Juro Takahashi's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with confusion and fear.
What was this chaotic turn of events? It was like a twisted game where the rules were unknown and survival uncertain.
He watched, bewildered, as the cloaked figure stood protectively in front of him, its cloak billowing like a dark storm cloud.
"You're a servant, aren't you?!" The first assailant's voice was shrill with panic, pointing its dagger accusatorily.
Juro's gaze locked onto the 'servant.' It was a sight that defied reality, its presence an affront to logic. Every time he stole a glance, it seemed an illusion – a being that defied existence.
Its appearance was grotesque, marked by a bone-like grin and eyeless face, crowned with a bizarre insignia of a
crescent moon encircling a cross.
Wincing, Juro staggered to his feet, clutching his throbbing arm.
What was there even to think in this situation?!
Swinging his daggers around, the assailant begun to yell erratically. "It doesn't matter, I'll murder the lot of you before you can even blink!!"
The assailant lunged forward, vanishing and reappearing in erratic bursts, kicking up whirlwinds of dirt. Its afterimage created a dizzying sight as it zigzagged toward the servant.
The servant, a statue of eerie calm, merely lifted a foot.
Yes, only a single foot.
Then, in a breathtaking moment, it brought its foot down with a force that captured the assailant.
CRASH!
The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air, throwing Juro off balance. Pieces of the ground, as well as long abandoned cars soared through the air, propelled by the immense force.
The assailant, defying gravity, rebounded upward, only to be met by the implacable grip of the servant.
It seized the assailant's face, dragging it mercilessly across the cement, leaving a trail of destruction.
Juro fell backward, his mind struggling to process the surreal violence unfolding before him.
The assailant, undeterred, unleashed a furious assault, kicking at the servant's stoic face. The kicks landed with no discernible effect.
With a similar movement to a snake, the assailant leaped back, hurling a barrage of Dirks in a last-ditch effort.
The dirks sliced through the air with a sound akin to gunfire.
Juro's heart raced as the fight unfolded in front of him.
The servant, an imposing figure at least eight feet tall, moved with a fluidity that belied its massive size, effortlessly sidestepping the relentless barrage of daggers hurled by the assailant. Nothing that large had any right to be as fast as it was.
Frustration etched onto the assailant's actions as more daggers were thrown, each missing their target.
The servant, devoid of any facial expressions, exuded a calm and stoic presence, even amidst the chaos of battle.
With a sudden, graceful movement, the servant squatted, dodging the daggers with an almost relaxed poise.
The world held its breath.
A burst of dust exploded from the impact, momentarily obscuring Juro's vision.
Regaining his footing, Juro watched in awe as the servant pursued the assailant with relentless determination.
Despite their speed and agility, the assailant couldn't separate itself more than 1 meter away from the servant, only being able to hurl more dirks.
The servant however, kept the pressure on, swinging its fists, barely missing the servant.
Although, it seemed as if it was purposely toying with its prey.
The devastation around them grew, with every powerful strike from the servant leaving craters and wreckage in its wake.
"CRASH!"
Juro's gaze fixed on a nearby building, its side blown out, glass and debris scattering like rain. The servant had launched the assailant through it with a monstrous kick.
How had they even gotten up there?! They had been in front of him seconds ago!
This spectacle was beyond anything Juro had experienced. His previous encounters, like taking down a couple of skeletons, paled in comparison to this godlike display of power.
From confusion, his feelings morphed into a mix of awe and curiosity.
Juro snapped back to reality as the assailant hurtled towards him, Juro rolled away just in time, avoiding becoming collateral damage. The assailant crashed into another crater, its large arm broken, its form battered and bruised.
As Juro observed the figure, it suddenly turned its neck towards him with a menacing glare.
"I'll just kill you, since you're the master!"
"!"
POP!
A wet substance splashed across Juro's face.
Opening his eyes, he was met with the gruesome sight of the assailant's face, now obliterated by the servant's fist.
