[The fighting itself doesn't mean much. Somehow, Gilgamesh knows the worst was yet to come; somehow, Gilgamesh knows that when the landscape changes now, it will be for the very last time. The world within a world changes to miles of miles of lifeless desert. A desert full of blades, and now, he has spent enough time with Archer to grasp the meaning at once.]
This was you.
[Is you, even. The manifestation of his soul, the origination of his Noble Phantasm he seemed to keep secret from everyone. This was Unlimited Blade Works, and though the Gilgamesh of the future thinks nothing of it, the Gilgamesh of the present feels slightly humbled. This was more than just an attack; to quote Shirou, my whole life was Unlimited Blade Works.
Gilgamesh sits dulled through the battle. His eyes become heavy. His shoulders sag. His frown deepens. You are a king, not a warrior. Gilgamesh wants to argue with the boy, but there's no sense in it. Where is Ea? Why did he put it away? Why wouldn't he employ it against this false reality and crushes it to pieces?
Because I was too proud, a phantom voice whispers in his ear, and so are you.
Shirou matches him, point for point, and goes beyond. He crashes through the air. He howls with such vengeance and determination that he has rarely seen. He dons once more the shield of Rho Aias and gives everything he has in one last charge. Gilgamesh watches himself falter, almost, almost pull Ea from its sheath, but it's too late. His arm flies off; he's stabbed through the chest. He loses. I lost, I lost, I lost, to this mongrel, to this wretch—
There's a groaning sound, on his end. Gilgamesh watches a memory yet feels as though he has been gutted in real time, and nearly keels over as a result.]
no subject
This was you.
[Is you, even. The manifestation of his soul, the origination of his Noble Phantasm he seemed to keep secret from everyone. This was Unlimited Blade Works, and though the Gilgamesh of the future thinks nothing of it, the Gilgamesh of the present feels slightly humbled. This was more than just an attack; to quote Shirou, my whole life was Unlimited Blade Works.
Gilgamesh sits dulled through the battle. His eyes become heavy. His shoulders sag. His frown deepens. You are a king, not a warrior. Gilgamesh wants to argue with the boy, but there's no sense in it. Where is Ea? Why did he put it away? Why wouldn't he employ it against this false reality and crushes it to pieces?
Because I was too proud, a phantom voice whispers in his ear, and so are you.
Shirou matches him, point for point, and goes beyond. He crashes through the air. He howls with such vengeance and determination that he has rarely seen. He dons once more the shield of Rho Aias and gives everything he has in one last charge. Gilgamesh watches himself falter, almost, almost pull Ea from its sheath, but it's too late. His arm flies off; he's stabbed through the chest. He loses. I lost, I lost, I lost, to this mongrel, to this wretch—
There's a groaning sound, on his end. Gilgamesh watches a memory yet feels as though he has been gutted in real time, and nearly keels over as a result.]