Fifteen days before that field of ruins and the bloodshed under the sunset, the air was much calmer. The group was gathered in a partially destroyed temple on the outskirts of the city, an improvised refuge, where the sound of the wind through the broken wood mingled with the low voices of those preparing for the inevitable confrontation.
Yuji intently observed the map spread out on the ground, tracing with his finger the possible attack locations. Beside him, Choso remained silent, arms crossed and a serious expression. Rin leaned against one of the columns, fiddling with some talismans, while Sakura and Illya exchanged worried glances. Lancer, in turn, stood near the entrance, holding his spear with the point facing the ground, a calm presence, but full of readiness.
"So that's it…" murmured Yuji, looking around. "Uraume and the Angel go first."
Lancer nodded. "Right. If they fail… I'll be next."
Rin scoffed, crossing her arms. "What if they fail?"
The warrior only gave a slight, wry smile. "I've faced worse monsters. It's not the size of the enemy that scares me, it's the time we have left."
Before anyone could answer, Tachie entered through the door, adjusting her gloves and with a serious expression. Her eyes scanned everyone, but stopped on Lancer for a brief moment.
"Don't worry, Lancer," she said, in a direct tone. "I'll be next after them."
Everyone looked at her in surprise. Yuji was the first to speak: "You… will be next?"
Tachie nodded without hesitation. "Yes. And I want you to make that clear in the plan."
It was then that Shirou, who had remained silent until then, sitting in a corner, looked up. His voice was calm, but with a touch of concern.
"Tachie… do you want me to fight alongside you?"
She paused for a moment, staring at him. Tachie's expression softened for an instant, but quickly returned to its usual firmness.
"No need," she replied. "I already know what I have to do."
Shirou remained silent, clenching his fists, but respected her decision.
Lancer glanced at Tachie. The wind blew gently, making the tattered cloth of the temple sway. There was something in her gaze that he recognized, the same flame that burned in every warrior who had already decided their fate before the fight.
And in that instant, without anyone saying it aloud, everyone felt it: the war was nearing its end.
Returning to the present...
The battlefield was covered in a thin mist, a mixture of the ice that still remained from Uraume's power and the dust raised by the explosions. Lancer's body lay motionless among the wreckage, his spear fallen beside him, the tip still glowing with traces of blue mana.
Gilgamesh was wounded, but he remained standing. The golden glint in his eyes overflowed with rage. His pride throbbed in every movement, and even constrained by the blockade of the Gates of Babylon, he seemed to radiate an aura of almost divine superiority.
Then the sound of light footsteps broke the silence.
A cold wind blew, pushing away some of the mist, and a figure emerged from within it: Tachie, holding a silver scythe stained with dried blood. Her eyes, cold and determined, reflected the same kind of conviction Lancer had had before falling.
Gilgamesh looked up at her and chuckled softly. "Hah… another one to sacrifice herself in the name of human stubbornness. How many times do you need to die to understand that you are nothing but dust before me?"
Tachie did not answer. She merely spun the scythe in her hand, the metallic sound cutting through the air. With each rotation, small sparks of energy emanated from the blade.
"It's not about understanding." "It's about continuing," she said finally, her voice calm and firm. "Even if the whole world says it's not worth it."
Without another word, she advanced.
The scythe streaked across the air like a curved lightning bolt, aiming for Gilgamesh's neck. The king dodged with a light jump, but Tachie was already spinning her body, attacking again, this time from below. The impact cracked the ground and vibrated the air.
Gilgamesh took a few steps back, surprised by her speed. "Hmph… interesting. A mortal dancing with a scythe as if she were a goddess of death."
Tachie didn't stop.
She moved with precision, wide and fluid blows, mixing strength and lightness. Each attack was accompanied by a gust of wind, each movement leaving a trail of silvery energy in the air.
Gilgamesh tried to counterattack, but realized that Yuji's domain block still prevented him from freely summoning his weapons. Enraged, he launched into hand-to-hand combat, exchanging punches and kicks at an absurd speed.
The sound of the blows echoed like thunder, Gilgamesh's fist colliding against the curved blade of the scythe. Golden and silver sparks illuminated the field in quick flashes.
Tachie retreated a few meters, sliding across the ground and leaving a trail in the dirt.
She wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth with her thumb and took a deep breath.
"Lancer…" she murmured softly, almost inaudibly. "I still have something to finish."
