Fate-in time

95

For the longest time, you were always the one I looked up to.
A

single drawing can describe a thousand words, and the picture painted over Arturia's features spoke it all. Disbelief, confusion, hurt, uneasiness, all were apparent in just her expression alone, but more than that was the stifling abyss growing from deep within her ever still.
You were my hero.
"Shirou?" She called out again, tentative, almost pleading, but that familiar black bow did not lower. Instead, a twisted sword formed in Archer's other hand, ornate in design, and deceptively unassuming in its destructive capability.
You were my goal.
She knew the power of Shirou's arrows, and what they could do to a compact army or even a lone individual. He couldn't be allowed to fire, as his arrows were more than enough to endanger even her.
You were my strength.
She shivered, the grip she had on her sword tightening ever so slightly as she acted on instinct. Her feet planted into the ground, strength surging from her legs as she shot forward in a heart beat, blood rushing to her head as nausea assailed her.
With you by my side, there was no foe we couldn't defeat, no task too great to surmount.
She rammed into him with her shoulder, knocking back his bow and arrow before a fist came and punched him in the face with a loud thwack of chattering teeth. He staggered back, as she stood frozen while her mind processed what she'd just done, looking from her fist, to Archer, then back in abject horror.
A lump formed in her throat as she tried to reason.
"Ah- I-I didn't mean to. Y-You were going to…"
She trailed off as Archer merely wiped the blood away from a split lip, and said not a word while regaining his bearings. However, the steel in his gaze when he looked at her was more piercing than any sword.
If it was you and I, then we could create something truly meaningful.
It was hard to breathe, her mind utterly blank, lost if anything.
She lost her grip on her sword, the legendary weapon of the Fae clattering to the ground where she clumsily moved to pick it up, grabbing it by the hilt, but then losing grip of it again from her trembling fingers.
She was vulnerable. So utterly vulnerable at this moment that she'd be hard pressed to stave off the attack of an ordinary knight let alone someone of Archer's skill.
Knowingly or not, the sight was more of a mental blow for Archer than Arturia could ever hope to imagine. He didn't strike her, nor did he take advantage of her weakness, because inwardly he couldn't bring himself to do it.
The army behind Arturia however, wasn't really within Archer's considerations.
Arturia's hesitation, and moment of weakness cost her.
By the time she glanced up back, it was to see a dim glow illuminate her features from the tip of an arrow pointed at the army behind her. She clambered to her feet, her hands gaining strength and gripping her sword in desperation knowing what was to come.
"Stop! STOP!" She pleaded on deaf ears.
She'd barely managed to push off towards Archer again before the arrow already notched and aimed was let loose at speeds she could hardly react against. Then the explosion came, shockwaves of wind blowing back gravel and dirt into a storm that tore apart the knights behind her.
She was knocked off her feet from the force, barely righting herself at the lost moment to maintain a standing position while shielding her eyes from shrapnel.
Screams echoed, followed by dull thuds of groaning metal falling from up high, mottling the ground with speckles of ash and embers.
Stiffly, she craned her neck to observe the damage behind her, her shoulders trembling when she did before she bit down on her lips and snapped her attention back to Archer.
H-How could you?
She let out a muffled sob, her vision growing clouded from a combination of grief, outrage, and denial.
A fourth of the earnest knights who answered her call were killed instantly while over half suffered injuries. Burning pieces of debris from torn coat-of-arms and singed tassets paved the way to an oppressive silence offset only by the sound of Archer notching another arrow.
Strike Air!
Arturia screamed, bolting forward with bloodshot eyes and appearing directly in front of Archer in a gale of torrential wind.
Why? WHY?!
"Why are you doing this?!" She felt helpless, jabbing her sword in the groove between the bowstring and the flexible base and wrenching the weapon out of Archer's grip in muted loss.
Both the bow and notched arrow clattered to the earth in the stifling silence as her feet touched the ground and she rounded on Archer with a twisting strike. A blur of blue and steel grey flashed within a shower of sparks as the armour of her gauntlets grated against a blocked strike to her torso which forced her to redirect her swing.
Excalibur cleaved a ten-foot chasm into the ground, supplemented by howling wind blades formed from magic energy before the sword lodged in the dirt.
