The King of Conquerors leaves the world with a dream fulfilled.
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I never expected to finish this chapter so quickly, but I had a rush of inspiration.
I've been planning the chapter since the first chapter, so I was pretty excited to finish it.
Sorry if the dialogue is awkward. I'm not all that great with writing characters.
So, enjoy. Leave your thoughts in the comments.
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All the Angels described in my work take inspiration from Peter Mohrbacher's Angelarium series.
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In the beginning, there was Da'at: Nothing.
After the Infinite bound Da'at to the Ten Rings and cast him down to the Earth, there was Da'at: the Nameless Seraph.
And when there is Nothing, the Infinite cannot exist. Thus, by ancient law, Da'at's sole pair of wings faded to black, having no piece of Ein Sof to empower their glow.
Aeons after the fall of the Morning Star and the Giver of Names, the newest Fallen Angel joined his kin amongst the mortal plain.
Yet copied from Metatron were twelve wings of shining gold. Only the purist of angels had wings decorated not with white. Thus, by law, Da'at was a Great Seraph.
Ages after the Seven Days of Genesis, the youngest Seraph without a throne in heaven opened his eyes.
Looking around, he felt the warm sun, akin to the Light of Creation of his maker that he briefly felt before he was cast from the heavens.
It was strange, Da'at realized, examining his transparent form that faded in and out of existence with scientific interest. His senses sent to his brain billions of unfamiliar signals, and he processed them all as he thought what to do about them.
He was no longer Nothing; he finally had free will.
Still, questions lingered in his mind, some unanswerable as they were paradoxes in Ein Sof's laws.
What was his name?
He had none.
What were his Authorities?
He had none.
What was he?
He was Nothing.
Despite it all, he knew one thing was sure of: he was supposed to be a messenger, an incorporeal voice.
He stood up, back no longer pressed against the smooth white marble of a royal throne, searching. For what, he was oblivious. But he instinctively would know once he found his target.
The floor was colored lustrous bronze and encrusted with gold, contrasting vividly with the throne's pale white marble. Below, humans as insignificant as ants from his vantage point busted about, entering and leaving refuges made from stone bricks and held together by mud. Their voices merged in Da'at's ears to form a single heartbeat passed from one generation of man to the next, a unified will.
Upon the throne he awakened by, there sat a stoic male with white hair and olive skin riddled with dark mystic tattoos. Braided red ribbons adorned his white robes, and two shoulder pads engraved with an arcane seal secured them in place. The line to his audience chamber stretched on and on, out the palace gates and into winding streets and twisting allies. On his fingers were ten rings. The Ten Rings Da'at's soul was sealed in.
That man is the one.
He must be.
As he noticed the man and began to approach his throne, a voice began to echo in Da'at's mind. Familiar, yet foreign. The language differed from the human tongue, more akin to a thousand whispers joined in a single note, each concealing the meaning of a billion more.
Orders in the Seraphic Tongue, the language of angels. Messages to be passed to the man upon the mechanical marble throne.
Very well. Da'at compied.
Noiselessly moving to stand at the man's side akin to an advisor, Da'at passed on a repeat of the voice within his mind.
A year passed.
The man was a king, Da'at eventually eventually discovered. A king called Solomon. Acknowledged by the heavens as worthy, they chose him to hold a divine Miracle: the Ten Rings Da'at was bound to.
The voice was a God, Da'at ultimately realized, the God that was his creator. Unable to descend upon the world, the Infinite used Da'at as a terminal to express his counsel.
Da'at dutifully complied, relaying the Infinite's words to the King's ears. The King, even blessed by the heavens, couldn't comprehend the language of angels fluently. Thus, Da'at was required to translate the words of the Infinite into syllables the King could understand.
Another year passed.
Under the Infinite's instruction, the King evoked and enslaved Da'at's elder siblings, the fallen Goetic Angels, now turned Demons Gods. Those demonic deities had a king they worshiped. They called him Goetia, though that was not his original name given by the Infinite. That he had abandoned during his fall.
Da'at watched them operate and serve with interest and naivety.
The King used Da'at's anchors to summon and employ his heavenly brethren, commanding them to build a temple of worship for the Infinite. Sometimes, he saw the Seraphim who blessed the golden shells he was tied to, working to deliver stone and chisel marble.
