DW DXD Remastered Chapter 9 The Reckless Move (Patreon)

“Wh-what were you thinking, you idiot?” Waver Velvet’s panicked scream cut through the air, his voice cracking under sheer terror. His protest was swiftly silenced by a single flick to the forehead. The force of it echoed like a snap in the night and sent him reeling, arms flailing as he staggered back, momentarily dazed.

Rider stood tall at the front of his chariot, completely unfazed by his Master’s outburst. A confident grin stretched across his face as he spread his arms wide, cloak billowing dramatically in the wind. His booming voice rolled across the docks, full of unshakable enthusiasm.

“Fate has brought us together to do battle for the Grail. But first, I wish to make a proposition.” His eyes gleamed as he addressed the gathered Servants. “What do you think of yielding the Grail to me, and joining my army? You would be treated as honored allies. And together, we shall share in the joy of world conquest!” Rider says with excitement.

“I am afraid I must decline. I may give the Grail to but one man: my new avowed lord.” Lancer’s voice was firm, unwavering. His golden eyes remained locked onto Rider, his grip tightening around his spears. “Not to you, Rider!”

Saber’s glare was just as fierce, emerald eyes flashing. “Did you interfere with our battle merely to proffer that ridiculous plan? If so, it is a grave insult!” Saber also rejected Rider's offer in anger at the offence from a fellow king.

“I'd be willing to discuss compensation.” Rider says, making a little symbol of money with his hand, as if this were a casual negotiation instead of a deadly standoff.

““Shut up!”” Both Saber and Lancer snapped at him in unison.

“And further, I am the rightful King of Britain. I could never lower myself to mere retainer, even in service to a mighty king.” Saber’s pride flared, the words ringing with iron conviction.

Rider’s gaze returned to Saber, his expression turning thoughtful, almost intrigued. “King of Britain, you say! What a surprise! I'd hardly have expected the King of Knights to be a little girl.”

A dangerous glint flashed in Saber’s eyes, the air around her seeming to tighten. “Then would you like to taste this little girl's blade, King of Conquerors?” Saber says murderous.

Rider let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I suppose negotiations have failed. Such a waste.”

—------------------------

High above the battlefield, concealed in the darkness, Kiritsugu Emiya observed the exchange through the scope of his rifle. His usual calculated demeanor cracked for a brief moment, disbelief creeping into his voice.

“That moron nearly conquered the known world?” Kiritsugu says, shocked that the oaf in the loud red cloak almost conquered Europe.

From her position, Maiya remained silent, but even she found it hard to reconcile the boisterous, carefree giant with the legend of Iskandar. The man hardly matched the image of a ruthless king who had once shaken continents.

—---------------------------

Meanwhile, back on the ground, Waver was still reeling, hands gripping his head in despair. “What is wrong with you?” He shrieked at Rider, utterly exasperated by his Servant’s reckless antics. Every outrageous word Rider spoke felt like another nail in his coffin.

His frustration, however, was quickly overshadowed by a new source of dread. A smooth, condescending voice cut through the battlefield like a dagger. “So you were the one, eh?”

Waver stiffened, his blood running cold. He didn’t need to see the speaker to know who it was.

“I'd wondered what madness had compelled you to steal my relic. I never imagined that you yourself planned to enter the Holy Grail War, Waver Velvet.” Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald’s eyes gleamed with malicious amusement as he spoke from far away, his voice radiating controlled fury. “How would you like me to offer you a private lesson?” His tone dripped with venomous delight. “How mages really kill one another, I'll personally teach you all about the fear and pain involved. You should feel honored.”

Waver paled. His worst nightmare had come true. Kayneth knew. The arrogant Lord of El-Melloi now knew exactly who had stolen his catalyst. And now, he was going to make him pay.

Rider’s expression darkened, and in an instant, the carefree attitude he had carried moments ago vanished. His powerful gaze bore down on the unseen Lord, killing intent simmering beneath his easy smile.

“Mage! So you were to be my Master, rather than this boy.” He scoffed, shaking his head in disdain. “Absurd. Only one brave enough to ride the battlefield at my side could ever be my Master. A coward who lacks sufficient courage to show himself is nowhere close to being worthy!” His voice thundered with conviction as he placed a reassuring hand on Waver’s shoulder, the gesture surprisingly gentle for such a mountain of a man.

Waver blinked in shock, the overwhelming fear inside him loosening its grip ever so slightly. Rider… was defending him?

