flightworks | [Fate/ninth heaven] Vagrant Grail Cadenza; violation (II) [route III, day 11]

Masterlist and readme are here.

Trigger warning for body horror in this chapter.

violation (II)

(interlude 11-1)

This is the story of the one I love.

…In the end he’d just made a mistake.
Overall that’s not really such a big deal, to make one error, but the world isn’t as forgiving as that—to just ignore someone’s weakness.
That is the injustice of the society of mortals.

He made a mistake.
…I don’t mean his resistance against the reason he was born, his exercising the right to choose his own destiny that he’d never actually been given.
I don’t mean the way that he chose to fight back against the almighty forces of the gods, either. His falling into the endless cycle of harm wasn’t something that could be helped.
…He’d been afraid, and there’s a clear culprit to point your finger at in that case.

No.
…He made a mistake, and that was hesitating.
For a brief time, the road in front of him forked.
There was the path he’d already set out on, the way towards getting revenge for the wrongs done to him and destroying everything he had to fear.
And there was a new path there, where he might be able to set his burdens down and be happy for a while.

I think it’s natural.
He’d fought for the same goal for lifetimes, and so it’s only normal that he was unsure at the prospect of starting up a new way of life.
If he jumped towards the path of happiness, there wouldn’t be any guarantees. He wouldn’t be able to pursue his revenge anymore, and wouldn’t be able to fight his fears. On top of that, there was no guarantee that the dream of peace would last.
But at the same time, even if it was a fleeting dream that would only last for a few heartbeats compared to his thousand years of life—that kind of peace and warm environment wasn’t anything he’d ever been allowed to even glimpse, and he didn’t want to let it go.

In the end he couldn’t decide.
…It’s a simple mistake and I don’t think anyone could blame him for it.
But his indecision—

When he woke up from that death on the far side of the bridge, everyone was already gone.
Our war was like a bonfire that only had enough fuel to last a night, and each of our individual fires had burned out since long before he was able to awaken.

He blamed himself.
…Again, I don’t think that’s anything you could tell him was wrong or unnatural.
But after that, he simply allowed himself to fall deeper and deeper, letting go of even his original goal in the despair that he felt.

And eventually.
What he’d been fearing most finally came to pass.

I don’t know how that man found him, but there was a day when agents of the heavens came for him.
…He was captured and brought back without the will to fight, and even the remains of his original form were excavated.
It was too convenient for that man, who was one of the finest magi of that world.
Here was a specimen that would inevitably reincarnate no matter how many times he was broken, and by his own finely woven and innate magecraft rather than any expense by the magus himself.

He descended into days like a nightmare.
Decades and centuries of treatment so appalling that I want to avert my eyes and scream out against it.
He was used as that person’s toy, abandoned, and then toyed with again in an endless cycle.

…It’s a miracle that he didn’t just go crazy.
But at the same time, it would’ve been more merciful if he had.
If his mind had just cracked with a big sound of breaking, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to go through even that much pain.

…Or perhaps the real miracle,
is the fact that he was even willing to let me ever touch him again—

Finally.
“—There’s a use to which I can put you, at last.”
The man said that like he was reading a soliloquy.

This is a story of the one I love.
…He came to stand here today after crawling through a hell so deep that I can’t even imagine it.
…And so.
The question I must ask myself, now that I know—

—is what I can do, to help him the rest of the way—

(11-1 interlude out.)

“—Nn.”
Something is, wrong—

Cold.
It’s cold.
I’m cold.

…When I open my eyes.
I’m in a place that I don’t recognize at all.

No matter where I look, there’s nothing but darkness and cold tile.
My body feels numb, and my head is still fogged so that my situation is difficult to understand.
All I know is that this is not the shack, nor is it anywhere in Roswell’s house—and that my body is freezing, to the point where I cannot even move.

