"Yo, Fujimaru."
"Yeah?"
"How do... How do you work together with all these servants? I mean, some of them were outright horrible people. You just... smile at them. Even if they've taken so many smiles away themselves. How do you do it?"
"..."
"..I guess it's because everyone has their own purpose. A goal. I don't think anyone is truly evil—not in the way stories like to make it seem. Most of the time, it's just people with a different outlook on life, shaped by the choices they made or the things they went through. I don't condone everything they've done... but I respect the fact that they lived with purpose. Even if it wasn't the right one."
"Purpose, huh?"
"Yeah. When I summon these Heroic Spirits, what I see are people—flawed people, sure—but they're still people. They have regrets, dreams, things they couldn't achieve in life. They've done good and bad, but at the end of the day, those things don't define everything about them. They're here now because they still have something to offer. Even if their purpose is selfish or destructive... I still think that's something worth understanding."
"...Understanding murderers and tyrants, huh? Sounds exhausting."
"It is, sometimes. But you know what? Anyone can change. They just need the right push. And sometimes, I have to be that push. Of course, that doesn't mean you should let them trample all over you. They've got impulses and flaws they can't control, so you have to stand your ground. You respect them, but you don't give them free rein to hurt others or yourself."
"..."
"...Seriously, Fujimaru Ritsuka, you're one hell of a person. I mean that."
"Yep! The one and only."
"...Alright, I take it back."
"Eh, what?!"
◈◆◈
"Takahashi, are you alright?"
The same phrase, repeated again and again, like a broken record.
Juro turned his head to the speaker.
He gave a small nod.
Without a word, he pushed himself up and quietly left the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
"He seems quite burdened with something," Edison remarked, his mechanical features twitching in thought.
"Is he alright?"
"I feel he has something he needs to deal with," Scathach replied, her voice calm but firm. "Best to leave him alone for now."
Romani nodded in agreement and returned to his conversation, though his eyes lingered on the door for a moment longer.
Juro's footsteps echoed through the hallway.
At this point, the castle's layout had become second nature to him.
The dim light streaming through the windows.
The two guards stationed near the southern corridor.
That stubborn stain on the stone floor he always passed.
But tonight, something was different.
Tonight, he wasn't just wandering.
He had someone he needed to face.
Someone he had neglected for far too long.
Someone who had gone unchecked while he repeatedly died.
Someone who was supposed to be his servant.
He pushed open the heavy doors to the courtyard, the cold night air biting against his skin.
The familiar figure sat on top the stone wall, soaked in moonlight. Her silver hair gleamed faintly, her black armor reflecting the cold glow.
Juro made his way towards her, making sure his footsteps were audible against the stone path.
Jeanne d'Arc Alter didn't move at first, only shifting her head slightly when his shadow crossed hers.
When she finally turned, her yellow eyes were hard, glaring at him. She didn't say a word.
Instead, she hopped down from the wall with practiced ease, her armor clinking softly with each movement.
Without even sparing him a second glance, she began walking away.
Not this time.
Takahashi Juro reached out and grabbed her wrist, firmly enough to stop her.
She froze, staring at his hand as though it were an insult.
"'Fuck you think you're doing?" she hissed.
She was perfectly capable of ripping her hand away, taking his hand off in the process, yet she did not.
Juro didn't let go.
"Stop isolating yourself all the time," he said quietly.
"What?" Her voice was sharp, venomous, like the crack of a whip.
"You can ask for help. There are people around you who care. You don't have to do everything by yourself."
In a way, the things he said to the servant could be applied to himself. Perhaps he was simply projecting.
She stiffened, her golden eyes narrowing into a glare.
Juro stared into that glare.
"I know you're stuck in her shad—"
The swish of a blade sliced through the air.
In a flash, Jalter's sword was at his throat, the cold metal biting into his skin.
"Say another word,"
"...and I'll take that head off your shoulders."
The blade pressed down.
"No."
"I'm not letting go."
His hand gripped tighter than any vise machine.
"Stop punishing yourself, Jeanne," Juro continued, his voice steadier than he felt.
"Stop isolating yourself, stop pretending you don't care."
"Shut the fuck up!!"
Her blade pushed harder, the sting in his neck growing sharper as a thin stream of blood trickled down his skin.
"You got a fucking worm inside your head or something?! I'll burn your corpse till there's nothing left but ashes!"
That last word that was uttered had so much killing intent behind it, had someone else listened to it, they would have died from fear.
But Juro was not someone else.
Instead, he grabbed the blade with his bare hand.
The sharp metal bit deep into his palm, blood spilling between his fingers and dripping onto the stone below. The pain shot up his arm, but he didn't care.
He didn't care anymore.
There was no more hiding it.
There was no more backing down.
There was no more suffering.
There was no more.
His canines clenched against each other.
"Again with the dumb fucking threats!!"
"I'm done with your shit! I'm fucking done! Who the hell do you think you are?! You think you're untouchable? You think you can keep pushing everyone away and no one's going to call you out on it?!"