The assailant had one last dirk in his hand, dangerously close to Juro's neck.
With a swift motion, the servant withdrew its fist, and the assailant's corpse collapsed, disintegrating into a spectral blue light.
Unknown to Juro, in a fraction of a second, the assailant had attempted a lethal strike, only to be met with the brutal, unyielding force of the servant's counterattack.
Juro stood frozen, his wide eyes fixed on the fading remains of the assailant, his mind reeling from the terrifyingly close brush with death and the overwhelming power of the servant before him.
Juro's gaze slowly ascended to meet the towering figure above him. The assailant's reference to 'a servant' suggested this entity might be under his command. But was it really?
"You lift...?"
No response.
"Of course he's not gonna respond!! Is that the first thing you ask a monster?! Dumbass!!"
As the Servant's piercing gaze bore into him, Juro's watch emitted a sharp beep. Glancing at the display, he saw an incoming call. Swiping to answer, a large holographic image emerged from his watch.
Dr. Romani's familiar ponytail was instantly recognizable.
"Juro! I've finally reached you! You're alive! ...It's a miracle I got through," exclaimed Dr. Romani, his voice tinged with relief and urgency.
"I can't see your surroundings, however..."
"Doctor..." Juro inhaled deeply, his frustration mounting. "DO I EVEN HAVE TO SAY ANYTHING."
"Yes, yes, I'm aware! The only escape for you is defeating the anomaly."
Juro felt an overwhelming urge to cry.
"Doctor, can you at least explain what's happening? This place is burning, there's skeletons, and there are these... creepy figures," Juro glanced uneasily at the Servant.
"The 'flaming thing' is because of the year you're in. You're in a Singularity, specifically during the Holy Grail War in Fuyuki, 2004," explained Dr. Romani.
"Holy Grail War?" Juro asked, puzzled. Was this some kind of Monty Python reference?
Dr. Romani sighed. "It appears you're not familiar with the basics. The Holy Grail War is a battle among magi who summon Servants, like the one beside you, to fight for the Holy Grail."
"Magi?"
"..."
"It seems we need to go further back."
"Yes, magi. Practitioners of Magecraft, the artificial recreation of the supernatural, beyond the scope of science. It's likely your own abilities are a form of Magecraft, which is one of the reasons why you were selected for this mission. Forgive me, but did you not read the briefing?"
"Nope, I thought it was just some sort of security detail,"
"..."
"...You say that so casually..."
"Anyway, let's focus on the essentials. You're in a Holy Grail War that's gone awry. The Holy Grail is a potent mana source capable of fulfilling any wish."
"Mana... Like in magic energy?"
"It's Magecraft, not magic. And how did you guess that?"
"Played a lot of RPG games."
"Right. The 'creepy figure' you mentioned is a Servant,"
Juro glanced back at the servant's unnerving grin.
"Servants are essentially the most powerful familiars in magecraft. They are summoned echoes of humanity's history – heroes, legendary feats... personified concepts, legends..."
"They're incredibly powerful, far beyond ordinary humans. Confronting one is generally suicidal."
"The summoners of these spirits, their Masters, use them in battle during the Grail War. Chaldea's mission is to employ these Servants as weapons while investigating singularities,"
"It is humanity's prerogative to use its legacy... Servants, though above humans, are tools at our disposal. And their existence in our world is anchored by the magical ability of their Master."
"In simple terms, if you kick the bucket, your servant follows."
"So, are there categories for these Servants, or...?"
"Yes, there are seven basic classes: Saber, Lancer, Archer, Rider, Caster, Assassin, and Berserker. Each class reflects the legends and weapons of the original heroes."
"For instance, King Arthur would likely be a Saber, given Excalibur's fame."
"Ah, Do you know what class mine is? If it's even mine..."
"To find out if it is yours, check your right hand for a Command Seal. It's a mark that signifies your bond with a Servant."
Juro inspected his right hand, finding nothing. He turned his left hand over with a growing sense of dread.