…As my senses slowly reorganize themselves.
I realize that I am held upright with no support, my limbs stretched out in the position of a crucifix.
As my heart beats.
So do the magical diagrams underneath my skin, the complicated network of false nerves that configure the purpose of this body.
And—so do the four knotted lumps of prana inside me.

I can’t feel anything, but—my toes and my fingertips are throbbing lightly.
My body urges me to sleep.
My body urges my consciousness to shut off so that “nature” can take its course.

…But.
This isn’t the right place.
I can feel the ley line beating in time with my body, but it appears that that witch didn’t know enough to take me to the proper point of offering.

…So, it won’t open by itself.

But the pulsation is so strong that I can’t think well.
Like a headache all throughout my body.
All that I can recognize is the cold and the pulse, and it’s a wonder that I can even maintain my sense of self in this place.

…But.

“—You can’t hide from me that you’re awake, little princess.”
A disgusting, familiar voice.
When I open my eyes.

The witch with white hair—Yellma is standing before me, balancing her closed fan on her shoulder with a smug expression.

“Now that you’ve been so kind as to join us, I’d like to ask a little favor of you.
“—Open it.”

There’s—no use in playing dumb at this point.
Nor is there any point in pretending not to be conscious.

“That’s quite the order.
“—Unfortunately, even though you seem somewhat aware of what you’re asking, it’s useless. This isn’t the correct location, and it would be quite far from complete with only four Servants defeated.”

“Don’t think that you can fool me with that kind of talk.”
She folds her arms.
She still seems quite calm.

“—I see.
“Yes, certainly you have no reason to heed my warnings that your plan is unwise; after all, you clearly must have the same capacity to sense the contents of the Grail as I, and you must have a backup prepared in case something goes very wrong due to our being in the wrong place.
“By all means, continue.”

She curls her lip.

“—Talkative, aren’t we?
“There’s not much that could convince me to listen to you, although I admit that your pleas to survive are taking a pretty amusing form.”
“Please.
“—I wouldn’t mind much, I suppose; the strain on my body would surely lessen if I were to entrust the contents thus far to you.
“But this is my body, and so I know. Four Servants isn’t nearly enough to get you anywhere near Akasha, nor is it sufficient to gather enough prana to work whatever wish you have.
“Your strategy to capture me wasn’t bad by any means, but your timing needs work.”

Yellma still seems unconcerned.
“—Yes, I thought that you might argue something like that.
“But do you really think that I would come so unprepared and ignorant when I knew enough to target you specifically?
“Four Servants may not be enough, but when you open it for me, you’ll have six.”

“—Hmph.
“I don’t suppose you’re monitoring other Servants’ battles at a time like this?”

“—Surely not.
“Avenger.”

…Just when I thought I was sensing suppressed intent to kill, she emerges out of the shadows.
Apparently being this cold is doing a number on my senses in more ways than one, if I was unable to immediately sense the Master or the Servant.

“It’s that six Servants will be dead soon.”
Yellma says so in an unconcerned tone.

“—”
A sharp intake of breath from where Avenger stands.
The black knight’s eyes narrow.
“Don’t tell me, you—”

But.
Yellma simply holds up her hand.
“You shouldn’t dare speak to me in that tone.
“You’re my puppet, remember?
“—Of course I’d rather maintain you for as long as I can for convenience’s sake, but if you raise your weapon to me I’ll be able to have you stab yourself before you can even reach me.”

She announces this with a sense of pleasure.
…From the darkness, a sound of teeth being gritted.

“—No.
“First, before you open the Grail for me—I think I’ll have you use up those remaining Command Spells to force your Servant into suicide.”

…Oh.
It hurts.

“Surely you must be joking.”
But.
I have to maintain as much calm as possible.
“You’ll have to try quite a lot harder than that to force me into doing such a thing.
“While the guarantees I can make from this position are mostly on how well the Grail will or won’t function, I can certainly tell you this much.
“—You will not get to him through me. You certainly will not be able to make me kill him with just an order.”