Da'at observed their progress with admiration and hope.
Many years passed.
The Infinite sometimes asked Da'at to drabble in war. He was the last, unknown line of defense of the King's army, sent into the fray when all others failed. None must know Da'at was more than a voice. Thus, the enemies' souls would be returned to the Root, their bodies annihilated into pieces by an envoy they couldn't perceive.
Da'at felt his chest twist each time he went to war.
Many years passed.
With the Infinite's aid, the King built a prospering city. Uniting the scattered tribes in his territory, he overturned and proposed better politics and established trade routes with the neighboring kingdoms.
Seventy-two Demon Gods were at his beck and call, while more than a thousand wives and concubines serviced him day and night.
Da'at watched the King, living his life of luxury with a passive, unfeeling face.
What did it mean to be human?
Since the fall of the original humans, Da'at was always intrigued by them. How their souls were so fragile yet shined so bright, how their lives were born devoid of meaning yet died leaving so, so much behind.
Was this what it meant to be human?
As he served the King, Da'at felt himself change. Subtle at first, it soon molded his entire soul and being. Watching and learning from the humans in the King's domain, he gained a body that could appear and vanish at will and a pair of eyes that saw into past, present, and future. He learned how to feel joy, anger, and sorrow and express them through activities.
Da'at became human from watching the King.
Da'at gained a human heart.
The humans in Israel loved the King, and Da'at also came to treasure him. Yet, humans could not perceive the King's true nature: a monarch coronated upon birth and life manipulated by higher powers.
But Da'at knew.
Da'at learned to call the King "Father."
Many more years passed.
Da'at grew to love humans.
Once Da'at's body became a perfect shadow of the King, his new eyes showed him a vision of the future.
Humanity, scorched by bands of light, the planet's surface reduced to a burning hellscape. Standing at the center were the Goetic Demons and their King, a pair of articulating burning horns adorning a featureless face.
Da'at would not allow that. He could not bear to permit that.
The Infinite and the King knew of humanity's impending doom, and the Infinite had already started offering counsel on how to face the extinction. Hearing the Infinite's plan, one to sacrifice the King, Da'at rejected it.
He would not allow his Father to die and be forgotten.
Da'at was Nothing. If a sacrifice must be made, then Nothing is the best choice.
For the first time since arriving in the human world, Da'at sinned.
The King had already started work on a Miracle that would be the incineration's bane. Pretending to be the Infinite, Da'at whispered his own words to the King, ordering him to bind him to the Miracle and send him into the distant future.
The King raised his hands.
He used the Miracle once, then returned nine rings to the heavens.
Inside the tenth, the one sent to the future, Da'at slumbered.
He was Ars Nova, Bane of Ars Goetia, now.
Ritsuka awoke from his sleep, forgetting the events of his memory-made dream.
He was met with the dark chamber of his decrepit church blanketed in shadows. Dust and pollen outlined the pathways of the pale moonlight leaking through the stained glass windows, and starlit patches of moss emanated a dim, twinkling incandescence.
The dilapidated walls of the House of God offered limited protection from the winds cold enough to murder, but Ritsuka would appreciate what they gave.
It was what watching his brothers and sisters taught him back in ancient Israel.
Cracking his sore neck and back, Ritsuka stood from the bench he'd used as a bed since his summoning and began putting the bedding and pillows he used to furnish it back into his Second Archive. He wouldn't need them anymore after this night.
It's strange how his Clairvoyance worked. Sometimes, it showed him indecipherable images or short snippets of a vision he had to solve like riddles and piece together like puzzles. More often than not, all he got was a vague feeling, and, based on the situation and prior events, he could formulate what would happen in the future.
The vision of humanity ending was the most concrete thing his eyes showed him as a premonition.
How he envied his Father's eyes, eyes that saw all that was, is, and will be through a crystal lens.
Oh, well. It's what Ritsuka got as a Pretender, and that foreboding sensation inched him toward the idea that this night would be the final one. The Fourth Holy Grail War would end upon this dawn.
He began to make a small flat area by clearing away seating benches in the center of the church. As he used his feet to nudge away a shard of wood, he called Diarmuid, who was standing guard at the narthex.