His arm was coated in a black, viscous substance. It also looked malnourished, similar to what you would find in a year-old corpse.
The Command Seal on his hand resembled a convoluted nervous system, sprawling across his skin in a chaotic pattern.
His arm did not hurt, but just by looking at it, Juro felt that it would've been the most painful thing in the world.
Deciding to hide it for later, Juro responded.
"Yeah, I got this weird insignia on my left hand."
"Left?"
Dr. Romani's snowy hologram glitched violently as Juro showed him the insignia. "That is quite unusual for a Command Seal's location—they're typically on the weapon hand for ease of Servant direction in battle."
"Yeah well sorry to break tradition," Juro muttered. He wasn't even sure what constituted a weapon for his...unusual gifts.
Probably his wit and winning personality at this rate.
"At least identify my… companion..here so I know what I'm working with."
"Ah yes, please wait."
"..."
"Anything?"
"Let's see...the class reads as 'Malefactor'. Intriguing. But there's nothing on True Name, Noble Phantasms..." He trailed off as the hologram wavered, words cutting in and out.
"Is that a new one?"
"Yes, but wait, there's something else..."
"What?"
"It has no ma-"
"No what?"
The hologram began glitching further.
"N-o TIme to Sppeaak, Findd FujimARU, and S-OLVE th Si ngu lar i y"
Juro grimaced trying to interpret the garbled message before the feed died completely, leaving him staring down his stoic Servant.
The transmission ended.
Juro put away the watch as he stared at the servant.
"Alright... Malefactor... Can I call you Malefactor?"
Malefactor did not respond.
"...I'll take that as a yes."
"Nice chat, Malefactor," he ventured hesitantly. No response as expected. Clearly this partnership would involve some adjustment. With a sigh, he gestured for the towering spirit to follow.
He managed to make out Romani's garbled speech, so he knew he had to meet up with Fujimaru, who had somehow made it here.
So he was alive.
His goal was to find Fujimaru, find the catalyst, and destroy it.
Briefly Juro wondered if his old life had simply been a dream. But the lingering sting of his bloodied arm anchored him against hopelessness. Moving forward was his best option...wherever the path led.
Malefactor followed behind, its footsteps echoing loudly.
The only problem, however, was...
Where was Fujimaru?
_______________________
Trudging down deserted streets illuminated by endless flames, Juro stifled another yawn.
At this point, this burning hellscape wasn't anything new. This was his surreal reality now.
Occasional shambling skeletons offered momentary excitement before being effortlessly crushed by his silent guard.
Bored, Juro's thoughts wandered to scrutinizing Malefactor yet again as they walked. Dead bone molded into a twisted mirror of life.
No matter how many times he looked at it, it was as if his mind simply could not comprehend how this thing even appeared to him.
He pondered the Servant's material - it looked carved but felt exponentially denser, gravity itself warped in proximity. Malefactor's aura radiated power restrained by choice alone.
What heroic spirit deemed him worthy of such fearsome protection? Juro shoved the implication of just how dire the bigger picture must be from his mind. Compartmentalizing helped brace against creeping despair.
Wry humor also worked.
"Strong silent type I see. Surprised your steps don't shatter concrete, honestly."
No reaction. Tough crowd indeed.
Juro sighed, gaze lifting skyward.
Curling flames painted the atmosphere vivid amber, black fumes diffusing the cape of countless stars that should have greeted him. It was jarring realizing he no longer recognized constellations he'd trusted as immortal just this morning.
Honestly, he would not have forseen this entire thing happening. One second he was in a coffee shop, staring at an old person, and now he was in a race to save humanity.
While he had many chances to run away, he chose to stay.
Even though he did not know what he was signing up for, he still chose to stay.
Even though his life was on the line, he still chose to stay.
He had signed up for this, and he would not abandon such an important mission.
Besides, what else would he do at home?
He still had friends, family, but they were nothing when it came to the whole of humanity.