Her ears preened a second later, hearing the whistling blow intent on stunning her, but she wouldn't have it. She stomped her feet for stability and rounded back to see Archer attempt to grapple her.
Letting go of her sword, she grunted while shouldering into Archer's body, effectively halting his momentum while she brought up her fist and punched him in the gut.
Huffing and panting for breath, she watched as Archer staggered back, and she used the opportunity to dislodge Excalibur from the ground, her distraught features reflected on the blade's surface.
No one spoke. No one said anything.
Even now Arturia was still trembling, but even with her strikes, Archer only appeared somewhat phased. It was only natural considering a single key aspect.
"If your sword has no intention of reaching me, you'll never win." Archer hit the nail right on the head while the bow and arrow on the ground faded away in motes of blue light.
Arturia swallowed, her eyes wavering even as she glared. Indeed. If she thought she could subdue Archer with just her hands, then she was dreaming. She gritted her teeth as the low sounds of pained groaning echoed from behind her.
She couldn't hesitate any longer.
Experience spoke for itself. Archer didn't waver in striking her army in her moment of weakness. If he had did it before, he'd do it again.
"You didn't answer my question! Why?!" She demanded; her voice hoarse, brittle.
There were so many thoughts and emotions running rampant in her mind that it was almost unbearable. Yet even still, she charged forward at Archer again, swinging her sword as Kanshou and Bakuya appeared in Archer's grip.
Her lips quivered, tears tricking down from her eyes in a manner that revealed their redness as she clashed head on with her newest adversary.
It was the same: The tactics, the movements, the openings.
'Square your shoulders when you strike.'
The words that he once spoke,
'Never take your eyes off of your opponent.'
The lessons that he taught- more tears trickled down her eyes as she pressed them closed and prevented herself from whimpering.
She'd always taken them to heart, and now she was using those lessons against him.
Parry, strike, press forward, deflect, he was as much a mentor to her younger self as Merlin had been.
She thrust towards an opening on Archer's liver area, but was immediately parried by a white sword and pushed on the defence with a black one. Grimacing, she released a torrent of air, backed up for space, and swung down in an overhead strike.
Archer raised his swords up in a crossed block, catching her sword mid-swing.
Their swords locked in place, fighting for dominance as she and Archer put their weight into their strikes. Steel groaned, emotions ran turbulent while teal eyes stared into unassuming grey.
Images appeared in her mind of the past, superimposing over their older selves and taking her back to a time where they sparred as children in the fields of Bristol.
He stood there unfettered and encouragingly, and she would challenge him again and again like climbing a steep mountain. His gaze was warm, his actions meaningful and always in her best interest. It showed in his care for her; in his tender sentiments and patience which only now in her adulthood she could understand and appreciate.
Then all too quickly, the image of Shirou's inviting features morphed into the solemn scowl on Archer's face directed at her.
"You're not him!" She blurted out, pushing back on her sword and disengaging with a burst of power. Between her subsequent swings and the clashing steel, one hand wiped away the tears on her face. "He'd never have-!"
"You're right. I am not him," Archer cut in snidely, his features twisting into a solemn leer. "What gave it away?"
It was the very first smidgen of emotion he'd shown since the beginning, and the hidden frustration and regrets tinged in his tone was something that Arturia could never miss. She knew all of Shirou's quirks, habits, and personality. Although Archer was different from Shirou, some aspects were still similar enough to be able to interpret.
For all the bravado and scorn Archer tried to project, how would he have known that all Arturia would perceive was one thing alone:
This man was hurting.
The words caught in Arturia's throat.
"Stop that," she said. She didn't feel comfortable, the faint trembling of her lips bellying the turmoil within her, but it was as if Archer just couldn't understand.
"Stop what?" He swung, forcing Arturia to block and stagger back step by step as the intensity and power of Archer's blows increased.
"Y-You're not supposed to be like this!" She persisted.
The dry humour trying to mask uncertainty.
The callousness of his remarks-
What happened to you?
A part of her could tell that Archer was still Shirou, but at the same time not. This was what was warring in her mind. How could he feel so foreign, yet so familiar at the same time?
She pursed her lips, deflecting Archer's strikes to the left and right respectively before shoving him back with a forward kick.
