Back in the real world, the illusion shattered. Caster's scream, a piercing, inhuman cry, tore through the air like a wounded animal. The sudden, violent severance of her connection to Shirō hit her like a shockwave, a psychic backlash that was both physical and magical. She staggered, clutching her chest as if something vital—something of herself—had just been ripped from her.
"No… impossible…" she whispered, her hands trembling, the graceful movements that defined her gone, replaced by a desperate, panicked instability. "How could she… she broke my spell, but… how?"
She never finished her question.
A blur of movement, and Rin was already upon her, her own exhaustion forgotten, replaced by a surge of pure, righteous fury.
This was her chance. Caster was wide open, her concentration and her mana shattered by the sudden collapse of her connection. A single blow, a single spell, and she could end this.
But before she could land a strike—
Kuzuki.
The man appeared between them like a ghost, moving with inhuman speed. His fist, his terrifying, lightning-fast fist, struck Rin's stomach with brutal force. The impact was like being hit by a freight train. It sent her flying back, crashing against the stone floor, the air forced from her lungs in a choked gasp. She coughed violently as a white-hot agony erupted in her ribs.
"You should know better than to drop your guard," Kuzuki stated, his voice as empty and flat as ever, a cold, emotionless machine of violence. He looked down at the fallen Rin with all the concern of a man observing a particularly interesting rock.
Then, suddenly—
A rumbling.
The very air around them twisted, a strange, shimmering distortion. The world around them, the stone walls and the temple, began to break apart like shattered glass. The fabric of reality itself folded and cracked, unable to sustain the existence of the Reality Marble that had just collapsed.
A gust of wind howled through the battlefield as the golden wasteland of swords vanished, dissolving into a shimmering mirage. The illusion was gone, replaced once more by the cold, ruined stone walls of the temple.
And there—standing in the center of the dust and debris—
Lancer, his spear dripping with residual magical energy, stood beside Archer. And in Archer's arms—
A bloody, unconscious Shirō.
Her wedding dress, once a vision of purity, was ruined, soaked in crimson. Her breathing was shallow, a faint, rattling sound. Her face was pale from the blood loss, a ghostlike pallor. But the unnatural stillness was gone—she was free.
Before Caster could even react, Archer's eyes gleamed with a lethal, burning fury, a cold, silent rage that promised no quarter. He lifted a single hand, his attention fully focused on the two figures standing before him.
And then—
A storm of blades.
Swords upon swords, summoned in an instant through sheer, unbridled rage, filled the air around him. They shot forward like a hurricane, each one faster than the last, tearing toward Kuzuki like divine retribution itself.
The killing intent was absolute. There was no hesitation, no mercy, only a desire to annihilate.
Kuzuki barely blinked, his body shifting to move—
But Caster moved first.
With a final, desperate gasp, she threw herself in front of him. A shield of flesh and blood for the man she loved.
The blades pierced her. One after another.
Steel sank into flesh, the sickening sound of metal tearing through her skin a horrifying chorus. Blood burst from her wounds as her body became a pincushion for the onslaught of Archer's wrath. She barely made a sound, a faint whimper escaping her lips as she gasped, the pain washing over her in waves.
Her hood fell away, revealing her delicate features—her once-proud, cunning gaze now filled with nothing but exhaustion and a profound, heartbreaking sorrow.
She swayed on her feet, her body broken, barely clinging to life. And yet—
She turned, leaning her bloodied head against Kuzuki's chest, the last ounce of her strength devoted to him.
"Master…" she murmured, her voice weak, a final, fading whisper. "Are you… okay?"
Kuzuki looked down at her. His expression remained unreadable, his voice as monotone as ever, a stark contrast to the tragic scene playing out.
"Yes, Caster."
Caster exhaled softly, a fragile smile gracing her lips.
"Thank God."
With that, her body flickered—then slowly, steadily, she began to fade away, her spirit dissolving into golden particles, carried away by the wind and the fading magical energy of the battlefield.
Kuzuki said nothing.
He merely watched as the woman who had devoted everything to him disappeared from existence.
Then, with a quiet, deadly purpose, he turned toward Archer.
He stepped forward.
A single, deliberate movement, his face a mask of cold fury.
His hand clenched into a fist, the same fist that had so effortlessly sent Rin flying.
And then—
He lunged.
A blur of motion—his strike aimed straight for Archer's face, a blow meant to end the battle, and the Archer, in a single, brutal moment—
But before he could reach him—
KCHHK!
A crimson spear, a weapon of certain death, pierced through his chest.
Lancer stood behind him, gripping his weapon tightly, his expression cold and unyielding. The action was swift, and decisive.
Blood dripped from the tip of the spear as Kuzuki staggered. His breath hitched, a faint gasp of air, his body locking up as the cursed spear did its work. And yet—
Even now, there was no fear in his eyes. No pain.
Only stillness. A perfect, final stillness.
With a final exhale, his body gave out—
And he crumpled to the ground.
Dead.
Silence.
Rin averted her gaze, unable to look at the lifeless body. Her stomach twisted—not out of sympathy for the man who had just nearly killed her, but something else.
Something bitter. A hollowness.
But that was nothing compared to the sight she turned to next.
Because there—
On the cold stone floor—
Lay Shirō.
Covered in blood.
Barely breathing.
"Emiya-kun!" Rin's voice broke as she rushed toward her, the sound of her fear and desperation echoing in the silent temple.