The fact he had left on a bitter note left a taste in his mouth, however.
Juro continued walking.
His legs were starting to give up.
Despite living in San Francisco, Juro's legs were starting to get tired. He had a normal amount of stamina, but nothing special.
Abruptly, a thunderous explosion ripped through the air, snapping Juro's focus back to the harsh reality. His head whipped towards the sound, but before he could process it, another blast erupted.
It hit with the force of a wrecking ball, hurling him through the air like a ragdoll. He collided with a wall, the impact snatching his consciousness into darkness.
Despite the boy being knocked unconscious, Malefactor made no movements whatsoever.
Its head locked onto a distant building where a figure stood, a formidable silhouette against the backdrop of destruction, a mountain with a large dark beam towering over the entire city.
https://i.imgur.com/BmmQGLO.png
(Please open the image above to enhance the scene fully.)
An Archer.
10 miles.
24 minutes to reach him.
Malefactor observed.
The Archer's attire was battle-ready, a sleek, sleeveless suit with stark white streaks cutting across the darkness, his muscles visible under the fabric.
His choice of weapon was unorthodox yet deadly – swords flung with lethal precision instead of arrows.
Crack!
The air crackled as another sword hurtled towards Juro.
In a flash, Malefactor's fist met the projectile, shattering it in mid-air.
The Archer, momentarily taken aback by this display of raw power, hesitated, his eyes widening in a mix of surprise and apprehension.
Malefactor placed its foot in the ground similar to the likes of a sumo wrestler as it began punching in place.
Malefactor's movements became a blur, fists pounding the air with increasing ferocity.
Each strike was faster, harder, the air around its fist warping with the building pressure and heat. Within moments, a swirling mass of plasma formed, pulsating with raw, destructive energy.
The Archer, realizing the imminent threat, scrambled to launch another attack.
But it was futile.
With a deafening roar, Malefactor propelled the plasma ball forward. It tore through the night, a searing comet of light and heat, colliding with the Archer's sword and erupting into a cataclysmic explosion.
Malefactor observed.
No wasted movements marred its predatory grace. It was a patient hunter, content to watch its prey struggle before delivering the final, decisive blow.
This 'servant', if that was even an appropriate term, had chosen the Archer as its enemy. Like a lion assessing a wounded gazelle, Malefactor studied the Archer, its skeletal head tilted in silent contemplation.
A flicker in the smoke revealed the valiant, albeit foolhardy, stance of the corrupted hero. Even with darkness clinging to him like a shroud, the Archer's defiance burned strong.
Noble? Perhaps.
A futile last stand?
Undoubtedly.
With a predatory grace that belied its hulking form, Malefactor lumbered towards an abandoned van.
Without a sound, it lifted the vehicle overhead, transforming it into a battering ram.
The air hissed as the metal carcass sailed through the air, smashing into the building upon which the Archer stood. Dust exploded, raining down in a silent curtain.
With the immediate threat neutralized, securing the kill became the priority. Malefactor scooped up Juro, the unconscious mage dangling limply over its shoulder, and began a morbid ballet across the cityscape.
Each colossal leap carried them closer to their quarry, closer to the inevitable conclusion.
Ten minutes.
That's all it took for Malefactor to traverse the labyrinthine ruins.
Placing Juro gently down, Malefactor began sifting through the rubble, its movements methodical and deliberate.
Suddenly, a glint of obsidian steel flashed from the smoke. The Archer, clad in a shroud of darkness, materialized like a phantom, twin blades of blackened silver resembling the ying and yang held high.
In a heartbeat, Malefactor reacted, the two clashing in a whirlwind of steel and bone. The ground trembled under their feet, debris showering around them like confetti in a macabre carnival.
Despite his mastery of the bow, the Archer faced now proved just as adept with a pair of swords.
Every clash sent sparks flying, the metallic clang an eerie song in the ruined city. While dodging a hail of blades, Malefactor focused on his opponent.
