[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/uT6cvdA.jpg[/img] [h2][color=a187be][b]Commodus[/b][/color][/h2] [i]Banquet of Kings, Academy[/i] 
Directly Addressing: [@ReallyDumb][@Crusader Lord][@Flood]
Indirectly Addressing: [@Froppy][@Phlogistinator][@Phonic][@wug][@Yankee][@SSW][@Aoko Aozaki][@BB][@Scallop][@Argonaut][/center]
His arrow streaked forwards towards the Berserker. He did not know of the countless blessings heaped upon them, but that did not matter. His arrow, born from prayer, could not be simply dodged. A blessing against projectiles, and a combat precognition, they had enabled her to exit the path of the arrow even as she charged towards him, however- 

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GWDxiLXA3Z4]This technique would not be so easily defeated.[/url]

The arrow turned, as though it had a life of its own, and pierced forwards, meeting the barrier that surrounded the Berserker. 

The scream of wind tore through the surroundings as 'ruin' tore at that barrier, attempting to rend it apart and strike true at the enemy within. That power of undoing spread out, consuming the barrier, eating away at its very existence, until there was nothing left. The arrow had exhausted its power, but in doing so, it had consumed that wall of wind; even with the magical energy to restore it, there would be no function. The very concept of the barrier had been eroded away, and so it would remain, until the emperor's death.

But, there was a more pressing issue. The 'bullet' of wind that had shot out towards him was undoubtedly something on par with a great Noble Phantasm. If it were permitted to strike his body head-on, then without the invulnerability of Hercules, he would be utterly destroyed. But, as that attack came towards him, he was struck by a realization.

He had lived. 

Surpassing all odds, the boy had lived. Surpassing the edict of fate, the boy had become something new.

He could feel it, he could feel the strength of that existence through the line that connected him, and yet he did not drink from it. If he so desired, he could sustain himself for longer with that premise, but he would not. That boy's life was his own now. He had but one duty, in this moment.

[quote]“Now, shine.”[/quote]
[color=a187be]"...you really are my Master, boy."[/color]

He could feel it. His very existence strained with each moment that passed. That miasma he formed was the essence of undoing, the destruction of Rome and all of its glories. The fall of the great leaders that had birthed it. The death of civilization, of people, of steels and golds, cloths and beasts, of that great monument to humanity's accomplishments. 

And yet, there was something else. 

The cheering of people, as they watched a fool struggle in the arena. The love in their eyes, as he spoke to them, one by one. The hope for a better tomorrow, even as their today crumbled. 

Yes, this Noble Phantasm was terrible. It was horrific. It was repulsive. But beyond all of that, there was a simple faith in it. 

[color=a187be]"Those days were fun, weren't they?"[/color]

That childlike belief became a sword, and a bellow formed that shook the world every bit as much as the fog did. Sound and light mingled together. This was not a roar of pain as his Saint Graph cracked, nor out of desire or lust for victory. It was not to announce his presence, nor to impose his will on the surroundings. Instead, he roared for the simplest reason, free of that pointless sophistry. 

He roared because he roared.

The miasma thickened around him, sparking like the instantiation of a counterfeit underworld. 

The empire falls, and in this, there is terror. There is malice. There is tragedy. 

But, for just a moment, burning up for a single instant of life, it is beautiful. 

A fist flew out. The strength of Emperor Commodus is not enough to combat that blessing of wind, but in this moment, he does not stand alone. The hopes and terrors of the people of Rome stand at his side, and with that strength, a "zero" is turned into a "one".

The wind meets the miasma, and begins to corrode. Each bit of movement forwards takes more from it than the last. The miasma does not consume it, it does not drink of its power, it merely destroys. Eroding away at the power of that attack, it shatters apart, degraded to "zero" before it had reached his body.

[color=a187be]"Well met, Berserker. That clash was inconclusive."[/color]

Through his Master's eyes, he could see that arrows would be ineffective against this foe unless he used that great technique again, and so he charged forwards to close the gap between the two of them even as that attack was canceled out. A clash in melee, if the mad warrior did not fall back.

[color=a187be]"Let us try once again, your wind and my Rome."[/color]