She sighs.
Her shoulders slump slightly, but she smiles, and the curve of her lips is alive with wickedness.
…Despite myself.
My stomach clenches with nerves at the sight of that expression, which so resembles the face of that man.

“—Then.
“I suppose I’ll just have to force you to, won’t I?”

A switch—is flipped.

“—kk”
Something.
A substance like invisible flaming tar invades my body through my Magic Circuit.

The colors before my eyes all invert, like a photograph in negative.

It’s nothing like a spell or anything that problematic.
It’s just that alien prana is directly invading my body, not seeking storage, but rather like poison: A damaging substance deliberately inserted into my body to destroy it.
But, I won’t be destroyed.
…I’ve tasted death countless times, and so I know that this is nothing so harmful as to be fatal; the corrosion spreads only along the circuits of my body, my veins and nerves and the natural path of my Magic Circuit. It’s just “torture”.

A sensation like my nails being ripped out, but all across my body.
Stabbing sensation.
Like the nails, in pieces, being driven back in.
Fragments of bone. Stabbing sensation. Tetrachromatic hallucinations, ultraviolet spectrum that hurts my brain.
I cannot grasp at the prana necessary to drive her spell out of my body.
Ah. …That’s odd.
Unless all but the necessary prana to sustain my body and the vessel were drained away, then there should not be any problem, but the circuit cannot connect

static
static
static
static
static

static

it, hurts—
it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts

Optic fluid burning my face as my eye melts away.
Needles branding into my hips.
Eye. An eye.
An eye opening along the cut in my flank.
An eye opening across my sternum.
Eyes splitting the skin as they open across every patch of skin.
Perfect vision.
Monochrome, crimson red vermillion.
Hand reaching into my chest.
The bars of my ribs prized back one by one.

Meaningless spiraling patterns on my skin. Silver filigree. Spira mirabilis. So hot it feels like freezing. Feathers made of frost. Ice crystals underneath the epidermis. It hurts. Fingers of ice and frost around my throat. Strangling without deprivation of oxygen. It hurts. Invasion through the orifices. It hurts. Broken circuit. It hurts. Violation. Violation. A septacle of ice. Cup nestled into my pelvis. Cup filled with rotting lumps of flesh. It hurts. Expel them. It hurts. Abdomen splitting open. It hurts. Countertoxin. Spores blossoming into feathers. Amputated stump. Scar. Scar. Scar. Cold chain. Pounds of metal. Orichalcum. It hurts. Blindness. Damaged circuit. It hurts. It hurts.

My sense of time collapses.
I don’t know if it’s been one moment or several hours.

My throat is dry.
My throat is dry, and I smell heavy sweat.
It beads on my skin and courses to drip onto the faraway floor, and my senses are so violated that even that sensation registers as pain.

“—”
I force the breath out of my lungs and take in new oxygen.

The witch in front of me is smiling.
…Behind her.
The knight all in black is observing with narrowed eyes.
Blood is running from a small cut on her lower lip down her chin.
The small chink in her control—somehow makes me want to cry from gratitude.

“—Was that fun?”
The sound of Yellma’s voice is exhausting to me.
“I certainly do have to commend you for not screaming.”

The sound of her shoes ringing on the tile hurts my ears.
Cold fingers touch my chin and tilt it up.
She forces me to stare into her eyes.

“—Have I persuaded you yet?
“My control is quite fine, you know; I’m not going to allow you to die.
“If you want this to end, you can end it by yourself.”

…Please.
I close my eyes.
It’s best not to incite her wrath, as I’d certainly like to come out of this without permanent damage to my body, but compared to what I’ve been through up until now this is child’s play.
Certainly, I shudder to think what she might become under the tutelage of that man, but I will not be broken with this paltry degree of torture.

“Hmm.”
Her hands release me.
“If you’re not willing yet, then let’s continue. I’ve been going easy, so I can keep this up all night and into tomorrow.”

