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'If this keeps up he'll just keep picking us off one by one…' he muttered, glaring at their surroundings warily before reaching his decision "Xenovia-san, Irina-san…" he murmured, reaching up to tug the knot of the Shroud "Can you watch my back for a minute?"
"Emiya?" Xenovia wondered, the two Holy Sword wielders looking on in confusion as the redhead undid part of the Shroud's bindings, their eyes widening in alarm as a sudden surge of power filled the air "What in God's Name?!"
"That power-!" Issei exclaimed, the Perverted Pawn shivering at the sudden feeling of thousands of blades brushing past his skin, as if born by the air "Where the hell is it coming from?!"
"Hmm…interesting…" Ddraig noted, the green gem on the Boosted Gear lighting up "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that guy's about to unleash his Balance Breaker…"
"Balance Breaker?" Issei wondered, glancing down at the Boosted Gear even as Xenovia and Irina stiffened at the words, eyeing the redheaded Faker warily "What're you talking about, Ddraig?"
"A Sacred Gear will grow stronger in accordance with its user." Ddraig supplied patiently "However, should the right circumstances be met and the user's emotion peak, it's possible for them to achieve a new level of power that goes against the flow of the world…that is what they call a Balance Breaker."
"But that's impossible…" Saji countered, bracing himself against the onslaught "Emiya doesn't have a Sacred Gear! Neither Kaichou nor Gremory-sempai sensed one when we checked him out!"
"That's what I find so interesting…" Ddraig elaborated "Whatever that guy's about to do, it'll be something big for certain."
With Shiou...
Heedless of the conversation going on around him, the existence known as Emiya Shirou was currently struggling to hold onto himself as he once again tapped into a world that was similar and yet intrinsically different from his own in search of what he needed.
Judging the concept of creation…
It was a hound in the shape of a sword, hunting the blood of its enemies wherever they may hide.
Hypothesizing the Basic Structure…
An iron longsword adorned with ill-boding patterns, as like to cut as it was to pierce a foe's hide.
Duplicating the Composite Materials…
Forged from Iron and tempered in the blood of its foes.
Imitating the Production Process…
Countless times it had been called forth to perform heroic feats.
Sympathizing with the Experience of its Growth…
Only once had it failed to bring down its prey, and even then it still guided the hand of its master to it.
Reproducing the accumulated years…
Forged in the Age of myths and legends, it was entrusted to the Wolf to slay the monsters in the dark.
Excelling every manufacturing process…
It would guide the hand of all who hefted it in battle; anyone who had fought and faced the worst in the gap of danger could place their fate in the Hound of the Red Plains:
"Hrunting!" Shirou snarled, crimson Prana surging from his fingertips as he brought his arm around in a backhanded swing, the black, ominous blade of Unferth that had led the Geatian Hero Beowulf to Grendel's mother lashing out at the darkness, driving back the cloaked Freed with a clash of steel.
"Geh! Lucky shot!" the Exorcist snapped, vanishing once more as he leapt back into the dark, intending to circle round and pick off one of the devils recovering nearby, only to yelp as Shirou once again blocked his path, the Exorcist barely managing to bring his sword up to block the black blade aimed at his neck, the sheer force of the blow sending him sprawling backwards "The Fuck?!"
Shirou lunged forwards, not wanting to give the psychopath a chance to catch his breath, the Rogue Exorcist quickly finding his position as the 'Hunter' replaced with that of the 'Hunted', growing increasingly more irate as each and every strike he attempted was parried, blocked, or repulsed while he struggled simply to evade the pinpoint strikes from the stone-faced Faker's sword.
Such was the very nature of Hrunting, the Hound of the Red Plains that would unerringly find the most direct path to its target before relentlessly pursuing it. Even if the blade was parried, repulsed, or dodged at the last second, so long as Shirou saw Freed as the target to be cut down, the Hound of the Red Plains would track the Rogue Exorcist down and bury it's head in his guts.
Shirou had no idea when or where Archer had stumbled across such a peerless weapon, but he could understand fully why the Counter Guardian preferred to fire it as an arrow than wield it as a Sword. Indeed, given the option and enough time, he'd have preferred to snipe Freed from a distance provided there was little chance of anyone else getting caught in the resulting explosion, but in a close-quarters fight like this, he was content to wield the sword as it was intended.
"Mother Fucker!" Freed snarled, managing to land a kick to Shirou's chest to launch himself backwards and onto the roof of the nearby structure "How in the fuck are you able to tell where I am?! Are you using cheat codes or something?!"
"It seems you're having some trouble, Freed." An aged voice reprimanded, the group tensing as an old man in Church Robes emerged from within the structure, his benign expression a stark contrast to the mocking look in his eyes "Honestly, to think you could allow yourself to be cornered whilst wielding an Excalibur."
"Gimme a break, Old-Man Valper!" Freed shot back, shaking Excalibur Transparency at the man like a child throwing a tantrum "And just where the hell have you been? Taking a shit? Jerking off to the other Excalibabes like I know you do when you think nobody's watching?"
"On the contrary, I've been watching this entire time." Valper countered, either outright ignoring or used to Freed's profanities as he stepped forward, holding up a discarded Bakuya with intrigue "Though I will admit, I've been a little busy examining this flawless specimen…such fascinating workmanship…"
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If you want to read ahead by 25 chapters from her you can visit my Patre-on.
{P} {A} {T} {R} {E} {O} {N}
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