And then, her eyes burning with determination, Tachie advanced again, her scythe spinning in a perfect arc, as if death itself had decided to challenge the king of kings.
The sound of metal tearing cut through the air like thunder.
Tachie swung the scythe in a fluid motion, almost like a dance. The silver blade gleamed in the orange light of dusk and, in a swift blow, ripped part of Gilgamesh's golden armor, fragments of magical gold scattering in the air, dissolving into shimmering particles.
Gilgamesh took a step back, his eyes wide with surprise before turning into pure fury. "You… dare to defile my armor?" His tone was low, but laden with contained rage. "A relic made for kings, touched by mortal hands… unforgivable!"
Tachie didn't answer.
She twisted the scythe's handle, shifting her weight, and leaped again. Each attack was meticulously calculated; she aimed at the points where the armor overlapped, at the joints, the fittings, cutting through the golden defenses little by little, as if she were sculpting the king's own downfall.
The clash of blades made the air vibrate.
The scythe deflected punches, reflected impacts, and when it found an opening, left deep marks on Gilgamesh's gleaming plates.
He roared, trying to react, but his rage slowed him down; his movements were no longer so precise.
Tachie struck him in the shoulder, then in the waist, and finally, a cut pierced part of the armor on his chest, exposing the flesh beneath. Golden blood flowed, thick, as if it were liquid light.
She landed on the ground, panting, supporting herself with the scythe. "Your armor may be made of gold… but gold still breaks."
Gilgamesh stared at the wound, incredulous for a moment. Then, a crooked smile appeared on his face, a mixture of respect and contempt. "Hah… very well, woman. You managed to strike me. Few have that privilege… but you will pay dearly for it."
He opened his arms and the air around him began to distort, trembling with pure energy. Even weakened, Gilgamesh's power was colossal; he was still the King of Heroes, and his fury was comparable to that of a god.
Tachie planted her foot firmly on the ground and prepared her scythe, the wind swirling around her like a miniature storm. Her gaze remained calm, even in the face of that overwhelming presence.
She knew she was wounded, she knew she didn't have the strength to defeat him alone, but she also knew she couldn't retreat. "If I fall here… at least let the path remain open for them." "He murmured softly, raising his scythe once more.
And then, Tachie advanced, cutting through the air and her own fear, determined to continue the fight against the man who considered himself the pinnacle of humanity.
Gilgamesh advanced with a wild grin, thrilled by the woman's resistance. His fists gleamed with golden light, each blow like the impact of thunder, making the ground tremble and the walls crack with the echo.
Tachie tried to retreat, but Gilgamesh was too fast. He struck her in the stomach, then in the shoulder, and finally threw her away with a punch that seemed to shatter the air into pieces. She rolled on the ground, leaving a trail of blood, but still managed to get up.
Gilgamesh laughed, an arrogant and excited laugh, unlike the coldness of before. "Hahaha! That's what I like! A fight that makes me feel alive!" He raised his arm, ready to crush her again." "Show me more, woman! Show me what a mortal can do before a king!"
But when the next blow came, something gleamed before Tachie.
A black, translucent shield, marked with ancient rune-like markings, appeared before her, repelling the impact with a deafening crack.
The energy dispersed in a circular wave, raising dust and pushing Gilgamesh a few steps back.
The king frowned. "...A shield?" his tone shifted, slightly confused. "Since when do you have this?"
Tachie, panting, held the hilt of her scythe in one hand and the shield in the other. The symbol in its center shone with a silvery hue; it was a relic, awakened by pure survival instinct. "I always have a few tricks up my sleeve," she whispered, remembering Shirou, the hours she watched him train. "...that protecting is as important as attacking."
Gilgamesh clenched his teeth, now enraged.
He attacked again, with a rapid sequence of blows, each more violent than the last, but the shield held. The metallic sound echoed like distant bells, while golden and silver sparks scattered across the battlefield.
Tachie, even as she was pushed back with each impact, remained firm.
Her knees trembled, blood trickled down her chin, but her gaze remained determined.
Gilgamesh finally stopped, examining the shield, and gave a slight smile, now more serious. "Hmph… interesting. You really surprised me. A toy like this, raised against the king? You have too much courage."
Tachie looked up, breathless. "Courage is what's left when you can't retreat."
For a moment, silence hung between the two, the sound of the wind cutting through the destroyed field, the smell of dust and magic mixed.
And then, Gilgamesh smiled, that insane smile, excited by the fight.
"Very well, Tachie. Then come. Show me if your shield can protect to the end… of a god."