"Yes, Master? What do you need assistance with?"
"Help me move these away," Ritsuka gestured at the pile of rotting lumber. "I need to draw a summoning circle."
"Oh?" Diarmuid slung a bundle of planks over his shoulder. "Are we gaining a new ally?"
"No, I don't have the resources for that. Saint Quartz is too valuable." The young Master tied logs into a bundle using a piece of twine. "I'll be enhancing your Spirit Origin. Berserker's, too. The three remaining Servants are all first-rate five-stars. I can't go into battle with unleveled three and four-stars."
"...Five-stars?"
"Ah, don't worry about that." Chaldea's Spirit Origin classification system needs some rework. Though Ritsuka found the video game-esque displays oddly charming. They reminded him of the various RPGs he played with Romani and Mash during the Incineration of Humanity. "Just know that Saber, Rider, and Archer especially eclipse you in strength. I have to bridge that gap somehow."
Blue crystals fell through a Cube of Metatron and piled upon each other into a mountain. The Quantum Particles liquified into pure Mana, and Ritsuka used his fingers to guide the makeshift magical ink into a multi-ringed magic circle.
He never had to draw a summoning circle before; Mash's shield did all the work for him. Boy, was the FATE system convenient. But he's seen that circle so many times he's long since memorized its layout.
The sight of that circle turning his precious Saint Quartz into Mapo Tofu-Mapo Tofu of all things-still haunts him.
Ritsuka worked quickly yet with precision, nails digging channels into the dirt and giving the liquid QP a path to follow. A Ward of Summoning, then four Purging Circles, and finally a Ring of Purification around it all.
"Alright, Diarmuid, step into the center. I'll have the materials in a few seconds." The excess QP recrystallized into shards and returned to Ritsuka's inventory, though the gate remained open in preparation for more materials to fall through. Lancer complied with his Master's command and hopped into the middle of the Ward of Summoning.
Golden stars shrouded by an aura of rainbow fell through the angelic passage and were reorganized into a circle around the Ring of Purification. Hellfires of Wisdom: Pure knowledge and fire given substance and extracted from the arms of the Titan who stole flame and gave it to humanity.
Lancer inspected the pile of spiked jewels with curiosity. He nudged one with his Gae Dearg.
"Master, how will this aid us in the coming battles?"
"Just wait. Trust in the process." Scrutinizing the magical symbols in the circles a final time, Ritsuka decided it was satisfactory. "Alright, then let's begin."
The hellfires levitated briefly before shattering into a cloud of rainbow-shaded smoke. They gravitated towards Lancer, and he felt them fuse with his Spirit Core with a blinding burst of light and magical energy.
Diarmuid closed his eyes and felt how new, previously unfound strength flooded his veins. His Spirit Origin was almost prancing in happiness, and his previous Heroic Spirit vessel suddenly seemed far too lackluster in memory.
"Master, this is... I could take on a hundred wild boars and win!"
"Good to hear enhancement is as effective as I remember." Ritsuka smiled, watching Diarmuid marvel at his strengthened body while fiddling with his Cube of Metatron. "But your current vessel can't hold anything more; let's change that, shall we?"
Twenty-six intricately molded silver and gold figurines of a spearman emerged from the sacred geometric symbol, followed by nine jewels shaped like eyes strangled with metallic snakes and wrinkled grey seeds of the world tree. Slower to descend were six feathers of a phoenix and mounds of dust seemingly made of the very shadows they cast, fluttering down into a small pile. They were soon joined by a mountain of Hellfires of Wisdom that dwarfed the previous heap.
Looking at the innumerable and invaluable materials Ritsuka was sacrificing, Diarmuid could not stop gratitude from bubbling in his heart.
"Hold onto your socks. We're picking up the pace with enhancement and Ascension." Ritsuka gave a brief warning as he began the procedures.
The phantasmal resources once again pulverized into softly glowing powder that merged with Lancer's Spirit Core, accompanied by a blinding flashbang. Diarmuid felt the chill of the night wind as his Celtic teal battle outfit vanished spontaneously before reappearing with a bulkier belt and battle pelt.