"And how am I supposed to be like?" Archer tanked the blow, grabbing her leg and throwing it aside while closing the distance between them such that he loomed over her. "By your side? A reckless, selfish, and disillusioned fool ignorant of the consequences of his own actions?"
She stared right up at him, uncaring for the blade leveled by her neck. She pressed, inching herself forward, and beyond all expectations, he was the one to falter.
This only drove the feeling inside of her into a certainty.
"Please," she tried reasoning, looking past the destruction and grief Archer had already caused her. "Drop the act. Why are you doing this?"
For a moment, it looked like she was getting through to him, pensiveness taking root in his features, but it still wasn't enough.
"Why does it matter to you? A stranger? This conversation is over," he grumbled darkly.
Those word hurt more than she was willing to admit.
"Over? No, it's not!" She spoke.
She tried to reach out to him, to hold him in a way she knew always comforted her Shirou. However, she found a foot impacting against her stomach which quickly punted her a distance away, her knees wobbling while trying to correct herself. Finally, she stabilized by stabbing her sword into the ground and using it as support.
Dismayed and wheezing with a hand rubbing over her stomach to help her recover faster, she refused to give up even as Archer pressed the attack.
Steel clashed and produced showers of glowing sparks which illuminated the intensity of her teal eyes, earnest in their imploring.
"Talk to me," she spoke softly. "You always asked me to share problems so we could solve them together."
Archer was growing irritable, not at Arturia, but at the situation he was placed in. Arturia's actions were only serving to make things harder on him. "I told you I'm not him. What does that statement have anything to do with me?" He raged, annoyed only to grow stunned at the response.
"Because I can see that you know me!"
Arturia yelled, pushing back Kanshou and Bakuya with a well-timed swing before letting go of Excalibur to embrace the Shirou she knew was hurting in front of her. She felt him tremble, a shudder travelling down his body while strength seemed to leave his figure.
Archer's arms came to rest by his sides, his lips thinning as he shook his head.
"You can't convince me, Arturia," Archer sighed almost helplessly, the utterance of a name causing both sides to appear as if they'd aged by over ten years. "This is of my own doing."
She glanced sharply up at him when she saw that he had no intention of attacking her again at the moment.
"Then why do you look like you're in pain?!" She argued. "You're lying if you're saying that this is your own choice!"
He didn't answer.
"You even hesitate when you swing at me!"
He flinched this time, his hands trying to push Arturia away.
"It's Morgan! It has to be Morgan. She did something to you! S-She's always trying everything to make my life miserable. She-"
"Enough!" Archer put more force into his efforts and managed to shove Arturia away. She stared blankly up at him, her brows knit together, her expression torn.
Archer didn't know what else to say to make his task any easier, but in the end, he could only try. "If you truly know me, then you should understand that as you are now, you can't stop me. I, you- to hell with this. Camelot must fall, but surely you don't have to die. Can't you just leave and live on in seclusion?" He asked now in earnest.
Proper human history could be restored even without Arturia's death so long as she swore to not interfere with future developments in Britain. Camelot would fall, and all other discrepancies could be smoothed over by a corrective force.
This was as much leeway as Archer felt he had as an Agent of the Counter Force. However, Arturia just shook her head in refusal.
She couldn't do it. Now wasn't a time where she could just retreat even if she wanted to.
A part of her was still reeling from when Archer had shoved her away, but more than that, all of her attention had focused on a drawing tucked beneath her breastplate which had slipped out. Drifting in the air where the wind caught the parchment, it glided towards Archer who stared at it in confusion.
"Ah," Arturia let out a small sound of longing, her hands subconsciously trying to reach out but nowhere near close enough to even touch the lost item.
Archer stared at the rather crude drawing now in his hands. There was nothing much to say about medieval art let alone paintings, but he found it hard to believe that Arturia would ever attach such importance on such a thing.
The parchment depicted a man, a woman, and two tiny children playing on all fours on the floor while the man and woman watched fondly.
"G-Give it back." Arturia pushed up onto her feet, not making anymore sudden movements lest he destroy the small painting by accident. "D-Don't tear it."
Archer frowned harder before carefully giving the drawing back, and watching as a flurry of emotions flickered across Arturia's face.
"Morgan, she has our children. They're only a year old," she said helplessly as Archer gave her a probing look before bawling her hands into fists in resolve. "How can you expect me to leave them? I can't. I won't. You should be helping me! You're their father!"