He advanced again, and the subsequent clash made the entire ground of Fuyuki tremble.
The metallic sound of the Gates of Babylon echoed like distorted bells; Gilgamesh had recovered his arsenal.
Behind him, dozens of golden portals opened in the air, each revealing gleaming blades, spears, axes, and swords, each more legendary than the last.
He laughed, his gaze predatory and satisfied. "Hmph... it seems my collection has finally awakened." His voice was heavy with arrogance and pleasure. "It's time to end this game, woman."
Tachie, kneeling, raised her damaged shield, breathing heavily. Sweat and blood streamed down her face, but she remained firm.
Gilgamesh raised his hand, and one of the blades emerged from the gates, a sword bathed in gold and engraved with divine inscriptions. "Face the fury of kings..." he announced in an almost solemn tone, before preparing to attack.
But then, something gleamed on the horizon.
A soft, powerful white light broke through the clouds above Fuyuki, and a gust of wind cut across the field.
Gilgamesh turned his face away, annoyed by the interruption, and his eyes narrowed as he saw two figures descending through the dust and debris.
It was Arturia, her armor torn and her expression determined, holding Hana, the bearer of the Angel, in her arms.
The aura around them was sacred, unlike any cursed energy, as if their very existence repelled the corruption of the world.
Arturia's gaze met Tachie's.
She nodded silently, as if to say, "Now it's my turn."
Then she carefully set Hana down on the ground, and the air around them began to vibrate.
The Angel awoke, its wings of light opened, and a silvery energy radiated across the field. The celestial presence itself made Gilgamesh's gates tremble, as if being rejected by a superior force.
Gilgamesh took a step back, his smile fading for an instant. "You again...?"
The Angel's voice echoed, soft but powerful enough to silence the entire field: "Stolen treasures from ages past, seals of arrogance... I, the Angel of Reversal, declare: let the Gates close."
A wave of light spread, the Gates of Babylon began to shatter, one by one, dissolving into golden particles that vanished into thin air like sand in the wind.
Gilgamesh roared with rage.
But no matter how hard he tried, no portal would reopen.
The connection between him and the Gates had been severed.
Arturia, gripping her sword firmly, stood before him and Tachie, the Angel's light enveloping her body like a blessing. "Gilgamesh..." she said, her voice calm but sharp as Excalibur. "The age of kings ended long ago..."
Gilgamesh looked at her with hatred and a savage glint.
Even without his gates, he prepared to fight. "Then we'll see if a king needs weapons... or just willpower."
Dust rose between them, Arturia, Tachie, and the Angel before the golden king, now deprived of his divine power.
The true combat began there.
Gilgamesh roared with rage, hatred overflowing from every word. "Damned angel!" he shouted, the gold of his aura burning the air around him. "I will tear off your wings and crush you until there is no light left in this world!"
He advanced, his feet cracking the ground of Fuyuki. Golden energy swirled around his body like a furious whirlwind. Hana, or rather, the Angel, retreated, her face pale, feeling the weight of the king's divine and cursed presence.
But before he could reach her, Arturia vanished from his sight.
In an instant, the knight disappeared from Gilgamesh's field of vision.
He looked around, snorting, his anger burning like liquid fire.
"Coward… think you can hide from me?" he growled, cracking his neck.
The sound of something cutting through the air was the only answer.
An arrow pierced the wind and lodged itself in the base of his neck, just below the nape, a swift and precise blow, forceful enough to make him stumble.
The impact caused golden blood to trickle down his skin, hot and vibrant. Gilgamesh gritted his teeth, slowly turning his face toward the direction of the attack.
And then he saw her.
Among the shadows of the frozen mist of Uraume, stood a girl.
Sakura Matou.
Her lilac hair fluttered in the wind, her eyes brimming with tears, yet burning with fury, a kind of rage born only of suffering.
She gripped the black bow tightly, the cursed energy mixed with shadow pulsing around her like living tentacles.
Tears streamed down her face, but her expression was firm, unwavering.
Gilgamesh, surprised, touched the wound and looked at the blood on his fingers.
A crooked smile appeared on his face, full of disdain, but there was a glimmer of respect in his gaze.
"So it's you... the little corrupted flower," he murmured, pressing two fingers against the still-throbbing wound. "I see that despair made you strong."
Sakura didn't answer.
She simply raised the bow again, the arrowhead gleaming with a mixture of darkness and light, as if hatred and love themselves were trapped in that tension and she was ready to shoot again.
