[Gods be damned. Maybe if he hadn't been so busy blathering on about that Grail nonsense, he would've noticed.
But it's true, even if everything he hears just confirms most of what he's pieced together on his own. The Grail was corrupt; he knew as much. He'd bathed in its evils and emerged on the other side; of course, he would've had to survived the war somehow to go on and commit these acts, so that stood to reason. Yet some of it is also a little surprising, coming from the mouth of the man who already claimed the Grail as his possession. Who did not see it as worth pursuing beyond fleeting fancy.
He can see it in his own eyes, the hysteria, the obsession. He fell in love with it—the idea of it consuming everything, at least. He detested it—the reality of what humanity became. It's all a logical conclusion to bitter feelings he'd long since held, but even so, something strikes him as off. Not the justification, but rather the execution. It seemed classless, inelegant. Monstrous, for one who held himself high above such distinctions.
Had I really grown to hate so much? he wonders. But he already knows the answer. He trusts in himself, and still, he does not regret this path.
It's up to you to defeat him. The dying words echo in the air, louder than they ever were in real life. And this Gilgamesh pays attention to. He looks to Shirou, considers everything Archer has ever told him, and utters in disbelief, no. Archer, who guarded his past identity so fiercely, he couldn't have possibly been—
The scene changes again, to some blue-haired brat distinctly calling him stupid dumbass.]
Please tell me I kill him.
[SHRK. There goes the beating heart, inside his body.]
no subject
But it's true, even if everything he hears just confirms most of what he's pieced together on his own. The Grail was corrupt; he knew as much. He'd bathed in its evils and emerged on the other side; of course, he would've had to survived the war somehow to go on and commit these acts, so that stood to reason. Yet some of it is also a little surprising, coming from the mouth of the man who already claimed the Grail as his possession. Who did not see it as worth pursuing beyond fleeting fancy.
He can see it in his own eyes, the hysteria, the obsession. He fell in love with it—the idea of it consuming everything, at least. He detested it—the reality of what humanity became. It's all a logical conclusion to bitter feelings he'd long since held, but even so, something strikes him as off. Not the justification, but rather the execution. It seemed classless, inelegant. Monstrous, for one who held himself high above such distinctions.
Had I really grown to hate so much? he wonders. But he already knows the answer. He trusts in himself, and still, he does not regret this path.
It's up to you to defeat him. The dying words echo in the air, louder than they ever were in real life. And this Gilgamesh pays attention to. He looks to Shirou, considers everything Archer has ever told him, and utters in disbelief, no. Archer, who guarded his past identity so fiercely, he couldn't have possibly been—
The scene changes again, to some blue-haired brat distinctly calling him stupid dumbass.]
Please tell me I kill him.
[SHRK. There goes the beating heart, inside his body.]
Please tell me he is dead.