"It seems Ear failed to keep you locked up."
A strange voice echoed behind Shirou.
Turning his head slowly, Shirou saw a man in a white lab coat approaching him casually, looking down from atop a large piece of rubble.
"Who are you?" Shirou growled, gripping his reverse-blade katana tightly in his remaining left hand, never taking his eyes off the newcomer.
For some reason, the man exuded a disturbing familiarity—as if he were staring at another twisted version of himself.
"Dr. Stylish. But you can simply call me Stylish. After all, we won't be conversing for long."
Stylish glanced past Shirou. Behind him, Esdeath stepped steadily forward, her Western sword dripping with blood as she moved with a chilling aura of oppressive strength.
Clearly, Esdeath wasn't concerned in the slightest about Shirou trying to escape.
"You look terribly wounded. Escaping my lab must have cost you dearly," Stylish remarked casually, unfazed by the destruction of his facility, his lost personnel, or Shirou's obvious rage.
After all, prisoners were plentiful, and he could always make better, more perfect creations.
"So you're the one who ran that prison?" Shirou demanded, pointing his blade angrily toward Stylish.
"Yes. If anything, you should be thanking me. If not for my intervention, your head would already be decorating Lady Esdeath's collection."
Stylish seemed unconcerned by Shirou's threat, leisurely squatting down on the rubble's edge without even a hint of defense.
"You're responsible for those inhuman experiments!"
Shirou vividly recalled the horrors he'd witnessed in that facility—caged prisoners screaming in agony, tortured souls reduced to mere heads, still forcibly kept alive. Unable to fathom their suffering, Shirou had ended their pain swiftly with his own hands.
That memory reignited his anger, murderous intent flaring uncontrollably toward Stylish.
"You're angry about my experiments? Those were criminals condemned by the Empire, receiving punishment according to imperial law. But instead of worrying about killing me," Stylish said mockingly, "you should focus on surviving Lady Esdeath."
As Stylish's voice faded, Shirou sensed a terrifying gust of wind behind him.
Clang—!
Gritting his teeth against the excruciating pain, Shirou spun around, barely managing to deflect Esdeath's razor-sharp sword. The sheer force chipped his katana, embedding the Western blade into it and nearly wrenching it from his grasp.
Before Shirou could regain balance, Esdeath's leg whipped through the air, enveloped in freezing wind, and slammed brutally into his abdomen.
BANG—!
Shirou flew backward, crashing into a burning tree. A sizzling sound accompanied the intense agony of flames scorching his already injured back.
Cough—!
Blood spattered from his mouth as Shirou forced himself upright, propping himself up with his single remaining hand, struggling painfully to his feet.
Raising his reverse-blade katana once more, he defiantly pointed it at Esdeath. Even now, in this desperate state, surrender was unthinkable.
"Impressive—I truly didn't expect you to escape," Esdeath remarked coldly.
She knew exactly how much anesthetic Stylish had administered—enough to incapacitate a Danger Beast for a week. Yet Shirou had somehow recovered within mere days. Even Esdeath herself might not have survived such a dose; most people would have died outright.
Now, Shirou was at his limit. His hand trembled violently, and the brutal impact had reopened nearly all his wounds. The immense pain robbed him of his focus, compounded by severe blood loss and the mental exhaustion from using Pumpkin. His consciousness was drifting, half-submerged in delirium.
"But since you've come here willingly, I have no reason to hold back."
Esdeath spun her sword gracefully, then launched herself forward, shattering the air like a cannonball, charging straight at Shirou with frightening speed.
Yet at the very instant Esdeath closed in, a brilliant flash of steel slashed toward her throat.
She hadn't expected Shirou, so gravely wounded, to still possess this level of combat prowess. Shocked, she barely raised her blade in time to parry.
Clang!
Only now did Shirou's figure appear clearly, his left hand gripping the gleaming silver katana illuminated by moonlight, pressing Esdeath's sword back forcefully.
Then, in a swift blur, he vanished, reappearing instantly behind her to deliver another fierce strike.
Clang!
The sharp sound echoed once more, as Esdeath blocked Shirou's follow-up attack at the very last moment.
Clang!
Immediately after, Esdeath counterattacked with a lightning-fast thrust aimed at his abdomen, only to be parried just as quickly.
Agonizing pain threatened to crush Shirou beneath its mountainous weight. Still, he endured, forcing himself to maintain a steady rhythm of breathing.
In the midst of this fierce clash, Shirou's vibrant red hair slowly began to fade, streaking with white—a clear sign of his life force burning away at an alarming rate. Even so, Shirou remained utterly resolute, glaring intensely into Esdeath's eyes as sparks danced between their blades.
What an indomitable willpower.
Esdeath couldn't help but inwardly admire Shirou's relentless resolve.
Never before had she faced someone who continued fighting so fiercely, even as his blood drained away, his limbs shattered, his life force dwindling like a dying flame.
This wasn't something a mere cyborg like Speeding Assault could achieve. That man had barely felt pain, even with limbs removed. Shirou, however, fought despite being submerged in unimaginable agony.
The torment of having one's life force forcibly drained was indescribable. Shirou felt as though invisible hands clutched at his throat, squeezing the life from him as consciousness steadily slipped away.
But he had no choice.
Here and now, Shirou Emiya would battle Esdeath to the bitter end.