Chapter 106: Emiya Shirou vs. Dead Apostle · II
The pitch-black night sky was silent, and the hospital's backyard lay hidden within a cold, biting breeze.
The moonlight gradually bled outward. Somewhere far off, a pillar of light rose, grander than any streak that had flashed until now.
The flames of prana detonated fiercely. Jester's gaze moved from the human descending from above back to the massive, fire-rimmed hole gouged into the right side of his own torso.
If Sigma, who had pored over various battlefield diagrams, were here, he would realize that the power of this single strike was equivalent to—an anti-tank missile.
However, even this failed to produce a decisive effect. As Jester's pupils contracted, the flames died out simultaneously, and then, like film being played in reverse, the great hole began to restore itself to its original state. Though the visual effect was severe... it wasn't much worse than being bitten twice by Assassin's [Unfeeling Agility].
But this move could not be ignored.
Jester had instinctively blocked at the last moment; otherwise, the strike would have hit his "Core" directly with the precision of an auto-homing lock. Jester did not have a good premonition about this.
"Are you trying to humiliate me?"
Jester's vermilion eyeballs were shot through with blood vessels, his upper and lower teeth nearly grinding together.
He had been played, and played twice in succession.
Every time he thought the opponent was at their wit's end, they brought out a new trick that forcibly invalidated his ability to "nullify human usage of Noble Phantasms," beating him back. While it hadn't caused substantial damage to Jester yet, it was extremely insulting.
From Shirou's perspective, if Jester thought that way, he was mistaken.
"I really don't have time for such redundant things. I have business to attend to, and I want to finish this quickly." Shirou spoke his thoughts honestly.
However, upon hearing this, the Dead Apostle's veins throbbed even more violently. Why?
Shirou likely could have figured it out, but thinking deeply about such matters felt like a waste of time.
"Then just let me kill you quickly! I want to see my beautiful Assassin! This was supposed to be time for me and my love, but it was ruined by a thing like you! To do something so cruel—did you do it on purpose!?"
Moreover, he didn't look sane to begin with. Shirou felt great sympathy for Sigma and Assassin for having to endure his endless talking.
The Dead Apostle Jester made his neck crack.
After a moment of deliberation, Shirou replied perfunctorily: "Maybe it was on purpose?"
Jester's eyes widened. Then, he began to tremble all over, as if his rage had transcended all limits.
"How could you do something so heartless!! To say you were handing over in front of me to my love—and she actually agreed! And then to use these crooked, heretical tricks to play with me! Do you have glory?! Do you have a bottom line?! Do you have humanity?! The name Jester Karture is weeping! I will kill you... otherwise, even if I scrape by, the Ancestor who acknowledged my name will spit on me!"
He threw his arms wide and took one step after another.
With every step, his body transformed.
Coarse fur appeared on his skin, covering his flesh. The weeds around him swayed gently like his fur.
Jester had transformed again. What he revealed now was the appearance of a crimson werewolf.
Upon noticing that the nature of Jester's soul had also changed during this process, the corners of Shirou's mouth turned downward. This was a fundamental question: where did Jester Karture—this Dead Apostle—get his six lives? Were they created out of thin air?
They were the products of depriving others of their identities, bodies, and even souls.
"I will tear you apart, shred you, suck you dry, grind you, mince you—rip you into strips, slices, and chunks—and finally mix your flesh, blood, brain, heart, liver, and lungs all together to be dumped in a cattle farm as feed!"
Those unmoving, sinister eyes stared straight at Shirou. He let out a roar and charged forward like a gale in a single bound.
"Do you have a grudge against chicken farms or cattle farms!?"
Shirou projected new weapons without the slightest hesitation.
Shirou was also about finished with his testing.
The ability to be immune to humans using Noble Phantasms indeed had excellent compatibility against Shirou; had he encountered this ten or eight years earlier, it would have been a formidable foe.
Simply reckless—physical capabilities far exceeding what a Master should possess.
Terrifying explosive speed and sense of smell. Endless regeneration.
Even if killed once now, he would still resurrect at least three more times.
If Shirou had met this guy back in the early stages of the Fuyuki Holy Grail War, when his Projection was half-baked, it would have been a horror movie no less terrifying than Heracles. From that perspective, the Dead Apostle Jester did have strength.
The only reason Jester was angry enough to lose his mind was—that era had long since passed.
"Trace on."
A "something" consisting of only hilts appeared in Shirou's hands.
Pure white blades extended from the black hilts on both sides. Three in the left hand, three in the right, in perfect symmetry.
All the blades spun in the air, hurled toward the Dead Apostle all at once.
The Dead Apostle Jester extended his arms to protect his vitals. The six blades arrived in an instant. Most collided with his arms, making a sound like bullets hitting steel plates; the Black Keys shattered into pieces instantly. Only one avoided the arms and pierced his shoulder. The projectile-like Black Key drove through the shoulder and buried itself deep in the mud behind him.
As the burn wound recovered, Jester exhaled an exceptionally slow breath. This time, he didn't even want to speak. Instead, he kept his eyes wide with rage, using pain and fury as sustenance to take that final, infinitesimal step forward.
This time, he didn't plan to defend; he intended to take the life of the person before him directly. After all, even if all six Black Keys hit, they were merely negligible wounds to him.