The blade trembled in her hand, but Juro pressed forward, his voice rising.
"You're always being a pain in the ass! Every damn time! You can't work with a team! Every time I call for you, every time I look for you, you're off in some dark corner, acting all edgy and distant like the world's against you!"
He tightened his grip on the blade, ignoring the searing pain. His voice cracked with raw emotion.
"And when I try to talk to you like a fucking human being? You just threaten me and run away!! You lash out like a wild animal! Do you know how fucking annoying that is?! You're not just hurting yourself—you're holding everyone back!! You're punishing yourself for something that doesn't even make sense anymore!! Quit playing the tragic heroine card!"
"Shut up.."
"I understand, alright? I get it—"
Shlick.
The blade sliced across his cheek in a clean, swift motion.
Blood pooled along the fresh wound, but Juro didn't move. He didn't even blink.
Anger.
Fear.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" she shouted, her voice raw. "Why do you keep butting into everyone's lives? Why do you keep pushing yourself into places you don't belong?! People don't need your help! They have their own shit to deal with!"
Her breathing grew uneven, her grip on the blade loosening.
"No one needs a hero, or a savior, or whatever the fuck you think you are!! You're just some normal person! You have no idea what other people deal with every goddamn day!" Her voice cracked as the words spilled out, each more venomous than the last. "You've never gone through any real shit, so stop pretending like you have! Stay away from me! Why do you keep pushing?! Why do you keep bothering me?! What do you even get out of it?!
What do you want?!"
Juro's eyes burned with a fire she hadn't seen before.
A fire that burned brighter and larger than the dark flames that were stoked within the Avenger's mind.
He released the blade, grabbed her by the collar, and yanked her close—so close their faces nearly touched.
His blood-smeared hand stained the edges of her armor.
"Are you really that fucking stupid?!"
Jalter's eyes widened.
"Is it not obvious to you?! I keep pushing because I care about you, dumbass!! There are people who care about you! Why can't you get that through your thick skull?! Why does that idea scare you so damn much?!"
Jeanne's breath hitched, but Juro didn't stop.
"You think isolating yourself makes you stronger!? You think pushing people away protects them? Bullshit!! All you're doing is tearing yourself apart and dragging the rest of us down with you!! We're supposed to be fighting to save humanity, but how the hell can we do that when we've got some unchecked psycho bitch who'll kill anyone at the drop of a hat?!"
"Don't you dare—"
"I'm not done!" Juro roared, cutting her off. "You're dangerous, Jeanne—not because of your power, but because you refuse to trust anyone!! You refuse to let anyone in!! You refuse to believe that anyone can give a damn about you without trying to change you!! News flash!! We do care!!"
He let go.
She made no effort to look at him.
The blood from his hand dripped to the floor, the moonlight reflecting off the bright crimson.
There was no sound at all, save for the panting of Juro.
"...Look, I get it. You don't want to be stuck in her shadow. She's revered. Loved. Strong. I know what it feels like."
Juro's voice softened.
"..I won't pretend to understand everything, but I know enough. You're not her. You're your own person. You've always been your own person. Stop doing this to yourself."
To be honest, Juro had always hesitated to push things this far with Jalter. He wasn't stupid—he knew how dangerous she was.
She wasn't just talk. If she wanted to, she could kill him here and now, without hesitation.
But he noticed something.
She never did.
No matter how many times she threatened him—swords drawn, fire in her eyes—she never followed through. It was always just words. Warnings. She'd lash out but never cross that line.
That thought gave him courage now.
Even so, he knew this wasn't over. He couldn't let her become another threat hanging over his head in the endless loops.
She was unpredictable, volatile.
And more than that, she was the one who had informed Olethros. She was the one who had let him in.
Of course, Juro couldn't bring that up now. Not yet. He'd already pushed his luck tonight. Any more, and she would kill him.
Jalter stood in silence, head bowed, her bangs casting shadows over her eyes.
Finally, she spoke.
"Idiot."
Juro let out a dry chuckle, running a hand through his hair. Blood from his cut smeared across his face.
"Yeah, I guess I am. A real idiot," he admitted, exhaling slowly.
Without another word, Jeanne sheathed her sword. The sound of metal sliding into its scabbard was strangely final.
She didn't spare him another glance.
Didn't glare.
Didn't snarl.
She just turned and walked away.
Juro stood there for a moment, watching her retreating figure. He let out a long sigh, the adrenaline finally draining from his body.
"Maybe that'll do the trick."
The sky was dark now, the stars burning bright in the sky.
It was already around 10 p.m.
"Alright," he said, steeling himself. "Preparations. Preparations."
However, for a moment, just a moment, Juro found himself simply standing there.
He stared at his bloody hand.
The gash was quite large, with the blood still flowing freely.
His face was dead, devoid of emotion.
"...I'm disgusting."
◈◆◈
Standing in front of the group, Juro continued to explain the situation.