“—”
I exhale.
I breathe in.
The air is rank with sweat, and the taste of metal in my mouth is disgusting.
My senses are still slightly twisted, and the dank smell of this room is like splinters in my nasal passages.
I can taste the muddy blackness.
Still.
Until the hallucinations start again, I should cherish the modicum of clarity that is still available to me—

And.
At that moment, there is a distant rumble.
…Perhaps that’s not the best way of putting it, as it’s as much a feeling as it is a sound.
A thrumming of the air against my hypersensitive skin, a distant cadence of galloping.
Ahh.
My heart and my memory recognize the sound before my conscious mind, and my tense body relaxes.
I could weep.

Heavy footfalls, a pace like running.
…I know the gait.
I almost smile with the warm sensation of not having to bide my time after all.
He was with the others, and so I know that this isn’t the reckless charge that it might have been, had I allowed him to follow me immediately.

—Thank goodness.
I can endure torture if it doesn’t kill me, but because the pain and hallucinations make it extraordinarily difficult to think clearly, it’s quite difficult to come up with a plan in the meantime.

“Tch.”
Yellma turns halfway, so that her back is not to me.
…She doesn’t need to worry.
I can’t move, let alone struggle against whatever bonds she has me in, and my consciousness is feeble and thready.
I’m certainly not much use in combat or anything right now.

…Like an avenging angel out of a myth.
Gulcasa, resplendent in his battle armor, alights upon the floor at the other end of the long low room.

“Alights” may not be the best word, because his landing is heavy and he immediately sinks into a battle stance like a predatory animal.
Leaning forward on the balls of his feet, he bristles.
Bright colors, a flash of life in this cold dead scenery.
His eyes burn, and he holds his Noble Phantasm with an oppressive presence.

“—I’m here to take Nessiah back.”

Only those words, and no more.

“—Avenger.”
Yellma addresses her Servant in a bored tone.
“This will just be a repeat of before, you realize.
“Take care of him, and don’t you bother to fight back, because I will kill your Master if I have to.”

Avenger turns her back to her Master and steps forward.
She holds her sword in her hand and walks with her heels making cold stark sounds in every step.
As she raises her weapon—Gulcasa charges to meet her.

Exchange of blows.
Gulcasa slices at her, his scythe trailing fire that lights up the room so that I can see it.
…We appear to be in an unadorned underground chamber.
Perhaps a basement to a home or public building that is no longer in use.

…Gulcasa is moving slower than usual.
From this distance I can’t be completely sure whether it is deliberate or if he is still compensating for damages from the last battle.
Avenger parries his blows easily.
Her footwork is impeccable, even as Gulcasa’s greater range forces her to move much more than he does.

Sparks scatter between them.
An elegant dance.

…That.
Just that is enough for me to realize.

My eyelids want to close.
But I look at Yellma.
…She does not seem to have battle sense, and furthermore she is looking at the fight smugly as if to prove that she is simply incapable of interpreting what she is seeing.

Gulcasa continues to press on steadily, exchanging light blows with Avenger.
She maneuvers easily out of the way of his strikes, deflects them, and though his slower speed means that there are definite gaps in his defenses she does not leap forward and attack them.

“—That’s right.
“Good, Avenger—go on and make a spectacle of this impudent Servant for me!”
—How foolish can she be?
The more they fight, the further back Gulcasa pushes Avenger.
And furthermore, the weaving pattern of their exchanged blows may be concealed in a dancing rhythm, but their positions are subtly changing.

A beautiful dance like a sparring match.
Avenger leans in and deftly snakes through Gulcasa’s guard, dealing him a solid blow in the chest that knocks him back so that he sprawls onto his knees and his free hand.
They are now across from each other, seven or eight feet apart, and Gulcasa has moved ninety degrees from his original position so that his back is to the wall at my right.
Yellma’s cold laughter rings throughout the room and gives me a headache.