"Ascension complete. You can leave the magic circle now, Diarmuid. How do you feel?"
"...Wonderful! The difference is like night and day. I feel like I've returned to those days adventuring with the other Knights of Fianna." Memories buried in the depths of his Spirit Origin resurfaced, old skills being strengthed and new ones forming from the various tactics he employed back in Ireland.
"Perfect. And to complement your new looks, I'll lend you these." Two swords were taken from his inventory. A Craft Essence given to him by a trusted friend. Diarmuid was a Lancer, but he should still remember how to use them. He tossed them to the teal-dressed knight. "Given the circumstances, I believe Fury will be more versatile, but Passion's passive defensive capabilities cannot be overlooked."
Hurriedly stabbing his spears into the ground, Diarmuid caught the thrown swords and was immediately hit with a wave of familiarity as the nostalgic grip of his two favored swords settled snugly in his hands.
"Moralltach and Beagalltach?" Giving the swords a few test swings as if to verify whether they were the genuine articles, the knight in green turned to his Master in disbelief once his doubts were gone. "Master, where did you get these?!"
"A friend gave them to me a while back," Ritsuka answered nonchalantly. "I've wanted to learn to use them, but I've always been more of a Caster. Oh, but remember to return them once you're done, alright? They're still mementos of a trusted ally."
"Of course! No scratch shall befall these blades so long as they're in my care." Diarmuid strapped the yellow shortsword to his belt and gripped Moralltach while Gae Buide vanished into specks of light. "Such a familiar feeling."
"Alright, then let's move on to Lancelot." Ritsuka removed the white glove from his left hand as the Command Seals began to glow. "Come, Berserker."
In response, a torrent of Prana swept upwards in a fierce roar, condensing into the shadow of a robust man covered in armor as black as the depths of hell. A pair of eyes sported a ghastly glow from behind the ominous red slit of a rustic helmet.
"Grrhhhhaarrrthurr!"
The maddened Servant convulsed, his armor buckling and grinding together, the sounds produced merging with his ambiguous growls to assemble a string of notes that seemed to grate and rupture eardrums.
"Lancelot, could you please carefully step into the center of the Magic Circle?"
Ignoring the order, the Berserker seemed entranced and fixated by the patterns drawn on the ground. He then began to vibrate with renewed vigor after his statue-like pause.
"GrhhhRoouunndd!"
"Ah, he's recognized it." Ritsuka sucked in a short breath. This version of Lancelot has a history with Artoria. From what he's learned from interactions with the one back in Chaldea, leaving him in a room with anything related to any version of Arthur is not a good idea. Since the FATE summoning system uses the Round Table as an improvised Summoning Circle... Well...
Actions speak louder than words as Berserker lunged for a wooden beam, Knight of Owner consuming it and riddling it with black and red veins as he prepared to smash it against the magic circle drawn on the ground.
"...and this is why I leveled you first, Diarmuid." Ritsuka huffed. "Defend the Summoning Circle, I'm too lazy to draw it again. Think of it as a brief practice round with your new swords."
"Already on it, Master!"
Diarmuid was a second ahead as he noticed the erratic reactions Berserkerlot displayed and promptly deduced something was amiss. Before the black and red beam even got close to the sigils drawn in QP, Moralltach intercepted it as it was swung in an upward arc, the impact with the demonic blade totaling the crude weapon of Berserker as it splintered into a hundred shards.
As his goal was not to kill Lancelot but incapacitate and defend, Diarmuid took this moment when Berserker was unarmed and, being careful not to damage the already structurally fragile walls, sent him tumbling outside the church with a well-positioned kick.
Ritsuka knew that wasn't enough to put the surprisingly robust knight out of commission, despite the noises outside suggesting that Lancelot had crashed into at least two trees and broken their trunks. He was already retrieving a Craft Essence from his inventory.
"Wrrggghhhhh!"
Emerging from the dust cloud outside, Berserkerlot's Knight of Owner had taken the trees he split in two. Wielding them like two oversized lances, he moved with surprising agility when he leaped into the air, even if the trees he used were on the smaller side.
"Drill! Gae Dearg!"
