Earlier...
The rake shot tight and catapulted Pigsy into the darkness, sending him flying across the cityscape with a fading, echoing "Reheeehee!" announcing his farewell. A farewell that his Master worried could be final.
-And she watched him go until his small form disappeared into the obscure darkness of the foggy night. It occurred to her then, and only then, that this was the first time since he'd been summoned that she, Heping, and her Servant, Pigsy, had been separated. At the same time, it became equally obvious that this was what caused the turn in her stomach: the bricks in her gullet tumbling in on themselves to become nausea.
There was no need to worry, of course. Her fears were so girlish that she pitied herself for being caught off guard by such child-like sentimentality. There was no place in the woman she was raised to be for that sort of infantilism, nor in the woman that she wanted to become. And so it was that, with great pain and effort, she tore herself away from the balcony and returned inside, squealing the door shut behind her.
...
Heping stood there, doing nothing, saying nothing for a long while, long enough that anyone, including herself, would've questioned her sanity. Tripping over her own stagnancy, she forced herself to think up ways to pass the time-
"Oh. I forgot," She thought out loud, "I was going to take a shower."
She walked across the small suite to the bathroom, pretending to have purpose, opened the door, stared at the empty shower, and then closed the door again, walking back to the living area, and, not stopping, continued to pace around the coffee table in the center of the space, separating the couch from the television, repeating her laps so quickly that she became dizzy, and all-but collapsed onto the couch.
It was impossible. No matter how hard she tried, any way she pretended to not be worried, to not feel what she felt, was revealed to be exactly that: an act, a façade, not even believable enough to be called a lie.
'Well,' She reasoned, 'It has been some time now. I should probably check up on him anyway.'
Heping reached out to her Servant telepathically, 'Pigsy? Can you hear me?'
No response.
'Pigsy? Hello?'
She stood up, as if it would earn her better reception, and spoke out loud, "Pigsy? Is this a joke? Hello?"
Instinctively, out of fear and worry, she turned her eyes to the balcony-
And was met instantly by a wall of darkness- pouncing at her like a predator, and rushing over her like nothing before. In less than a moment the room was reduced to nothing but blackness: so empty of light that she couldn't even see her hand in front of her face, and so empty of warmth that it sent a chill down her spine.
She didn't have the slightest idea what was happening, except for one single fact: she was under attack.
All her anxiety, all parts of her that were human, were sent to join the bricks in the pit of her stomach, and she readied herself for combat, sending blue mana- the first layer of Hardening- across her body and entering a defensive stance- and sent her ankle into the foot of the coffee table.
It was then that the danger of blindness truly set in: it was one thing not to know where your opponent was, but it was far worse not to know where you were in the first place.
As if sensing her weakness, something hard was sent into the side of her skull- something cylindrical, phallic even, like a blunted spear. The strike was strong and true, more than enough to knock-out or even kill any other girl her age, and it sent her stumbling to the floor in a daze, falling onto the couch next to her.
Fortunately, there was nothing left of the girl Heping. Her consciousness had long been discarded with, and replaced with the instincts and reflexes of a soldier trained from birth- in other words, there was no mind to be left dazed. What's more, her target had already revealed his motive: he wanted her alive and unconscious, and planned to end it swiftly with a blow to the head.
In a flash, the blue mana rushed to her skull and turned black- just in time to repel a second blow to her forehead- from the front. The moment the two made contact like clashing swords, her hand flew up to grab at where she predicted her attacker to be, and hooked around what could be assumed as an arm, though it felt more like paper than flesh. Even still, it was good enough for her soldier's instinct, and she pulled her attacker close, the black matrix moving with her other fist into where she thought her assailant's face was- and felt it scrape the side of his paper-mache head.
Before she could do anything else, she felt a foot- or something like a foot- plunge into her gut, expelling all the air in her lungs, and the air of her empty stomach. She doubled over onto her knees, and felt a hand- or something like a hand- push her head directly into the hard carpet floor.
It hurt like Hell, and, feeling the floor crack and cave in around her head, even the shattered remnants of her mind were becoming stagnated, but, nevertheless, she protected her skull with the black matrix just in time to prevent herself from suffering serious damage, and began to push herself off the damaged floor with shaking limbs.
Finally, her attacker spoke with a voice like a murder of ravens, "Typical. It seems mine isn't the only talent that your brother underestimates. Still- I think I understand what he sees in you now: there is virtue in an animal who refuses to die, but it'd be better in a hunting dog than a wild boar."
She didn't hear a word he said, none but two: 'your brother'. Her attacker was Archer, meaning that there was chance-
A chance that she could beat him in close combat.
She was able to maneuver her legs under her body, and was now crouched like the cornered animal that Archer saw her as.
He continued, "Just another reason to stop resisting. You're only disgracing yourse-"
Her legs went alight with mana, and she shot herself forward like a leaping rabbit, or, alternatively, a missile out of a silo, with the full intention of catching his chin with her head, and then continuing past him into the night.