“—Good.
“Go ahead and finish him now, Avenger—”

She jumps forward.
At the same time—Gulcasa pushes himself up and grabs on to her arm.

“Wha—”
The voice of surprise comes from Yellma.
As Gulcasa drags himself up and uses his momentum to push Avenger back towards the stairway through which he entered—yes, only Yellma is surprised.

He shoves off the ground in the same movement he uses to push her back.
He flies forward at full speed.
—My Servant’s silver scythe flashes once.

And.
When I fall—Gulcasa catches my numb and exhausted body carefully in the crook of his arm, holding me tightly to his chest.

“—”

Yellma is speechless.
Either with shock or with fury.

“—Sorry it took so long.”
Still surveying the enemy, Gulcasa apologizes to me in a quiet voice.
…It takes most of my strength, but for him, I’m able to smile and shake my head.
“It’s alright; save that for when we’re out of here.
“—And… thank you for coming to help me.”

It’s faint.
But from my position, held uncomfortably to Gulcasa’s armored chest—I can see him smile slightly.

He shifts me against his body.
And he faces towards the exit with a purpose—

(interlude 11-2)

“—”
The magus narrows his eyes in the night.
Beneath them—under the earth, the battle is probably already taking place.

The sun has set on Miyama, and the air has filled with chill once again.
It’s nearly spring, and during the day the world has become much more temperate, but the night air is enough to make him shudder.

“—Five minutes to go.”
Those were the terms of their agreement, and the plan.
Roswell Branthèse breathes out and watches the cloud of steam rise and dissipate.

…Saber, who is beside him, is still in spirit form and invisible.
His Command Spell has not reacted to that of the woman hiding in this abandoned building, and so she too is hiding her presence so as not to give them away.

“…Four minutes.”
Hopefully Berserker will have kept his head.
The allied Servant has been in something of a strange and obsessive mood ever since the events of yesterday, and his behavior more clearly reflects what Roswell saw of the man in his Servant’s memories.
Rather than a warm and devoted person extremely similar to Saber right down to his demeanor—this is the driven warrior with something to protect.
He’s a Servant, after all, not just an allied “human”.
It’s not as though Roswell could forget such a fact, but that the reality seemed rather distant and dreamlike with Berserker and his Master confined to the house.

The man he has always seen in his dreams of Saber’s memories was very reckless.
Perhaps it’s just a blessing that they were able to come up with any plan at all instead of Berserker charging off on his own.
That much, they owe to Nessiah’s Command Spell, which had remained in effect for long enough that Berserker exhausted himself emotionally and lost the will to run out without thinking.

Two minutes left.
Since Berserker will probably have overwhelmed the enemy by now if his idea worked out, it’s almost time to spring the trap and finish them for good.

…There’s a faint reaction from the Command Spell.
A stab of pain in the back of his hand.
“—”

Roswell turns.
And, there at the end of the road—are illuminated two human silhouettes, and the shadow of something considerably more troublesome—

(11-2 interlude out.)

“—”
Even with my senses dulled from the long day, the hair on the back of my neck stands up at this oppressive atmosphere.

Gulcasa holds me close against his armor, weapon in hand.
His gaze does not waver from the direction of the enemy, and past them, the staircase that’s our best avenue of escape.
Avenger is in the way, still holding her sword.
Given that she cooperated with Gulcasa’s feigned battle so that I could be rescued, I don’t believe that she’d put up much resistance to our flight without being ordered.
But then, this is Avenger, so there is nothing preventing her from having done so just in order to secure a more satisfactory battle, or out of spite for her Master.

Yellma, in between us, clucks her tongue in frustration.
Slowly, she backs up so that the distance between her and her Servant lessens.
She refuses to present Avenger with her back, and keeps the Servant she abuses and mistrusts in her peripheral vision.

“Hold on.”
Gulcasa whispers so that only my ears can pick up his voice.
“—You don’t need to fear anything.
“I’ll protect you, so hold on to me and we’ll get out of here.”

