First off, I'm terribly sorry for disappearing for over a year. since my last chapter, I've been facing some personal issues that have left me struggling to find the motivation to continue our story, and almost forgot about it. I understand that this may have been disappointing and frustrating for many of you, and I'm truly sorry for letting you down.
I'll be working diligently to update more frequently and to enhance my writing skills to bring you a story that lives up to your expectations.
For those of you who have remained loyal subscribers throughout this hiatus, I want to express my heartfelt gratitude. Your patience and support mean the world to me, and I promise you that I won't allow this to happen again.
or at least I'll warn you if it happens again. now, on to the story!
A brooding and spiteful magus in a mansion somewhere in England. He stood alone in his bedroom, clutching a broken bottle of exquisite wine in his bleeding, trembling hand. He was surrounded by shattered remains of opulent furniture, as if a tornado had ripped through his room.
Or rather, Magus in a drunken rage.
"How dare he!? How dare he?!" The magus repeatedly screams as he tears his bedroom apart like a mad dog. His once opulent bed chamber suffered his frenzied assault until it became as fractured and scattered as the remnants of his sanity.
"Over and over. Over and over and over!" His words of anguish were like a relentless mantra. Each repetition drove the dagger of resentment deeper into his heart, fueling the blazing fires of his fury.
"Why do you insist on tormenting me? How far will you go to make a fool of me? Emiya!" The magus, Custis Pendleton, screamed at the top of his lungs, unconsciously coating his voice with as much venom as possible. Even after fifteen years, his grudge against the infamous magus killer ran so deep that the mere thought of that accursed name, Emiya, sent shivers down his spine and ignited a blaze of rage and disgust that threatened to consume him whole.
Kiritsugu's betrayal of the Einzbern household had left Custis seething with an indescribable mix of anger and excitement. The turmoil within him was impossible to put into words. With the protection of the Einzbern household now stripped away, Custis saw a clear path to exact his long-awaited revenge against the magus killer who had taken everything from him, which caused his heart to race with anticipation.
The anger was because another noble magical bloodline had fallen victim to that monstrous assassin. Custis had invested most of his resources into bringing Kiritsugu to justice, leveraging the incident to gather as many like-minded mages as possible for his cause. Most mages saw Kiritsugu as a threat to their research or despised him half as much as he did.
However, just as Custis was on the brink of achieving his vengeance, a cruel twist of fate intervened. News of Kiritsugu's untimely demise reached him and every magus who had rallied to his side. While others breathed sighs of relief, believing the matter settled, Custis felt cheated out of his opportunity for retribution. This injustice only fueled the fires of his rage, making it burn brighter than ever.
As he clutched his aching chest, the bullet wound constantly reminded him of his first encounter with the magus killer. A flood of painful memories overwhelmed him.
"Emiya…"
With each syllable of that loathsome name, Custis felt the weight of his obsession bearing down upon him, a relentless force that had driven him to the brink of madness. His fingers trembled as if longing to grasp the throat of his nemesis, to exact the vengeance that had eluded him for far too long.
"Emiya… Emiya…"
At the height of his infamy, Emiya Kiritsugu's name alone produced a potent cocktail of fear, hatred, disgust, and begrudging respect for those who heard it. He was not just a magus; he was the Magus Killer. A specter of annihilation. A living heresy. A bleak reminder of the brutal price one paid for the pursuit of power.
His reputation cast a dark, suffocating shadow over the magical community. Even the faintest whisper that he might be nearby sent shockwaves of panic through their ranks. Entire long-standing experiments were hurriedly halted, concealed, or abandoned; such was the dread that Emiya's presence instilled.
"Emiya… Emiya… Emiya!"
The Magus Killer blazed a relentless trail of destruction and corpses, leaving no room for compromise or mercy. His unbridled fury, directed at those who callously sacrificed innocent lives for their twisted experiments, was nothing short of terrifying. He had even gone so far as to murder his own father over such an atrocity, demonstrating that not even his own blood would be spared from his wrath.
Moreover, his calculating and merciless efficiency caused the death and downfall of countless prominent magi.
Including his beloved twin brother, Morgan Pendleton, fifteen years ago.