Sun-kissed skin stretched taut over lean muscle, framed by short, wind-whipped white hair. Brown eyes, though, held a glint that wasn't natural.
The telltale mark of a magus who'd danced with power too many times, their very essence etched by its echoes.
Malefactor, with a feint worthy of a master swordsman, dropped to one knee, seemingly stunned. But the move was a mere illusion, a blur of dark flesh as he lashed out with a roundhouse kick.
The Archer, though skilled, barely managed to block the blow, swords screeching against bone and metal. The force sent him skidding back, his eyes wide with a dawning comprehension.
"No mana..." he rasped, the first words spoken since their brutal dance began. "None at all..."
Amazement colored his voice, disbelief that bordered on fear. Malefactor, however, remained silent.
It knew the dangers of overreliance on mana, or simply the supernatural.
A lesson etched in the marrow of it's ancient being. Power unchecked, a double-edged blade that could just as easily devour the wielder as its foes.
That is why…
The wind whipped through the ruined streets, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the echo of clashing steel.
To be truly strong..
The Archer, still wary, brandished his blades anew.
Malefactor mirrored the gesture, not with weapons, but with fists hardened into bone-like knuckles.
One must..
The Archer lunged, a desperate viper striking from the shadows. Malefactor ducked, his skull brushing the blade's edge by a hair's breadth.
With a brutal snap, his fist arced up, connecting with the Archer's jaw with a sickening crunch. The force sent the corrupted hero reeling, a crimson fountain erupting from his shattered lips.
Reach the physical peak of strength!
Malefactor knew the victory was hollow.
Malefactor knew the reason he was still dragging out the fight.
Malefactor enjoyed it.
It was like a cat playing with a mouse.
The blow landed only because the Archer was already dancing on the precipice of collapse, the plasma burn from earlier festering like a malevolent sun in his abdomen.
His chest mirrored the wound, a gaping maw screaming of their shared agony.
But Malefactor, a creature forged in the crucible of ancient battles, knew to press the advantage. As the Archer's vision swam, a blur of bone and muscle descended upon him.
A strike to the chest.
The arm.
The leg.
And it continued going.
Every single attack was directed towards a joint in the body, or any sort of weak point that could be exploited.
Twenty-four blows in all, a macabre aria played on flesh and bone.
Yet, the corrupted servant still stood.
Bloodied, broken, but defiant. A spark of dark fire glinted in his eyes, a reflection of the monstrous entity that clung to him, a parasite whispering promises of power.
In his pain, the Archer saw not just Malefactor's savagery, but a darkness that dwarfed his own,
an abyss that swallowed even the corrupted light of a fallen hero.
No.. this creature… Right now…
This creature… Must be taken out! Now!
He raised his blades, the steel shaking in his trembling hands. Malefactor launched himself forward, a dark omen against the bruised sky.
...I am the bone of my sword..."
"Steel is my-"
SCHLK!
Archer's eyes widened.
Malefactor's large fist was inside the heart of the spirit.
Blood poured down the strike, staining the ground.
Archer vomited up a torrent of blood at Malefactor's 'face'.
With a grotesque noise, Malefactor removed his fist, prompting the Archer to fall down to the ground.
Archer's gaze, fading from defiance to resignation, met the vacant abyss where Malefactor's face should have been. It was like staring into the void itself, reflecting his own shattered dreams.
In its skeletal hand, the crimson pulse of the hero's heart mocked him, a trophy in this macabre dance of destruction.
The weight of his choices, the tainted Grail War's twisted legacy, pressed down on Emiya like a shroud.
Every beat of his failing heart echoed the screams of a city lost, the consequences of unchecked ambitions. A flicker of hope, perhaps for redemption, perhaps for oblivion, dared to stir within him.
"Maybe..." his voice raspy, a threadbare whisper carried by the wind, "Maybe..."
Malefactors' foot stomped on the head of the Archer, splashing it across the ground.
