Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to their respective franchises.
Kirschtaria Wodime didn't really know where to begin when he found himself back in the shed.
The same filthy and rotten hut that was completely unfit for even the lowest level Magus, let alone their servants, and realizing that the pain... what pain, he wondered. Was it the pain of his body reaching its absolute limits? The pain of the knife digging in from behind? How about the pain of a betrayal he could see a mile away, but still hoped Beryl would know better? Or perhaps the pain of having the lower half of his waist obliterated by the Sirius Light?
He didn't... couldn't bring himself to care when he had the chance to stop the boy from leaving that fateful day. That fateful day when he should have saved him. When he should have been stronger and not mocked the boy for treating him better than his family or peers ever could.
No. That was wrong. He had had a truly lavish and privileged upbringing, with nothing but good things awaiting him in life, surrounded by a cacophony of yes-men, brown nosers, and social climbers. Someone born into the Wodime clan with a history dating back to the Age of Gods.
Of course, that was before his father decided he was in the way.
Hot tears spilled from his eyes as he fought through an agony that could never be compared to what he had been through. In another life... in another timeline. But that was hardly what went through his mind when he saw...him. That familiar silhouette in the dim light of the shack, the disgusting smell of rotting fish and garbage that made his nose wrinkle for the first time in his life. His tattered raincoat, so filthy that even a scullery maid would gasp at the mere touch.
None of it mattered as he held him in an embrace, his body and muscles screaming for release as he cried with the joy of seeing the boy again. Was this a dream? A delusion after death? It didn't matter, only that he could save the one who saved him, even if it wasn't real, an impossibility.
"Wh…What…wrong…?"
He opened his eyes, regained his composure a little, and pulled away from the embrace, allowing him to carefully assess the one in front of him. He took a breath, and though it hurt, it wasn't… scratch that; it hurt a lot! He fell onto his side, his arms going limp, allowing him to fully release the boy from his grip and land with a thud on the muddy dirt, or what he hoped was just dirt.
From then on, countless thoughts, scenarios and possibilities raced through his young mind, realizing that he had…
No, he wouldn't come to such conclusions yet. Not until he had a solid grasp of everything. For all he knew, this could just be a simulation by the Foreign God as a means to taunt him, rub his failure in his face. He couldn't trust everything around him to be real, much less…
For now, in the off chance that it was indeed real, he strongly kept the boy from leaving.
"But…"
"It's..." God, it hurt just to form the words; both physically and emotionally, his body and mind trying to synchronize. "It's okay... I... I'm not that hungry." His hand fumbled as his fingers brushed against something familiar. The stale bread the boy would feed him. The same bread that had disgusted him in the first days of his stay here. Now it was far better than anything their chef had ever prepared for him, and he suspected it had been laced with poison to weaken him so he could not properly defend himself on the day of his assassination. "Here," he continued, splitting the loaf in half and handing the larger half to...
"He… doesn't even have a name… I… never…"
The boy took it reluctantly, his hands covered in dirt, his long fingernails clogged with dirt and whatever else didn't belong there. He looked up at him, a questioning glint in his eyes, as if to ask if it was alright. He smiled back, and to his further embarrassment, he remembered that he had never even done that the last time, if only to show a little gratitude.
The boy seemed to consider it for a moment, before shaking his head. "Me… get more…"
He shook his head calmly, ignoring the alarm in his gut that the sequences were unfolding as they were. "I'm fine. Just eat." He glanced outside. "We'll... get more... tomorrow." He gritted his teeth, lifting his arm proving to be a chore just to grab the boy's shoulder. "We'll go together," he concluded. It took a little more convincing, but the child finally relented, and the two of them found themselves feasting on a meal that wouldn't satisfy even a rat, let alone the nourishment his body needed. But judging by the smile that danced across his features, it was more than enough.
The following day, with some effort, the two ventured out together to buy some food. Actual food that would fill their stomachs with the money he had with him, and that made him even more remorseful that he had not given some up the last time, suspecting that the boy was simply a thief waiting for him to let his guard down. He had taken the liberty of donning some simple rags that were lying around the hut. With a stick that served as a makeshift crutch, they made their way out in the open, hidden in plain sight by the Mystic Code in the boy's possession.
A precious memento he kept in his previous life.
Assuming he hadn't just picked it up off the street, the fact that the boy had such an item at all spoke of a heritage, perhaps even the possession of Magical Circuits, but until he had the proper equipment to determine that, all he had was guesswork.
Traveling in broad daylight turned out to be less of a hassle than he had suspected; their success was a simple matter of being inconspicuous and cunning enough to avoid too many eyes, though given their appearance, he doubted anyone would care anyway unless they were directly in their path.
The actual purchase of the food was ultimately dependent on three key factors: the strategic application of Suggestion Magecraft, precise timing, and a silent prayer. The baker was charmed to observe them as regular patrons, a young man accompanied by his younger sibling. He had only a limited amount of money with him, sufficient only to purchase two loaves of French bread, three croissants, and two cakes. This would last them for a few days at most, but by that time he would have recovered sufficiently to reach someone he knew he could trust. He decided to take the child with him, as he felt he could not leave him alone after all he had done for him.
The days passed, and he was sufficiently recovered to undertake the journey. He attempted to persuade the boy to accompany him, suggesting that he would be removed from his impoverished circumstances and provided with a more favorable situation.
The boy refused.
The topic had been previously discussed, yet on each occasion the boy merely shook his head in refusal. It was not a matter of fear or reluctance; rather, it was a sense of genuine contentment with his current circumstances. He was not in need of the luxuries that the Wodime family could offer, nor was he interested in pursuing a promising future as a retainer of Kirschtaria or an apprentice at the Clock Tower.