The loss hurt far more than the spiteful magus, Custis Pendleton, cared to admit. So much that it was almost embarrassing for him. Magi were supposed to remain detached, to be above the bond of familial attachment in their relentless endeavor to find a path to the root. But his pride as a magus always had second only to his bond with his twin brother.
The twins have always been close, yet Morgan was the far more talented one, so he inherited the family crest and became the heir of their household. Still, Custis never felt bitterness or envy toward him, as most underappreciated siblings would. On the contrary, he never cared for the position. On the contrary, he stood steadfastly by Morgan's side, offering unwavering support and encouragement. His love for his brother transcended the trappings of status and power, and he took genuine pride in Morgan's accomplishments.
Morgan, in turn, never regarded Custis with condescension or treated him any differently because of his relative lack of magical prowess.
And then the dreaded Magus killer came for them.
While Morgan had been a good brother to Custis, he was by no means a good person. The Pendleton magecraft specialized in biological transmutation, a field that demanded live human test subjects for research advancement. At first, Morgan had been cautious, targeting those considered the dregs of society—individuals whose disappearances would likely go unnoticed and uninvestigated.
He preyed on desperate gamblers who had squandered their lives, drunkards consumed by their vices, addicts trapped in the clutches of their demons, abusive fathers whose families would celebrate their disappearance, and the destitute homeless who had fallen through the cracks of society. By abducting such individuals, Morgan believed he could conduct his dark research with a reduced risk of attracting unwanted attention.
The Mage's Association cared little for laws or morality, focusing solely on the development of magecraft and its concealment. They openly disapprove of criminal uses of magecraft, but as long as one didn't threaten to expose its existence and produce tangible results, they typically looked the other way.
This approach served them for a time, but Morgan's boldness and recklessness grew as their need for test subjects grew. He transitioned from targeting society's outcasts to abducting ordinary civilians and from civilians to emptying entire remote villages. It was only a matter of time before his actions drew the attention of the notorious Magus Killer, Emiya Kiritsugu. And their fates mirrored those of Kiritsugu's every other target, with one subtle yet devastating difference.
Emiya Kiritsugu's ruthless efficiency was unleashed upon the twins in the following grim confrontation. He had not only ended Morgana's life but obliterated his magic crest with his deadly Origin Bullet. Custis, too, was not spared as another bullet pierced his chest, narrowly missing his heart, leaving him for dead. Some might have called him fortunate that the Magus Killer presumed him lifeless when he was barely clinging to life, but Custis felt anything but lucky since that fateful day.
His life spiraled downward in the aftermath. With a single bullet, he had lost his beloved brother, thrust into a role as the head of their house—a position he had never desired nor prepared for. With a single bullet, the Pendletons had forfeited their century-old magic crest, relegating his once-prominent family to a mere first-generation lineage. His peers mocked his descent, and his family bore a deep resentment for his failure to save his brother and their crest, reminding him daily that they would have preferred his demise over Morgan's.
With a single bullet, Emiya Kiritsugu, the Magus Killer, had taken everything from him.
Since that day, Custis Pendleton had harbored an insatiable thirst for revenge—a burning desire to slay the monster who had callously taken his brother's life and plunged him into the abyss of despair. He yearned to finally lay his grudge to rest, to repay all the pain and suffering inflicted upon him by Kiritsugu.
But fate seemed to mock him at every turn. By the time Custis had tracked down his nemesis, the magus had found refuge under the protection of the Einzbern. At that moment, Custis had relinquished all hope. Kiritsugu appeared beyond his reach, and he resigned himself to wallowing in bitterness.
Or so he thought.
"That dastard repaid the Einzbern's generosity with ingratitude by throwing away the great holy grail just when he was at the cusp of victory and burning their entire household to the ground!" Custis screamed, slamming his fist into a luxurious desk, cleaving it in two.
"But that wasn't enough for that heretic! No, it wasn't sufficient for him to murder my brother, destroy our legacy, and ruin my life in the most gruesome manner imaginable. He had the audacity to go and die to cheat me of my vengeance!" Priceless tomes were violently ripped from the bookshelf and mercilessly stomped on.
"That disgusting, cowardly, foolish, heretical, blasphemous, murderous, monstrous, psychotic gun-totting maniac!" He screams with a fury that shatters every glass in his room.