-But her attack never made contact.
As she flew, that same semi-hand caught her under the breast, bending her body and flinging it horizontally to what she knew would be the far wall.
After her fight with Berserker, she had trained this reflex in particular: she pulled her body in and sent the black matrix of light across her back as she collided with the TV cabinet, sending sharp corners of wood cutting into and crumbling around her flesh before dropping her to the floor- and then dropping the TV onto her back.
Archer called out again, "Haven't you had enough yet? I've taken your sight, I've taken the beauty of your face, and it won't be long before I start taking limbs. Don't make me take your life, too."
She grabbed at the television on her back and flung it across the room like a frisbee using the supernatural strength that came with Hardening, aiming for where she'd heard the voice.
She didn't hear the crashing of the TV, but she did hear another thump to her left: he must've sidestepped it, but he'd revealed his location again. She felt a leg of the coffee table as her foot moved out, and reached down to grab it. It was an awkward motion, but she threw it across the room, and, satisfied with her distraction, doubled stepped to turn around, and made another leap-
That hand clasped around her shin.
It pulled her up and around, flinging her onto the floor- no- onto the overturned coffee table- wood breaking into her skull and back.
Here, for the first time in their fight, she screamed. She wailed in anguish and hatred, her voice crying out for remedy, for safety.
"Heh. Learned that from Berserker. Now just stay there-"
She knew, instinctively, that he was going to grab for her, and scrambled back, stumbling onto her feet, no longer having any mental map of her surroundings- lost in her own home. Even her warrior's mind, as honed as it was, was completely at a loss. The table shouldn't have been there, it should've been farther, or was she flung that far? No, that couldn't be, all her mental calculations were coming undone by the moment, and she became increasingly unsure of even the most basic truths.
But, if nothing else, she knew where he was, and, as soon as her footing was stable, sent a roundhouse kick towards where she assumed his head was- and clashed against something cold, thin, and hard: a blade, a sword. Her warrior's memory didn't need sight, it could tell from the feeling: he was wielding it in his right hand, and had been all along, while making grabs with his free left hand.
She knew what to do from there, and laughed under her breath, possessed by the demon of blood and rage, "You talk too much."
She allowed his blade to push back her leg, kept safe by the Black Turtle Hardening, and, as soon as her foot hit the ground, sent a punch like a flying bullet in his direction, knowing he had no means to block it-
Hard metal went into the side of her head, her right side: his left. The pommel of a sword.
He had a second sword- one that he hadn't used until that very moment. With her Black Turtle matrix in her fist, her skull was entirely unprotected, and she almost fell- barely remaining upright through a surge of will.
"Oh? Do I?"
He was on her right. With another punch like grapeshot she pounded at the air where he was, where he was supposed to be, before that same hand- a talon as she could now recognize- clasped around her neck from behind, and pulled her into the other wall, her legs dangling limp against the top of the couch as she struggled in vain.
"Sorry. This isn't darkness, girl, it's Blackout: none of your senses can be trusted, and no one can hear you scream, not even your 'Pigsy'." His grip tightened around her throat as she flailed and kicked, grabbing at his taloned hand, "Of course, you may never be able to scream again after this, but that's probably for the best."
She brought the black matrix to her throat, hoping to slow him down, but while she could stop him from pressing further, she still couldn't breathe, and her clock was starting to count down.
"Tsk. Stubborn girl."
He removed her from the wall- and then shoved her back in, the wall caving in around her increasingly bloodied skull. Seeing her still conscious, he repeated it, and again, and again, and again.
With each pounding, it became harder and harder to tell what was the darkness of 'Blackout' and what was the darkness of unconsciousness. She didn't even know if her eyes were open anymore, no longer able to tell the difference between her eyelids and the cascade of blood over her face. She could no longer tell the difference between her being lifted off the ground and her own lightheadedness, nor the difference between the chill of the shadows and the cold embrace of death.
Each pounding was another door in a long hallway: doors slamming shut behind her as she made the journey from life to... somewhere else. Each section of the hall, however brief it remained, was covered floor-to-ceiling with portraits. Portraits of her friends, rivals, and mentors: her earliest memories of the Army of Spring and Autumn. Then, a gallery dedicated to her father and mother, though the small size of it surprised even her. Sent through the next door, she anticipated to see a museum dedicated to her brother, the only one who she possessed any slight appreciation for, but found instead a completely different sight: a single, unthinkably large portrait for an ironically small figure. A painting of unparalleled beauty, dedicated to a face that only a mother- or a pig- could love.
"...Pigsy-"
Then, with one more collision of skull and rock, Heping, Master of Lancer, was still.
...
Later...