"Olethro's Ability has something to do with changing. He basically just adapts to everything, changing his physical form, his mentality, virtually everything about himself. He can also steal traits and skills from others, even servants, which is kind of overpowered."
"Takahashi, how do you know all this exactly?" Romani asked.
"Well, the bastard was dumb enough to explain to me his ability."
"Hm. It's still absurd to think that a dead apostle attacked Master while he was outside." Emiya noted.
"Do you know anything about this, Li Shuwen?" Scatach said, her head practically creaking towards the martial artist.
Said martial artist tried his utmost to ignore the glare that was being directed towards him by about 80% of the people in the room.
"Well, I've come up with a plan." Juro said.
Romani raised his eyebrow.
"A plan, huh?"
He sighed.
"Let me guess—you're the bait."
"Bingo," Juro grinned.
Romani sighed.
"Robin's stealthy Noble Phantasm will do the heavy lifting. If it fails, we've got a lineup of heavy hitters who can finish the job. Karna alone could probably burn him down."
Robin sighed.
"Got it, got it, Just gotta surprise the thing."
"But, Takahashi," Romani interjected.
"Didn't you say this 'Olethros' can change forms? Wouldn't he just adapt to whoever's attacking him?"
"That's exactly why we're hitting him with everything at once," Juro replied.
"It's not about overwhelming him—it's about not giving him time to adapt."
"He can't counter everything if he doesn't get a second to think."
The room fell quiet.
"Hmm, running into a dead apostle will be quite the issue," Romani pondered.
"Johann, what can you pull on dead apostles?" Romani called out to the command room staff.
◈◆◈
The hallway stretched ahead, dim and silent. Shadows danced on the walls as flickering torches cast a pale glow.
Juro stood alone, his breathing steady but shallow. His hands were clenched in his pockets, but his mind raced.
Every second felt heavy, like a weight on his chest, gradually getting heavier as time passed.
This was it.
This had to be it.
He had gathered enough information. To lose now would be to suffer for nothing.
"Well, well… Takahashi Juro, in the flesh," A voice taunted, slow and deliberate.
"Your scent… it's delicious. Almost inviting. I can barely hold in the urge to spill your innards all over the ground."
The boy clenched his teeth before turning around.
Juro sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Man, it really is a new personality every loop. I preferred when you were all casual."
Despite his tone, behind it, he felt absolute hate towards the creature in front of him.
Juro's eyes stayed sharp, his eyes tracking every movement.
Olethros emerged from the gloom, his form twisted and shifting, like a predator stalking its prey.
His bare feet slapped against the rough floor, reverberating across the room.
"Bold words, little worm. But that little demeanor of yours will soon be replaced by screams of pain and anguish."
Juro smirked, taking a step forward.
"Seriously, you really are a whole different person. At first, you were just this terrifyingly casual guy, but now you actually act the way you really are:"
His eyes narrowed as he pointed directly at the dead apostle.
"A parasite."
The Dead Apostle tilted his head, his movements unsettlingly smooth.
"....We are both the same, you and me. Two men who are rejected by the-"
"Bleh! I'm being compared to the parasite!!" Juro called out as he held his nose, faking a hurl.
"I'll hang you by your innards!!"
Without warning, Olethros lunged, gliding forward with unnatural speed. The air rippled around him, a blur of motion that closed the gap in an instant.
"Now!"
A sharp whistle cut through the air as an arrow, fast and precise, shot from the shadows.
It struck Olethros in the side of the head, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack.
The Apostle staggered but quickly regained his balance, his glowing yellow eye narrowing.
"An arrow? Really?" he snarled, scanning the darkness. "Coward! Come out and face me!"
Robin Hood emerged from his perch on a ledge, bow in hand. His grin was infuriatingly smug.
"Kinda funny hearing that from someone about to murder an unarmed guy. Irony's a killer, huh?"
"You—!" Olethros's snarl was cut off by another blast.
"Caladbolg!"
A spiraling burst of energy zoomed down the hall, slamming into Olethros's torso. The explosion shook the building, shaking the walls and sending debris flying.
Smoke filled the air, dimming the aftermath.
Juro covered his face from the dust, coughing.
As the smoke cleared, Olethros's silhouette reappeared, grotesquely deformed but still standing.
His body twitched as it began to heal, muscles stitching themselves back together. The skin reattached, covering any other wounds that had been inflicted.
Before he could move, however, a crimson spear shot through the air, piercing his skull with a sickening thud.
A huge hole the size of a fist had replaced his face.
Blood splattered across the floor, and the Apostle faltered.
But still, he did not fall.
"Persistent." muttered Scathach, stepping into the fight as the spear made its way towards her once again.
Olethros growled, stumbling forward.
"I'll murder every single last one of you…!"
He reached his hand towards Juro, his single yellow eye swirling in absolute rage.
"Takahashi Juro!! I'll kill everyone you love and scatter their- "
His hand was split down the middle as a large sword the size of Juro's arm cleaved through it.