Kayneth’s smug smirk faltered for just a moment.

But Rider wasn’t finished. He turned his gaze toward the surrounding darkness, his keen eyes scanning the rooftops, cranes, and shadows that lined the docks. “And there are others, as well! Out there, skulking in the darkness!” His voice carried across the battlefield, cutting through the night air like a battle cry.

Saber turned toward him, her stance still battle-ready, invisible sword at the ready. “What do you speak of, Rider?”

“Saber and Lancer. Your duel was magnificent. Surely, the sound of your blades called other Heroic Spirits than myself here.” Rider swept an arm grandly across the docks, addressing the unseen watchers as much as the two knights. “Heroic Spirits, born again through the Holy Grail, gather here and now! Those too craven to show themselves will draw the scorn of Iskandar, King of Conquerors!” 

Rider’s booming contempt hammered into every shadow, a direct insult to every Master and Servant lurking in the dark, content to watch while others risked life and legend on the open field.

—--------------------------

From his vantage point, Issei Hyoudou clenched his jaw. People could insult him all they wanted, his clothes, his grades, his perversion. He didn’t care. He was used to that.

But this? Mocking the people he considered precious, calling them cowards from the safety of the shadows? That, he could never let slide.

He didn’t even hesitate.

His body moved before he could think, his legs pushing him off the container and toward the edge of Tamamo’s illusion. In the same motion, the Boosted Gear responded to his will, crimson light flaring to life along his left arm as the gauntlet formed with a familiar, comforting weight.

“Issei, wait!” Tamamo reached for him, fingers brushing the air where his sleeve had been a heartbeat before, trying to stop his reckless charge. But she was too late. He was already stepping forward, out of the illusion’s veil and into the open, shattering the advantage of being a completely unknown opponent.

At the same time, another presence stirred.

High above the battlefield, perched like a bored god looking down on ants, a golden figure let out an annoyed huff. Rider’s words, his brazen claim of kingship and scorn for “cowards in the dark”, had reached the ears of the self-proclaimed King of Heroes, and he was far from amused. The golden Archer narrowed his crimson eyes, irritation simmering. “How dare these mongrels call themselves kings?”

Just as he was about to appear and remind these “lesser beings” of their place—

“Hey red headed idiot! Who are you calling a coward?!” Issei's voice ripped through the air like a thrown brick through glass.

The battlefield went still.

Saber, Lancer, and Rider all turned toward the newcomer who had so boldly stepped forward into the light. The soft glow of the streetlamps reflected off Issei’s red gauntlet, the Boosted Gear gleaming under the night sky like a fragment of living flame. His brown eyes held steady, unwavering despite the weight of so many legendary gazes now fixed upon him.

Tamamo, now standing beside him, let out a long-suffering sigh, folding her arms beneath her chest. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Her tails flicked in irritation, but there was a glint of amusement and a hint of pride in her golden eyes.

A booming, delighted voice cut through the night. “Ho? Another warrior steps into the fray.” Rider’s grin widened as he crossed his arms, studying Issei with open intrigue from atop his chariot. “And what title do you claim, bold one?”

Issei tilted his head. “Title?”

Rider gestured dramatically, as if presenting a stage. “Your name, your origins, your legend! A warrior does not stride onto the battlefield without a name that will echo through the ages!”

Issei scratched his cheek awkwardly. “Uh… Issei Hyoudou?”

Silence.

Rider blinked. “…That’s it?”

Tamamo smirked. “He’s not one for dramatic introductions.”

Rider let out a hearty laugh. “Hah! A man of action rather than words! I like it!”

Before Issei could answer or dig himself deeper, another voice rang out, dripping with contempt. “Tch. Mongrels dare to step into my presence without kneeling? You are all testing my patience.”

The air shifted. A golden glow flickered from above, as if the night itself had been insulted and decided to shine harder.

Gilgamesh descended from his high perch, stepping off the elevated structure with casual grace and landing atop one of the dock’s streetlights as though it were a royal balcony prepared just for him. His golden armor gleamed in the moonlight, polished to an almost unreal luster. His regal presence pushed down on the battlefield like a weight, asserting dominance without a single wasted motion.

Crimson eyes, sharp and full of disdain, locked onto Issei. “This farce has gone on long enough.” His voice carried an unmistakable authority, as though the world itself should heed his words. “And now, another insect scurries into the light.”