"It's over. Die quietly," he finally said.
In contrast, Shirou remained silent.
Two Black Keys, accompanied by sparks of prana, appeared in his hands.
The pure white tips were solidified. But the change did not stop. Compared to ordinary Black Keys that resembled longswords, these two were much smaller. They were almost like standard sixty-centimeter short blades. What was hard to notice was that the balance of the swords had also shifted subtly.
They had become like the two short swords Shirou frequently used.
Then, another redundant sword was extended alongside the Black Keys in one of his hands. It was a sickle-shaped curved sword, bladed on the inner edge, with no ornate decorations—simple and inconspicuous.
"[Broken Phantasm]."
As if it had never existed, it shattered. Only the two Black Keys remained in Shirou's hands.
And then... the Dead Apostle's claws arrived in an instant.
"!"
At almost the exact same time, Jester felt the strange sensation of his arms being parried by an inexplicable force.
But this was something Jester could not comprehend.
The sub-optimal white-haired man form had been ruined by Saber(Richard); Jester usually used other forms with reduced capabilities. But when blinded by rage, he directly activated the werewolf form—the most superior state among all his forms.
Jester could clearly see that this body—in terms of strength, speed, endurance, and regeneration—was entirely superior to the human before him, with the gap in some abilities being more than double. Yet the attack was blocked?
The human did nothing extra. He simply stood there, honest and stubborn, taking the hits head-on... and then the two Black Keys, turned into short swords, eerily parried his sharp claws.
Jester, refusing to believe it, swung his arms again.
However, for every swing, a weapon was there to meet it. Jester unleashed thirteen consecutive strikes, and every single one was parried and deflected. The human maintained a distance that was neither too close nor too far.
He couldn't break through!
His sharp claws could not overcome these dual blades. Jester watched helplessly as the situation spiraled toward an unimagined outcome.
He had indeed exerted the maximum strength of this skin, the fastest movement speed, and the most focused reaction ability. Even if he couldn't immediately shred the human's face, he vowed at least to shatter the two weapons in his hands.
But despite his superior strength, the human always blocked and diverted him with minimal, exquisite sword swings. Jester couldn't even exert enough force on the Black Keys to snap them; the momentum he wielded was continuously dissolved by the bizarre defensive swordsmanship.
"What... the... hell is this!?"
Jester couldn't help but click his tongue.
The moment his heart wavered, the momentum of offense and defense shifted.
The cold gleam was sharp, the sword face reflecting the moonlight. Compared to the astonished Jester, there was nothing on the human's face.
It was as if even expression had vanished—no pride, no malice, only the moonlight pouring down.
Without a word, he began to crush Jester with his defense.
Jester was retreating.
One step, two steps, and then he began to prepare a third. This was because he sensed that if he didn't retreat, he would be hit. As for why he couldn't be hit, Jester had a sort of intuitive, deeply ominous premonition.
—'Damn it, at this rate, in twenty moves... no, in ten moves, I'll be cut!'
Jester found the sound of heartbeats very noisy. Whether it was his own or the human's, the noise prevented him from thinking clearly.
'How about retreating and using his supernatural power to release a pillar of fire? That would surely put distance between him and that human.'
In the space of less than two moves while considering this, Jester rejected his own idea.
'That human has long-range attack methods. If my reaction speed to attacks slows down while releasing the fire pillar, it would be disastrous if he dodges and takes the opportunity to shoot an arrow into my "Core"!'
Pure flight might work. But he was a noble Dead Apostle. To perform such an action against a mere human before anything had even happened—simply unforgivable!
A flash of light passed behind the human.
"?"
Jester only noticed it a beat late. But it brought no direct impact, nor did it alleviate the disadvantage Jester was facing, which was nearing its limit.
Sweat flowed beneath the werewolf's fur. Jester was being forced to attack incessantly, and then he realized his posture was on the verge of collapsing.
Even if he wanted to stop the process of collapse, it could not be paused midway.
'This human is very dangerous!'
Should he use his physical abilities to turn his back on this human and put distance between them? Should he run?
When Jester thought of these things for the last time, he realized there were countless sounds of whistling air in the sky.
Jester ignored the objects falling from the heavens because the human was still extending his swords. Once his attention shifted, his defensive stance would turn into a full-scale offensive
that could become a strike at any moment. He chose to deal with the opponent's sword techniques first.
"Are you stupid? Regarding the Noble Phantasms you use, I—"
But, out of an urgency that he wouldn't have another chance if he didn't look now, he raised his head.
And what he saw was—
Replacing the starlight, hunting the vampire: a massive torrential downpour of Black Keys.
The number certainly exceeded ten or twenty, a vibration like an overhead piercing execution.
And what on earth—the throwing force of every single strike was no less than the Holy Church's "Iron Plate Effect"!?
"Ha!"
The intense burning sensation felt all over his body nearly made Jester stumble.
Jester lost his last chance to regroup.
There was no particular reason; the reason a sudden torrential downpour had been added was simply that Jester's close combat hadn't suppressed Shirou, so Shirou had the luxury of making it happen.
Jester's habit of not dodging or flinching—his accustomed behavior—had become a fatal opening.
The twin blades sped forward.
The Black Keys Shirou wielded, at the moment Jester's single foot left the ground—cut off the Dead Apostle's arms in one fell swoop!
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