Another barrage followed—arrows rained down along with swords sliced through him, each strike more brutal than the last.
The assault pinned him to the ground, turning his body into a mangled mess of twisted limbs and broken bones.
Juro exhaled slowly, watching the carnage.
His eyes didn't leave the twisting form.
"He needs physical contact to trigger his ability," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "As long as we keep him at a distance, we've got a shot."
"Hah...I'm such a dumbass, why didn't I think of that earlier?"
So many deaths for nothing.
The other Servants approached cautiously, weapons still drawn.
Karna's calm voice broke the silence from behind Juro.
"It appears my assistance was unnecessary."
Juro's watch flickered on as Romani's hologram showed itself.
"Hah, I guess me too. And here I was making a whole plan just in case you failed."
Juro's head practically creaked towards Romani.
"....Yeah, we've got it down."
Suddenly, mechanical soldiers flooded in, their metal feet clanking against the stone floor.
Edison, towering and imposing, barked orders from the rear.
"Surround him! Don't let up! Keep firing until sunrise if you have to!"
The soldiers obeyed, unleashing a barrage of bullets at the 'corpse'.
The smell of gunpowder and burning metal filled the air.
Juro glanced at Edison, his body still tense. "You sure you've got enough ammo to last till sunrise? It's only midnight."
Phase 2 of the plan was simple. As soon as the dead apostle was in an extremely damaged state, Edison's soldiers would enter the room swiftly, and fire at him until sunrise, when the sun itself would finish the job.
Edison chuckled.
"My soldiers can go for days without rest!"
The others shot him skeptical looks.
"O-Of course, they volunteered for this."
Juro sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Well—"
As that word 'well' was uttered, something utterly shocking happened.
Something that should have not happened yet did.
Something that defied everything yet did not defy anything.
A small tendril of flesh slithered across the floor, weaving through the carnage. It moved slowly, creeping toward an unsuspecting soldier.
Before anyone could react, it slipped into the gaps in the soldier's armor.
The man stiffened as his body shook as he choked and gasped. His screams were drowned out by the gunfire.
Then he collapsed.
All eyes turned to the fallen soldier, too late to stop what was happening.
His body squirmed, armor cracking open as flesh and bone twisted into something unrecognizable.
The creature that emerged was hideous, a fusion of man and abomination.
The abomination quickly exploded, spreading its spores throughout the area.
It then merged with the pool of flesh that had once been Olethros.
A single word echoed through the air:
"Break."
In an instant, everything organic exploded. Soldiers were torn apart, their bodies disintegrating in a violent burst of gore.
Blood and viscera splattered across the walls as Olethros reformed, his body twisting into something new.
He rose slowly, the air around him suffocating.
Simply looking at the creature caused Juro's mind to dip into the pool of madness for a split second.
The left half of his upper face remained intact, one glowing yellow eye staring directly at Juro. The rest of his face was gone, replaced by exposed bone and jagged teeth. His body, now covered in a monstrous mockery of armor, released power.
Power in its purest form.
During this entire time, anyone could have made a move, and swiftly ended everything.
Yet no one did.
Simply due to the fact that all of this had taken a single second.
A second.
When Olethros spoke, it was not one voice but thousands, layered and grating.
"We… are Olethros. I… am Olethros."
He raised his hands, as if receiving enlightenment. As if he had just received a divine revelation.
"Humans… always seek something greater than yourselves. You crave leaders, gods, something to follow. You may claim individuality, but deep down, you lie. You need something to worship."
His eye glowed brighter, a beacon of malevolence.
"I am greater! I am a GOD!!"
"And a GOD must be all-powerful, should he not?!" Olethros roared, his voice splitting through the air like thunder.
"There's no spirit origin readings, but the Mana coming off from that guy is insane!! It's as if he's using so much Mana, there's none being used!" Romani called out.
His form began to flash, becoming hazy, like an afterimage flickering in and out of reality.
Yet, he did not move. He simply stood there, his laughter reverberating through the corridor, growing louder and more distorted.
His form blurred further.
"I am all-powerful! WE are-"
It happened in an instant.
Within the span of 100 milliseconds, nine Servants appeared before Olethros, their weapons gleaming with lethal intent.
Each blade, spear, and arrow was poised to strike. Their precision was pin-accurate. To miss, even on purpose, would be impossible.
Now, In 100 milliseconds, there is virtually nothing a human can do.
For an ordinary person, even recognizing a blade at their throat requires 250 milliseconds, something that would not stop the attacker from slicing the human's head off.
Servants, however, exist in a realm beyond human limitations. They are faster, sharper, deadlier. Enhanced by their Masters' mana, they can react and strike with speeds unimaginable to Humans.
Takahashi Juro's mana reserves weren't vast; most of his support came from Chaldea. But even with his limited capacity, the proximity of the Servants to their Master enhanced their performance, sharpening their abilities.
In this moment, Olethros was cornered, outmatched.
There was nothing he could do.
No chance to fight back.
