“I’m on leave,” Hansa coolly replied. “I’m here as overseer today.”
The voice in the hole stopped. The next instant, countless bits of rubble launched from the hole in the wall.
If you told someone that an oversized cannon had been loaded with debris and fired, they would have believed you. In fact, they would have had difficulty believing anything else.
Hansa took several things that looked like sword hilts from his pocket, and tucked them between the fingers of both his hands. A moment later, silvery blades materialized on the hilts, and gave Hansa’s hands silhouettes like giant claws.
Black Keys — Hilts that manifest blades when magical energy is passed through them. One of an executor’s essential armaments.
Without taking a breath, Hansa kicked off the floor, and met the rubble head-on. The priest’s arms swayed like heat haze. A moment later, the rubble buckshot, which had included chunks of concrete a meter across, turned to mist and blew through his body.
To be more precise, it only appeared to blow through him. The rubble in front of Hansa had been smashed to dust piece by piece, and scattered through the lobby. What speed, what swordsmanship, must he have had to accomplish such a feat?
The chief just barely managed to follow the movements with his eyes, but if asked if he could have kept up with them, the answer would be no.
“No wonder you kept your cool when we had you surrounded,” the chief muttered.

Fate/Strange Fake: Volume 2, Chapter 4 ("Day 1, Early Dawn")