“—”
I don’t have much strength left in this body.
But I try to hold on to his side so as not to restrict his movements.

“Tch.
“All right then.
“It’s a shame, but I suppose I’ll simply have to dismantle that vessel and find a new carrier.
“Avenger—I order you upon the mark of my mastery, cut them down with your Noble Phantasm!”

The air cracks and shatters under her words.
Avenger’s sword lights up under her hands, and emits a vast typhoon of wind.
The sword explodes.
Energy so intense I can taste it rattles the floor and ceiling, pent up and ready to be released.

…But.
Avenger hunches her body down, gripping the hilt of her sword with both hands.
Sweat stands out on her face and on the few exposed parts of her skin.
With gritted teeth, she fights against the order and holds back the attack about to be completed on its own.

“—Run!”
She yells in a hoarse voice.
“Just hurry up and get out of here before it’s too late—”

Gulcasa hesitates for just a moment.
“—I’m sorry.”

Leaving those words for her sake.
He leans in low to the ground, holds me so tightly it starts to ache, and explodes across the room like a divine wind.

My body is jostled sharply.
He leaps up the stairs six at a time, and the moment after we’ve burst through the narrow doorway, there’s a great sound of detonation from below as though all the force of a tornado was unleashed in a single blast.

Images of the run-down building are imprinted meaninglessly into my eyes.
Gulcasa ricochets of the wall, leaving heavy footprints in the painted wood, and blows the front door off its hinges in a racing tackle.

We are outside.

“—”
Involuntarily.
I catch my breath.

It’s not from the night air and its bone chill.
…No.
Gulcasa curses hoarsely for the same reason.

I expect that he was supposed to have been our backup.
Roswell stands with his back to us in the middle of the street, biting his lip.

In the middle of the wide street, Yggdra is fighting valiantly.
The enemy Servant that entangles her aims clearly for her vital points as she aims for his, and she dispels them with great strikes of her sword.
…She’s faster, but he’s more powerful.
I know this without even having to pause and evaluate.
Because the “red spear” in that Servant’s hands is not something that a Heroic Spirit of Yggdra’s caliber can safely stand against.

To give an example, it would be like trying to fend off the great Noble Phantasm of Excalibur with a simple sword breaker dagger.
The Gran Centurio is powerful. None knows that better than I.
…But regardless of its great forging and the long centuries that brought it to maturation—it was not forged by the gods.
It’s of an entirely different rank.

Yggdra grapples with Lancer, trying to overwhelm him by virtue of simply superior energy.
But Lancer presses on as if to proclaim that that is not enough.
Silently.
The angel closes in on her.

…Yggdra bites her lip and puts power into her swing.
The two of them leap apart and widen the distance between them.

Standing before Roswell, she maintains her ready stance, but her shoulders are heaving as she breathes.
Lancer, half the road away from his Master and his attendant magus, is still unwinded.

“—Damn.”
Roswell breathes out.
“All right.
“—Saber, I authorize use of your Noble Phantasm.”

…But.
We don’t have time.
Surely the debris in the house we’ve just escaped will keep Yellma busy for a while, but once she catches up we’ll have Avenger to deal with as well, and our route of escape to the sides blocked off by walled houses.
If there’s a blessing to be had in this situation, it’s that Yellma should only have a single Command Spell remaining, and thus be unable to order Avenger after us immediately.

Gulcasa must be thinking the same thing.
Yggdra is outclassed, and we’re on a time limit.
Given the circumstances, we don’t have a choice.

“—Roswell.”
His attention drawn, Roswell comes to our side.
“Take Nessiah. I don’t know if he can stand on his own.”
And I am handed to our ally with care.
As Roswell is much closer to my own height than Gulcasa and not as strong, he does not hold me by one arm, but rather supports me from the side.

“What are you—”
“I’ll take care of this.
“—The princess is outclassed, but I know that I have more than a fair chance of beating that Servant and doing it quickly.”