No escape.
And yet—
There was one thing he could do.
To Change.
To "change" is to defy.
To "change" is to reject the rules set in place.
To "change" is to alter the self. To become strong.
And in the span of 50 milliseconds, the Dead Apostle Olethros changed.
His body itself bent around him, his perception expanding exponentially. What was once incomprehensibly fast now moved at a crawl.
As the Servants' weapons descended, Olethros dodged.
He dodged.
Skidding back, the Dead Apostle laughed.
"We have dodged your feeble attack!"
Juro's chest tightened as cold sweat dripped down his temple.
'He didn't chant 'Break.' How did he change without it?!'
Olethros's twisted shape, now blurred like an afterimage, darted between the figures of the servants.
It was because of that transformation, wasn't it? He had become stronger, faster.
And because of that, he was able to keep up with so many servants actively attacking him at the same time.
"Erebos!!! Great Erebos!!""
His neck was slashed by Rama, causing blood to spray out.
Almost instantly, his head creaked back to position.
His hand swiftly latched on Rama's face, throwing him.
Juro noted how Oletrhos fought, almost like a whip. He would throw his weight on a punch, practically falling over, yet he did not.
Instead of throwing a jab, he would swipe, his arm cracking in the air like a whip.
"..Thanks to you and Nyx, I am able to ASCEND TO YOUR LEVEL!!" The monster yelled as he parried strikes at impossible speeds.
A swing of Scatach's spear barely connected, slicing through Olethros's right arm. Blood spattered across the broken floor.
The severed limb hung for less than a second before Olethros shoved the stump into a nearby wall.
Bricks cracked and crumbled, reforming into a crude, jagged shield that grew out of his body.
"I need orders!" Emiya called out, firing a series of arrows, each exploding on impact around the Apostle.
"Master, should I use my Noble Phantasm!?"
Juro shook his head violently.
"No!" Juro replied. "I can make this work! I can think of a way!"
Emiya nodded before engaging in combat.
Alright, there was Karna, an absolute powerhouse.
There was one simple issue, however.
Karna was still recovering from the battle against Rama and Emiya earlier, and he could not use his noble phantasm.
The only reason Karna had been defeated within other loops was simply due to this fact.
It was a noble phantasm done out of desperation, which left him weak, and allowed him to be damaged.
His noble phantasm, Vasavi Shakti, was one of the most powerful ever, serving as a direct counter to Olethros, who was a vampire.
Of course, the sun was the weakness of all vampires.
"Damn it!" Juro yelled, frustrated at the fact he possessed the cards to win, yet could not wield them.
Still, Karna was performing quite well, his blows were swift and precise, each one landing with enough force to level a mountain.
He was quite the martial artist.
Yet, it only damaged Olethros, 'not 'damage' him.
The Dead Apostle simply regenerated the areas, stronger, and more sturdier.
Actually, in reality, Oletrhos was only dodging about 40% of the attacks. The rest he took dead on. It was actually in his favor if he received damage from an opposing force, given that he could simply 'change'.
Juro watched as blood splattered, again and again.
Splat. Splat. Splat.
It reminded him of himself.
Blood. Blood. Blood.
He felt sweat drip down his arm.
He took a deep breath.
I am weak.
I know I'm weak.
But that won't stop me from using my head.
My head is my greatest tool.
Think.
Think.
Juro turned to Edison, who was barking orders at soldiers who fired at Olethros. The soldiers were firing relentlessly, their bullets ricocheting off Olethros or sinking into his body only to be absorbed.
"Edison!"
The lion-headed man turned his head towards the boy.
"Are you willing to blow part of your castle to stop this bastard?" Juro yelled over the sound of chaos.
"Anything, master!"
Juro didn't hesitate, pointing toward the pillar. "Take it down!"
A nearby soldier carrying a rocket launcher caught the command, quickly aiming at the pillar. The missile fired with a roaring whoosh, streaking through the air before smashing into the column.
The explosion shook the castle, sending cracks spiderwebbing through the ceiling above Olethros. The pillar crumbled, and with a loud roar, the roof began to collapse.
Olethros's head snapped up as he looked at the incoming roof.
His single yellow eye narrowed.
With an enormous crash, the roof collapsed.
The room filled with smoke and dust, obscuring everything.
"Karna! Emiya! Rama! Hold!" Juro ordered, his voice cracking slightly.
He turned to the others, shouting over the chaos. "Everyone, stand back! Give me a second!"
Juro began to issue commands to his servants.
◈◆◈
Olethros's head swayed from side to side as he adjusted to the thick smoke surrounding him.
His ability to adapt was near-instantaneous, but even for him, the smoke was a challenge. So he could not adapt to 'smoke' as a concept, but rather, each individual particle.
As he navigated through the haze, he noticed blades and weapons scattered across the ground.
Had they attempted to strike at him in the smoke, but horribly missing.
Olethros chuckled at the thought, taking another step forward—until his foot landed on something unusual
A faint orange glow emanated from a rune inscribed on the floor.