Diarmuid moved to intercept, his Gae Dearg in the vanguard in favor of its increased range compared with his demonic sword and magic annulling properties. Strangely, the taken logs didn't return to normal, and the spear only blew off a decent chunk of the wood at the point of contact. It was
efficacious, nonetheless. The area Berserker could attack from was shortened significantly.
Ritsuka was reminded that even maddened, this knight of the Round Table was not to be estimated as his instincts were sharp enough to cause him to recall his Noble Phantasm's reach to just below the section where the crimson rose would strike to not be affected by its nature. Diarmuid had realized this, too. With a curt few words praising the enemy, he reorganized his strategy to shave off large portions of his opponent's weapon to reduce its range instead of drill-like stabbing.
When Berserker's weapons had been shortened sufficiently, Ritsuka allowed the Craft Essence-a red holy shroud-to fall into his hands and charge at Lancelot. Diarmuid saw this and, trusting that his Master had a strategy and wasn't blindly rushing in, hopped back to stand guard beside the magic circle. Ritsuka flicked his wrist, and the cloth flowed like a silken whip.
"Shroud of Magdalene!"
With its name declared, the holy shroud took up a life of its own as it turned ridged and then shot toward Berserker like an arrow let loose from its string, coiling around his body as a boa constrictor would with its prey.
"Aaaaaargh!"
Berserker struggled and writhed in the bondage as he toppled to the ground in the fashion of a domino, doing no damage to the holy cloth due to its unique defense modifier against males.
"Alright." Diarmuid watched, bemused and somewhat baffled, as his Master dusted off his hands and slung Berserker over his shoulder akin to a sack of potatoes to carry him over to the enhancement circle, with the various necessary materials dropping from the same opening in space that the holy shroud had appeared from. "That was troublesome. Now we can finally begin."
"Haaaaaaaa..." Berserker groaned.
The Summoning Circle lit up as various artifacts associated with dragons and a decently sized heap of monuments, embers, and Void's Dust turned into motes of light that merged with Berserker's Spirit Core.
"Grrhhhhrrrhhgg!"
Emerging from the Ascension's dying light was a Berserker now unbound by the Shroud of Magdalene. The mist of For Someone's Glory evaporated away in favor of the darkened Undying Light of the Lake. Various strips of cloth bellowed violently in air currents undetectable, extending not just from his helmet but also his arms and knees.
"Well, Lancelot? How's the enhancement feeling?"
"Haaaa..." The Berserker breathed heavily but did not charge at either Ritsuka or Diarmuid.
Seeing this, Ritsuka grinned. "Good, it seems he's calmed down. For a Berserker, at least. Since we're done with preparations, Lancelot, feel free to destroy the enhancement circle."
No sooner after the words left Ritsuka's mouth, Arondight was swung and exploded upon contact with the clearing, sending pebbles and hunks of dirt everywhere in the church.
"His ferocity..." Lancer muttered in respect and weariness, "It's almost obsessive."
"All heroes have their quirks, I suppose." Ritsuka acknowledged.
The three Servants all collectively tensed as they felt the Prana change in the air.
"This surge of energy...I feel like I've encountered it before." Lancer commented.
"It's the Holy Church? No, the position's wrong." Ritsuka looked to the stained glass windows and noticed them illuminated by eleven artificially colored stars. Taking note of their hues and relative positioning, he deduced the message they sent. "Emperor and chariot... Accomplishment and victory?"
"Master, have you de-coded what the message means?" Lancer asked, joining Ritsuka in gazing at the sky.
"Someone has disregarded all other participants and claimed their personal victory in the Heaven's Feel ritual. Though I'm guessing this to lure out the others in a flashy challenge."
His Clairvoyance, however cryptic and annoying, was rarely wrong.
"I suppose there's no use in delaying." Ritsuka looked back at his two Servants. "Diarmuid, Lancelot, dematerialize. Travel is more efficient in Spirit Form. It's finally time to see this war to a close."
He flew through the air, looking down at streets bathed in complete and utter silence. Twelve golden wings spread, and their luminescence cast blurry shadows upon the asphalt that contrasted the ones produced by the flickering streetlamps.
No humans roamed these streets, not even the occasional stray cat, making Fuyuki feel like an abandoned ghost town.
