Fire. Not as hot as some he had felt, yet hot enough to warrant a dive downwards. A great ball of flame scoured past overhead. Several others jumped out of the way.

The fireball crashed on the ground, leaving a burnt scorch mark. Had that been the only fireball they had to deal with, then they would have been fine.

The near two dozen or so was the complete opposite of that.

Shirou pulled back on his bowstring, the great black bow in his hand groaning ominously. An arrow formed between his fingers. He kept his eye trained on the fireballs heading their way.

Six were shot down in an instant. Then a dozen. He couldn't shoot all of them, though. Some flew dangerously close to some JSDF members, and shooting the fireballs risked his arrows hitting his allies. They would have to dodge those.

Thankfully, they did. And the battle raged on.

It had been less than five minutes since movement was spotted from the Empire's vassal army. While the main bulk of their attacking force - around ninety thousand - were still far enough that their mortars couldn't hit them, the Imperial vanguard had charged straight through.

Normally, they'd be gunned down before they knew what had happened. Unfortunately, the advancing army had decided to use one of its trump cards early.

Wyvern riders. Or rather, wyvern riders with mages.

The mages made the vulnerable-to-bullets wyverns flying tanks. Where a good rifle shot had pierced these wyverns cleanly through their wings, these ones shrugged them off. Spheres of wind surrounded each one, deflecting small arms fire, while allowing for the mage riders to shoot spell after spell.

In a few short moments after they appeared, they had flown up against the flares, snuffing them out with large spheres of stone. Lightning, fire, mounds of rock. More than one had come close to hitting Shirou and his allies. Coupled with the sudden darkness, they were a force that could easily swoop in and kill any unsuspecting soldier.

All of those advantages, and yet, they still kept their distance, maneuvering in seemingly random patterns. Shirou eyed one of them. He narrowed his eyes as he tracked their path.

There.

He drew back his bow once more, leaning slightly to dodge a loose piece of debris. An arrow once again formed, this one heavier than the last ones. He fired.

A gust of wind, a sonic boom flitted around him.

The wyvern fell gracelessly, its head a red paste. The riders on it screamed as they fell, the sphere of wind dissipating into nothing. The rest of the wyvern riders who saw it happen scattered, going even faster than before.

Yes, though the wind was excellent in stopping bullets from piercing and hitting their occupants, that was all they could do. According to a hastily relayed message by Cato, the wind barrier was usually employed to guard against fast spells and arrow barrages.

The spells that they failed against were too slow to cast, and usually had the caster in sight of the riders. They didn't have to worry about having to defend those if they never got hit in the first place.

They hadn't fought against someone like Shirou, who could hit hard with barely any wind up. His bow was made to shoot Noble Phantasms - a spell like these riders were using wouldn't hold up. He'd already shot down seven of them, the first three from before they had started their evasive maneuvers.

Even then, even with them flying around frantically spewing fireballs at whoever was there, he methodically shot them down with frightening efficiency.

"Lord Emiya!" A shout from next to him, Arianne, who had decided to not get to cover despite his insistence, "Right flank!" A rider was shot down as they attempted to dive bomb their defenses.

With a swift nod, Arianne went back to shouting orders to the JSDF. To their credit, they followed her words to the letter. Though initially hesitant to follow what amounted to be a civilian refugee, the elven leader quickly proved herself a valuable asset.

From her years of being oppressed by the Empire, she knew how they worked. While the vassal army was different, they still followed the same core principles as the main Empire. Principles that the Grand Elder exploited as much as she could, her own magic or no.

A loud boom, distinct from the rest of the guns that were shooting, echoed behind him. Where Arianne had gotten used to the common rifle that was being used, this one forced her to the ground with hands on her ears.

A shot. It pierced through the defensive winds. A shout of surprise. A bloody neck. Another wyvern rider down. Shirou spared the wyvern a single glance, right before he followed up with another arrow through the man's chest.

"Are you alright?" He offered the fallen elf a hand, one that she graciously took, standing up as if nothing happened.

That would have looked better had she stopped looking at the source with a grimace. With a snort, a short bit of amusement, Shirou followed her gaze. He already had an idea what it was.

Sure enough, alongside more faces that he knew for certain just came from Japan proper, a single sniper was aiming down his sights. A Barrett M82. It was a gun that was on his radar, one he had done his reading up on, on the off chance that it could pierce through his own Reinforcement.

He hadn't thought to test it out, nor would he be trying to, not with how their payload pasted a wyvern's head after being slowed down by the wind spell. Shirou gave a nod to the sniper, one that was returned with equal seriousness.

Between the both of them, the rest of the wyverns stood no chance. In less than five minutes, all that remained of the riders were three, if only because they'd turned and fled the scene.

Shirou stared out at the still approaching force. They were well inside the range of the mortars now, which meant they were inside his own range with his bow.

"Lady Valliere," He called out. The elf leader turned to him in the midst of arranging their defensive lines, "Is this the main force, or is this just a diversion?"

"The main force." She said resolutely, staring out into the darkness, "Sage Cato and I would agree, the Empire and its vassals prefer a full frontal assault, to display their overwhelming force. Such tactics usually end up in the Empire achieving victory before blood truly spills, the defenders losing their nerve and surrendering."

"Good." Shirou had come to the same conclusion. The Empire was arrogant. For good reason, too. From the details he'd gleaned, the Empire controlled most, if not all, of the entire landmass they found themselves on. Similar to the old Roman Empire, these people knew war, knew how to fight it, and knew how to win it.

Sadly, their world knew the same.