In the end, the rightful Wodime heir realized that he would only be forcing what he wanted on the young man. A fraction of what he had almost forced on all of humanity.
"Don't you... want a family?" Kirschtaria asked him the night before he was to leave. "People to take care of you?"
The boy did not respond immediately, his expression unreadable. The boy then looked up at the teenager and stood up, eyes fixed. He proceeded to shuffle over to a corner of the hut, where he retrieved a pile of what appeared to be the boy's meager belongings. These consisted of more rags that served as a makeshift bed, a tattered backpack, and some junk tools. The boy reached into the pack and conducted a thorough search of its contents before retrieving an item that was not visible in the low light of the oil lamp, which was the only source of illumination. The boy approached and extended a hand, displaying what appeared to be a photograph.
It was withered, old and faded, but he could still make out what looked like the boy, only much younger by a year or two. With him was a woman with dark hair down to her shoulders, wearing a simple brown dress under a navy blouse. She looked emaciated, and had perhaps been taken at a time when her health was failing. He instinctively bit down the urge to apologize, merely catching the boy's gaze into his own in a silent understanding.
In the morning, he strictly instructed said boy not to leave his hut until he was sure it was safe, both under the paranoid thought that his assassins might find him by chance and that his averted death might still be a possibility. He would need to borrow the boy's Mystic Code for the trip, with the promise to return it as well as some money and provisions as a form of repayment. As damaged as his circuits were, he figured he could fire off a curse or two in case he needed to defend himself, but any more and, well, nothing he hadn't been through before.
Armed with the Mystic Code and shrouded with a ragged cloak, Kirschtaria truly felt invisible as he walked the streets of London, heading for the one man that could help him. He couldn't go to the Clock Tower, as that would be the first place for him to be found. No, he would need to reach the home of none other than…
"Marisbury Animusphere," Kirschtaria said the man's name as he stood in the middle of a private study he had so frequented in his previous timeline.
Marisbury's back was to him, facing a window that revealed a lush garden bathed in the afternoon sun. The two couldn't have been more different. One was immaculately dressed in a white suit, a cleanliness that was almost sacred, divine. This was the head of the Animusphere, the man who had yet to make plans for Chaldea. Or had he? Kirschtaria had no solid idea when the idea had taken root. Perhaps it had been in the Animusphere family for generations. In all the time he had spent with his (former?) mentor, he had never been able to read the man. Oh, Marisbury would tell him much. His real goals and plans, his innermost thoughts, maybe even what kind of tea he actually liked, but the true Marisbury Animusphere was, at heart, a mystery.
And so here he was, Kirschtaria Wodime, disguised as a pauper, but at that very moment he truly felt like a beggar, prostrating himself before a member of the upper crust for the meager scraps from his table. Marisbury spoke with a voice that did not reflect the tension that hung over them, "I wasn't expecting any guests today."
Kirschtaria resisted the urge to scoff, having infiltrated the estate with little to no obstruction. No guards, no familiars, no bounded field—nothing. "You must be exhausted," Marisbury opined with feigned concern, his inflection almost wooden. "Rest. I'll have a maid bring us some refreshments."
"You must know why I am here," Kirschtaria said reproachfully, unwilling to entertain the man's foolishness.
Several agonizing minutes passed before Marisbury, in a tone that could have been genuinely confused and inquisitive, said with a finger on his chin, "Do I?"
"My father tried to have me killed," Kirschtaria revealed flatly, glowering at the Lord.
There was a hum. "I see," said Marisbury dispassionately, as if he had just been told what color his curtains should be. "...And you wish for my protection?"
Kirschtaria bowed his head, though not out of deference. "Let me mind my own business," the young genius said hotly. "I just want to talk to you about something."
Marisbury chuckled softly. "Bold, are we, Mr. Wodime? You are probably the finest of my students, perhaps in all of the Clock Tower, and yet here you are, suddenly making demands of me."
"Not at all," Kirschtaria denied in a clipped tone.
"Oh, but you are," Marisbury replied calmly. "Tell me, what is troubling that brilliant mind of yours? It's certainly not the grief of being betrayed by your father. No, such a thing shouldn't even be an afterthought. Indeed, you are here for what lies ahead."
Kirschtaria frowned, but decided to let his silence speak for him.
"I had my…suspicions," Marisbury admitted, hands clasped behind his back. "It was the way you carried yourself when you entered my home." He chuckled after he sensed Kirschtaria slowly tensing. "Oh, please, within my territory, that little trinket is just a pretty keepsake, so I suggest you sit down and then we can talk."
After he was seated and the maid had brought in a plate of tea and biscuits, Kirschtaria slowly told everything. Well, not everything, for he suspected that Marisbury would and could already fill in the blanks by mere conjecture and his own plans fitting in. It was funny, in a way, that the man he had considered only slightly above his true father had arranged for his downfall in ways the Wodime patriarch could never have ever dreamed of, as both an eventuality and a means of fulfilling the Grand Order. He was never meant to succeed. None of them were. Yet here he was, trusting the devil he knew rather than an uncertain future. A future that could go either way now that he had realized that he somehow...
"No," Marisbury said without prompting before taking a dainty sip of his tea.
"Hm?" Kirschtaria, who had not changed out of his rags and was quite the juxtaposition between the two, was tugged out of his thoughts.
"You didn't go back in time," Marisbury said.
"Oh?" the young genius said with an arched brow. "And why is that, Professor Animusphere? Surely this can only be the past."
"Yes," Marisbury agreed, plucking up a biscuit and dipping it in his tea. "Only, this happens to not be your past."
