The call of the heavens.
One might call it a “second sense” of sorts that Timur felt. The thrum of the world was calling to him. The sand of the ground before him called to him. The School screeched for him to act. The swords in his hand trembled a bit before.
It was his only choice now. Even if the attack failed previously, if the voice of the higher existence was telling Timur to act now, he would act now. After all, that is how the man known as “Timur” lived his life. A slave to the will of fate, though someone that always rebelled against that which was not his calling.
The swords would swell towards the “Archer” before the attack would launch. That is what his “existence” told him. The second that the man had lowered what had given him the resistances against his swords previously, he would be struck with an attack from the very swords he had deflected previously.
Timur did not understand why that would work now, but it didn’t matter. That is what the sky itself told him. The ringing of that sound would always save him from his recklessness in the frontline.
And the moment that the attack would launch towards Timur, “Archer’s” body would feel a degradation equal or even greater than the one he had unleashed upon the city. Something that shook the very foundation of his Saint Graph. The power to “take” should be familiar to someone like the “Archer” that was before Rider, though Rider knew not of this.
That was when the twine of the bow snapped towards Rider.
It was impossible.
An attack which struck nine times; something that converted its existence to counter the thing before it. Truly, the attack of a hero of great worth. The attack struck Timur, shattering the defenses he had placed in front of him; his armor broken where the attacks had landed against him.
This was the attack that had felled the mighty Hydra of Lerna, the beast of regeneration and vigor. Surely a man could not stand against the might of such an attack, right?
But there Timur stood, bruised and battered by the attack. Never giving up. Never allowing himself to collapse, despite the damage he had received.
The sound Rider had made was not the voice of any mortal.
It was as if the sound of clattering metal was attempting to mimic language.
The smell of gunpowder filled the air from cannon fire.
And from that, his body began to regenerate to its former glory. The Demon Lord would not be felled by such an attack. After all, he was the greatest villain; The true hero that united the world under his rule. The brutal king that ensured his rule would be long and prosperous.
Though “Heracles” was able to pull himself together through the borrowing of a miracle of divinity, Timur seemed to lack such luxuries. However, as if through the power of wrath itself, he refused to succumb to his wounds and patched himself together.
The man who threw away his humanity so that he may fight and fight and fight in this decrepit form that the Grail had granted him. All for that “wish” of his. Something that even Timur himself has forgotten with time, but something that he longed for without fail.
This body was the result of that.
“Heracles. The greatest hero of Greek mythology. Any Servant worth their salt would know what that attack signifies. But you have never faced a foe greater than I.”
Laughing into the silence of the night after the greatest attack of the greatest hero had failed fell the greatest foe of humanity, Rider continued.
His silvered and ironed body glowed as the moonlight peaked from the clouds, though for the most part, he had retaken his previous form.
“I am the man who will unite the world. I cannot have you destroy it before it is mine. Therefore, nothing will stop me from killing you, bastard!”
There was no beauty in his form; only a man pretending to be human before the “greatest hero of them all”. However, Timur refused to surrender to his foe. The man that time and time again would fight against the dying of the light.
A “beast” greater than the greatest of dragon-kind.
The world called for his death, yet he refused.