It did not care.
Another maggot crushed.
The body of the Archer began to disintegrate.
Malefactor placed the heart of the servant above its head.
With a snap, Its jaw opened wider.
The "heart' of the Archer was dropped into the mouth of Malefactor.
Like a machine closing, Malefactor's jaw shut.
Malefactor tended to consume others. By consuming, it could keep itself going. It did not operate on traditional mana, rather by consuming, it converted the mana into physical energy.
Malefactor hoisted up Juro once again, leaping out of the rubble.
It began making its way towards the large mountain.
_____________________________________________________________________
Ritsuka Fujimaru found himself alongside a peculiar assembly. His eyes briefly laid on a Saber servant.
Fujimaru's journey to this point was nothing short of extraordinary. Transported to this singularity with the enigmatic creature Fou and a young girl, he found himself in a world teetering on the brink.
"Senpai! Get behind me!" The voice cut through the tension. It was a girl with short purple hair.
Mash Kyrielight.
Her youthful features were contrasting her battle-hardened demeanor. Clad in revealing armor, her most striking feature was the cross shaped shield she wielded, a symbol of both protection and strength.
Their meeting was not by chance. Fujimaru had encountered Mash earlier in Chaldea, learning of her unique status as a Demi-servant. They had been thrust into this chaotic realm following an explosion in Chaldea's main room.
"That sword..." A voice rang out, sharp and observant.
Olga Marie Animusphere, the director of Chaldea, stood there, her presence commanding despite the chaos.
A member of the prestigious Animusphere family, she, too, had been unwillingly brought to this singularity.
Her eyes fixated on the legendary Excalibur, the fabled sword of King Arthur, recognition dawning on her face.
Accompanying them was a Caster servant.
With blue hair and a traditional Celtic outfit, he emanated an aura of ancient knowledge. This servant, already present before the singularity's full emergence, had formed a bond with Fujimaru, forging a contract that tied their fates together.
"King Arthur..?"
This figure, cloaked in twisted metal and wielding a corrupted Excalibur, bore no resemblance to the noble king of legend.
Instead, a chilling crimson marred her black armor, and a visor replaced where eyes should be. The air itself crackled with malevolent energy, a stark contrast to Mash's unwavering stance beside him.
"That Noble Phantasm..." the dark knight scoffed, eyes hidden behind the visor. "Just for show, I see?"
Mash tensed, the metallic clang of her shield held high.
Saber raised her sword.
"This shield will prove whether it protects or not!"
A dark energy slash erupted from Excalibur, aiming for Mash. She raised her shield, but the impact sent them both sprawling. Pain lanced through
Fujimaru's arm, and he winced, seeing Mash struggle to rise.
Frustration gnawed at him. His magical reserves were pathetic, barely enough to sustain Mash let alone fuel her Noble Phantasm. He was useless, a burden more than an asset.
Suddenly, his watch buzzed. "Fujimaru!" Romani's voice crackled through the speaker. "Use your Command Spell on Mash!"
"Command Spell?" Confusion warred with desperation in his mind.
"A surge of magical energy, bound by your contract," Romani explained. "It could provide the necessary amount of Magic Energy for Mash to deploy
her Noble Phantasm."
Fujimaru clenched his fist, picturing the energy flowing from him to Mash, fueling her defense.
His seal began glowing a crimson red.
'Energy to Mash, Energy to Mash...'
Olga's voice cut through the air, laced with icy alarm.
"Don't! You're no mage! You'll fry your circuits!"
'Energy to mash, Energy to mash...'
A feeling of sudden pain struck Fujimaru, causing him to fall over.
"Gh!"
"You ran too much magic through your circuits! You're no mage! You aren't even a magecraft caster! You're just a normal person! Don't do that!"
"Don't push yourself! Damaging your magic circuits would be dire for you!"
Fujimaru's grasp on the dirt tightened.
Would he just sit there and watch?