Kirschtaria blinked, his expression furrowing. "How did you come to that conclusion?"
"However minor, there are significant discrepancies with the details you've provided," Marisbury replied. "For one, Lev Lainur committed suicide not long ago."
"Are you... sure?" Kirschtaria asked in genuine shock. "He's... dead?" While his memories were still jumbled from whatever had brought him back, digging deeper, he could recall meeting the man a few times at the Clock Tower, much younger, but very much alive.
"A double, or perhaps an alternate version of him, who had found his way here as you did," Marisbury continued. "He honestly thought I wouldn't notice."
Kirschtaria averted his eyes; this revelation, if true, would have unforeseen ramifications for what lay ahead. Could this Lev be his? A different version? Would things turn out the way they did in his own timeline, or worse? "Professor, are you to participate in the Grail War that is to come?"
"It's only a matter of time," Marisbury said calmly, as if the bloodiest battle royale to ever grace their world was simply a leisure trip or sabbatical. "If my other self was as successful as you said, then I have no worries."
Kirschtaria swallowed, a cold sweat running down his temple at how truly…blasé the man simply was. "Then…"
"You want to join, or rather rejoin, Chaldea?" Marisbury finished for him knowingly, to which Kirschtaria slowly nodded. The smile he wore, now that he knew the man's true nature and plans, was as treacherous as any Magus'. He was no longer under the illusion that he was just a pawn, a piece on the chessboard that was Marisbury's Grand Human Order. The only question now was whether he would submit to the same path again, or he was now a liability for the Lord to dispose of. It was humbling, sobering, though not as much as his life having been saved by the boy.
Marisbury seemed to read into his thoughts. "Do not fret, Mr. Wodime. You still have your role, for even among my peers, I am not so cruel, nor am I as shortsighted. Not only will you be under my protection, but from this day forth, I will recognize you as my legitimate heir." Kirschtaria narrowed his eyes, this particular circumstance being much earlier than his former timeline. "You will have the full support of the Animusphere."
The newly christened Animusphere heir blinked. "You… want me to play things out like I did last?"
"As close to how it was," Marisbury declared. "For the sake of playing it safe, we need only be patient until the absolute right moment. For now? We plan, we prepare. That's all there is to it." The Lord offered him a look that should have been reassuring, coupled with a soft forgiving smile to convey that the young man had indeed nothing to worry about.
All Kirschtaria saw was a snake.
And so, in the days, months...years that followed, he went through the motions, toeing the line of what actions he should take so as not to disrupt the timeline of events. At least not by much. Upon his return to the boy... Pino... yes, that's his name. It just came to him when he saw that he was still safe and sound, both of them happy to see each other. He returned Pino's Mystic Code, along with more food and clothing from the money he had procured from a private account. He would have liked to give Pino a proper home, but the boy had still refused. He didn't need to return to his own home just yet, as he wanted to gather his thoughts on how to act. He had no intention of unraveling this timeline by straying too far from it, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to waste this miraculous second chance.
He would have to at some point check out the version of Fujimaru Ritsuka in this timeline. Since they were destined to become the final master of humanity, he could at least see for himself how this version differed from his. Could they be younger? Older? Male? Female? How could he really tell? He asked around and found out that they were still in the Clock Tower dormitories. Huh, he couldn't help but wonder how he'd never been able to weed them out. Then again, they might as well have been one of the many faceless nobodies he never bothered to get to know.
A month later, after his father received the unfortunate news that the Animusphere family was supporting his once presumed dead son, he formally resigned as Head. He had killed his father in his previous timeline, but now he figured the man could just stew in the humiliation. And frankly, after experiencing far too many deaths, both by his hand or otherwise, he found the mere thought of killing his own father again distasteful. He wanted to change, he wanted to genuinely make up for all of the mistakes he made, but he was by no means a fool. At least, not anymore.
As he walked the usual path to the Clock Tower, his thoughts swirled about what to expect when he would meet this Fujimaru. He still occasionally visited Pino, who had taken to fishing for his food. He had also gotten him a job at the local market, where a fruit vendor was looking for an errand boy and a bagger. He would be paid a wage and even some fruit that could be spared. He didn't even have to hypnotize the owner, who was kind enough to overlook the boy's circumstances. The fact that he had been bathed and dressed probably made for a good impression. Pino deserved to live his life on his own terms, with a little help from time to time, for he feared that if he became too involved in the Moonlit World, he would only meet a horrid end.
Returning to the school with his memories of the alternate timeline didn't feel all that different, finding it relatively the same last he'd been there, with the usual hallmarks like the illusionary bounded fields that guarded it, as well as the students and staff who gave him looks of both curiosity and incredulity. Could be from his absence, or the rumors of his assassination that had no doubt reached some ears.
More or less the same assessments as before. Shameless opportunists, all of them. He would find no friends among them. Magi and their alliances were always fickle, maintained more out of convenience or coercion.
No, there was only one other person he was sure he could trust. Far more than Marisbury, but he would have to wait a few more years.
The Fuyuki Grail War would come to pass, and he decided that he would not simply stand idly by. Although he was formally recognized as the heir to the Animusphere, he had no reservations about helping young Olga Marie. She held no grudge against him for usurping her birthright. On the contrary, unlike the Olga of his timeline, she had harbored feelings of admiration for him from afar and admitted that she was an inadequate heir compared to him. Knowing her destiny and her actual role in her father's plans, as well as her lies for what they were, the young genius quickly disabused her of this notion. That it was her insecurities and the neglect she suffered at the hands of her father that were actually holding her back. A long moment after he explained this, the young girl, no older than Pino, let her tears and her true feelings out into the world.