The news struck Archer like a bolt of lightning; the image depicted on the paper taking on a whole new meaning. He knew now that it was impossible for Arturia to back down and just leave. Moreover, kids? His younger self's kids, and by extension his own if his life choices were just a tad bit different.
He'd never had kids, never even thought of it, but this was just too much on an emotional level.
Forget it.
Archer sighed derisively before coming to a decision.
Right or wrong he wouldn't have to make that choice just yet.
Archer dismissed Kanshou and Bakuya while leveling a solemn stare at Arturia.
"Listen closely because I won't repeat this," he backed away such that he was no longer within attack range. "I have a tendency to overextend when it seems as if I'm at the advantage. If you time it just right, you will be able to cut off my left arm followed by my right. I will then be forced to retreat and recuperate in a time span that I estimate to be an hour or less. You'll be free to do as you wish in that time."
Arturia stilled. Was he implying what she thought he was implying?
"What are you-" She barely got out before she was interrupted.
"Whether you can do it or not, the decision is yours. Everything else will be out of my hands. It's the only way you're going to get passed me," Archer said with finality, leaving Arturia with little choice but to agree.
"I will do it," she said despite her inner conflicts.
"Then be careful. I can't hold back, so I suggest moving your army away from my archery range to prevent their massacre and sending only a concise group of people to contend against me. This will limit my usage of Anti-Army Noble Phantasms."
Arturia was rattled at Archer's sudden change of heart.
"Y-You'd let us do that?" She stammered out.
He snorted before cutting a distinct line across the grass.
"I am compelled by a greater being to actively participate in this mess," he explained without elaborating. "However, I am not obligated to attack should my condition prove inadequate. I'm already doing my best to give you this short reprieve."
Veins were popping over Archer's skin, his body trembling from whatever exertion was forcing him to act against her. Arturia felt her mouth dry, her thoughts jumbled. Perhaps it was out of her love and devotion, that her mind quickly latched onto any excuse to explain why Archer was opposing her.
He was forced. This thought alone was enough to lift a weight from her shoulders.
"Shirou-"
"I no longer go by that name since the day I died," Archer cut in harshly, his words like drums in her ears.
Died? Dead?
For a moment, Arturia swayed, her knees wobbling, and then she looked at Archer. Really looked, feeling out with her magic energy and feeling that Archer's physical body was made entirely out of Spiritrons.
Merlin had once taught her of humanoid warriors like this.
Heroic Spirits.
Yet for Shirou to be a Heroic Spirit now, did he really die? Her understanding of Heroic Spirits was unfortunately lacking.
Her heart grew numb at the realization, but she didn't have time to ask any other questions.
"Plan well, King of Knights. I can't hold myself back for long so go," Archer dismissed her.
She opened and closed her mouth, but the words she wanted to speak; the questions she wanted answered; none of it came out while seeing Archer struggle not to just lash out at her or her army.
Biting down on her lips, she turned, ran back to Llamrei, and on her mount, she galloped back to her distant army. When Morgan's forces tried to pursue, all it took was one glare from Archer to force them to remain in place.
When Arturia and her army was finally out of view, Archer felt as if his strings had been cut, a derisive laugh escaping his mouth.
What a sick joke.
With these hands that can't hold anything…
"I hate my life."
He was always doing the dirty work.
After pulling back what was left of her gathered forces and finding a safe location to rest, an oppressive air hung over a make-shift camp.
Those that were injured were being attended to by those that remained generally unharmed. As for that had perished, there really was nothing that could be done except curse their luck for being in the wrong place at the wrong time- no. It was her fault. She was the one who called them here and failed to react in time to save them.
Arturia couldn't bear the sight for much longer and turned away to address those that stood across from her: Emily, Palamid, and the Son of Wolfred. This was a circle of close friends and those that she felt comfortable confiding with.
Sighing deeply, she stared at each of their solemn expressions and only began to feel worse about what had happened.
"Don't beat yourself up over this," Emily was the first to speak and break the silence, an unmistakable frown on her features while she regarded Arturia. "None of us could have expected this kind of outcome, and if that man really is Shirou, then we should be thankful that this many of us came out unscathed."
Arturia murmured something out, but it was too quiet to hear.