Issei met his gaze head-on, not flinching an inch. And in that instant Gilgamesh’s Sha Naqba Imuru activated.

The Noble Phantasm that granted him insight into all things turned toward the boy before him, opening the treasury of knowledge and possibility. Information flooded him, origin, potential, the weight of unseen threads.

His Sha Naqba Imuru showed him the truth of this boy. Honesty, raw and embarrassingly straightforward. A clown obsessed with breasts and shameless impulses. At first, the absurdity of the boy’s actions and thoughts almost made Gilgamesh want to chuckle.

But then the visions deepened. The Grail’s light peeled back the veil of the present, and Sha Naqba Imuru showed him more as if to warn him of possible futures.

A flash of crimson. A red fist to the face.

One scenario. Then another. Then another, different paths, different battles, but always the same humiliation: this clown repeatedly punching his perfect face to the ground.

If he looked deeper, he could also see something else: threads of camaraderie, banter, a strange rapport. A future where they called each other “friends.” Where he could, in some distant, maddening world, consider this clown an equal.

But unfortunately, his narrow mind latched onto one particular vision and refused to let go.

In that future, the golden brilliance of his treasures was shattered by a red gauntlet. His armor lay in ruins, his weapons scattered across the battlefield like discarded trinkets. Issei stood over him, victorious.

Gilgamesh saw himself bruised and battered, forced to his knees. He saw the boy, this clown standing over him in triumph… without even acknowledging the King of Heroes. He watched, in disbelief, as the boy turned his back and walked away uncaring, as if Gilgamesh were nothing.

In the vision, his own hand reached out, demanding recognition.

But the clown ignored it and continued walking.

‘Unacceptable. Impossible.’ Gilgamesh’s hands clenched so tightly his knuckles creaked. His teeth pressed together, rage burning hot and blinding through his veins. ‘How dare this clown do this. How dare he defeat me. This was wrong. An error in the world itself. As if I could ever accept such an outcome.He must pay for his insolence. How dare he exist in a world where such a vision could be real?’

This could not be allowed. It would not be allowed.

“MOVE!” Sherri’s voice shrieked in his head, sharper than Ddraig’s roar ever was. At the same time, Issei felt magic flood his limbs, muscles tightening, nerves sharpening, his body suddenly lighter as Sherri force-fed Reinforcement magecraft through the Watch.

He didn’t have time to answer.

Without a word of command from its owner, the Gate of Babylon roared open.

Golden ripples tore through the air behind Gilgamesh like a halo of liquid light. One after another, treasures emerged, swords, spears, axes, blades of every shape—each tip gleaming with lethal intent as they aligned themselves in the air.

All of them aimed at the boy who dared to defy him.

“Die.”

The first volley fired.

A dozen weapons shot forward, all C-rank Noble Phantasms, more than enough to kill a human instantly. The air screamed as they tore through it, the sheer speed of the assault overwhelming, a golden barrage that should have left no room to breathe, much less escape.

A surge of green light answered.

(BOOST!)

The jewel on Issei’s gauntlet flared, the dragon’s voice echoing in the wind as raw power surged through his body. The Boosted Gear gleamed, segments shifting as he braced himself, instincts howling at him to move or die.

A spear shot toward him. He twisted his body in reflex, feeling the air itself split beside his cheek as the weapon narrowly missed his shoulder and buried itself in the concrete behind him with a deafening crack.

A golden sword came next, its edge flashing in his vision like a streak of lightning. He brought his left arm up and swatted it aside with the gauntleted hand. He succeeded—but the impact sent a jolt up his arm that rattled his teeth and numbed his fingers.

Another weapon followed. And another. Too fast for him to be able to do anything reasonably.

The power from the first Boost, combined with Sherri’s Reinforcement, let him move in ways his normal body never could. He ducked, twisted, slapped aside blades that should have skewered him but the Gate did not relent. Each dodge forced him into the path of the next projectile. Each parry slowed him just enough for the barrage to close in again.

He could only do so much before the next wave would cut him down.

And then a shimmering pink barrier flared into existence in front of him, like a curtain of crystallized moonlight.

The incoming Noble Phantasms slammed into it and stopped.

The entire barrage hung there, vibrating mid-air, as if the world itself had paused the attack.

Gilgamesh’s eyes flicked to the side.

Tamamo-no-Mae now stood squarely beside Issei, one hand held daintily out, as though presenting a stage trick and not stopping a rain of legendary weapons. Her golden eyes glowed with a dangerous light, and three of her tails whipped behind her, each one stirring the air with visible pressure. To repel the attack, she’d had to let her power leak just a little.