'…Fine. Have it your way.' He decided. He took more than a few deep breaths to calm down.
"But since you destroyed my legacy, Magus Killer, it's only fair I destroy yours," he muttered, as if speaking the name left a bitter taste on his tongue, "You may be beyond his reach now, but the children you left behind are not—three more souls bearing your accursed name. They will bear the weight of your sins."
Custis' voice grew louder and more menacing with each word, carrying his message into the cold, unforgiving night.
"DO YOU HEAR ME, EMIYA KIRITSUGU!?" His shout reverberated through the mansion's empty halls, echoing the depth of his hatred. "If I can't have your head, I'll take the heads of your progeny as compensation!"
His vow hung heavy in the air, each word dripping with venom. One head for his brother lost to Kiritsugu's relentless pursuit. Another for their family's shattered legacy, the once-proud Pendleton crest reduced to mere ashes. And one more for the ceaseless pain and suffering he had endured over the past fifteen years.
Custis paced the room, his mind consumed by dark thoughts of retribution. The pale moonlight cast eerie shadows as he contemplated the means to carry out his sinister promise. His fingers traced the jagged edges of the shattered desk he had demolished in his earlier rage.
A sinister yet sincere smile crept across his face as he stood there for the first time in fifteen years. A smile spoke of a reckoning to come that would echo through the ages—a price to be paid, blood for blood.
Fuyuki, Temple graveyard.
Kiritsugu's funeral had been postponed for a few weeks, per his last will. He had requested that his body be transported to a specific location before cremation and returning to Japan.
During the summer break, the funeral drew a crowd of attendees, including Taiga's extended family. Illya, Kiritsugu's daughter, was overwhelmed with grief and clung tightly to her brother's hands throughout the ceremony, fearing that if she let go, she might crumple to her knees and succumb to her tears.
Raiga Fujimura, Taiga's grandfather, was the first to give his eulogy, followed by Taiga, then a few of her relatives. Of course, no one asked or expected the kids to give a eulogy, believing they couldn't bring themselves. And they were right.
Illya desperately wanted to speak. She yearned to share with everyone the profound love and care her father had showered upon her and how he had dedicated his life to making the world a better place. She longed to recount how he had rescued her from the Einzbern castle and the countless ways he had looked after her since that day.
Yet every time she tried to share those joyful memories, the grief veiled her eyes in tears, and the guilt tightened her throat. Grief for losing her father a second time and shame for believing that his father had abandoned her even for a second.
Shirou and Damian couldn't say anything either, so they stood beside her, equally silent. Shirou was engulfed in his own pain and guilt. No matter what words anyone offered, he never stopped blaming himself for his perceived failure to save his adoptive father. He tortured himself with thoughts of what he could have done differently. Seeing Taiga and Illya cry was its own torment, as their tears mirrored his helplessness, and he cursed his powerlessness.
In stark contrast, Damian carried no such heavy burden. While he genuinely cared for Kiritsugu, their time together had been too brief for him to establish the same familial bond. Right from the beginning, Damian knew there was no saving Kiritsugu from the curse of the tainted holy grail. He remained silent not out of indifference but because he understood that any words he might offer about Kiritsugu would come across as forced or clichéd.
He may be considered a part of the family, but it was their grief. Not his. There was nothing he could do that would ease their burdens. The most meaningful contribution he could make was to stand by their side, offering his support and assisting them in their journey toward healing and recovery.
The container was lowered into the ground, and the earth was tamped down once everyone had paid their tributes and spoken their eulogies. The somber ceremony ended, and the mourners began to disperse. Raiga and the others offered their condolences to the grieving children, their expressions a mixture of sympathy and understanding. As they bid their goodbyes, Taiga and Raiga noticed that the kids hadn't moved from Kiritsugu's tombstone.
Approaching the solemn trio, Raiga knelt before the grieving children, his weathered hands resting gently on his knees. "You have my deepest condolences for your father," he began, his voice carrying a solemn warmth, "but don't worry, you won't lose your home. You see, I owe Emiya Kiritsugu a great debt—a debt that can never truly be repaid. But I'll honor his memory by ensuring you'll be cared for."