His eye widened.
It exploded, blowing his left leg out.
He snarled as he fell to his right leg.
Regrowing limbs was nothing new for him, but before he could fully stabilize, a sword connected to a string swung through the air and sliced across his newly formed leg.
What was that supposed to do? Damage him?
Wait.
Olethros screamed as his leg burned from the inside out.
Poison.
Thinking quickly, he sliced off the affected limb himself, stumbling back to avoid further injury. But as he did, he triggered another trap—a second rune exploded beneath him, propelling him backward and slashing him with more embedded blades.
Again?!
Each time he tried to balance himself, another explosion or trap was triggered.
The relentless assault of poisons, explosions, and slashes kept him off-kilter.
That worm! He's trying to force me into a constant loop of adapting to different things—keeping me vulnerable!
With sheer effort and focus, Olethros finally stabilized himself, adapting his legs to become near-invulnerable.
Taking a sigh of relief, he began to run around, searching for his prey.
He would not allow them to escape, not without splattering their remains along the walls.
Had he still had skin on his face, he would have been smiling like a madman.
Suddenly, a spear impaled his back.
He staggered, quickly regenerating and ejecting the weapon from his body.
Performing a front flip 360, he noticed the assailant, The purple-haired woman with the red spear.
Olethros landed on the hilt of a large sword embedded in the ground, balancing on it as he eyed her. His arms were crossed as he stood tall.
"You seem more capable when alone."
"Those worms holding you back—they're nothing but dead weight. Why not join me?"
The woman's eyes had a calm, yet threatening aura to them.
"You are merely attempting to absorb my likeness, are you not?"
"True warriors are made of skills from different places, what is the difference in merging into one, powerful warrior?"
The queen of shadows spun her lance.
"You are no warrior. You are a coward wearing the skin of hundreds of others. Strip away those layers, and you're nothing but a parasite."
"I am not a 'you', I am a we. 'We' are 'you' and 'you' are 'me.'"
"You are quite the eccentric individual."
"The mark of strength is only implanted upon those who break free from the chains of this so-called 'Sanity.'"
"Enough banter, now is the time for combat."
"...Let's see if you keep the same tone while your innards are being feasted on!!!"
The monster leaped forward.
The woman said nothing, and stepped forward, throwing her spear at Olethros, impaling him through the mouth.
She swiftly closed her hand into a fist.
The world around Olethros shifted.
His vision blurred, then darkened. Sound became distant and warped. The very space around him seemed to compress, squeezing tighter and tighter.
He stumbled, his balance faltering as the oppressive force overwhelmed him.
It was as if his field of vision, light, and sound were slowly being compressed.
He could not change.
Why could he not change?!
"What did you do?!" He yelled into the darkness.
No response.
He lashed out, trying to change—to adapt to the growing darkness—but nothing happened. The constricting space prevented him from focusing, his thoughts scattering as if being smothered.
An arrow struck his chest, embedding itself deep before exploding.
His body was adapting, slower than usual?!
As he regenerated, the white-haired servant appeared in front of him, lunging as he threw his weapon towards Olethros.
"BRAHMASTRA KUNDALA!!"
Olethros quickly changed.
The servant had something to do fire-based attacks, so all he needed to do was increase the max temperature his body could take.
There were two kinds of adaptations.
One, being attacked by a sword, the wound grows back, stronger.
The second occurred only if Olethros knew what was coming. He could accordingly 'plan' to that.
For example, if he was to be put on fire, he could simply higher the temperature his body could take.
What he did not expect, however, was the spear to simply pierce through his chest.
He faked the Noble Phantasm?!
Olethros roared in frustration, stepping back—only to trigger another rune-embedded trap. The ground beneath him erupted again, sending shards and debris slicing into his form.
His regeneration was slowing.
No, stop.
One at a time.
He had to focus on adapting past this slowly constraining space around him.
The field of constriction around him grew tighter. His vision warped further, colors bending unnaturally, making it harder to distinguish reality from illusion.
He staggered, his movements erratic as he tried to focus on adapting. He began pouring his energy into countering the effects of the space compressing around him.
As he began to adapt, within a second, he noticed something.
The air bent.
The air bent.
It bent.
His vision was once again restored.
But to his absolute dismay.
Yes, his absolute dismay.
◈◆◈
Karna levitated as the burning bright disc of flame lit up the sky.
"Feel the mercy of the king of gods, You will be destroyed with this one strike…"
The air warped and warped as the burning intensified.
The heroic spirit pointed his spear at the dead apostle.
Juro clenched his arm.
A burst of mana. All he had left.
He had to push.
He had gotten so far.
He had died so much.
To give up would be suicidal.
There was too much to lose.
______________
"J-man, J-man, how've you been?" The school counselor asked as he laid back in his seat.
The room was quiet, save for the outside talking of students walking past the counselors room.
16-year-old Juro sat in front of the man, both hands gripping the straps of his backpack tightly.