Delicate fingers traced arcs in the air, trailing faint pink light. Talismans and paper charms spun in orbit around her, forming intricate magical sigils that pulsed with divine energy, the barrier humming in response.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” She wagged her finger lightly, her tone sing-song and playful. “Now, now, Goldie, it’s quite rude to just fling your treasures at people. What if you break something valuable?”

Gilgamesh’s gaze darkened. “And who gave you permission to interfere, fox?”

Tamamo’s grin widened, ears flicking in delight. “Oh, did I forget to introduce myself? My mistake~.” She placed a hand over her chest, posing as if on stage. “I am Caster, the most adorable, most divine, and most irritatingly persistent wife you will ever have the misfortune of encountering.”

Issei snorted, adrenaline still buzzing through him. “She’s also the best at messing with arrogant jerks.”

Tamamo giggled, tails curling. “Flattery will get you everywhere, darling.”

Gilgamesh’s fingers twitched, veins standing out faintly on the back of his hand. “You dare meddle in my battle?”

Tamamo’s smile never faded, but the magic around her flared brighter, the pink barrier deepening to a richer hue. “Oh, don’t be so mad, Your Majesty. I just thought I’d even the playing field a little. After all, two against one is still fair when one of them is a cheating bastard with an entire treasury for a weapon.”

Gilgamesh scoffed, lip curling. “And what exactly do you intend to do, fox? Annoy me to death?”

Tamamo’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Not quite. Curse of Divine Retribution.”

With a lazy wave of her hand, the magical sigils surrounding her tightened, folding in on themselves and locking onto the golden energy of the Gate. The barrier shimmered—and then, suddenly, the flow of power reversed.

The weapons hanging in front of Issei trembled.

Then they turned.

Every blade, spear, and axe pivoted mid-air, tips rotating with the grinding grace of inevitable doom now aimed straight back at their original owner.

Gilgamesh’s eyes narrowed. “Hoh?”

With a sharp, disdainful flick of his wrist, the Noble Phantasms vanished in an instant, dissolving into golden motes as they were forcibly recalled into the Gate of Babylon before they could impale him.

The ripples faded behind him as though nothing had happened.

His lips curled into a smirk, but the slight twitch at the corner of his eye and the faint edge in his gaze betrayed his irritation.

Tamamo’s tails swished proudly. “See? That’s what happens when you throw tantrums with divine weapons and attempt to hit my husband.”

The entire battlefield watched in stunned silence.

Rider broke it first with a booming, delighted laugh, smacking his thigh so hard the chariot rattled. “Hah! A trickster and a warrior! I like this woman! Hyoudou, you are a fortunate man!”

Saber’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hadn’t expected the fox-eared woman to be this capable. That display hadn’t just been raw power, it was clever, targeted magecraft. Curses. Reflection. Dangerous support magic.

Lancer exhaled slowly, his golden eyes narrowing as he kept his spears at the ready. “He has a fox indeed. Deceptive, yet dangerously effective.”

—--------------------------

Hidden in the shadows, Kiritsugu watched the entire exchange through his scope. The way the curse had grabbed hold of the Gate’s energy, the way the weapons had turned back, it wasn’t any modern magecraft he recognized.

“Curses…” he muttered. “That’s not ordinary magecraft.” His grip on the rifle tightened. “She’s dangerous.”

—----------------------------

On the containers, Tamamo gave Issei a sideways, teasing glance. “See, darling? Sometimes brains beat brute force.”

Issei scoffed, rolling his shoulders and shaking the residual numbness from his arm. “Yeah? Well, both together work even better.”

“Ufufu, ambitious~,” she purred.

But as Issei steadied his stance and tried to play it off, something gnawed at the back of his mind.

Gilgamesh was still staring at him.

Not at Tamamo, who had just hijacked his attack. Not at Rider, loudly proclaiming his kingship. Not at Saber or Lancer, both legendary warriors.

Just him.

Those crimson eyes didn’t flicker, didn’t wander. It was as if the rest of the battlefield didn’t exist like Issei Hyoudou alone had become the only point of interest in the King of Heroes’ world.

And that, more than the rain of weapons, sent a cold chill crawling down Issei’s spine.

‘Sherri, what the hell is up with Goldie?’ Issei muttered mentally, never taking his eyes off Gilgamesh as he kept his guard up, muscles tense and coiled to move.

