[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/FH03WJT.png[/img]
[h3]Tohsaka Manor, Premises Outskirts[/h3]
[@Breo] [@Angry Hungarian][/center]
That crushing blade broke apart the air as it came down on its target. 

There was no applause.

After all, in this world, there is an ironclad rule: a human cannot fight a Servant. Against these heroes of ages past, enshrined and made gods by the will of mankind, against godslayers and children of gods, against those who killed demons and those who became demons, all that man can do is roll over and die. 

A human who dares to challenge a Servant will die. They will be utterly destroyed. They will be returned unto the dust from whence they came. 

Yes, indeed, a human cannot defeat a Servant. 

-But, isn't that horribly backwards?

A Servant is something made by human imagination. Human stories, human feats, human legends, human consciousness. Why, then, is it that these humans who created Servants are unable to challenge their own creations? 

The answer is obvious: while mankind is collectively almighty, individually they are weak. An individual human cannot hope to match something bolstered by mankind's collective. 

A hero is someone who can save those fated to die. A hero is something that transcends those meager individual humans who dare to stand against a Servant. A hero is something that has surpassed those human limits that shackle us, and the age of heroes has come to an end.

...ridiculous.

The end of that age is meaningless. The names we assign them are meaningless. Heroes shaped their legends with human will. Just because the era is different, just because you can no longer be "the one and only", that isn't a reason to give up and die. 

Because if this damned hero from a forgotten time managed to break through their limits, there is no reason you can't---!

[color=ed1c24]"May the Lord guide my hand as I strike down heresy."[/color]

With speed that easily entered the realm of a Servant, Anthony Giacosa, the #4 of the Burial Agency, burst forwards. The strongest demonic sword slicing towards him, he felt a manic grin split his face as his hands tightened around the handle of his partner, swinging forwards to meet Sigurd's blow. 

Space bent. It was a cataclysm that lasted an eternity from the inside and an instant from the outside.

Coming up to meet the blow of a Servant was the blow of a human. And yet, the madman who dared to strike back against a Servant showed no fear. Sword met hammer. That strike of Sigurd's, which had entered the A rank, was enough to fell an average Servant should it strike head-on. Against it, a human should have no hope.

And yet, the human was not knocked back even slightly against the strike. It was a display that defied logic. Yes, because both Sigurd and that human can tell, not only had the blow of a Servant been reacted to in time, but the strength of this human was [i]not one whit inferior to Sigurd's own[/i].

...that was only a prelude, though, for what happened next. 

Gram [i]screamed[/i].

Like the wails of the damned, a harsh keening noise flowed out from the sword, a pained cry as that pinnacle among blades met the Fourth Holy Scripture. Mere contact with that hammer was like a poison to the demonic blade, that clash of forces having embedded the concept of Radah into Gram's steel. 

And whatever that was, Gram did not take it well. 

Sigurd would surely be able to feel it. The demonic taint that empowered Gram was restrained, shackled by something that stemmed from the hammer gripped in his enemy's hands. If one were to try and codify what had happened, it could be said that whatever aspect of Radah had attacked Gram's grudges, and brought it down to the same level as that derivative of itself, Balmung. This weakening seemed temporary; as his own Noble Phantasm, Sigurd could tell that much, but another clash with that hammer would likely yield the same result, if not worse. 

One had to wonder, if that hammer had managed to bring the strongest demonic sword low, if the effect would be permanent were it against something with lesser mystery.

Sigurd, however, would not be granted the reprieve to think of such matters, for regardless of his shock, Gavel was every bit as surprised as well. 

[color=ed1c24]"...hurt Radah? That damned sword of yours didn't just not break, it [i]hurt Radah[/i]?"[/color]

It did not take long, though, for that surprise to give way to something else. 

[color=ed1c24]"...stop crying, it's fine. I'll shatter that sword of his into pieces as payment, and we'll buff off the scratches with his blood."[/color]

And no sooner than had that first clash of weapons completed, the two now in direct range of one another, than did Gavel shift, leveraging the strength behind his first swing to rotate into a second one, one meant to drive its way into the Rider's left side.