Gilgamesh leaped forward, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he landed before her, the force of his impact sending debris flying and a violent wind billowing through it.
Sakura barely had time to react. He grabbed her arm, pinning her against a ruined wall, his fingers digging into her shoulder with brutality. The bow fell from her hands, the dry sound echoing through the ruins.
"You dare raise your hand against me?" Gilgamesh roared, his gaze blazing and sovereign. "That arrow... that look... all of this is insolence! I should gouge out your eyes for daring to aim at a king!"
Sakura gasped, her body trembling, but she didn't look away. Even with her face smeared with tears and dust, the rage in her eyes burned more than any pain.
"You... killed him..." she murmured, her voice choked. "Lancer... only wanted... to live again..."
Gilgamesh let out a dry, cruel laugh. "Ah, so that's why? You're crying over a disposable servant? How pathetic." He tilted his face, drawing closer to her, his breath hot and poisonous. "Rest assured. You'll follow him soon."
The gold in his eyes gleamed, and a spiritual dagger emerged in his hand, molded from light itself. He raised his arm, ready to pierce her heart.
But before he could strike—
the air around Sakura distorted.
A dense, almost living vibration began to emerge behind Gilgamesh. The temperature plummeted. The light of the flames and the moon vanished, swallowed by something that didn't belong to this world.
A thick, liquid, black twilight spread across the ground like a dark sea. The shadows pulsed, breathing, and the sound of a distant heart echoed off the shattered walls.
Gilgamesh frowned and looked back.
His smile faltered for the first time.
From the midst of that darkness... something was rising.
That pulsating twilight began to bubble. The golden gleam of Gilgamesh's dagger reflected in the black liquid until the metallic smell filled the air; it wasn't shadow. It was blood.
The ground trembled beneath Gilgamesh's feet, and the liquid rose as if it had a life of its own, forming violent spirals that surrounded him. The blood boiled, swirling around a figure that slowly rose from the center of that living darkness.
"...You..." Gilgamesh growled, taking a step back, feeling the pressure increase.
From the midst of the crimson tide, Choso emerged. His body was covered in open wounds, but his eyes gleamed with a silent, serene hatred. Blood dripped from his hands, floating in the air as if responding to his command.
"Take your hands off her," Choso's voice sounded cold, without hesitation.
Gilgamesh gave a half-arrogant smile, adjusting his posture, still covered in traces of the blood that trickled down his chest. "Hah. Another insolent worm. He'll die along with her."
But Choso didn't answer. He only extended his arms, and the world seemed to compress.
The surrounding blood expanded, swirling in a devastating vortex. The pressure was so great that the ground split into concentric circles, the air vibrated as if space were about to collapse.
"Supernova," he murmured.
An instant later, a colossal explosion of compressed blood erupted from the center.
The impact was deafening; Gilgamesh barely had time to react before being violently thrown away, his body crashing through columns and debris, a crimson torrent following him like an explosive tail.
Sakura fell to her knees, the shock of the pressure taking her breath away. The blood began to dissipate, vaporizing into the air like a crimson mist.
In the midst of the destruction, Choso stood, his chest heaving, his gaze fixed on the direction where Gilgamesh had been thrown, his blood still boiling around him, as if hatred itself had taken shape.
Choso looked at Sakura for a second, her face illuminated by the flickering light of the field, the tears still fresh, but her posture firm. He inclined his head in a short, almost imperceptible nod. "You did what you had to do with that arrow," he said, his voice low and sharp. "Now… let me do what I know."
Sakura didn't speak. She only nodded, as one who entrusts their confidence to someone less likely to fail, but more willing to do so. The pain and fear were compressed in her throat; what remained was resolve.
Choso turned, his eyes fixed on the golden figure rising from the rubble. Gilgamesh spat out dust and blood, his pride still intact, perhaps for a short time. The wind carried the metallic smell of combat, and the air seemed to vibrate around them.
He took a deep breath and, with an almost ritualistic movement, made the blood surrounding him bubble up; immense, translucent red bubbles rose from the ground as if the earth itself had begun to boil. The bubbles floated, slow and hypnotic, reflecting the broken sky and the cruel gleam of the king.
"Blind him," was the silent order Choso gave himself.