"It may even threaten your-"
No.
"I DON'T CARE!!"
"It'd be far more painful if I just sat there, unable to do anything!"
"Does being 'normal' mean being helpless?! If I'm not smart like you and the director⸺ If I'm not strong, like these servants⸺ Should I just lie back and quiver in fear?!"
Fujimaru did not want to be stuck in that gray area of nothing.
He did not want to be useless.
"Being told 'it's too dangerous' for me, that's the same as giving up!" he roared, the injustice burning in his chest. "If I never try, I'll never know what I'm capable of! I won't be a burden anymore!"
Mash met his gaze, her eyes soft.
"⸺ Why push yourself like this?"
"This⸺ this isn't about proving anything," he said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's about not letting fear paralyze me. It's about taking a stand, even if it's just a small one!"
"It's really nothing for me, so don't give me that look, okay?"
He grasped her hand, his resolve hardening. A surge of magic energy began flowing from Fujimaru to Mash, a silent vow of shared determination.
Suddenly, Saber materialized before them, her blade gleaming with deadly intent. "Strutting your youthful folly in the midst of battle? How foolish."
Her blade swooped down, aiming to cleave them in two. But in a flash, Caster materialized, his cane deflecting the blow with a resounding clang.
"Hold your horses, King of knights," he chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Let the young lion roar."
With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a rune, its arcane energy erupting in a blinding explosion. The shockwave sent Saber reeling backward, momentarily stunned.
The air crackled with a different kind of energy now – Saber's fury. Ignoring the ringing in her ears from Caster's explosion, she planted her heel with a force that shook the floor, the visor of her helmet shattering in the process. Her once noble blade pulsed with a dark aura, a twisted echo of its heroic past.
"Hammer of the Vile King," she growled, her voice echoing through the crumbling chamber. "The sword of promised victory..."
EXCALIBER MORGAN!!
Saber swung the monstrous weapon in a colossal arc, the force of it splitting the stone ceiling above. Debris rained down in a chaotic avalanche, aimed directly at Fujimaru, Mash, and Caster. The blow was monstrous, the very air groaning under its weight.
Mash's blood ran cold as she glimpsed the destructive wave of energy surging towards them. It thrummed with a potent darkness, its chaotic aura clawing at the edges of reality, threatening to devour everything in its path. Her shield, usually an unwavering bulwark, felt insignificant against this monstrous tide.
"I can't hold—it!"
She choked, the ground beneath her feet groaning in protest as the attack pushed her back, inch by agonizing inch.
Just as despair threatened to engulf her, a warm hand clasped hers.
A surge of raw power coursed through their link, Fujimaru's unwavering command resonating within her very bones. His spirit, once flickering ember, had erupted into a blazing inferno, his fear transmuted into an unyielding resolve.
"Mash!"
"Let's block this, come on!"
The command along with the command seal, fueled by his newfound strength, echoed within Mash. A spark of defiance ignited in her eyes, her face hardening with newfound determination. The tremor in her grip vanished, replaced by an ironclad resolve.
"Right!" she bellowed, the fear melting away as the sheer force of Fujimaru's conviction filled her. Her shield, once faltering, became an immovable monolith, the runes etched upon it glowing with newfound fervor.
As the world threatened to collapse under the onslaught of dark energy, a tremor of change pulsed through Mash.
Fujimaru's unwavering belief sparked a dormant power within her, a power that had waited patiently throughout their journey.
A surge of light erupted from the heart of her shield, pushing back against the encroaching darkness.
A Noble Phantasm.
The strongest attack of any servant.
The most mysterious part of their existence existing in only stories and myths.
Fueled by the imagination of humanity.
The light coalesced, taking form with each agonizing moment. Runes flickered to life, ancient sigils whispering forgotten promises.
"LORD...!"
"CHALDEAS!!"
The air crackled with a primordial energy, and then, with a thunderous roar, Lord Chaldeas arose.