Illya's tear-filled eyes met Raiga's, her heart aching with the weight of her loss. "The house is now yours, Illya," Raiga assured her, his eyes filled with resolve. "I'll handle your taxes and manage your inheritance until you come of age."
Moved by their grandfather's generosity and the promise of stability in the face of their father's absence, Illya and Shirou exchanged a heartfelt glance.
Taiga, ever the protective sister, knelt beside them, her embrace enveloping Illya. "It's going to be okay," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'll stay with you guys as long as I can and visit you every day. I... I promise."
Tears mingled as Illya embraced her back, holding onto the newfound support pillars in her life. "Thank you, Fuji-nee," she barely whispered through their shared tears, "thank you."
"Shirou," Damian began, his voice gentle but filled with conviction. He rested his hand firmly on Shirou's shoulder, offering a reassuring grip. "I know it hurts. I know you can't help but feel that you failed Kirit... I mean, our dad. But remember, he chose this path long ago, fully aware of the risks. He followed his beliefs and passed away without regrets."
As Damian spoke, he gestured toward Illya, the living testament of Kiritsugu's love and sacrifice. Her presence served as a poignant reminder of their father's unwavering dedication.
"That night four years ago. We should have died along with everyone else in that fire, but we were spared." Damian asserted, locking eyes with Shirou. He could feel the weight of Shirou's sorrow and the immense burden of his guilt. "Our father saved us. And if we want to do right by him and everyone else left behind in that fire, we need to move forward and have a good life for those who couldn't."
"Don't forget the promise you made to him on his deathbed," Damian continued his words, a lifeline thrown to his grieving brother.
'Be a hero to your family above all else.' Damian knew Shirou well enough to realize that the most effective way to guide him through his grief was to provide him with a purpose, something, or rather someone to fight for.
Shirou's eyes widened, and his gaping mouth hinted at a sudden realization. He shifted his gaze to his grieving older sister, the memory of his promise resurfacing in his mind. He inwardly chastised himself for allowing his grief to consume him when his family endured even greater suffering.
"Yeah. You're right. Sorry, Damian," Shirou replied, his eyes reflecting the anguish gradually transforming into an unwavering, burning resolve.
On that day, something shifted within Shirou. He found his resolve and fortified his mind like solid steel. That it. The pain in his heart stops. The tears stop—everything stops. There was no justification for wallowing in self-pity when people needed him. For the sake of the man who had saved and adopted him, he couldn't allow anymore to share his fate.
Otherwise, he might as well give up the Emiya name and throw himself back the flames his late father rescued him from.
'Never again.' he swore to himself. He took one last look at Emiya Kiritsugu's tombstone before going home with the rest of the family.'
'I promise, Dad. I'll protect Illya and everyone else in your stead. I won't let anymore suffer or die because of the holy grail war ever again. So please, rest in peace.'
Right after the funeral, Raiga pulled Damian aside, his grip firm on the familiar suitcase - the very same one Kiritsugu had.
"Listen carefully, kid, because I'm going to say this only once," Raiga began in a hushed tone. "In his will, Kiritsugu left Illya the house, but he left instructions for this case to be discreetly given to you and you alone. He made it clear that its contents are for your eyes only. None of us has any idea what's inside, and he wanted it that way. So, be cautious when you open it, and make sure you're alone."
Raiga's cryptic message left Damian feeling both perplexed and a tad paranoid. His relationship with his late adoptive father had been friendly but not exceptionally close compared to Illya or even Shirou. What could be inside that Kiritsugu wanted to keep a secret from everyone, including his flesh and blood daughter?
Despite the relentless curiosity gnawing at him, Damian remained. He bid his time, waiting until later that night when the rest of the household slumbered in blissful ignorance. Alone in his dimly lit room, he settled into a cross-legged position on the floor, his gaze fixed upon the enigmatic suitcase. His emotions were a turbulent mix of paranoia and eager anticipation, uncertainty gripping him like a vice.
This was the Magus Killer they were talking about—the man who etched a path of justice in the blood of thousands. And now, he left something for Damian, something so confidential, so clandestine, he didn't want anyone else to uncover.
There could be anything in there. A lost, forbidden weapon of mass destruction, a damning list of vengeful enemies, or perhaps a cursed, otherworldly artifact.