"He held back," Arturia repeated; this time stronger. "He didn't move at all when I disarmed his bow, nor did he seem to have any inclination to really kill everyone. I could tell. He may be different, but that's still Shirou under there."
Everyone gave a curt nod, trusting in Arturia's words.
"He's a Heroic Spirit," Emily surmised after a long moment, walking up and placing a hand on Arturia's shoulder. "With Merlin as a teacher, you should know this term Arturia."
Arturia grew pensive, slowly nodding before looking up at Emily. "Does that mean that Shirou's really dead?" She couldn't hide the fragility of her tone, and Emily didn't beat around the bush.
"Yes. Only someone that's dead and has accomplished feats worthy of renown can become a Heroic Spirit, and none of us really expect anything less from Shirou," Emily easily admitted, but before Arturia could despair at the thought that she shouldn't have let Shirou go out on his own, Emily continued. "But this doesn't mean that 'our' Shirou is dead. The construct above the Kingdom is the greatest indicator. If our Shirou died, then surely it would have fallen already."
Relief flood through Arturia's body, causing her to sag her shoulders if only slightly as one of her greatest worries was assuaged.
"Then who's the Shirou who's stopping us?" Palamid asked. He may not know the meaning of the specific terminology used, but it didn't stop him from following along and understanding what mattered.
Emily nodded at the question before moving her gaze to address everyone as a whole. Her education in House Barthomeloi was in-depth and immersive. She already had an idea forming about what could have happened.
"The Throne of Heroes stands outside the limitations of time and space," Emily surmised candidly. "It's not impossible that Morgan has somehow summoned a future or past Shirou knowing how much it would pain you, Arturia."
Of this, Arturia had no doubt. She shuddered, her hands clasping together. At the very least, it was now clear that this Shirou wasn't the same Shirou who was her husband and childhood sweetheart.
"But that doesn't make sense! He acted like he didn't know us!" The Son of Wolfred couldn't keep silent any longer and brought up a valid point. He wasn't as adept at inferring the nuances of the situation as Palamid, but he wore his heart on his sleeve. "He even attacked his own wife and fellow countrymen! If he's from the future, then how could he not recognize us?!"
"He knows me, but can't seem to recognize any of you in your adult forms…" Arturia muttered in deep thought, before stilling.
It can't be.
"Who said that this version of Shirou is the one we know?" Emily interjected sharply before wilting with a tired breath. "Do you all want to hear my theory?"
A round of nods, and a tentative one from Arturia whose complexion was suddenly quite pale.
"This Shirou may come from a timeline where he really did die five years ago. This explains why he wouldn't recognize any of us as we are now aside from Arturia who hasn't changed much ever since she stopped aging. The feats and legends centered around his name as an Ashton would have been more than enough to let him be a Heroic Spirit. His archery in the battle of the river Gleinn alone is still spread to this day."
"That still doesn't explain why he'd fire on us," the Son of Wolfred argued, but all he got in response were strained expressions.
"He may not have had a choice, as some greater power seemed to be forcing him to intervene. Isn't that right Arturia?" Palamid asked to verify, recalling parts of Arturia's earlier explanation.
No answer came however, prompting all to glance at the Queen's direction only to see her brooding with a pained grimace.
Arturia was being awfully silent.
If it was as she thought, and Emily was right, then Archer was the Shirou that she had failed to save five years ago, and now he was somehow on the same side as Morgan.
Was this Karma for her prior inadequacy? She didn't know, only that the thought that she'd failed him and would now have to defeat him kept echoing in her mind.
"Arturia?"
Arturia glanced up to see everyone looking at her with concern, causing her to put on a strained smile. "I'm fine," she lied without blinking. "This alternate timeline Shirou said that it would best to defeat him in a small group, and leave the others out of range of his bow. Will you all come with me?"
Everyone here had sparred with Shirou before, or at the very least was well acquainted enough with Shirou in order to read his habits and movements. More importantly, they would be able to compliment each other as childhood rivals and friends.
"Naturally," Palamid scoffed. "This will mark the day of our first time one-upping the prodigy of House Ashton. None of us have ever really beaten him before on our own," Palamid admitted with a shrug.
"But this time we have to win," the Son of Wolfred grunted.