“—Hah.”
From the other end of the road.
From the crossroads where this road fits into a junction with the others, the magus speaks up.
“Don’t even bother.
“—We know the identity of both these Servants, and it’s easy to tell just by looking that you’re even more hollowed out than Saber is.
“You can’t win against Lancer like this.”

While she’s busy boasting, Yggdra takes the opportunity to fall back.
Her small back now stands between the two of us and obstructs the progression of the enemy.

“Even if that’s the case.”
Gulcasa stands in defiance.
Past his back, I can only see the vague silhouette of Lancer’s black wings.
Haloed by starlight like stained glass.
Gulcasa’s long hair ripples in the wind, like a stream tipped in fire.

“Ein.”
Further away than my range of vision, the attendant magus speaks as if to prompt Lancer’s Master into action.

“—Yeah.
“Go ahead and beat him, Lancer.”

At that time, the angel lunges.
Gulcasa, braced to receive the attack, catches the blow along the hooked curve of his scythe, sinks back, and repels Lancer with all of his might—!!

As Lancer dances back from being thrown, catching himself on one toe with his great wings flushed outright—
Gulcasa settles into an open stance and raises his face to the sky.
Perhaps the enemy is puzzled by such an action, as it must seem like Gulcasa has surrendered his defenses.
The empty red eyes of the opposing Servant narrow in consideration.

He raises his Diviner as if to lunge forward once again—

“From the abysses of the earth, the dragon wakes—”

At that single, arresting voice.
My heart contracts as if it has stopped.

The air is dead.
Lancer’s eyes widen as if in realization, and the dead air shudders.
I can smell phosphorus and ash in the wake of the rotting wind.
The atmosphere around us is so tense with prana that it feels solid.

Adrenaline bursts.
Adrenaline rocks my veins with enough force to burst them, and my senses all sharpen.

In the handful of seconds that have passed since Gulcasa began to speak.
My body has flooded with automatic hyperawareness, heartbeat hushed in anticipation—

“—mad crimson flames become my blood—!”

And the night shatters.

It’s not a metaphor.
It’s just that the sky and the world around us cracks, and that flame and smoke pour through the vents, rewriting everything in our sight.
Pure crimson fire blossoms around Gulcasa’s body.
Like a red rose unfolding, or like the blossoms of a peony all exploding like a firecracker.

We are standing on hard-packed scorched earth, and the world is dead.
Nothing grows here, yet paradoxically fire continues to leap from the wasteland.
The air is tense and electric and tastes like a thunderstorm about to pour down from cracks in the clouded skies.

“—No, way—”

The weak voice belongs to Lancer’s Master.
But I can see the same sentiments echoed on the awed face of Roswell beside me.
He and I, and Yggdra who stands empty-handed before us, are merely spectators—as are the two enemy Masters across the wastes.

“Reality—Marble.”
It’s again Lancer’s Master that proclaims it.

…Yes.
A Reality Marble, forbidden magecraft that forcibly repaints the physical world in a full manifestation of the caster’s inner world.
This is—the ultimate realization of Gulcasa’s lineage, the scenery passed down through the hearts and minds of all true successors of that demon’s blood.
His final—and most powerful Noble Phantasm, the crystallization of Brongaa’s world that forgives no power but that of its master.
Death of all things, final baptism by fire.
Genocide—the ancestral name of this spell, and this world, is truly befitting.

Amidst it all.
Gulcasa stands with his body burning red.
An oppressive presence emanates from him, almost as if gravity has increased threefold.
Even I cannot move.

“—”
Lancer continues to face Gulcasa down with no change in expression.
…It’s not surprising.
He has probably faced down a number of demons over the course of his existence.
It’s just that in this place, the spear in his hands almost looks as though it can be perceived in ordinary dimensions rather than bending the eye so that they are imperceptible.

Without warning.
The two of them clash.