"The heck am I waiting for? I might as well open it and be done with it. Here goes everything!" Damian took a deep breath to calm his nerves and slowly and carefully.
He took a deep breath, the air feeling heavy with anticipation, and closed his eyes for a brief moment to calm his racing nerves. Then, with deliberate care, he began to open the suitcase, the leather creaking softly as it yielded to his touch. As the lid creaked open, he was met with an unexpected sight.
"… wait. What?" he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath of disbelief.
He blinked several times and even rubbed his eyes to ensure he wasn't hallucinating. He hadn't known what to anticipate, but describing the contents of that suitcase as 'unexpected' would be a monumental understatement.
The contents of the suitcase, the final bequest from his adoptive father, the infamous Magus Killer, left Damian utterly perplexed. It was... clothes. Just clothes. Specifically, Kiritsugu's signature black suit, trench coat, and tie are all meticulously folded within the case. That was it—no concealed weapons, no ominous cursed artifacts, no nothing!
"What the heck? I mean, yeah. I told him a few times that I like his black trench coat, but why would he-" Damian's train of thought came to an abrupt and startling halt as a vivid recollection surged into his mind. It was a memory he had almost forgotten, overshadowed by grief and the enigmatic suitcase before him. This was the very same suitcase Kiritsugu had carried during the daring raid on the Einzbern castle—the one that had concealed a secretive hidden compartment.
Realization dawned upon him, igniting a spark of anticipation. He carefully opened the hidden compartment, finally discovering the true purpose behind Kiritsugu's careful arrangement. Damian couldn't help but gape, understanding why Kiritsugu had been so meticulous and discreet.
"BY. THE. GODDAMMED. ROOT."
Damian's eyes widened in sheer astonishment as he uncovered the hidden compartment within the suitcase. He had to cover his mouth with his hand to prevent a surprised yelp from escaping and waking the household.
Within the compartment lay a revealing assortment of tools and equipment once wielded by the Magus Killer throughout his notorious career:
First and foremost, Damian's gaze fixated on Kiritsugu's signature weapon, the Thompson Contender, accompanied by a cache of 17 origin bullets—an ominous testament to Kiritsugu's expertise—a handful of hand grenades, stun grenades, C2 explosives, and landmines.
Amidst the lethal arsenal, what truly seized Damian's attention was a thick book. At first glance, he mistook it for a grimoire, a notion that seemed out of place for a magus killer. However, as he flipped through its pages, he realized that it wasn't a book of spells so much as a compendium of anti-magic tactics and methodologies, meticulously chronicling Kiritsugu's accumulated knowledge and strategies for hunting down and eliminating mages.
With each page Damian turned, he delved deeper into the mind of the man who had been both a father and a legend. The book contained invaluable insights into scouting, tracking, and assassinations, revealing the intricacies of Kiritsugu's trade and the depth of his expertise.
Alongside these invaluable insights, the book also contained detailed instructions on their implementation—precise steps honed through years of experience. It was a guide to the ruthless world of magical combat, a testament to Kiritsugu's relentless pursuit of justice in a world where power and deception held sway.
But that wasn't all. It contained a trove of information—hidden locations of weapon caches, safe houses meticulously secured throughout the city, and a network of contacts that Kiritsugu had cultivated in the shadows.
Kiritsugu had essentially handed Damian the keys to becoming the next Magus Killer, providing him with a comprehensive guide to the very skills and tactics that had made him so formidable.
"Ok, I have to admit, this is f*cking awesome!" Damian grinned in childlike excitement as he flipped through the page, feeling like a teenager who just got a Lamborghini on his birthday. "But this doesn't make sense. He knows I don't share his ideals; even if I did, he would never want anyone to follow his path. So why entrust me with this?"
As Damian delved deeper into the book, he finally discovered his answer on the very last page—a letter addressed to him from Kiritsugu.
'Damian, I'm sorry.' The letter began.
"Sorry?" Damian was perplexed. He couldn't imagine what Kiritsugu would apologize for. In fact, he doesn't believe he ever apologizes for anything in his life. He Grieved, regretted, or felt conflicted about the people he killed and his more… morally questionable choices, maybe, but never apologized.