With his thumb, he burst the first bubble. The burst wasn't just liquid, it was like leaves tearing in the wind; Micro-particles of blood shot into the air, forming a sticky mist. Gilgamesh tried to shield his eyes, but the particles clung to his golden irises like magnetic dust. The king's vision blurred for an instant, and the gleam of his fury turned into an uncertain blush.
Choso gave no respite. More bubbles were activated: now, thousands of smaller spheres covered the air in sinuous movements, alternating between exploding into vapors that stinged Gilgamesh's corneas and dissolving into films that clung to the king's robes and gold plates. Each burst left a scarlet trail that superficially burned the light, as if his very vision were being tinged with blood.
While the king's vision wavered, Choso did something even more brutal and precise: he concentrated the flow of blood around his arms, and he transformed not a mist, but solid layers of hardened blood that emerged like armor and blades. Choso's arm muscles seemed to grow, covered in a crimson armor that gleamed and dripped. Short spikes and blades sprouted along his forearms; his fists transformed into hammers that struck with the weight of a giant's fist.
"Increase the impact," Choso murmured to himself.
He advanced in a single step, as if his entire life had concentrated in that single moment. Each thrust marked the ground with red craters; the smoke from previous explosions swirled around them like a curtain. Gilgamesh, still trying to regain his vision, swung his body promptly to strike, but his blows slipped in the air, confused by the visual haze.
The first encounter was a brutal clash. Choso's blood-soaked fist struck the king's belly with a force that sounded like the punch of a storm; the impact made Gilgamesh emit a low, almost human sound. The gold trembled, small fissures appeared in the armor's joints, and a trickle of golden liquid oozed out.
Choso didn't stop. He used the blood-locking technique, rapid variations in sequence: a low hook covered in blades; a hammer blow that crushed part of the torso's crevice; a sweep made with a blood blade that attempted to knock Gilgamesh off balance. Each movement carried with it the metallic smell and the sensation of ancient violence.
Gilgamesh tried to counterattack with a punch that could have split mountains, but his hands met a living wall; Choso's crimson blade intercepted, cutting, opening fissures that gushed a scarlet glow against the gold. The king gritted his teeth, surprise and anger mingling. Those human hands wounded him, not as a relic, but with raw, true, and willing blood.
In the midst of the clash, Choso increased the intensity: the flesh that clothed his arms began to pulse, reconfiguring itself. Threads of hemoglobin formed a whip that he hurled in a series of blows, as if weaving a thread of destruction that coiled around the king's joints. Each loop tightened, leaving marks that burned like hot iron.
"Feel it," Choso murmured, his voice a steady thread. "Feel what you've ripped away."
And with that came the most brutal blow: he gathered all the accumulated pressure and unleashed a barrage of hammer blows in quick succession straight to Gilgamesh's chest, the sound of the impacts like the roar of war drums. The king staggered, recoiled, and with each retreat, the armor scratched, cracking in lines that gleamed like veins of broken metal.
From the ground, small fragments of gold flew in sparks, and Choso, with blood running down every furrow of his skin, felt a mixture of triumph and exhaustion. Each blow cost dearly—energy, life, breath—but the sight of Gilgamesh staggering was fuel enough.
Sakura watched from her knees, her hands trembling, not from cowardice, but from recognition: seeing her brother sacrifice himself like that brought with it all the pain she had tried to hide. Illya closed her eyes, her trembling hands gripping her protective staff. Yuji ran in controlled circles around the perimeter of the domain, keeping his vow, but all attention was focused on the bloody attack.
Gilgamesh reacted, finally, with the fury of a condemned man. He gathered all his strength and unleashed a spinning blow that aimed to crush Choso. The explosion of force raised a wave of air that expanded everything around; the blade of blood that Choso had formed was shattered, and for an instant he was thrown backward, dragging furrows in the concrete.
15 days ago...
The cold night wind blew lightly over the courtyard illuminated by yellowish lampposts. The moon was full, high, reflecting in the puddles of water that remained from the afternoon's rain.
Choso breathed deeply, not because he needed to, but because it reminded him that he still existed. After so long fighting, so long seeing blood mix with mud, that tranquil air seemed almost unreal.
He walked slowly, his hands in his pockets, his gaze distant.
It was then that, on the other side of the sidewalk, he saw her.
Taiga Fujimura.
She was there, sitting on one of the benches in the temple garden, with a thermos in her hands, observing the sky as if waiting for some answer from him. The moonlight touched her face, and the smile that appeared when she noticed Choso was not forced, it was sincere.