Shirou drew in a breath as he held back a grimace. If these people really were similar to the Romans, then they would have more than a few slaves and conscripts. People who didn't want to be there, forced to fight for a belief that they didn't believe in.

Shirou steeled his heart.

A point needed to be driven home.

To get this army to back off, they needed an equal amount of overwhelming force. The mortars were a good start, but their effects were similar to what a mage could do. And with their current numbers, though bolstered with their reinforcements, they couldn't exactly showcase superior forces.

That said, Shirou Emiya could be considered an army himself.

"Don't light up the flares." He called up to three soldiers about to do just that. With furrowed eyebrows, they looked at him like he was insane. Maybe he was. Without proper lighting, they couldn't rightly see the incoming army, which meant that they couldn't target them with mortars.

While they could rely on their infrared tech, that was a downgrade from just lighting up the entire battlefield. Without the wyverns, they certainly could just do it. One of them confusedly called it on his radio.

"Emiya, what the hell do you think you're doing?!" Hazama didn't call out of the radio. Instead, the man had shouted from inside the facility, a voice that Shirou calmly turned for.

"One minute." His gaze was icy. He used his Reinforced eyes to see where the army was in the darkness. They stopped bothering with the illusions, having been already found out. They were around four kilometers out, just at the edge of his effective range.

"Just give me one minute, then you can use the flares."

He didn't bother listening to a reply, stepping out of the trenches and climbing upward still. Soon, he was on top of the command center, overlooking the entire camp. With a quick glance around, he could spot more than one group of elves helping the soldiers, and vice versa.

With a ghost of a smile, he set out his gaze onto the approaching enemy.

"Trace."

He had fought many magi in his time. Most of them were hunts against individuals labeled as Sealing Designates, or were otherwise incredibly dangerous individuals that were too risky to keep around. He'd seen all manner of Mystery, and each and every time he'd found a way around them.

Those times, despite the magi being actively hunted down, they had shown no inhibition to keep their spells hidden. In fact, the ones who ought to have hidden more were usually the ones that were the flashiest.

It all came down to the inherent arrogance that magi had. Even Rin and Luvia had that. They held in themselves the idea that they were better than the normal, everyday human. And it wasn't without reason. The mere existence of their abilities proved that.

That was why most magi, in spite of their need to keep secrecy, felt the need to show off. They needed to prove to the world that they were superior, they were different. That they were above everyone else, even their fellow magus.

Shirou wasn't like that.

He didn't have pride in his abilities. For him, they were merely a means to an end. His repertoire of spells consisted of five spells, one of which most magi thought to just be Gradation Air, and another one that most didn't know he had. Such a pitiful selection would cause any first rate magus to spit at him in disgust.

He didn't care.

He felt no need to show off his abilities, no need to show his enemies his possible weaknesses.

That didn't mean that he didn't know how.

"On."

The enemy they were fighting had honed their superiority over the continent for who knows how long. They were comfortable in the idea that no one was stronger than them.

Shirou would prove them wrong.

A red spear formed in his hand. He stared at it in a vague sense of nostalgia. Gáe Bolg. The spear that had gouged out his own heart. With a nod, he nocked it in his bow. With a breath, he drew it back.

This Traced copy wasn't the best he could do. In fact, where the original would be a B+ on the Servant system, he would place this Traced copy at around D-. Hollow, and unbefitting of a Noble Phantasm had Cú Chulainn seen it.

He didn't need it to be overtly powerful though, not when the enemy already had no way of defending, nor did he want it to be for what he had in mind.

"I am the bone of my sword."

Mana pooled around the nocked Noble Phantasm. The shouts of battle below him faded as more and more people watched him. He glowed in the background of the night sky, his form an eerie red. He felt a grim smile as he saw the army halt at the sight.

With a breath, the spear shifted. It Broke. An acute sense of bloodlust could be felt from the weapon.

He fired.

A red streak flew through the air, punctuated by two words.

"Gáe Bolg."

It slammed into a single man. Then another. Then another. It kept going, the spear going through the hearts of men and demi humans alike. Most died instantly. They were the lucky ones. Even from his perch, he could hear the screams as those who'd been unlucky enough to live through the Noble Phantasm.

Large, red thorns grew from inside their body, carving their way out of every orifice. Their screams belied pain beyond human recognition, before those too were cut off as their very mouths were encompassed with thorns. In short order, they were speared to the ground, a facsimile of thorny trees.

It was punctuated with ever growing horror when the enemy realized that those people were still alive while it happened, their twitching hands and eyes that begged for mercy, the curse of the Noble Phantasm refusing to let them die a quick death.

The army retreated. Shirou closed his eyes as he refused to look at the aftermath. Climbing down,he was met with the grim satisfaction of the elves, and the pale faces of the JSDF.

With a self-deprecating smile, he made his way back inside the base. The enemy had been routed. They would think twice before they attacked again, not when he'd displayed a frankly terrifying ability.

He had won the battle.

"Alnus Hill." A bloody halberd made its way into the dirt. The bodies of a dozen bandits fell with it. A smile, "I understand, my Lord."

A/N: A bit of a notice for Broken Phantasms: in this fic, and likely any other fic I write from this point on, Breaking a Noble Phantasm doesn't just make it explode. Instead, they enhance the properties of whatever Noble Phantasm it is, then they optionally explode, depending on the Phantasm. I know it goes against a bit of lore, but it feels better than just making a bigger bomb all the time.

If you like what I do and want to support me, check out my P-atreon at P-atreon•com(slash)Almistyor.

And a special thanks to: Oliver vazquez, brutalcrab and Tassimo. Heat is a pain, hope you all stay safe!