'Throughout my life, I've seldom expressed remorse or regret. I've carried out actions that haunt me to this day, and I've been both a savior and a harbinger of death. I never wanted to burden anyone, especially not my own child, with the consequences of my choices.
Yet here I am, apologizing to you, Damian. It's an apology that extends far beyond my ability to articulate. It's an apology for the life I've led, the choices I've made, and the pain I've caused. I hope, in time, you can find it in your heart to forgive me.
Now, let me address my intent in leaving you this letter and the contents of the suitcase. You may believe that I'm implying you should follow in my footsteps, but nothing could be further from my intent. In fact, it's quite the opposite.
Damian, we were never close, nor have I known you for very long, but I've observed you keenly. You share certain similarities with me, yet you're fundamentally different. It is because, in you, I see both a reflection of myself and a stark divergence from my path that I know I can entrust you with everything.
Like me, you're a pragmatic spellcaster. You see magecraft as a tool, a means to an end, rather than a lifelong goal, as it is for most magi. However, unlike me, you harbor no grand ambitions. You are, at heart, a survivor—a realist driven by the pursuit of your own well-being and the happiness of your family. This stark contrast is precisely why I believe you have the capacity to safeguard Shirou and Illya.
A shiver raced down Damian's spine as he read Kiritsugu's words. It was uncanny how accurately Kiritsugu seemed to understand him. In truth, he wasn't wrong. Magecraft, to Damian, was merely a means of ensuring his own survival, no more and no less. He harbored no lofty ambitions or ideals like Shirou and Kiritsugu. he doesn't care about prestige or research like most magi.
He was just some guy doing the best he could to survive the perilous magical world he had been thrust into.
In my relentless pursuit of an unattainable ideal, I've cast aside my emotions, my humanity, and even my family more than once. Every attempt I've made to bring about peace has resulted in death and destruction. Every effort to bring happiness to those close to me has brought them ruin.
I wanted to become a hero of justice, and instead, I became a harbinger of death. But my encounter with you and Shirou changed something within me. You two were the first individuals I ever saved without resorting to bloodshed, and with your help, I saved my daughter.
I've watched the three of you grow, playing together, sharing laughter, and forming bonds. The three of you have been my salvation. While I may have saved your lives, it's you three who saved me from becoming nothing more than a murderer.
Once again, Damian, I apologize. After all the atrocities I've committed, I have no right to burden anyone, especially not my own child. But even so, I must ask.
Please protect them, Damian. Protect our family. I've staked everything on a lie and achieved nothing. Now, I'm placing my trust in my children, hoping they'll succeed where I've failed.
Please, do better than I ever could. Please give me a reason to believe that I've contributed some good to this world. Show me that I was more than just another murderer.
Please.'
Damian sat in stunned silence as he repeatedly read the contents of the letter, his mind grappling with the weight of Kiritsugu's trust and the enormous responsibility that had been placed upon him. Kiritsugu had put the fate of his legacy, his family, and the holy grail war in his hands.
After what felt like an eternity, Damian broke into laughter, a mix of emotions bubbling within him. "You crazy old man!" he chuckled, "you just handed a bunch of guns, explosives, and death squad tactics to a thirteen-year-old kid. I don't know whether to be moved by your unwavering faith in me or appalled." Damian stifled his laughter, mindful of not waking the others in the household. It was utterly ridiculous. He felt that Kiritsugu was the best and worst father in the world at the same time.
"Actually, that's just like you, old man—the worst kind of person with the best of intentions," Damian said after calming down and wiping the tears in his eyes.
"I understand what you want me to do, and I swear, I will do it," Damian affirmed, a newfound resolve lighting up his eyes. Until now, survival had been his sole objective. But Kiritsugu's final wishes had ignited a fire within him. "Don't worry, old man. We'll forge a different path. I'm sure Shirou and Illya will become better people and live full lives. In fact, I'll make sure of it."
Damian stood, donning Kiritsugu's iconic black trench coat after adjusting its size with alteration magecraft, then picked up Kiritsugu's Thomson Contender. His smile morphed into a wicked grin. "Just as you hunted down heretical magi to save the world, I'll use every tool at my disposal to eliminate anyone who threatens our family—be they mages, monsters, or even heroic spirits."
With resolute determination, he declared, "I'll become the next Magus Killer."
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