That she hated that she was weak, hated that she could never get more than a passing glance from her father at the best of times, and that whatever value she had left was effectively dissolved the moment he earned the favor of the Animusphere. At this, Kirschtaria actually smiled, refreshed by her honesty. He would not kill her to spoil whatever Marisbury really had planned, he would find a way, because what happened to his Olga he would not wish on the little girl he had held in a comforting embrace. "You are none of those things, Olga," Kirschtaria said softly to her, the two of them standing in a hallway of the Animusphere estate, away from prying eyes, while Marisbury was away on business. He pulled away from the embrace and looked her straight in the eyes, both swollen from the tears she had shed, "You are strong. I know you are. And above all, you have talent." He grinned at her surprise. "All you really need is the right teacher, the right motivation away from the pressure of being your father's child. I know you can be a great magus. And... you are not alone. Far from it."
Just as he was under the protection of the Animusphere, he would do everything in his power as head of Clan Wodime to protect Olga, swearing it to her on bended knee.
Years later, some time after graduating from the Clock Tower, he returned in order to find one particular person, having periodically checked the roster of students attending.
When he finally reached the dormitory, he could hardly suppress a feeling of anxiety, anticipation and maybe even excitement to meet this Fujimaru. When he finally stood in front of their door, the fear fully bubbled to the surface and he found himself pacing indecisively, not knowing what to say, what to do. Perhaps, he could just put on a mask of haughtiness common to most magi, but that might just put them off. Or he could, as he intended, start with a simple hello and ask them a few questions, particularly the non-invasive kind. A simple meeting between schoolmates, that's all. Yes.
He knocked softly on the hardwood door and waited. After minutes of uneventful silence, he knocked again. After the third repetition, he raised his eyebrow and wondered if Fujimaru was out or still asleep, since the door was locked. Well, he had come rather early. Shrugging, he decided to put the impromptu visit off for another time. Which was later that afternoon, and still, the door remained affixed. Curious, and perhaps a tiny bit suspicious, he undid the lock with a simple spell, and no further than an inch did the door come unhinged that a foul smell collided with his nostrils.
Slamming the door wide open, he found the common room dim and empty, except perhaps for the sickening stench. He didn't bother to cover his nose as he frantically scanned the interior for the usual defenses in case he needed to dispel them, but found none. Before he even had the good sense to be disappointed by such a gross lack of security, he found the bedroom and let himself in, and what else did he find but the rotting corpse of what he hoped was not Fujimaru Ritsuka. Unfortunately, those very hopes would be dashed after the autopsy, their remains barely recognizable due to how badly they had been mutilated. When the worst was over and everyone had simply gone about their lives without acknowledging the brutal murder, Kirschtaria found himself in a quandary. On the one hand, he no longer had a potential obstacle to prevent his ambitions from finally coming to fruition, and since he knew of Lev's treachery, he would take the necessary measures and steps to avoid his first death. He could take his place in Team A and go about being the true savior of humanity as he had wished.
That is, if he still had the same aspirations.
He wasn't a savior, nor was he a hero, and he certainly was in no position to know what was best for humanity. Nay, he would have preferred to die in Pino's hut first before he could relive this timeline exactly as he knew it.
But now, with the Fujimaru of this timeline gone…
In the intervening years leading up to this, he had built up something of a network. If he had returned back to the past, albeit that of a different timeline, there could be no reason to suggest that others hadn't found their way back as well. As he suspected, there had indeed been others, and most surprisingly, many of them happened to be the yet to become staff of Chaldea. Marisbury had surprisingly been cooperative in assisting with his endeavors, reasoning that finding such promising folk sooner would only benefit his project. With the Lord abreast in such affairs, it was a better means than any to keep a close eye on him, and the incentive was nothing else but mutual.
He was tempted to seek out the other Crypters, and after buying a smartphone, he found Pepe's socials after a bit of browsing. Of course, he had to wait a few years until he was comfortable (and safe) enough. From what he knew of Pepe, he had made a living as a freelancer before coming to Chaldea, specializing in odd jobs such as assassinations and other mercenary work. Some of the others had lives of their own, no doubt, and while he wanted to eliminate Beryl at the most opportune moment, that could wait. He had sent Pepe a friend request first, and sure enough, he had stricken gold.
He wanted to meet in person.
He was just as Kirschtaria had remembered him, the two of them finding a quaint little cafe in Italy to catch up on old times, for Pepe had not even tried to deny that they were in similar circumstances. A bounded field was erected around them to mask their conversation. "Could you…?"
Myourenji Arou, or Scandinavia Peperoncino as he preferred to be known, raised a finger to cut him off as he enjoyed the espresso he had ordered, right in front of Kirschtaria's face by a few inches. He was wearing a fashionable black jacket, buttoned up to reveal a lace top underneath, and a pair of torn blue jeans. His gloved hands, deceptively thin and delicate, held a danger known only to the blond magus sitting across from him. "To be honest, I could care less where I came from or how I got here, but you should really try this espresso, Kirsch. It'll probably lift you right out of all that gloom and doom that's hanging over you."
Krischtaria grunted softly, unamused, but also wistful to hear Pepe again, who might or might not be his. "So?" Pepe started. "What do you want from me? A job? Someone who needs pruning?"
Kirschtaria smiled and shook his head. "You already know why."
"That, huh?" Pepe sighed, the rarest time Kirschtaria had ever heard him use such a tone. "You want to go through all of that again?"
Kirschtaria opened his mouth to say that this time it would be different, that he knew now where he and the rest of them had gone wrong. That they could bring back lost opportunities, but upon catching a glimpse of Pepe's eyes, the look on his face, it was clear that there was a kind of... exhaustion there.