Ritsuka's heart soared as he encircled sections of the city, thumping loudly in his chest, mimicking a rhythmic beating drum.
He landed on the suspension bridge above the Mion River, filled with water the color of darkness. His wings sank into his back after a few flutters, and Ritsuka stood there motionless, waiting.
Moments later, galloping hoves resounded on the opposite side of the bridge. Standing on his chariot with a cape billowing in the wind and accompanied by his Master, who had a determined firing burning in his eyes, the King of Conqurers approached the lone angel with his head held proud and high.
Compared to Iskandar's bulky stature and fiery aura, Ritsuka seemed objectively diminutive with his calm presence.
The Gordius Wheel slowed and stopped a distance away. Rider hopped from his chariot. "Boy, you wait here for now."
"Wha-?" Waver spluttered.
Iskandar began walking toward Ritsuka with an air of composure, and Ritsuka reciprocated the action by walking to meet him in the middle. As he approached, he could not help but notice the overflowing aura of majesty of the king of tyranny.
"Rider, your aura feels unusually stalwart this meeting. Did something happen?"
"Hmm. Nothing much." Rider responded with a casual shrug.
Ritsuka didn't question him further as he noticed how Waver's right hand was bare. Instead, he retrieved two golden fruits from his valt.
"I, unfortunately, don't have any more wheat ale, but would you like an apple instead?"
"Ah, of course, thank you. I've never seen fruits shining such a lustrous gold." Rider accepted the apple offered to him and took a bite. "Hoh! Magnificent! Sweet as honey and crisp as spring. Your treasury might not fall short of Archer's, Ruler."
"Heh. Don't let Goldie hear you say that." Ritsuka chuckled. "He has far more Noble Phantasms than I will ever hold. But I might have him beat when it comes to mementos from close friends."
"Heh. A gift from a loved one could be worth all the treasure in the world." Iskandar heartily laughed as he swallowed the last bite of his apple and threw the core into the ocean.
Ritsuka nodded fondly. "Yes, I agree."
"One more thing, King of Man." Rider spoke after a short pause. "I don't know your true name, but wouldn't you consider joining my army? It would be incredible to have one of heaven's own among my men."
"Oh?" Ritsuka raised his eyebrow. "You don't believe I am Enoch?"
"I don't know much about saints or prophets," Iskandar shrugged, "But I at least know that no angel would proclaim himself a God."
Ritsuka remembered when he said those words during the Banquet of Kings, after he brought them into a recreation of the Timeless Temple.
"You were able to catch such a minuscule detail. Your mind is as sharp as your body, it seems."
"Hoh, a king cannot be a mindless tyrant." the muscular Servant laughed. "Well, Ruler, would you consider taking my offer?"
Ritsuka didn't immediately reject the notion. He's learned how large-hearted Iskandar is and how much fun he is to be around back in Chaldea. He might have considered the offer had he been born a human mage like Waver Velvet. But he had a small, selfish dream that dated back to even before he descended upon the world as the nameless seraph.
He could not reach Eden if he joined this king's armies.
"I'm sorry, King of Conquerors." Ritsuka shook his head apologetically. "But I have my own dream to pursue. My fight is also not over yet, so I can't have tea with your comrades upon dunes of sand."
The King of Conquerors nodded. "The spark in your eyes is akin to mine when I set my sights on the most distant ocean. Very well, King of Man or whoever you are. Let us see which one of our dreams shines more radiantly."
Rider patiently waited as Ritsuka finished his snack and threw the core back into his inventory. They began walking to their side of the bridgehead without looking back.
"This is it, huh?" Ritsuka heard Waver murmur nervously but also with excitement.
"Yes. No matter how benevolent angels are portrayed in myth, the one before us might be my final opponent in this manifestation."
"...Don't be stupid. You're not going to die here today. I won't allow it." Waver countered the joking tone with a resolute one. "Did you forget about my Command Seals?!"
"You are right-heh-that's exactly right!" Rider returned to his chariot and took the reigns with an intrepid smile. He drew his Celtic longsword and raised it toward the skies as Prana gathered at the blade's tip and expanded into a world's boundaries. "Gather here, my glorious comrades! Tonight, we shall become the greatest legends in all of eternity!"