The AI responded immediately, her tone precise as always. “Analyzing data… Based on his Noble Phantasm, Sha Naqba Imuru, it is likely that Gilgamesh has seen potential future outcomes involving you.”

Issei blinked. ‘Wait, what?’

“Sha Naqba Imuru grants him insight into all things. If he is this fixated on you, then it suggests he has witnessed a scenario where you are either a direct threat to him or an anomaly he cannot ignore.”

(Partner, what happened to making him underestimate you?) Ddraig rumbled dryly in the back of his mind.

Issei grimaced. ‘Great. So either I beat his ass in the future, or I mess up something important.’

“Correct,” Sherri replied calmly. “Given his personality, he cannot tolerate the possibility of losing to someone he perceives as beneath him. He will focus all efforts on erasing that possibility.”

Issei exhaled sharply through his nose. ‘Wonderful. So I’m on his ‘must kill’ list because he saw a bad ending for himself.’

“It appears so.”

He flexed his fingers, feeling the faint hum of power in his arm as he watched Gilgamesh casually dismiss the weapons Tamamo had turned against him, as if swatting away an inconvenience instead of his own treasures. The King of Heroes still wasn’t taking them seriously, not yet. But his ego wouldn’t allow this kind of insult to stand for long.

“Sherri, what’s the best way to handle this?” Issei asked.

There was a brief pause as the AI processed. “Dodge.”

Issei rolled his eyes. “Wow. Thanks. Really helpful.”

“You’re welcome, Master.”

He sighed, shoulders dropping half an inch as he tried to bleed off some of the tension.

Tamamo gave him a curious look, her tails waving lazily behind her as if they weren’t standing in the middle of a battlefield. “Something on your mind, darling?”

He glanced at her, then back at Gilgamesh, who was still staring at him with thinly veiled irritation, as if someone had parked a rusty car in front of his palace. “Just realized he’s gonna be a pain in the ass to deal with.”

Tamamo chuckled softly. “Oh, I could have told you that.”

Gilgamesh finally had enough. “I have decided,” He declared, voice ringing with the kind of finality that assumed the world would simply agree. His crimson gaze burned into Issei, amusement twisted with malice. “You are an eyesore.”

Issei smirked, lifting his left arm slightly, the emerald jewel on the gauntlet gleaming back at the King of Heroes. “Yeah? Well, get used to it.”

Gilgamesh’s Gate of Babylon opened once more, golden ripples blooming behind him like a halo of blades.

Tamamo’s curses flared to life around them, pink sigils spinning faster in the air.

And Issei clenched his fists as the Boosted Gear pulsed again.

(BOOST!)

The second Boost was already here.

—---------------------------------------

Elsewhere hidden from the chaotic battlefield, hidden within the darkness of the docks, a pair of bloodshot eyes peered through the haze.

Kariya Matou’s breaths were ragged, every inhale scraping his throat like broken glass. His body trembled as he clutched his right arm, nails digging into his own flesh. Veins bulged unnaturally beneath his pale, sickly skin as the Crest Worms inside him twisted and writhed, wriggling through his flesh like living curses, feeding off his dwindling life force.

“Damn… it… all…” He rasped, the words barely more than a torn whisper.

He had come here to observe. To watch from the shadows. To look for a chance, a single opening where he could strike down Tohsaka’s Servant and spit in the face of the man who’d thrown everything away.

Instead, he’d borne witness to madness.

A golden tyrant standing above all, treating every other Servant as beneath him. A reckless fool in crimson, laughing as he charged directly into danger. And a fox-eared woman smiling sweetly as she bent magic, curses, and even another Servant’s Noble Phantasms to her will.

The battlefield shifted with every passing second. Alliances formed and broke without a word. Power clashed against power, each display reminding him how far removed he was from these monsters in human form.

Kariya swallowed hard, tasting blood. He knew he was no match for them,not as he was. But his crimson-stained fingers curled into a trembling fist.

‘No. I won’t sit back. Not this time. Not when that bastard Tohsaka’s Servant is standing there like he owns the world.’ His gaze locked onto the golden warrior, the King of Heroes standing so casually above the fray, as if the chaos below barely warranted his attention.

“Archer…” Kariya spat the name like venom.

Just the sight of Gilgamesh, so arrogant, so untouchable, wrapped in gold and pride made his blood boil. But even worse than him… was the man who commanded him.