"If I say no, then what?" Pepe dared to ask, and the chuckle from Kirschtaria should have been telling enough, but to the Japanese Magus' surprise.
"Sure, you can say no," Kirschtaria said with a shrug. "I only really wanted to see you again, talk to you again, and now that I have, I'm satisfied."
Instead of following up with a witty remark or rebuke, Pepe simply looked at him, studying him with a scrutinizing cock of his brow. One that frankly made the Wodime Head a little uncomfortable from just who it was coming from. "No, really!" Kirschtaria exclaimed with a raise of his hands. "You don't really need to burden yourself with this, Pepe. Marisbury and I-"
Pepe snorted. "You're actually working with him again? Don't tell me he's in on it."
"Surprisingly, no," the blonde countered. "Or at least he hasn't made it known. But he and I have come to an understanding, choosing to work together in order to establish Chaldea with a much better outcome."
"A much better outcome, you say?" Pepe repeated with a hint of disdain. "You must know what Marisbury is really up to, don't you? Or are you still so hell-bent on 'improving' humanity?"
Kirschtaria's expression went blank, all luster leaving his eyes. "That was..." he bowed his head, refusing to meet the other man's gaze. "That was a mistake. I would say the height of conceit and arrogance on my part as a magus. I believed that what I was doing was against the prerogatives of our kind, but nothing could have been more in line with the teachings of the Clock Tower, or of Marisbury's."
Pepe continued to scrutinize him. "And what are you proposing for me, Kirsch? You want me back on the A-Team? Be another cog in the machine that is CHALDEAS? Our actual goal was never for the protection of humanity, you know. It's to expand it. Marisbury simply wants us to be the dominant species in existence. The only existence. No matter how that may come to be, that is the true directive of the Grand Human Order."
Kirschtaria sighed. "You think I haven't already figured that out?"
Pepe stroked the bottom of his chin playfully. "Daybit did," he revealed with a grin. "Which reminds me. Have you made contact with him?"
"No," Kirschtaria admitted. "I tried, but..."
"He's missing," Pepe said nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair.
"Undetermined," Kirschtaria corrected, interlocking his fingers now that the conversation was moving on to more pressing issues. "We tried to look for him, but our efforts turned up nothing. His old address, his usual haunts, not a trace. It's like he disappeared from the planet."
"Maybe he just doesn't give a shit," Pepe suggested. "Or, if he were like us, he would have already done everything in his power to stop Chaldea."
"The fact that he's gone off the grid can only mean that he's still there, but planning something else," Kirshtaria mused.
"Then I guess the A-Team is out of the question?" Pepe speculated with a snide grin. "Or are you planning to switch things up?"
Kirschtaria, perhaps knowing that Pepe had already made up his mind, looked away and said, "I'm afraid that's really all I can do. I'll see if I can find Hinako, but Marisbury may already be planning to recruit her himself, like mine did."
"The Hinako of this timeline?" Pepe stroked his chin in thought. "Interesting. When she was defeated in her Lost Belt, she allowed herself to become a Servant for Chaldea. Her proximity to a True Ancestor may have something to do with it. In essence, her Saint Graph data should already be in the Throne, so she can be summoned by the FATE System even with her being alive here."
"For that to happen, she would still have to assume the identity Marisbury gave her," Kirschtaria pointed out. "Or maybe not."
"Not everyone could have come back, Kirsch," Pepe countered. "I mean, do you expect Ophelia to have? She could be the same or not, but what difference would it make?"
"I could..." Kirschtaria was about to say when Pepe interrupted.
"Save her?" The Japanese man wagged his finger. "Oh, this is rich." With a dramatic flail of his arms, he exclaimed, "Are you going to take on the role of her Prince Charming? Her knight in shining armor to carry her off into a picturesque sunset and happily ever after?"
"I owe her that much, Pepe," Kirschtaria declared with a conviction tinged with regret. "Ophelia... my Ophelia never had a chance."
"Neither did mine," Pepe chimed in. "Or could we be talking about the same Ophelia?"
Kirschtaria closed his eyes and hung his head with a bitter smile. "Does it really matter now?"
Pepe bored into the blonde with an impassive, disinterested look, searching for the slightest hint of dishonesty. "Hmph. So even you can make a face like that." A smile danced across his lips. "It's adorable, like a lost little puppy." He clicked his tongue and added with a sigh, "Alright, fine."
Kirschtaria raised his head, perking up in attention. "I'll give it another shot," Pepe conceded.
Kirschtaria blinked slowly, afraid that his next move might ruin it for him, but finally he slumped back in his seat. "Thank you, Pepe."
"Just promise me one thing."
"Hm?"
Leaning over the table, his elbows propped up as he rested his head on the back of his hands, Pepe smiled at the blonde and declared in a bright tone, "You mess things up between you and Ophelia again and I'll skin you alive~."
Kirschtaria snorted with a lopsided grin, but he would be a fool to assume that the Shugendō practitioner was merely teasing.
"So," Pepe began again, closing his eyes, then opening them, every shred of emotion gone from his gaze, leaving an emptiness in its place, his lips no longer holding a smile. "What are your plans for Beryl?"
Kirschtaria held the gaze that would have terrified the most hardened killer with his own, any trace of discomfort drained away by cold determination. "What else...?"
Pepe smirked in approval. "Well, if Daybit's a no-show, we could always recommend Fujimaru-hm?" He stopped when out of the blue, Kirschtaria gently laid a hand on his forearm, the blonde solemnly shaking his head. His expression then paled after the gory details were related to him. "No way…"
"It was Lev," Kirschtaria seethed in suspicion. "It just had to be."