Archer stepped in through the chapel doors. It was a quaint place with cobblestone walls, and a simplicity both rustic and authentic. At the far end, passed the pews, his Master, Shenghuo, stood in the pulpit with a paper in hand, but rose his eyes to his Servant, and especially on the figure dangling limply over his shoulder.
"It's about time, Archer. Don't tell me she actually gave you problems?"
He winced, but continued his march down the aisle, "Respectfully Master, you are neither a hunter nor a soldier: I don't think that you understand how much more difficult it is to take someone alive than dead, especially when she was trained from birth to be a killing-machine. But that shouldn't matter; you can see my condition: she failed to land a single solid blow. She never had a chance to."
"Oh? Should I take that to mean that she succeeded in landing an un-solid blow?"
Reaching the front, he sat the bloodied, barely-alive body of Heping upright on a pew, and turned fiery eyes to his Master.
"Master, I fulfilled every aspect of our mission to perfection. I ambushed and incapacitated a powerful opponent, an enemy Master and your sister, escaped with her unconscious body, and did it all with time to spare: before Lancer, Rider, or anyone else realized what was happening. I see no reason for you to berate me when the only trouble I had was entirely because you underestimated her and gave me a faulty report of her abilities."
Shenghuo raised an eyebrow, "Did I underestimate her, or overestimate you? That seems to be the real question. Tell me, why is it that the Lord Archer struggled against a little girl?"
Sparks lashed at Archer's tongue, but he held back, his eyes catching the sight of Heping's bloody, swollen, purple-black face washed in crimson, and he responded with an even tone,
"If she's nothing but a little girl, then why are you so obsessed with her? Why did she take priority when four Servants and two Masters were ripe for the plucking? With my Noble Phantasm-"
He made a dramatic show of rolling his eyes, removing himself from the pulpit and approaching his sister, not even looking at his Servant,
"I'll never understand why a Servant with an Anti-Star Noble Phantasm thinks he can get away with such an excitable trigger-finger," He crouched in front of the pew, turning Heping's head to examine her closely with scrutinizing eyes, "She IS alive, isn't she?"
The shadow scoffed, "I'll answer your question if you answer mine- a real answer this time."
"Fair enough. Tell me, then."
Archer watched his Master carefully with his eagle-sight, "She lives- barely. I don't know what sort of role you'd want her to play going forward, or what condition you need her in, but she still needs to be stabilized at the very least."
He turned a look towards his Servant, as if to be sure that he wasn't lying, "You're right. The bleeding is bad, especially around the back of the head, but nothing that can't be fixed."
He flicked his hand and it became alight with orange-red flame, but before he could move towards the wounds, he was gripped by the wrist, likely with more than the necessary force, and certainly with more hatred than was warranted burning in the Servant's eyes.
"...Master. Cauterizing the wounds isn't smart. Your sister is a cornered animal: if she wakes up, we'll have more problems than we need, and I'll probably have to kill her. I can handle her healing." Here, Archer's sharp eyes noticed the burn scars across her right arm, "Instead of giving her more scars, how about you answer my question, so that I can attend to her properly."
He let go, and Shenghuo removed himself from the injured girl, returning to his podium, "Four Servants means four opportunities to intercept your arrow before it makes contact. With Berserker and Rider's combined strength and speed, do you really think that you could have caught them so off guard that your attack would have been even slightly effective? Or are you so arrogant that you think you could've beaten all four of them at once after your ambush failed? You will taste blood soon, Archer, once this investment of ours bears fruit."
The Servant took a deep breath, forcing the fire in his stomach to retreat, "And when, Master, will that be? When will we take the measures to actually win this war? I've located all Seven Masters, isn't it time that we actually take our shot?"
He held up the paper he'd been examining, "Soon means two nights from now. Team Caster has announced a war council, and then a united battle against Berserker. The familiar carrying the message arrived just before you'd returned. Once Berserker, our greatest opponent, has fallen, along with any other Servants that may, your bow will be there to pick off the scrap. Does that satisfy your bloodlust?"
Archer hoisted Heping into his arms, "...It would, except that our prey, Caster, has found our dugout. A hunter loses all advantage when his prey recognizes him, and that doesn't worry you?"
"Not at all. It just means that Caster should be our first priority after Berserker. Perhaps then you could use your Noble Phantasm to destroy his workshop with him inside, eh?"
"...Perhaps. We'll discuss the details later, for now, I have to make sure that our quarry doesn't escape or expire in the meantime."
Shenghuo nodded, "Naturally."
Archer made his way, Heping in tow, to a side door leading deeper into the chapel, before his Master left his parting words,
"-And Archer, let it be said that impatience and immortality are not complimentary to one another. Just as the sun rises in the morning, and the moon in the evening, that which is inevitable will always occur on time, no matter how quickly you move. Understand?"
"...Yes, sir."
"Good."
And, with words like ice, Master and Servant departed to attend to their business: the business of bringing about the future.
....