Towering above them, the shield had transcended its mundane form. It was now a magnificent fortress of swirling blue energy, inscribed with arcane symbols that pulsed with the rhythm of creation itself. It was a bastion of hope, a defiance against the encroaching oblivion.
Mash, standing at the heart of this magnificent construct, felt her own being expand, her connection to Chaldeas deepening.
The radiant blast from Excalibur Morgan erupted from Saber's blade, a torrent of Blackened light aimed at the shield of Lord Chaldeas.
But instead of cleaving through, it met an unforeseen resistance. Like a wave crashing against an unyielding cliff, the light shattered around the shield, dispersing into harmless motes that shimmered and faded.
Saber's face hardened, her disbelief etched into her features. "Impossible," she rasped, her voice cracking with shock. "My power... can it truly be fading?"
But a different possibility, more chilling than decline, crept into her mind. "No," she murmured, her gaze hardening.
"It has been bested."
A rustle behind her drew her attention, and she swung around, blade held high. Her eyes met the unflinching gaze of a young master.
His black hair was matted with sweat, and his face bore the grim determination of a warrior tested beyond his limits.
But what truly stole her breath was his left arm. Pallid and skeletal, it clung to his body like a macabre trophy, a stark contrast to the vibrancy of his Command Seals, pulsing like vines that wrapped around his dead flesh.
Wasting no time again, Saber began to prepare a strike of energy.
However, before she could swing Caliburn Morgan again, a searing explosion erupted at her back, the force sending her staggering forward, Excalibur's shimmering light dissipating.
She whirled around, searching for the attacker, and found the boy bearing down on her like a phantom, eyes blazing with a sinister gleam.
He lunged, a blur of obsidian hair and desperate fury. Her instincts roared, and she whipped up her blade, aiming for a decisive blow.
But with an agility that defied his gaunt frame, the boy rolled under the swing, disappearing from sight for a heartbeat.
The impossible.
A human, unaugmented, had dodged a Servant's attack.
How?
There had to be some sort of reasoning-
Then, in a flash, The boy was upon her again, his skeletal hand plunging into her chest.
"Trace: On." The words were said with such a calm tone, it was as if the boy was simply doing an errand.
Saber's cry of pain ripped through the air, her once-majestic face twisting in agony. Her skin began to ripple, dissolve, as if melting under the touch of an unholy fire.
Fujimaru, eyes wide with horror, could only watch from the fringes. He tried to speak, to call out to the figure, but words failed him, choked by the raw terror gripping his throat.
He could only see a figure. A figure that had managed to beat the king of knights, albeit corrupted and weakened.
Suddenly, amidst the agony contorting Saber's features, a flicker of softness bloomed in her eyes. They locked onto Juro, and through the veil of despair, a whisper escaped her lips:
"...Shirou?"
__________________
Consciousness slammed back into Juro Takahashi like a tidal wave.
He sputtered, eyes snapping open, only to be greeted by the grotesque visage of a decaying corpse clad in once-gleaming armor.
The sight ripped a shriek from his throat, sending him stumbling back, heels pounding against the rocky ground.
The spectral remains, bathed in an unsettling blue luminescence, seemed to ripple and dissolve before his eyes, fading like ink in water. Juro scrambled further back, his eyes darting across the desolate landscape until they landed on a sight that left him breathless.
There, perched on a hillock, stood Fujimaru, his familiar, worried face etched with a mixture of relief and fear.
Beside him, Fou danced on his shoulder, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. But it was the two strangers flanking them that truly confused Juro.
Their faces, etched with a mix of grim curiosity and barely-suppressed rage, were focused solely on him.
He felt like a mouse under the predatory gaze of hawks, the weight of unspoken accusation bearing down upon him. His mind reeled, searching for answers, for memories of what had transpired.
Suddenly, a cacophony of footsteps erupted from behind, snapping Juro out of his daze. He whirled around, heart hammering against his ribs, bracing for whatever lurked in the shadows.