"Now hang on, Kirsch," Pepe said in a reproachful tone, actually rising out of his seat in a panic, a million thoughts racing through his mind at the catastrophic news. "You're not the kind to be reaching such conclusions. For all we know…"
"Then what, huh, Pepe?!" Kirschtaria sniped back at the other man, letting out the desperation he had been suppressing up to that point. "Things have already deviated enough with Fujimaru's demise, do you honestly believe that this timeline still has a chance of going exactly as ours?"
Pepe did not answer. He couldn't, covering his mouth in alarm that humanity's chance, their chance, was gone, murdered. He could easily have come to the same conclusion as Kirschtaria, that Lev Lainur had decided to be smart and remove a major obstacle, but experience had given him the good sense that they were missing a few pieces. "Now what?"
Kirschtaria really wished he could say something else. "We march on. We cannot let this inconvenience us one bit."
Pepe scoffed, wanting to accuse the one before him of being the perpetrator or simply the architect, but he knew that even at his worst Kirschtaria would not stoop to such a thing, unless his experiences had changed him for the worse. He fell back onto his seat and reached into his pocket for a packet. "Just our luck. I guess this is finally our chance to shine," he remarked despondently.
Kirschtaria huffed in equal dejection.
"Oh, right," Pepe perked up, as if he had nearly forgotten. "What about Kadoc?"
"Hm...? Oh..." Kirschtaria blinked, then hummed long in thought. "I... guess we could just wait and see."
"...You're definitely my Kirschtaria," Pepe concluded in a flat tone, his legs crossed as he prepared to light a cigarette.
About two months later, he reported back to the Clock Tower, as one of his contacts had found the only other man he had been waiting for. He looked a little younger, but that could only be because the man's hair hadn't grown that long yet. He was sitting under a tree, reading from what appeared to be a medical textbook, most likely studying for his doctorate.
"Romani Archaman," Kirschtaria said his name, lacking any of the formality required to address such a man. "A moment, please."
The man regarded him with curiosity, but that was all Kirschtaria needed to confirm a hypothesis that had been percolating in his mind long before this meeting. It appeared that this possibility had been a source of concern for both of them.
Long before it was known as the Chaldea Security Organization, and long before the Fuyuki Grail War, Marisbury's little pet project was little more than an observatory in the heart of Antarctica, hidden from the world, where he and his team of researchers were free to do as they pleased.
He was invited to the site by helicopter, where he was greeted by an entire entourage consisting of only Marisbury. He was then given a comprehensive tour of the facility to gain insight into the discrepancies between his timeline and the current state of affairs, and to identify potential areas for enhancement or maintenance. The tour spanned a duration of three days, during which the Wodime Head experienced a peculiar sense of familiarity as he traversed the halls of Chaldea, reminiscing on his past experiences with Team A.
He then dismissed these recollections, as the majority of them were merely simulations presented by the Alien God. Were they merely a means for him to more effectively interact with his colleagues, or more a means of enhancing his own ego? He was no longer able to discern the distinction, or didn't dare to in fear of the definitive conclusion. With two members who were no longer present and whose whereabouts were unknown, Team A was no longer a viable entity.
Which, in hindsight, was still an acceptable outcome if it meant that Marisbury's plans would be disrupted.
"Hm?" As he proceeded down the corridor leading to the control room, Kirschtaria was drawn to a side window overlooking a room illuminated by a magic circle. In the center of the circle was a figure strapped to an upright stretcher, bound in a straitjacket and inscribed with runes. He was so engrossed by the scene that he barely acknowledged Marisbury's presence behind him, who inquired, "Has my counterpart in your timeline conducted the Demi-Servant Project as well?"
Kirschtaria regarded the figure, which he was certain was Mash Kyrielight, with a vacant expression. "Yes," he responded neutrally. "Let us continue."
Months later, Kirschtaria was in his office when he heard from his contacts in Chaldea that Kadoc had been invited. Curiously, rather than the Clock Tower in his own timeline, he had been studying at the Atlas Institute. Same with Ophelia.
Reading both of their files in what was now his private office, formerly his father's (and only after meticulously clearing it of all booby traps), Kirschtaria decided that he would not impose anything on the only other female member of the Crypters, as she might not even be his Ophelia. And even if she was, she was her own person with her own agency. He saw through her feelings for him, and that was only the beginning of her downfall. That he had shamelessly taken advantage of her devotion to him only sickened him now. If she remembered everything, it wouldn't be better. Not to mention terribly awkward.
He exhaled audibly, placing the files on the table and averting his eyes. The impending trip to Chaldea, scheduled to begin in a week, had resulted in a noticeable lack of sleep, exacerbated by the extended periods of wakefulness. Up to that point, he had been responsible for Olga's tutoring in order to facilitate her proficiency in Astromancy, which she had developed significantly faster than she would have if she had been left to her own devices. It also served the secondary purpose of preventing her from being influenced by Lev. Of note when he finally met the man himself, there was no significant deviation to be found. He looked, acted and spoke exactly like the Lev of his timeline, and he would have preferred it that way, feigning total ignorance of the man's true nature, a sentiment that was likely reciprocated.
It was a surprising and infuriating coincidence that Beryl was also present, as if it were a premonition that two of the ruinous forces against Chaldea would be introduced together. While he was not inclined to dismiss the possibility of their collusion, he felt compelled to pretend to remain in the dark. The bastard would get his.
With a weary blink of his eyes, he was forced to make a comprehensive review of the list of individuals who had been monitored by Romani and his network of agents. It was imperative that he be fully informed, as he had gone to great lengths to reach this point without alerting either Lev or Beryl. He was rummaging through the haphazardly stacked pile of documents when he came across an unopened envelope. He took it and turned it over, making sure that the gloves he was wearing were imbued with runes designed to destroy anything that might contain enchantments. He had no recollection of ever receiving such a letter, as he always took great precaution of checking his mail for any security breaches.
