting blackness. The steel was forged thicker, longer and heavier than a typical katana, more akin to a broadsword.

The sword was nameless. What need had it for one? It simply was Shirou, the fate-cutting sword of the king. He planted the blade firmly in the dirt at his feet, placing his hands upon the pommel, as his beloved Master often did. A regal cape formed around his shoulders an flowed in the breeze that now existed solely perform this task.

Nero stood in awe of this display, her view of this fool that had failed to understand her, who lacked the power to defend the one he loved, now fully self-actualised in all his glory. This blade finally reforged by a master's hand.

"UMU!" Nero exclaimed, louder than ever. "This is the man I have waited for! Victory is not as far from your grasp as I had thought. Then, I shall give this next strike my all, Shirou Emiya!"

Shirou opened his eyes for the first time since forging the Garden of Artoria, his determination finally matching his foe's. "So will I, Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus!"

"Fax Caelestis!"

"Fissure of Fate!"

The Saber duel was originally set to end with EMIYA's blades being deployed while Nero was focused on Caliburn, taking place within eyesight of Artoria and Mordred's duel:
Shirou ducked under this downward swing, using one blade to redirect the emperor's sword to the side, leaving her open for his other blade to find its mark in her exposed chest. The sound of blade piercing flesh drowned out the cacophonous orchestra of war around them.

Once I had Nero use her Noble Phantasm, though, the plan shifted. Shirou's UBW would actually work, just outside the bounds of Aestus Domus Aurea. This would be revealed through Shirou throwing Nero through the wall and out into the field of blades, where he would attack with various blades and likely end the same way as the original plan. But, as the story ultimately goes, it's a far stronger conclusion for him to crystallise his unique identity as a Servant into a brand new Noble Phantasm, not just continue copying EMIYA.