"Good, I guess."
"What did you do for the break?"
"..."
"Alright, alright, I won't pry."
"..."
The man leaned forward, as he folded his hands together.
"You know why you're here right?"
"Yes."
"...Your future. What do you want to be, Juro? What are your aspirations, goals? What do you want to be as a person? What do you want to leave behind in this world?"
"I've already told you, a doctor." His voice was almost mechanical, as if he had answered this question hundreds of times already.
The counselor sighed, standing up and pacing toward the window. "You said you wanted to be a firefighter a few years ago. What happened to that?"
"Things changed, I guess."
"... Look.."
"Look... you're a good kid, Juro. You really are. You've got a helpful spirit. You're always looking out for others. But... even the most helpful people need direction. You need to decide what kind of mark you want to leave.."
He turned back to Juro, his expression soft but firm.
"To be someone is to change the world around you. To leave a legacy. Everyone has a path, Juro. A journey waiting for them to take that one step forward."
"Your path is out there, Juro, you just need to take that step.."
The boy sighed as he looked down.
"The way I see it... it's not really a path. I feel like I'm just floating. Like I'm stuck in a river. I'm just a big log drifting with the current, going wherever it takes me. Not really resisting. Not making any turns."
His words grew heavier, quieter.
"Everyone else around me... they're boats. They've got their own streams to follow, their own rivers to carve. Me? I'm just... there."
"Everyone around me is good at something. Luca's good at sports, Ada's good at science stuff. Almost everyone has something to them, while I… I just sorta exist."
"I guess…"
__________________________________
Takahashi Juro raised his hand, his body trembling with the effort, and pointed it directly at Karna.
"Imagine the waves of mana flowing from you to your servant."
His arm convulsed violently as if it were about to snap under the strain.
"Visualize the waves. And Push."
"I guess…"
"PUSH!"
Blood vessels burst in his right eye, painting his vision with streaks of crimson, while his fingers bent and shook uncontrollably under the immense force.
"I guess I'm a nobody."
I am scared.
I am scared and want to go home.
Everything hurts and I'm scared.
NO.
"GRAGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! BLOODSUCKER!!! ADAPT TO THIS!!!"
Push.
You must push.
To get anything done, one must push.
Takahashi Juro was no hero, but he was human—and humans, when cornered, pushed through pain, through fear, through despair.
Takahashi Juro was human.
I need to win!
I Must win!
If this bastard wins!! It's all for nothing!!
Grab it!! If it burns, grab it!! If it cuts you, grab it!! Pain is only temporary!!
Pleasure is only temporary!!
The effects of what you have done will remain forever!!
Bleed now, reap forever!!
This is what Takahashi Juro believed in that moment!!
The dead apostle, desperate to quickly stop this, stared at Juro.
His eye glowed a bright yellow as the spirals spun.
But to his horrifying realization, Nothing happened.
Nothing happened at all.
The boy was immune to Mystic Eyes.
"Watch Indra! I Will burn it all!" Karna yelled.
"VASAVI SHAKTI!!"
The sky tore apart as the divine spear descended, its brilliance rivaling the sun. Lightning surged from the weapon.
The ground quaked, the horizon bent, and every soul present could feel the weight of mortality pressing against them.
The divine spear of Karna was bestowed to him by the thunder god, Indra. A spear of mortality made from lightning, that forces the shackles of mortality unto the immortal.
The will of gods cannot be changed, and that is a fact.
No matter how much a snake might slither in a house, eventually, it will be caught.
Olethros leaped back, attempting to get away from this brilliant attack.
What the Dead Apostle, did not expect, however, was the cloaked Robin Hood, kicking him squarely in the back, sending him hurtling into the spear's path.
The single eye of the dead apostle widened.
Olethros's screams pierced the battlefield as his body was torn apart from the attack.
The light tore through his skin, clothes, and everything materiel on his body. His form wavered in the beam.
But as he yelled, he began to laugh.
"I WON'T DIE! I'LL NEVER DIE!!"
"GREAT EREBOS, PROVIDE ME THE STRENGTH TO OVERCOME THIS OBSTACLE!!"
As the attack subsided, the Dead Apostle still managed to stand there.
Despite the sheer volume of the attack, it managed to survive.
Only because of the moon, was it able to live.
The monster laughed sickly.
It believed it survived.
Well, it did.
But not without ending up as a shambling corpse, no different than a ghoul.
It was simply a skeleton being held up by burned pieces of muscle.
"I am blessed."
It shambled towards Juro.
"I am blessed. I survived."
The servants made no attempt to move, as the creature was no threat.
It shambled forward before falling to the ground.
Suddenly, Juro felt his consciousness immediately go out as soon as the vampire hit the ground.
◈◆◈
A lone tree stands against the horizon.
Green grass sways gently in the wind.
I glance at my hands—undamaged, pure, white.
Ahead, a boy with spiky red hair sits at the edge, no older than eleven.
I have a strong urge to sit next to him.