There is no longer any sense at all of Gulcasa’s former exhaustion.
The impact of his strike flings Lancer back easily.

“—Lancer, your Noble Phantasm—”
A voice already devoid of hope cuts the dead air.

“Ineffective.
“—Release of any Noble Phantasm is impossible in this space.”
Lancer replies without emotion, not even pausing in his battle.
Gulcasa continues to fight relentlessly.

The first.
Lancer misses a parry, and his body is lightly torn with the blade of Gulcasa’s scythe.

The second.
Blood dirties the pale dry ground like the spray of a fountain.

…And, finally.
With the force of an earthquake, Gulcasa lunges.
The perfect arc of his blade flashes out at an angle, and cuts the enemy nearly in two.

The air shakes with Gulcasa’s roar of exertion, but Lancer makes no sound.
The angel does not even cough up blood, but presses his white lips together and closes his eyes.
…In a whirlwind of bright white particles like feathers let loose from a torn mattress, he vanishes.

And the Reality Marble dissipates, becoming transparent in stages as if being peeled back to reveal the world underneath.
The fire that haloes my Servant’s body dissipates, rather more like losing opacity than as if it has gone out.

Lancer is gone.
All that remains are the distant figures of two magi: the boy collapsed to the ground in shock, and the girl with her fists clenched.

“—Go.”
No one else speaks, so I cut the heavy night air with my voice.
“Another Servant will be coming soon, and so if you value your lives, you had best be out of this place with all due speed.”

Over the faint sound of the wind.
Retreating footsteps, staggered and then breaking into a run, are all that can be heard.

“—”
Gulcasa relaxes slightly with the enemy before us gone.
His shoulders move rhythmically, as if he’s breathing with great pain.

Roswell and Yggdra just stand there as if lost for words.
It looks as though neither of them will take initiative, so the responsibility is still mine.

“We need to get out of here.
“—Avenger could come boiling up out of that house at any time, and I cannot speak for you two, but I can’t fight right now and Gulcasa doesn’t have the strength to keep using that over and over.”
“—Oh.
“That’s right.”
Roswell remarks beside me as if abashed.

“—I’ve got you.”
Gulcasa turns around and says so, holding out his arms.
His eyes are still clear, but there’s sweat on his face and his breathing is rough from the fight.

…Ah.
Now that I try to walk, my body’s actually quite shaky.
I suppose there’s no helping it after the past day.
My body is starting to ache in various places, and now that I realize it I’m rather thirsty.

But I push myself a little.
…Gulcasa’s in this state too, and here he is volunteering to carry me.

“—All right.”
He lifts me up with both arms, letting his armor dissipate like the fire that surrounded him did just a few moments ago.
That’s considerably better.
He doesn’t have to use up prana to maintain it, and it’s a lot more comfortable.

“—”
And we run.
Rather, Gulcasa runs, and so does Yggdra who is carrying Roswell.
We run, and I close my eyes as the scenery of Miyama whips by.

It takes about ten minutes to get back to Roswell’s house in Shinto.
I don’t get a very close look, but it appears that the damage to the house and the garden has been neatly repaired over the past twenty-four hours.

It’s silent as we retreat inside.
It feels like relief on the part of Roswell and Yggdra, but for Gulcasa who sets me down on the sofa it feels more like exhaustion.
And I’m too worn-out to try to categorize what I’m feeling.

As I sit back.
Gulcasa slumps to his knees on the floor.
…Ahh.
I don’t have the energy to move over and see if he’s fainted or sat down.
My eyes close.
……This is bad in a lot of ways.
My consciousness is patchy.

A floating sensation envelops my body.
I surface once or twice.
Brief images of Roswell touching various abrasions on my skin.
A cup being held to my lips, and my body being carried.
But when the lights go out, my brain gives up on being active.

As the fifth defeated Servant’s prana seeps into my body.
My conscious mind shuts off as though someone somewhere has turned it off with a switch.