"Well, the shadow warrior decided to show up," she joked, raising the thermos slightly. "Want some tea?"
Choso observed her silently for a few seconds before approaching. "You can still joke… even after everything that happened."
Taiga laughed softly. "Someone has to keep the spirits up around here, don't you think? If everyone stays grumpy, the world will end before the war is even over."
Choso sat down beside her, the sound of the bottle being opened filling the brief silence between them. "I sometimes forget what it's like… this." He gestured around, referring to the calm, the laughter. "I've always been trapped in battles, blood, broken promises."
Taiga glanced at him sideways, her voice softening. "That's why you need to remember."
She poured the tea into a small cup and handed it to him. "It's not a sin to want to breathe."
Choso took the cup, feeling the warmth in his cold hands. "I don't know if I can still allow myself that."
"You can," she replied firmly. "You've been through things no one should have to go through, Choso. But now it's different."
Taiga turned her face to the sky, letting the wind ruffle her hair. "Now you have people who trust you, people who see you as more than just a weapon."
He remained silent, her words echoing in his mind. For a moment, he thought of Yuji, of Rin, of everyone who was still fighting… and how, even in the midst of the chaos, someone like Taiga could still see life in him.
"...You speak as if you believe in me more than I believe in myself," he murmured, almost with a restrained smile.
Taiga turned, facing him directly. "Maybe I do believe you," and with a light but firm look, she added: "And you should start doing the same."
The wind blew again, lifting some leaves from the ground.
Choso looked at her, the tea still warm between his fingers, and for the first time in a long time, felt a different kind of warmth, something human growing inside his chest.
The ground was cracked, the temple ruins burned in incandescent embers, and the sky was a battlefield, filled with dust, magic, and blood hanging in the air.
Choso gasped, blood running down his arms, evaporating into red smoke as he kept his fists clenched. Before him, Gilgamesh stood again, veins bulging with rage, his armor gleaming even though stained with blood and soot.
"Damn you... filthy worm..." growled the King of Heroes, opening dozens of golden portals behind him. "I will tear apart every cell of your body and turn your blood into an offering to my throne!"
Choso spat blood, but smiled. "Then come and try."
He raised his arms, and bubbles of blood began to form around him, swirling like small planets. With a swift movement, he launched them in all directions, a crimson storm that blinded the enemy for a moment.
Gilgamesh recoiled, shielding his face, furious, when he felt the impact of a direct blow from his left side. Choso struck his flank with a blood-covered punch, a blow so heavy it cracked part of his golden armor.
But the advantage was short-lived.
With a furious cry, Gilgamesh opened more portals and unleashed swords, spears, and blades in a devastating attack. Choso leaped, dodged, but some blades struck him, blood splattering on the ground, painting the field red.
He staggered, supporting himself on one knee, his whole body trembling. Still, he didn't back down.
He remembered Taiga. Her words. "You have people who trust you."
"I can't fall yet..." he murmured, rising once more.
But before he could attack again, a female voice echoed through the rubble:
"Choso! Step aside!"
He turned and saw Tachie, covered in wounds, but standing, scythe in hand, her gaze determined. The dark and silver aura around her flickered like fire in the wind.
Choso's eyes widened. "Tachie...?"
She advanced toward him, her face serious, but her voice soft. "You've done enough. I can handle him alone now."
Choso hesitated. "No... he's too dangerous, you—"
Tachie interrupted him, lightly touching his shoulder, the touch firm, decisive. "You trust me, don't you?"
Choso's gaze softened, and after a second, he nodded. "...I trust you."
She smiled slightly, then turned to face Gilgamesh, the king of heroes who was now wiping the blood from his face with disdain, his golden eyes gleaming with arrogance and fury.
The wind shifted.
The ground vibrated.
And Tachie's scythe gleamed in the moonlight.
"Then show me, 'King'..." she said, twirling the weapon. "If you really are all that you claim to be."
Gilgamesh laughed, low, dangerously. "A wounded woman and a blood bastard... You think you can touch my glory?"
Tachie stepped forward, and her energy exploded, a sharp, bluish flash that swept away the surrounding dust. "I'm not here to touch your glory..." She stared at him with an icy gaze. "I'm here to destroy it."
Gilgamesh roared like a wounded beast, his face distorted by fury as he retrieved the shield that had been thrown. In a swift movement, he hurled it with all his might; the shield cut through the air like a meteor and landed in the ruins, far from the two of them. Now, stripped of the metallic defense that had given him a momentary advantage, he smiled with that arrogance that made his eyes gleam like liquid gold.