Something in me knows I should sit beside him.
Without hesitation, I do.
The sound of rustling leaves fills the silence.
He is staring at the bright orange sun, watching as it melds into the horizon.
"...You got me, huh?"
"..."
"You really did. I've been around for so long I can't even remember the last time I've been beaten."
"..."
I cannot speak. Rather, I do not want to speak.
"I'm so stupid. I'm a fool. I'm really a fool."
The silence carried on for a few more moments.
"..."
"...My mother. I still remember her. Her smile. The hugs she would give me before I would head out in the village to play with the other kids."
"...You're probably not in the mood for a sob story, sorry."
I simply close my eyes. I do not outright tell him, but it is enough of a sign for him to continue.
"I was a bad kid. Used to lie, get in fights. People used to hate me. I just couldn't shut up after a kid beat me in a game, yknow. It was a simple life."
"I'd return home, and my mom would yell at me. But after that, she'd pull me close. She'd say stuff like she believed in me. That I could change, and be a better person. That everyone would love me if I did. To them, I was a nuisance."
"She'd tell me, 'change, change.' I never did. After all, my mom's love was unconditional, right? No matter what I did, she would still care about me. There was no need to be better, right?"
"Then she got sick."
The boy went silent for a moment.
"The same mama I would always come home to, who was either cooking, cleaning, or tending to the house, was in the room, sick. Laying on that bed."
"At first, she spoke. She asked me how my day was, told me I'd do great things. Over time, it slowed down."
He swallows hard.
It's as if he is slowly regaining his emotions.
"And then one day… she stopped talking. Just… stopped."
"I held her hand for hours."
"''Mama, I'll be good. I'll change. I swear I'll change!' But she never answered."
"I still remember the house. It was empty, devoid of life. Devoid of my mama. There was nothing in there anymore."
"Maybe it was me. I let my mama die thinking her son could do better, that he was not at his best."
"I began to become obsessed with the idea of change. I reshaped my life, I helped the villagers. But it was never enough.
"Because, at the end of the day,"
"I was still the boy who let his mother down..."
"..One day, a man came to me. His face was covered in a hood, and he promised me power, to erase the shackles of humanity. To change into something and be reborn. I took this opportunity."
"...I guess I wanted to become worthy of my mom's pride, even if she was gone. I wanted to erase myself in the past, to become someone who was worthy."
"That's how I became a dead apostle. At first, it was amazing, I was stronger. But it came at a price. I had to consume others. I had to consume their memories and their lives, their essence was my fuel. And with each I ate, a piece of myself disappeared."
"I just ate."
"Maybe if I kept going, I'd find the right soul, to feel whole again. Over time, I lost myself. I was no longer in control."
"And now look at me. Back at square one."
"I haven't changed at all."
"The sound of her voice… it's gone. I can't hear her anymore."
I look at the boy.
He's crying.
He's desperately wiping at his tears, hoping I don't catch him crying.
He's a kid.
A boy who clung to the idea of changing for his mother, to erase himself in the past. A way to grief. He absorbed others, probably evil people, and slowly cascaded from there, turning into a monster.
The sounds of the boy softly weeping fill the area.
"Mama… I'm sorry mama…"
His mother wanted him to grow as a person. His mother would love him regardless. Such is the case of a mother.
He tried to fix himself but only worsened it.
The snowball rolled and rolled.
He escaped his flaws by turning into a monster.
Can a child be blamed for this?
"Y'know." I begin.
"She loved you just as you were. She didn't want you to be someone else. She just wanted you to grow. You were bright enough in her eyes. She just believed you could shine even more."
I look up.
"My mom died when I was really young, so I'm not really sure how a mom would act."
I looked at the boy's tear-filled face and smiled.
The boy's face quivered as he begun to sob once more.
He was no longer trying to hide it.
"She really loved you."
"How can you…"
"I killed so many people… I took the lives of so many… I'm a murderer…"
"Why?"
"Everyone makes stupid decisions. Sometimes, those stupid decisions can lead you down a path in life, that you can no longer leave. You lived with purpose. You had regrets. You regret it. There's a piece of you still in there."
"Uwahh...I'm sorry... I'm so sorry…"
This boy had no one. No one to guide him. Only his mother. The light that shone for him was snuffed out.
I place my hand on his head as I ruffle his hair.
"If she saw the effort you made, she'd be proud. She'd be happy for you."
The boy smiles faintly, his tears drying as he looks back at the horizon.
I stand, brushing off my legs, and extend a hand to him.
"C'mon, let's go."
To my surprise, he shakes his head, his small hand rising to point at the sunset.
He then pointed at it.
He wants to stay here.
I hesitate, then sit back down beside him.
We don't say a word for a while. Only watching as the sun dips lower, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson.
"Was I strong?"
"Really strong. It took a buncha guys to take you down, y'know."
"Wow."
"..."
Silence.
"For what it's worth, thank you."
Takahashi Juro stared at the sunset. Alone.
"I'm horrible."