Tohsaka Tokiomi. The man who had discarded Sakura, like a broken tool. The man who smiled while ruining their lives and took the woman he loved.

Kariya’s vision blurred at the edges, not from weakness this time but from rage. He would never forgive him.

A burning sensation spread through his body as he reached inward, down past the pain and rot, into the one thing still binding him to this war: the connection to his Servant. The Crest Worms inside him surged, reacting violently, amplifying the agony tenfold. It felt like his nerves were being burned away from the inside out.

He gritted his teeth until he thought they might crack. “This is… my fight now.”

The Command Seals on his arm flared, lines of blood-red light crawling across his skin as he extended his will outward and called forth his Servant.

Space buckled.

A black void tore open in the middle of the docks, reality itself distorting as a vortex of swirling darkness erupted onto the battlefield. The air trembled, vibrating with a suffocating pressure. The presence that poured out from the summoning circle was heavy and oppressive like the air before a storm, just seconds before lightning strikes.

Then—

CRASH!

The pavement shattered as a massive, armored figure slammed into the ground with earth-shaking force, sending cracks spiderwebbing across the concrete.

A dark knight, wreathed in shadows, slowly rose from the impact crater. Pitch-black armor clung to his body like a second skin, jagged and unnatural, exuding pure malice. The very air around him seemed to warp, light bending strangely at the edges of his form as if the world itself wanted to look away.

From within his helmet, hollow, baleful eyes flickered to life, glowing with a feral, unnatural light.

Those maddened eyes locked onto the golden warrior. A harsh, distorted breath escaped his helmet, like a snarl forced through broken metal.

Gilgamesh turned his head slightly, his gaze flicking toward the new arrival. His expression didn’t change much, just a faint lift of the brow, mild curiosity intruding on his annoyance.

“Oh?”

High in the shadows, Kariya staggered, barely able to stay on his feet under the strain of exerting so much power. Sweat rolled down his face, mixing with the dirt and blood already caked to his skin. Every Crest Worm inside him howled.

But his lips curled into a grin all the same.

“Go, Berserker.” His voice was hoarse but filled with absolute hatred. “Crush that golden bastard into the dirt.”

A low growl rumbled from Berserker’s throat, an inhuman, distorted sound that promised only one thing: Violence.

—-----------------------------

“Berserker?” Saber’s eyes narrowed, emerald gaze tracking the new arrival. The oppressive aura rolling off the black knight made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Whatever he was, this was no ordinary Heroic Spirit.

Lancer let out a sharp breath through his nose. “Hey, King of Conquerors. Were you planning to ask him, too?”

Rider chuckled from atop his chariot, lips curling in entertained approval. “He doesn’t seem terribly interested in negotiations, does he?” He soon turned to Waver at his side. “Boy. How powerful a Servant is he?”

Waver swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes darted from the writhing black aura of Berserker to the status information his circuits instinctively tried and failed to grasp. “I… I don’t know.”

Rider glanced at him, one brow lifting. “What? Are you not a Master? You can sense their strengths and weaknesses, right?”

“I can’t tell,” Waver admitted, voice shaking as he kept his gaze fixed on the dark knight. “That black thing is definitely a Servant, but I can’t read its status or anything else about it! It appears it will be another difficult enemy.”

“That spirit has some curse or another special ability that entirely conceals everything about him,” Saber noted, her grip tightening on her invisible blade. Even her refined knight’s instincts struggled to pick out more than a muddy, chaotic presence. “But that isn’t all. With five others present, we have to be very careful. Why did he materialize here?”

The question hung heavy in the air as Berserker moved.

There was no warning shout, no roar, just a blur of motion. Faster than any armored knight should have been capable of, he lunged straight for Gilgamesh, blackened gauntlet reaching out with violent, unnatural speed. His charge tore a gouge into the concrete where he’d stood an instant before.

For the first time that night, Gilgamesh actually had to react. “Who gave you permission to look upon me, you rabid dog? May your death provide me some modicum of entertainment, mongrel!”

The Gate of Babylon flared open once again behind him, golden ripples blooming into an array of shimmering portals. Dozens of weapons fired in an instant, streaking toward Berserker in a deadly storm of steel and light.

Berserker didn’t stop.

In one monstrous, fluid motion, he snatched a golden sword out of the air mid-flight, gauntleted fingers closing around the hilt with brutal force. He twisted his body as though the blade were an extension of his own arm and brought it around in a vicious arc, swinging it straight back at the King of Heroes.