The envelope itself was completely blank, slightly crumpled and frayed around the edges, which earned a raised eyebrow of curiosity. The fact that his gloves hadn't reacted could only mean that it wasn't the envelope that was enchanted, but the contents inside. He took his letter opener and made a precise cut across the top, preparing for anything. A curse, an explosion, another annoying noise prank that he knew could only have been the work of that nuisance Flat Escardos (damn him).
Carefully, he fished out the letter and prepared to move, Reinforcing his body despite the burning sensation of his damaged circuits. Sometimes he missed being back in his Lost Belt, able to use his Wodime Astromancy magecraft at heights his family could only have dreamed of, but his reminiscing also had the unintended effect of bringing him back to reality. Being back where he had been at his weakest had been another humbling experience. His defeat of Zeus, the king of the Olympians, by his own strength should not have carried with it any sense of pride or importance. That he, the great Kirschtaria Wodime, would play the role of the humble hero whose noble sacrifice would usher in a new era for humanity. A better era, free from all ills, both great and small.
It was like something out of an Odyssey, a young boy's fantasy.
Yes.
A fantasy…
Despite seeing through all of Zeus' cruelty to compensate for his lonely existence, the once great king had still planned to run away in the face of the alien god. While he couldn't blame him personally for that, robbing the planet, the Olympians, of everything to help save his own skin was a level of cowardice and greed that just didn't sit right with him.
The only one who stayed with him to the bitter end was his Servant, Caenis. If he ever summoned her again, he would get down on his knees and thank her. Thank her a thousand times, even if she did not recognize him. Even if she didn't have the slightest memory of their time in that Lost Belt, he would still express the purest gratitude for being the only one who stayed by his side after everything he held dear was either thrown away or lost to him.
Upon unfolding the letter, he discovered that it was devoid of any magical properties, as evidenced by the fact that the very tip of his finger brushing the edge of the paper allowed him to read it freely and safely. As he went over the message, he showed a gradual change of expression, at first one of disbelief, later accompanied by a noticeable loosening of his jaw.
Dear Mr. Wodime,
Don't do anything stupid. I already have someone to replace Fujimaru Ritsuka. That's right. Don't even think about being the main character this time. We all know how that turned out.
Sincerely, Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg.
P.S.
This letter will self-destruct once you finish reading it. Oh, don't make that face, that's just how I roll.
Upon reading the words, he immediately threw the paper away with a hasty gesture and watched with concern as it floated harmlessly through the air and came to rest on his carpet. Perplexed, he rose from behind the improvised barrier that was his desk and approached the offending document in question with the utmost caution, which he discovered bore additional writing on the back.
P.S.S.
That was a joke. Just toss this in your fireplace.
With a twitch of his brow and a low growl, he proceeded to tear the letter into small pieces and discard it into the fireplace. He then observed the burning of the letter with a sense of calm satisfaction. A deep sigh escaped him, throwing his head back. He had no reason to doubt that it was the Wizard Marshal who had sent him such a letter. Any fraudulent use of his name in the past had been met with swift punishment by the Association. They were identified, dealt with, and never seen again.
"A replacement for Fujimaru?" The mere suggestion was enough to send his mind reeling. One might ask who could possibly replace Fujimaru Ritsuka, who, despite being a mediocre magus at best and an upstart at worst, had managed to accomplish the seemingly impossible by clearing not only the singularities, but also each of the Lost Belts. Ultimately, the man, for his version was male, had managed to defeat him through his own tenacity and the bond he shared with each of his allies. He, on the other hand, had been blinded by his own assurance of his deeds.
If he were the protagonist of a book, it wouldn't be that of a noble hero who had achieved all that is good in the world, but of a fool who had aimed for the truly impossible.
Closing his eyes, his mind ran through everything that had happened and what he had done up to this point. He was still tempted. Oh, he was tempted. That he would get it right this time. That he wouldn't be beholden to his own stupidity. That he could truly usher in a new era for mankind. This was his moment, his chance to truly realize his hopes and dreams for the world.
Then he opened his eyes back to the present reality in front of him, and he saw Pino, he saw Olga Marie.
He saw...Ophelia, lying on a bed, in a coma from the poison Lev had given her. He had managed to survive thanks to the special gloves he often wore, but only to a point, as the poison was of unusual potency. He had given the same gloves to Pepe, if only to keep him from succumbing to it as well, since he would be his vanguard. He felt weak. Weak enough that he would barely be able to hurt an average magus with some moderate skill in reinforcement.
The two of them were in a private room equipped with life-support instruments, the outside guarded with security runes that the other Crypters had access to. Yes, including Beryl. In the end, they couldn't find Daybit, so Marisbury had to make do with Hinako, who, after some questioning, was solely the Hinako of this timeline. They did not wish to disclose their secret to her at first, but they could never keep something of such a nature under wraps for long.
He was positioned at her bedside, seated in a chair, attempting to overcome the sensation of numbness in his body as he observed her, expressing regret that he had not been able to safeguard her once more. They were situated in close proximity to one another in the lounge when the incident occurred. They were engaged in a discussion over tea when, abruptly, several other Master Candidates, who were present in the same room, collapsed. He acted promptly, assisting Ophelia and transporting her to the room he had specifically requested from Marisbury at the last moment. The room was spacious enough to accommodate the Crypters, with seven beds. Kadoc was also present, brought in by Pepe before he had to leave to search for Hinako.