Tachie felt the air tighten around her chest. Each breath burned; every muscle begged for a truce. Only one thing remained: the final blow. Not just any blow, but one that carried the intention to wound not only the flesh, but the essence, to poison the king's soul. Her fingers gripped the scythe's handle until it ached. The blade trembled with her wrist, with her will.
Gilgamesh advanced, heavy and swift, as if crushing were a trivial gesture. He delivered punches that created craters in the ground; the impact of each one made the air vibrate. Tachie retreated, feeling her ribs burn, but always finding the exact point to reappear. She observed, calculated. She searched for the opening, that miserable, tiny flaw that a proud king committed when he believed himself beyond the reach of any mortal.
Gilgamesh's face drew too close in a moment of vanity: he smiled, and in that second, his guard lowered. Tachie noticed his right shoulder jutting slightly forward, his foot freezing for a fraction of a second as he adjusted his balance for a more forceful blow. It was tiny, almost imperceptible, but enough.
She let the wind work for her. He spun his body with the precision that came from nights and days of exhausting training; the scythe traced a silvery arc that cut through the air, gathering the last vestiges of strength as if pulling an invisible string. Every fiber of his being aligned in that movement: memories of Lancer, promises made, faces he couldn't lose.
Time seemed to stretch, the distant clang of the shield echoed, particles of dust danced like stars, and Gilgamesh's breath formed a golden cloud that slowly dissipated.
In a single, decisive flash, Tachie lunged forward, the scythe tracing an impossible line in the air—and he hit it.
15 days ago...
The cold afternoon wind rustled the curtains in the backyard of the house where Tachie trained in silence. The metallic sound of the scythe cutting through the air echoed like a whisper of steel and promise. Each spin, each blow, was precise and meticulous, a dance between life and death. The ground around her was already marked by deep furrows, and sweat trickled down her chin, reflecting the reddish light of the setting sun.
Shirou watched from a distance. There was something about that determination that unsettled him. From the moment the final plan was drawn up, he had noticed Tachie's firm yet empty gaze. A look of someone who had already accepted something that no one else would.
He walked towards her, crossing his arms as he watched her finish a blow with the blade embedded in the ground.
"You... really are going to do this, aren't you?" he asked, his tone a mixture of disbelief and sadness.
Tachie didn't answer immediately. She pulled the scythe from the ground and held it close to her chest, observing the curved blade. A black, pulsating glow ran through the metal, as if blood had become part of the weapon.
"If necessary, yes." She turned her gaze to Shirou without hesitation. "The scythe's poison is designed to penetrate the body and reach the soul. But... for that to work, someone needs to channel the blood and prana directly. That connects me to the target."
Shirou frowned. "And that destroys you too, doesn't it?"
Tachie gave a small, joyless smile. "Something like that."
The silence that followed was heavy. The wind carried the smell of metal, and the sun was already setting behind the hills.
"Tell me something, Tachie..." Shirou broke the silence, looking directly at her, "...is it really worth it? Such a sacrifice just for a chance to hit Gilgamesh?"
Tachie slowly spun the scythe, letting the dark glow slide down the blade. "If it's effective, yes. Even he won't realize it until it's too late. And if I fall in the process…" she paused for a moment, her gaze firm but serene, "at least I'll fall knowing I did what I needed to do to protect you all."
Shirou clenched his fists. He wanted to argue, but her gaze silenced him. There was a strength there that didn't come from power, but from conviction.
"You and your habit of carrying the world on your shoulders…" he murmured, looking away.
Tachie let out a low laugh. "Someone has to do it, Shirou. And this time, it won't be you."
She swung the scythe once more, and the sharp sound echoed through the air, as if sealing a promise neither of them dared break.
Shirou was still trying to find words, but Tachie interrupted him before he could even think. In a decisive step, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. The shock made him take a half-step back, but before any reaction could come, her lips met his. It was quick, yet intense, a touch laden with purpose, farewell, and… humanity.
When they parted, Shirou still seemed confused, his eyes wide, his breath ragged. Tachie kept her gaze fixed on his, without looking away.
"Just to be sure…" she said, in a low voice, almost a whisper. "I want you to win over my human form before you become a mere killing machine."
Shirou remained silent. His chest ached with a mixture of anger, fear, and tenderness that he didn't know how to express. He wanted to tell her not to go, to abandon that suicidal plan, but he knew it would be useless. The determined glint in her eyes said it all.
