The old municipal power station loomed over the leyline junction like a rusted sentinel. The air here was thick with mana, the ground humming faintly underfoot.
Medea crouched at the junction's heart, weaving sigils into the frost. "He's been circling this point for two nights. If he feeds here, his strength will double."
Kotomine's smile was thin. "Then we give him what he wants."
Rin's eyes narrowed. "And hope he's arrogant enough to take the bait."
Voss, Rider's Master, stood apart, his silver hair catching the dim light. "He will. Predators can't resist a kill they think is easy."
Shirou's gaze swept the group. "Positions. We hit him from all sides."
High above, on the skeletal frame of an unfinished tower, Gilgamesh leaned against a steel beam, watching the preparations.
"The mongrels conspire," he murmured. "They think themselves hunters, yet they bait the trap with their own throats."
His gaze lingered on Shirou. "The Raven plays at commander now. He wears infamy like a coronet, and the world bends around him. Even the Association dances to his tune, though they curse his name."
A faint smile. "A man who can warp the order of things without a throne or a Grail… perhaps worth my attention after all."
They took their positions:
Saber and Archer on the rooftops, covering the main approach, Rider and Voss in the shadows of the loading docks, Rin behind a broken wall, jewels ready, and Shirou and Medea at the junction itself, the bait in plain sight.
The cold bit deep. Every sound seemed too loud.
Saber's voice came softly over the comm link. "He will come."
Archer's reply was dry. "You sound certain."
"I know predators," she said. "And I know kings."
Archer glanced at her, something unspoken in his eyes. "And which am I?"
She didn't answer.
The fog came first, rolling in from the river like a living thing. Then the silence — the kind that swallows even your own breathing.
Shirou felt it before he saw him: a pressure in the air, a cold that sank into the bones.
Dracula stepped from the mist, armor black and ridged, his smile sharp. The thrall followed, eyes vacant.
"You set the table for me," Dracula said. "How gracious."
Medea's wards flared violet. "You won't feed here."
He laughed. "I already have."
He moved faster than before — a blur of steel and shadow. Saber dropped from the rooftop to intercept, her invisible blade ringing against his curved swords. Archer's arrows hissed through the fog, forcing him to twist and weave.
Shirou's eyes flicked to Archer's bow — structural analysis flaring in his mind. The weapon's composition, weight, and mana pathways unfolded in an instant. He traced it, the projection forming in his hand even as he closed the distance.
Dracula's thrall intercepted him, their blades clashing in a flurry of sparks. Shirou's mind catalogued every weapon in sight — Saber's sword, Archer's short blades, even the curved steel in Dracula's hands — each one stored in the endless vault of his Reality Marble.
Medea's spells lashed out beside him, chains of light and bursts of flame forcing the thrall back a step.
The first gunshot cracked through the fog.
Shadows moved at the perimeter — JSDF soldiers, rifles raised, shouting orders. They'd tracked the mana surge to the power station.
"Idiots," Rin hissed. "They'll just—"
Dracula moved.
He was among them in a heartbeat, blades flashing, fangs bared. The first soldier dropped without a sound, his skin paling as Dracula drank deep. The others fired wildly, bullets sparking off armor and wards.
"Stop him!" Saber shouted, breaking from the melee.
But Shirou was already moving — and Archer with him.
Shirou's traced bow came up, mana arrows forming in a blink. Archer's real bow sang beside him, their shots weaving together in a deadly rhythm. Every soldier Dracula reached for fell before he could touch them — clean, precise kills.
There was no hesitation. No mercy.
Rin's voice was sharp in his ear. "Shirou—!"
"They're already dead if he feeds," Shirou said flatly, loosing another arrow.
Archer didn't speak, but his eyes met Shirou's for a fraction of a second — an unspoken acknowledgment that, in this at least, they agreed.
The fog thickened, gunfire and screams echoing in the dark. Rider's chains lashed out, dragging two soldiers clear before Dracula could reach them. Medea's wards flared, sealing off the junction.
Dracula broke free of Saber's guard with a surge of strength, hurling her back into a wall. Archer's arrows struck his armor, but he barely slowed.
Shirou traced one of Archer's twin short swords mid-stride, the copy materializing in his hand as he met Dracula head-on. Steel rang against steel, sparks lighting the fog.
"You learn quickly," Dracula said, amused.
"I learn everything," Shirou replied — and drove him back a step.
Rin's jewels detonated at Dracula's feet, forcing him to leap clear. He landed near the perimeter, the thrall at his side.
"This was… entertaining," he said, bowing mockingly. "We'll do it again."
And then he was gone, the fog collapsing into empty air.
The ground was littered with bodies — soldiers, pale and still. The air stank of blood and gunpowder.
Medea limped to Shirou's side, her hand brushing his arm. "You didn't hesitate."
"He was feeding," Shirou said. "I wasn't going to let him get stronger."
Her gaze lingered on him. "And if the others think you're a monster for it?"
He met her eyes. "Then they're right."
Rin stood apart from the others, her hands clenched in her coat pockets. She'd seen Shirou kill before — but never like this. No hesitation, no flicker of doubt. Just clean, efficient elimination of the JSDF before Dracula could reach them. She told herself it was necessary. She told herself she'd have done the same. But the image of his eyes — cold, focused, utterly unshaken — stayed with her.
Voss was harder to read. Rider stood at his side, silent, but her gaze lingered on Shirou with something between appraisal and wariness. Voss himself simply noted the efficiency, the speed, the way Shirou and Archer had moved in perfect, lethal rhythm. "A dangerous man," he thought. "And one who grows more dangerous by the day."
Kotomine smiled faintly, as if the night had confirmed something he'd suspected all along. "The mask is slipping," he mused. "And when it falls, we'll see what's underneath."
Medea stayed close to Shirou, her hand brushing his arm as if to anchor him. She'd seen the way the others looked at him now — not just as an ally, but as a threat. And she knew he'd seen it too.
From his high perch, Gilgamesh watched the aftermath with the satisfaction of a man reading the final lines of a well-written play.
The Raven had not merely fought — he had commanded the flow of the battle. He had denied the leech his feast, not by protecting the weak, but by removing them from the board entirely. It was not mercy. It was control.
From the rooftop, Archer watched Shirou speak quietly with Medea, the two of them framed by the pale glow of the wards.
He's faster than he should be, Archer thought. Sharper. Every weapon he sees, he learns. Every movement, he adapts. That bow he traced tonight — perfect. My short swords — flawless copies. Even the way he reinforced his body… it's cleaner than I remember.
He remembered his own early days — the clumsy projections, the strain of holding a blade together for more than a few seconds. Shirou had skipped those years entirely. The merger of minds, the months of training, the war itself — it was forging him into something dangerous far too quickly.
If he keeps this pace, Archer thought, he won't just survive this War. He'll win it. And then… he'll keep going. He'll chase that ideal until it kills him — or worse, until it kills everything else.
Archer's jaw tightened. I may have to move sooner than I planned. Before he becomes the Hero of Justice. Before he becomes me.
Shirou felt the weight of their eyes on him — Rin's unease, Voss's calculation, Kotomine's amusement, Archer's silent judgment. Even Saber's gaze was different now, more searching.
He remembered her words from earlier: Masks can protect. They can also trap.
The Steel-Eyed Raven mask had protected him tonight. But as he looked at the bodies cooling on the ground, he wondered if it was starting to trap him too.
Somewhere in the city, Dracula was already hunting again, and somewhere above, Gilgamesh was smiling.