He had no doubt that she was conscious, for what was poison to an existence so close to a True Ancestor? Then he remembered the lengths Hinako, or Yu Mei-ren, had to undertake in order to suppress her true nature. That was why she had been susceptible to the bomb alongside them in his own timeline.
"Well, lookie what I found."
Kirschtaria didn't turn around, keeping a firm but gentle hand on Ophelia's. "I take it you're holding up your end of the deal with Lev?"
"Ding ding, give the lucky winner a prize," Beryl Gut mused as he walked slowly toward them, then around Ophelia's bed, Kirschtaria following him with his eyes closely. "I knew something was off when we first met." He stopped just short of the foot, his back to them now as he faced Kadoc's cot. "Well, not exactly the first time."
Kirschtaria narrowed his expression into a frown, reinforcing his body through the excruciating pain that the poison intensified. "Lev wanted to be thorough in case there were any unexpected factors like me after I approached him. But..." Beryl tilted his head back, flashing a mad grin at the blonde. "I never actually thought there would be so many of us. Why do you think that is, Kirch?"
"Who knows," Kirchtaria replied neutrally, his voice betraying the hatred that flowed through it.
Beryl hung his head with a sigh. "It's like a miracle. Maybe someone just jumped the gun and wished on a Grail."
"Possibly," Kirschtaria said, not dismissing such a likelihood. Maybe a desperate version of Fujimaru. Maybe even some rogue god's idea of a joke. Who could tell or care anymore? "You feeling alright, Beryl? Or, are you just here to make some small talk?"
"Well, look at you," Beryl mused with a scoff. "Has that tongue of yours gotten as sharp as the knife I dug into your back oh so long ago, mate?"
"...Are you really going to ruin the future of humanity for your own gratification?" Kirschtaria asked the man bluntly, though he already knew the answer.
"Oh please, I'm hardly an outlier," Beryl countered, swiveling around to fully face them. "Lots of blokes out there who just want to have some fun until the end, and on their own terms. And besides, mine can't be any worse than yours."
The Wodime Head withdrew his gaze. "I…"
"You wanted to make us into gods," Beryl reminded him. "Or a species that would be rid of conflict for the sheer pointlessness of it. But that's where you're wrong, my friend. There is a point to the madness."
"Oh?" Kirschtaria dared to ask, as if there was anything wrong with such a dream. And, begrudging as he was to admit it, there was. "Then please, by all means, tell me."
"Humanity would just be a dead fish if we ever became like that," Beryl explained. "No need for conflict, but no need for food or water either. No need for sunshine, no need for air, no need for dirt, flowers, drugs, fucking, killing, and what have you. Sounds boring as hell. Besides, after meeting the Olympians, can you honestly tell me that they were perfect? That they represented your "ideal" of the human order? You're no better than Lev, Goetia, or Marisbury put together. No, wait." He snorted, his shoulders shaking as he stifled a laugh. "You're nowhere near their level, because you're just a pretentious bugger who doesn't mind the taste of his own shit."
Kirschtaria continued to avert his eyes, unable to deny the truth of the fiendish werewolf's words. Still, "Yours is better? Is it really? Spreading misery and grief, cultivating hatred and resentment?"
"Better than nothing," Beryl shrugged. "Besides, we've come this far snorting all of that good stuff. Yeah...the good, the bad, the best and the worst. That's what makes us human." He stepped close to Kirschtaria's face with an unnatural quickness and breathed into the blonde's face, "If you don't want to get with the program, then by all means, I'll give you a one-way ticket out."
Their hands moved at the same time, Kirschtaria using all his strength to grab the knife that was about to plunge into Ophelia's neck. "Haha!" Beryl laughed with glee at the predictability of that, and gave the blonde a knee to the side. "Well, isn't that just lovely. The prince is protecting his princess!" He repeated this motion, hard enough that blood spilled out of the Wodime Head's mouth, but the latter held on.
"This is nothing!" Kirschtaria mentally chanted as he held on, the blade digging into his palm from reinforcement failing. "This pain is nothing!" He choked back a scream when a clawed hand dug into his shoulder, his lips peeling to reveal bloodied teeth. "O…Ophelia…" he breathed her name, the name of the woman he had come to love.
"Cute," Beryl remarked snidely, pulling back his transformed hand to deliver the killing blow with a squelch. "Three cheers for the happy couple." His maniacal gaze zeroed in on his prey, enjoying killing the same man a second time. "Just one more thing before you go, Kirsch." Kirschtaria opened one eye to look up at the beast looming over them. "Funny little thing, really. I'm not the original Beryl Gut."
"Wh…What…?" Kirschtaria choked out in pause.
"Or I could be, or not," Beryl mused wistfully. "My Servant killed the original Beryl when he started to be a problem, and so she made me with all of my memories intact save for her doing the deed. It didn't really make much of a difference when I found out, but when I came back, I had all my original memories and everything leading up to my end at the Lost Belt. I wonder, how exactly did that happen?"
...
How did we come back?
...
"Kh!" Kirschtaria smirked defiantly up at his killer. "Who…knows?"
Beryl made a face at the same answer before shrugging. "Aw, I guess I don't really care." He drew his arm back, ready to drive it clean through, when a sudden sensation of weightlessness overcame him, and his vision went lopsided as his body fell. "Wha-?"
His eyes darted, searching, as out of the blue a familiar face came into view. Two of them. Hinako, standing just behind the wounded Kirschtaria with a blank but cold expression on her face. Pepe was right next to her, smiling and waving down at him. It gradually dawned on the brutal killer that his decapitated head lay just below his now headless body, courtesy of the Xian who had killed him.
His last and only word as his second, or third, life drained away was, "Bugger..."