"Then promise…" Tachie continued, her voice soft but firm, "that when all this is over, you will remain human. That you will live."
Shirou nodded slowly, his voice faltering: "I... will. I promise."
And that moment was etched in time, like the last instant of calm before the storm.
Returning to the Present...
The battlefield was a chaos of dust and blood. Tachie's body was wounded, her cloak torn, and the black scythe still pulsed as if it had a will of its own. Gilgamesh, with part of his armor damaged and golden blood running down his shoulder, looked at her with a mixture of contempt and fury.
"Useless," he growled. "Even with that cursed blade, you will never achieve divine perfection."
But Tachie did not answer. Her gaze remained fixed on him, unwavering. Her body trembled, the spiritual poison of the scythe began to consume her own soul, but she did not hesitate. In a sudden movement, she twisted the handle and plunged the curved blade into Gilgamesh's chest.
The impact reverberated through the air. Spiritual energy exploded in a deep red flash, and the sound of metal piercing flesh echoed loudly. Gilgamesh staggered backward, golden blood staining the blade.
For a second, Tachie believed she had succeeded. The poison from the scythe was beginning to spread through his aura, but the King of Heroes was not one to fall so easily.
Gilgamesh's crimson eyes narrowed, filled with cold rage and wounded pride. He gripped the scythe's handle with brutal force and ripped it from his own chest. Blood trickled between his fingers, but he smiled, that arrogant and cruel smile that seemed to mock death itself.
"Admirable…" he murmured, drawing closer, his voice echoing like thunder. "You dared to stain the body of a king. But now… you will pay for it."
Before Tachie could react, he seized her by the throat and lifted her into the air. The wind whipped around, raising dust and fragments of stone. Even suffocating, she didn't look away. There was still a gleam of defiance, of dignity.
Gilgamesh, his arm bloodied, plunged the blade of his sword into her chest.
The sound of metal piercing flesh was dry, brutal.
Tachie coughed up blood, but her eyes remained open. Even with death approaching, she managed a slight, serene smile.
"Master Shirou..." she murmured weakly, her gaze lost on the horizon. "I... kept my promise..."
And then her body gave way, the scythe slipping from her hand, the light fading with her last breath as she disappeared.
Gilgamesh stood still for a moment, watching her fall. The golden and red blood mingled on the ground, as if the battlefield wept for them both.
He wiped his blade, irritated, trying to ignore the slight numbness in his soul, the lingering effect of the spiritual poison. But Tachie was no longer there.
She had departed as she had lived: with courage and purpose.
And in the air, only Shirou's silent oath echoed, distant, broken by loss:
"I promised... that I would live."
Gilgamesh wiped the golden blood that still trickled from his chest, his expression returning to that arrogant calm that only kings possess, and the silence that followed the battle seemed to weigh on the entire field.
For a moment, he raised his gaze to the horizon and saw something moving.
A distant figure, running among the rubble, a silhouette he would recognize anywhere.
Yuji Itadori.
Gilgamesh frowned, irritation growing within him.
The boy who dared to challenge him, the one who tried to confine him with tricks and vows, was now fleeing.
"Hmph..." he muttered, his tone heavy with disdain. "So the little insect thought he could defeat me and escape? How pathetic."
He took a step forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet. The golden glow pulsed around his body again, the air trembling with his presence.
The Gates of Babylon opened behind him but, to his surprise, hesitated. There was still a force inhibiting part of their power, a residual shadow of the Angel's blessing.
Even so, he smiled. "It doesn't matter. I will tear him apart with my own hands, if necessary."
The king began to walk, then to run. Each step made the ground tremble, and the wind carried the metallic echo of the weapons that tried to awaken in his arsenal. The sky was hazy, heavy, a harbinger of a new battle.
Yuji, in the distance, still didn't look back. He seemed to know Gilgamesh was coming, as if it were already part of a plan.
But before the king could get too close, a light cut across the horizon.
A golden beam, pure and warm as the sun, crossed the battlefield and struck the ground ahead with absurd force, raising a cloud of luminous dust. Gilgamesh took a half-step back, surprised, shielding his eyes from the glare.
When the light dissipated, a figure revealed itself amidst the brightness.
A blue cloak billowed in the wind, her armor gleamed under the golden dust, and in her hands was a blade that seemed to contain the very will of the heavens. It was her...
Arturia Pendragon.
End of Chapter 28