Gilgamesh’s smirk vanished.

—------------------------

“Is that truly Berserker?” Lancer muttered, eyes widening as he tracked the impossible movement.

Rider grinned, eyes blazing with excitement. “For a madman, he’s rather nimble.”

Waver blinked. “Huh?”

“What, you couldn’t tell?” Rider’s tone was laced with amusement, like a teacher explaining something obvious. “That black thing casually snatched the first blade that was flying toward him, using it to destroy the second spear as it approached.”

—-----------------

Down below, Berserker’s stolen sword met another incoming weapon in a shower of sparks, the golden spear exploding into fragments as if it were nothing but brittle glass.

“You dare lay your filthy hands on my treasures?” Gilgamesh’s voice dripped with fury, each word edged like a blade. His crimson eyes blazed, the veins at his temples pulsing as his hand snapped outward, summoning even more weapons from the Gate of Babylon.

More portals opened behind him, crowding the air with glimmering steel and radiant artifacts, each one radiating divine or legendary might.

“You must long for death, cur! Let us see just how long your parlor tricks can keep you alive! For I belong among the heavens, yet you would have me trod the same earth as you?!” His voice climbed in rage, losing its lazy aristocratic drawl and baring the raw ego beneath. “Your impudence has guaranteed your death! Mongrel, nothing will remain of your corpse!”

The words slammed into the battlefield like a curse, even as Berserker’s warped aura only seemed to swell in answer, drawn to that golden rage like a beast scenting blood.

—-----------------------------

From Assassin's eyes, Kotomine Kirei observed the chaos below with a cold, calculating gaze.

“Gilgamesh is serious. He plans to open the Gate of Babylon even further,” he murmured.

In Tohsaka Manor, Tokiomi’s brows furrowed as he listened, one hand still wrapped around his wineglass. “Repeatedly exposing his Noble Phantasm to the others… How rash.”

Kirei glanced toward the projection, then to his teacher. “Your decision?”

Tokiomi exhaled slowly, the line between composure and urgency tightening on his face. ‘I cannot allow him to reveal too much—not yet.’

He raised his hand, the crimson markings on the back of it glowing with Command Spell authority.

“Then, by the power of my Command Seal—King of Heroes, quell thine anger and withdraw.”

On the battlefield, the effect was immediate.

Gilgamesh’s entire body tensed as the Command Seal’s power surged through the bond. For just a heartbeat, the King of Heroes went rigid, his golden aura flaring in protest.

Behind him, the Gate of Babylon, which had been swelling with murderous intent snapped shut. The golden ripples vanished, the countless waiting treasures retreating back into the void.

A deadly silence fell over the docks.

Gilgamesh’s lips curled into a sneer, fury simmering just beneath the surface. “You dare to order a king to withdraw?” His tone was steeped in condescension, but the tightness in his jaw and the faint tremor of rage in his voice betrayed his irritation.

He cast a final, contemptuous glance at Berserker, like a man memorizing the face of someone he intended to kill later before his eyes slid back to Issei.

“You have some nerve, Tokiomi.” His voice dropped, venom lacing each word. “You were fortunate, mad dog. And you, clown, pray for tomorrow. For I’ll personally hunt you down.”

His crimson eyes gleamed with equal parts amusement and malice as he raised his chin.

“Mongrels! By our next meeting, see that you’ve already culled your numbers. Only a true hero is worthy to look upon me.”

With that, Gilgamesh turned on his heel. His golden presence blurred, then vanished completely, as though the night had simply decided to swallow him.

Rider let out a low whistle, relaxing his stance slightly atop his chariot. “It would seem that Archer’s Master is less stubborn than he is,” He remarked, sounding half impressed, half disappointed that the spectacle had ended.

Issei exhaled, the breath he’d been holding finally leaving his lungs. The tension in his shoulders loosened, his arm dropping a fraction as the immediate threat passed.

Then he turned toward Berserker, who still stood hunched and battle-ready, black aura writhing around him like smoke.

“Hey, thanks for the assist, big guy,” Issei called out, lifting his gauntleted hand slightly in a rough approximation of a friendly gesture.

Berserker’s glowing eyes flickered toward him, the warped light within them narrowing. A low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within the armor, impossible to read as gratitude or hostility, only raw, unstable intent.

But for just a moment, instead of charging, the dark knight simply stared back.

Done. Tell me what you think and if I made any mistakes.