The officer took a step back.
“I have no name,” he replied, grinning broadly.
Then there were two officers. They continued speaking with the same voice.
“O great hero, you who live on in legends of the Age of the Gods, changing your form with the times and accumulating great deeds: I, a humble criminal, so weak that a gust of wind could blow me away, have only one thing to say to you.”
The number of officers increased again.
“I am sure you have a reason for your resolve,” the four officers surrounding the bowman declared. “But if that resolve leads you to deny divine power! If you deny and discard all the deeds of the gods, good and ill alike!”
The eight “things” had taken on a number of appearances in addition to police officers. Their voices echoed down the city street.
“However mighty you may be, you are now, as you desired, human.”
Sixteen roars addressed the bowman’s soul.
“O hero who has fallen into thuggery, into humanity! However great a hero you may be! Even if you have the power to destroy the world!”
Thirty-two fearless grins hemmed in the bowman. The next moment they were vanishing, as if they were being absorbed back into the original one.
“So long as your essence is human... you will be hunted by a powerless ‘killer.’”
Then, the police officer — the nameless Berserker, Jack the Ripper — faced the reddish-brown bowman. Laying bare his own essence, he shouted the name of his Noble Phantasm — the trump card he played to end the great hero’s life.
“From Hell!”
In the midst of the disintegrating Grail War, a chain of battles silently began. Almost as if hapless fate was speaking to the mages and Heroic Spirits:
“O weaklings, challenge the strong.”

Fate/Strange Fake: Volume 3, Bridge