On this statement, everyone agreed, and for that, they'd need to rely on each other.
Arturia could feel everyone's convictions, and for the most part, she resolved herself for what she needed to do. However, nothing was ever going to be easy.
Her gaze froze while staring upon the fading shadow up above, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she bolted to get a better view.
Why?
Her heart sunk in her chest, her pupils dilating at the implications.
The large construct over Camelot was disappearing.
-Hours before Arturia's arrival.
Shirou had half-a-mind to believe that he was being led into a trap, but considering a hostage situation, he had no ability to decline this invitation nor would he put it off even if he wanted to.
There were just some things that had to be done and seen through as soon as possible. He didn't know how much suffering Mordred, his children, and Arturia had endured under Morgan's machinations, but one thing was clear to him. He wanted to end their suffering no matter what.
Therefore, when he first read Morgan's message to meet up within Camelot's eastern fortified citadel to settle their grievances once and for all, he had immediately set off, and here he was now.
Camelot's eastern citadel was one out of four surrounding citadels placed on the cardinal directions surrounding the central castle. Different from the other citadels, the eastern citadel was nothing grand as it faced a natural hillside with a steep drop almost impossible for any army to attack from enmass. It was a natural fort where even the sun's light was obscured by the looming shadow of the hill.
As it was now, the area was baren of any human presence, the large double doors leading within the citadel opening entirely on their own at his approach.
How inviting, he mused if only because it looked like he was walking into the mouth of a starved beast.
The interior was dim lit, only a few candles to light the way forward. The magic circles, incantations, or even a bounded field that he was expecting Morgan to have placed in preparation within the citadel were strangely lacking. Was Morgan just confident in her own abilities, or did she take to heart that he had the means to nullify magecraft and as such didn't bother with anything overt?
Knowing Morgan, it was likely the latter option.
No matter. If Morgan was truly intent on settling their grievances now, then only one of them would be walking out of this building and going their separate ways.
Walking deep within the citadel's halls, he eventually reached the main chamber where he finally found himself stopping.
"Mordred," he called ever so softly when he took notice of who was waiting for him dressed in her iconic armour and wielding Caliburn in her grip.
He should never have had sent her back on her own, and even then, allowed her to remain in Morgan's hands for this long.
Just like before, close proximity to him seemed to allow some sort of resistance to flicker to life on Mordred's person, but this time an eerie magic circle flashed over the center of her forehead and effectively restrained her. Morgan should have placed a stronger spell to offset the influence of the Ashton Crest.
"King Ashton, you've finally come," Morgan's voice echoed in the chamber unable to be pinpointed.
"And I see that you have not," he snorted. "Afraid to be anywhere near me so you hide in the shadows?"
"You malign me. Would any competent magus underestimate a wielder of True Magic? The scope of your versatility astounds me time and time again, but no more. I offer you a choice."
He raised a brow as a magic contract hovered towards him.
A Geis?
"Sign it," Morgan said without pause. "And I'll uphold my end of contract by not directly interfering with Mordred any longer."
Silently, he read the details of the Geis; pausing as he realized that the only limiting clause the Geis had other than dismissing the Sword of Damocles was that he'd be bound to remain within the eastern citadel for the duration of a year. It was more than enough time for Morgan to consolidate her bases, and Mordred was being used as the bargaining chip.
Furrowing his brows, he considered his options. If he refused this now, then just like before, Morgan may very well whisk Mordred out of reach again. He just needed to get Mordred close enough to him, and this farce would all end.
With this in mind, he signed the Geis without hesitation much to Morgan's jubilance.
"Now get rid of the construct," she demanded, the urgency of her tone revealing how much stress the Sword of Damocles had on her.
He simply nodded in response and bid Agatha to release her hold on the conceptual Noble Phantasm. Moments later, and the massive construct over Camelot began to fade away as if it never existed after serving its purpose.
In any case, he just needed Morgan to lower her guard.
"I held my end of this deal, now you hold yours," he said sternly to Morgan in warning before focusing his attention on Mordred alone. "I'm here. I'm going to get you out of this, and then we're going to save the twins, alright?"
A flicker of emotion crossed Mordred's features, but the magic circle glaring atop her forehead made it so it was difficult to discern anything.
