The same dream again.
A roiling mixture of darkness and hatred surrounded Kariya, wrapping tendrils around him like a miasma. Berserker stood—or floated—before him, helmet gone, eyes burning with an unnatural fire. “You are the sacrifice!” the black knight pronounced, lunging forwards. Kariya tried to back away, to flee, but the darkness held him firmly in place, and Berserker's teeth once again pierced the tender flesh of his neck. Kariya screamed, and the knight laughed, drinking in the blood that flowed freely from the wound.
“More,” Berserker cried, “more, more—”
He wrapped his arms around Kariya in a mockery of a hug, clawed gauntlets digging cruelly into his flesh, more blood seeping from the wounds. Kariya screamed again in pain, struggling weakly in the berserk knight's embrace, a pressure building in his head and behind his eyes—
Then it snapped.
Kariya's pain faded slowly, and with it, the darkness that surrounded him, until he and Berserker were drifting gently in an expanse of soft white. Kariya felt the agony in his body, built up over the past years, drift away. Somehow he knew that as it left, his hair was darkening to its original black, his eyesight restoring itself, his motion in his left half returning. He looked down and saw that Berserker's armour had changed as well: no longer pitch black, but the plain silver of worn metal.
Berserker's hands upon his back had become a gentle pressure. The Servant lay very still, his only movement the rise and fall of his back with his breath. Then, very quietly—
“Kariya,” Berserker said, voice barely above a whisper, tears escaping his closed eyes to fall down his cheeks and onto Kariya's neck. His grip on Kariya tightened ever so slightly.
Almost automatically, Kariya felt his own arms move to wrap around Berserker, one hand resting on his servant's head, the other on his side. Berserker sighed, his breath tickling against Kariya's skin. A gentle silence enveloped them both.
There they stayed, held in each other's arms.