"Tch! That Mystic Code even blocks external magical interference?"
A silver blade flashed dangerously close to Kairi Sisigou's chin as Shirou, utterly unscathed, emerged from the billowing smoke, his armor gleaming ominously under the moonlight.
Shirou's movements were too swift, leaving Kairi no time to pull another grenade from his jacket. He barely managed to slip a hand into his coat, gripping his final resort tightly.
The "grenades" he used were products of his necromancy—crafted from the hearts of slain magi, embedded with their teeth and fingernails. Upon explosion, they scattered these grotesque fragments imbued with corrupting curses that corroded flesh. Even if they didn't penetrate directly, the residual curse-infused mist inflicted agonizing pain.
Yet Shirou's armor effortlessly shielded him from both physical blasts and the penetrating curses. No trace of the toxic mist had reached his body.
Damn. What an absurdly powerful Mystic Code—almost as strong as Mordred's armor, Kairi silently complained to himself.
But Shirou didn't wait for Kairi to finish his thoughts, immediately slashing toward his neck with the reversed-blade katana.
The instant Shirou swung, Kairi quickly withdrew his hand from his coat, drawing a sawed-off shotgun reinforced by magecraft, its barrel glowing faintly with emerald-green energy.
Though primarily a necromancer, Kairi could certainly manage Reinforcement magecraft—after all, it was basic and common.
Click—!
The shotgun's trigger clicked precisely as Shirou's blade grazed Kairi's throat.
Bang—!
The muzzle flashed mere centimeters from Shirou's helmet, the powerful blast snapping his head sharply backward.
Slowly, Shirou straightened, raising his head calmly as smoke drifted lazily from the point of impact on his helmet. Several fragmented teeth and fingernails, blackened and cracked, fell uselessly to the ground, dissolving into a wispy black smoke.
Shirou Emiya might not have been a conventional magus, but his strength was undeniably beyond dispute. Few magi could ever best him in direct combat.
"You can't beat me."
Resting the reversed-blade katana firmly against Kairi's throat, Shirou's calm voice emerged from within his helmet.
"Alright, alright—I lose," Kairi sighed wearily. Feeling the cold steel pressing against his neck, he carefully lowered the shotgun and raised both hands in surrender.
This guy's impenetrable. How am I supposed to fight someone who shrugs off everything I throw at him?
Kairi had already exhausted nearly all his tricks and resources against Shirou, yet nothing had left even a scratch. The outcome was obvious, and prolonging the fight was meaningless.
Though Kairi still possessed one final trump card—something even Servants would struggle against—he wasn't desperate enough yet to turn this into a battle to the death.
Just as Shirou was about to speak further, the earth beneath their feet began trembling violently once more, and a surge of dense, poisonous fog rolled aggressively toward them again.
"Red's Berserker...!" Shirou muttered gravely, turning his gaze sharply toward the approaching tremors.
Seeing the deadly mist rolling in, Kairi's face paled immediately. Had Mordred not saved him earlier, he'd likely already be dead within that corrosive haze.
This fog was lethal for ordinary magi like him.
"Could you have your Servant help me deal with the incoming enemies?" Shirou asked, even though he himself doubted Kairi would agree.
After all, the Servant approaching wasn't some unknown enemy—it was Red's own Berserker. As a fellow Red faction Master, there was no logical reason Kairi would willingly turn against an ally.
Yet Shirou knew clearly he had little choice. He had no way to locate Assassin in this mist, and staying here would only burden Arthur, preventing him from fighting at full strength.
Attempting escape was pointless; Shirou wasn't familiar enough with Trifas's maze-like streets, and the fog was spreading far too rapidly to outrun. Before he could find a way out, he'd likely be swallowed whole.
Thus, Shirou's first instinct had been cooperation with Kairi. Strangely enough, he'd momentarily forgotten Kairi was technically his enemy—perhaps due to how little the necromancer seemed to identify with the Red faction.
Unlike the Black faction, whose members behaved like loyal servants to their lord, Kairi always felt distinctly neutral, practically a third-party mercenary affiliated loosely with the Clock Tower.
"I'd love to agree," Kairi replied hurriedly, glancing anxiously at the approaching mist, "but I don't stand a chance inside that fog. If I don't get out of here fast, I'm dead meat."
Indeed, the fog completely blocked magecraft-based detection. Kairi couldn't see or sense anything inside, let alone locate Servants hidden within it.
As far as Kairi knew, aside from himself and Mordred, all Red faction members should've remained at their base. If that approaching presence really was Red Berserker, why would his ally attack him with the deadly mist?
And even if it truly was a Red Servant, Kairi wasn't particularly invested in their faction's victory. He had no emotional ties to them; his goal had always been simple—survival.
"Catch!"
Suddenly, Shirou projected another chained sword and swiftly tossed it toward Kairi.
"What's this—?!"
Kairi caught the sword hastily, sensing faint magical energy pulsing within it.
"Now shout: [Incursio]!" Shirou instructed urgently.
"...Can't I skip that embarrassing part?" Kairi groaned inwardly. He was far past the age of dramatically shouting out attack names.
"The fog is almost here!" Shirou sharply reminded him.
Gritting his teeth, Kairi stared at the approaching deadly mist and realized he had no choice. Setting aside all dignity, he raised the blade Shirou provided and shouted awkwardly:
"[Incursio]!"
In an instant, a helmet identical to Shirou's materialized around Kairi's head, sealing tightly into place.
Immediately afterward, he felt a slight prickling sensation spread across his body.