He inched towards her, warry of any loopholes in the Geis Morgan may exploit outside of his knowledge, but nothing of the sort occurred. He reached Mordred without exception, and when the magic controlling her caused her to attack him, he made no motion of dodging and instead closed their distance.
Shatter thy oaths and contracts.
"This is the sword of negation and betrayal, that nullifies every kind of magecraft in the world."
A brilliant azure glow exuded from his palms before a jagged dagger the likes of which no one had ever laid eyes upon outside the journey of the Argo appeared. Thin and brittle, it was unconventional for any dagger for the purpose of cutting, but instead used primarily in ceremony.
Rule Breaker: Destroyer of all Talismans and Noble Phantasm of the Witch of Colchis.
Any and all thaumaturgy would be dispelled or destroyed under its blade.
Without hesitation, Rule Breaker nicked the magic circle over Mordred's forehead before trailing down her armour in a bid to unbind whatever else may try to constrain her.
Instantly, he could feel the intricate nature of the magic unbinding; see the way the colour and expression were returning to Mordred's face in full.
It had worked like he'd expected, his relief practically worn on his sleeve at this point as he tentatively moved to support Mordred from falling. "Sorry I'm late, but I'm here now," he whispered to her as she just started sobbing.
It was too much. Everything that Mordred had experienced in such a short time frame had been eating away at her from the very start.
To suddenly fall back into a warm embrace from someone that actually cared for her was enough to shatter any illusion of calm or brash pride in her.
"I'm going to get you out of here," he promised Mordred.
"And where do you think you're going? You are not permitted to leave this citadel," Morgan's voice resounded, annoyed.
Grimacing, he pulled away from Mordred once she was steady on her feet, and then looked around the room for anywhere Morgan may have been hiding. The scent of magic suffused the room, making it impossible to discern where any caster would be.
It didn't matter. He raised Rule Breaker up.
"What are you-"
In a deft motion, he pricked Rule Breaker over the seal of the Geas he'd just signed prior, cutting off all emotion in Morgan's voice as the Geas came undone, allowing him no drawbacks to leaving the vicinity of the area.
Morgan was oddly silent at the display.
If he didn't know her any better, then he might have believed that she was stewing in her anger, but this clearly wasn't it. Something was wrong. Did she perhaps expect him to somehow break even the binding nature of a Geis, and had made back up plans for it?
It wasn't out of the question, but he was confident that he could counter anything that Morgan would throw at him.
"Noooo!"
A desperate shout from behind pierced through the calm and his own self confidence.
It was too late.
He barely turned around in time to sense danger and react by barely swerving away and shifting a blow from his neck to his left shoulder. Yet this wasn't without consequence.
His left arm lay limply at his side, nearly cut off from the shoulder, Caliburn's grade as a Noble Phantasm enough to pierce through the defence of Dragon Skin.
He stared at Rule Breaker still in his right hand in abject confusion before glancing at Mordred who struck him with horror on her face. It may have been better for her to have remained emotionless, because right now every heart-wrenching stage of grief was playing out on her features as she acted against her will.
He backed away hastily from the follow up strike, but his mind was still in turmoil while holding Rule Breaker in hand.
I-It failed?
This wasn't supposed to happen. So long as any magic force had contact with Mordred, the dagger of the witch should have nullified it completely and outright destroyed it. He refused to believe that Morgan had been able to cast another set of spells under his scrutiny.
So then, what was happening?
He dodged another strike, blood splattering on the ground from the open wound on his left arm.
"Confused?" Morgan's voice finally resounded again. "I had predicted that you may be able to nullify the effects of magic from the moment you killed Duke Owels despite my defensive arrays. Fortunately, I had a month to tamper and experiment to some result."
"What did you do?" he cut in sharply.
"Do you think I'd tell you?" Morgan spat back from the shadows. "If anything, I'll give you a hint. No matter how you think otherwise, that tool is a Homunculus born of my womb. Take that fact as you will."
Shirou shut his mouth, his teeth gritting together as he soon realized that there was no getting out of this confrontation with Mordred. Alternatively, Mordred must have realized this too and visibly wilted.
"I'll save you."/ "Go away! Leave me!"
Two different thoughts resounded in each of their minds born out of concern for the other.
-This suffering, this hardship without escape no different from her own:
It was all too pleasing to Morgan's eyes.
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