Pain. That was the first thing Shirō felt.
Her body ached, every muscle sore, as if she'd just been thrown through a building—which, honestly, wasn't far from the truth. But beyond the dull throbbing of exhaustion and lingering battle wounds, there was something worse.
Something tight.
Something restrictive.
Shirō's eyes snapped open.
And what she saw—
What she felt—
What the actual fuck?!
She was bound—shackled. Arms tied behind her back, legs spread and restrained in a humiliating position, waist bent uncomfortably forward as if she were a prisoner on display. The cold, metallic touch of enchanted restraints dug into her skin, pulsing faintly with magic.
And then—
The dress.
White. Frilly. Layers of expensive silk and lace, delicate embroidery running along the fabric—a wedding dress.
Someone had changed her.
What. The. Fuck.
Her face flushed red, not out of embarrassment but rage.
Shirō immediately struggled, muscles straining against the chains—damn it! She was strong, but whatever these shackles were made of, they were reinforced. She wasn't getting out of them easily.
The air around her smelled of damp stone and old magic. Dimly lit torches lined the walls, casting eerie flickering shadows across the gothic dungeon she was trapped in.
A castle?
No.
A dungeon.
She clenched her teeth. "Where the hell am I—"
"I see you are awake, Saber."
That voice.
Shirō's head snapped up.
And there, standing in the dim torchlight, was a hooded figure.
A woman. Floating gracefully, dark robes flowing behind her, an amused smirk playing on her lips.
Caster.
"You." Shirō's voice was sharp with pure hatred.
Caster chuckled, gliding toward her effortlessly. "Ah, that expression. Shocked, aren't we?"
Shirō's fingers twitched. If she weren't bound, she'd have already tried to punch her.
"What the hell do you want, you bastard?"
Caster sighed, as if disappointed by her crudeness. "Such language from a knight. But very well—I'll get to the point."
Her smirk widened.
"I want you, Saber."
Shirō scowled.
"Not happening."
Caster tilted her head, amused. "Are you certain? Without a Master, you're extremely weak—but you have immense potential. With my limitless mana supply, you'd be more powerful than ever. If you become my Servant—"
She leaned in.
"We would be unstoppable."
Shirō spat at her feet. "Go to hell."
Caster sighed.
"You are a troublesome girl, Saber."
She lifted a delicate hand, magic humming at her fingertips. "Do you even understand what we could achieve together? The Grail. Imagine what we could do with it."
Shirō wasn't listening.
Because she was too busy trying to break free.
Her body strained against the restraints, raw strength pushing against the magical binds—her fingers twitching, trying to summon Excalibur—come on, come on, come on—
And then—
Pain.
Sharp. Electric.
A jolt of powerful magic ripped through her body.
"GAAAH—!"
Her body jerked, muscles locking as the shock tore through her nerves. It felt like her entire being was being burned from the inside out—every inch of her flesh screaming in agony.
She barely registered the fact that—
Caster was touching her.
Her exposed thigh.
The source of the shock.
Shirō growled through gritted teeth.
"You—fucking—bitch—"
Caster merely smiled.
"So stubborn," she murmured, running a single finger along Shirō's leg as if testing her tolerance. The moment Shirō tensed, she zapped her again—just a little.
Shirō bit her lip, refusing to cry out.
Caster's smile widened. "You have limited time, Saber," she said softly.
She pressed a little harder against Shirō's thigh, letting another pulse of pure mana seep into her nerves.
"Think well."
A pulse. Tingling.
"If you refuse me—"
Another jolt.
"You will be forced to do everything I say."
Shirō glared, her body shaking from the pain, from the fury.
Over her dead body.