Ritsuka watched with bated breath and trepidation as he felt a wind of hot sand blow past his face, reducing the mists of the Mion River to nothing but invisible vapor.
The familiar image of a boundless blue sky contrasting with rolling hills of sand appeared as the heat settled in Ritsuka's veins, joined by a horizon made vague by the desert haze. Magical energy erupted in waves in the ambient atmosphere, akin to a beating heart representing the wishes of all the gathering soldiers.
From beyond time and space, the elite cavalry gathered, drawn by the bond of king and servant they formed with the Conquering King and the joy and pride they felt as they stood in battle with their brothers in arms.
Ritsuka grinned.
It was a joy he knew very well.
"Our enemy is the proclaimed King of Man, the human that even the Gods acknowledged as worthy. My warriors, let us show this angel our noble path of ultimate conquest!"
"Oooooaaaahhhhh!"
The cheers of the arrayed troops bellowed in the air as they charged forth, their king at the vanguard with his chariot pulled by divine bulls. Their blood, exposed to the desert heat and excitement of a battle, was boiling like never before.
Ritsuka alone faced the army, face calm as he stood upon a low dune that seemed to shift with the intense winds. He has stood where Waver is now so frequently during the Grand Order that he knew perfectly well which emotions were going through the young mage's head. Pride and exhilaration, perhaps? Tinged with the slightest touch of nervousness and fear.
"To unitedly reach for a single dream. Such a dazzling display of human tenacity. But the stark reality is, oh King of Conquering Armies, that all dreams must end eventually." Ritsuka closed his eyes and solemnly shook his head, allowing Clairvoyance of Mimicry to rise to his Spirit Origin's surface. "Otherwise, it would be far too cruel. To constantly dream without ending... Thus, would you permit me to grant your dream a fitting conclusion?"
The temperature rose even more in a sudden burst, so searing that a small portion of the king's armies was incapacitated with it alone. Blinding light, the shades of a sunset mixed with molten gold, surrounded the angel as he steadily rose into the skies.
Rider, whose instinct began to scream at him, pressed on his chariot's reigns. "Something's coming!"
Torrents of fire emerged from the angel, growing into pillars of fire before thinning to threads and weaving to forge the angel's armor. Thunder resounded and echoed beyond the clear blue horizon, and golden sparks began to dance with the beating of the angel's heart.
After the fall of Lucifer and the banishment of Adam and Eve... the Infinite created a guardian for the Paradise of Human Origin.
Male became female as the angel's feet lightly touched the ground, Israeli robes replaced by a regal battle dress bathed in the hues of a sunset. The mane of a lion waved wildly behind her back, contrasted with her vivid orange hair and held in place by shoulder pads shaped like the heads of an eagle and an ox.
The infinite pulled from the sparks constantly dancing around his throne and molded them into a flaming sword.
Only one thought was prominent in the minds of the warriors as it threatened to overtake their excitement of battle.
'Beautiful...'
Her face melded womanly allure with childish innocence so seamlessly that the traits were indistinguishable. Her body, sculpted by the hands of the One God, seemed so delicate as if one touch from a mortal hand would stain her purity. Yet within her amber eyes burned a flame so unconstrained it threatened to scorch even the sun and stars.
The humans named the Sparks Dancing Around the Sapphire Throne Kerubiel. They called the Flame of the Whirling Sword Uriel.
Reaching behind her back and into her halo of fire, the angel's hand emerged with a sword that had no definite shape. Its fuller was of lightning, its handle of light molded by divinity, and its blade forged from divine flames.
"Now then..." The angel finally spoke, her voice warm as a cozy hearth. But the flames of a comforting fireplace have just as much potential to destroy as an inferno's. "Bring forth the Garden of Human Origin, oh Flame of the Whirling Sword!"
"Brace yourselves!" Iskandar warned his armies. They slowed their charge slightly to better face the hurricane of fire, the ones with shields raising them high and forming a protective wall. Waver ducked and hid within Rider's chariot.
Embers gathered and coalesced at the tip of the formless blade, creating the boundary of another world that began to erode the Conquering King's mental landscape.
Fire raged, fire roared, and the Noble Phantasm's name was declared to the world.
"Lahaṭ Haḥereb Hammithappeket!"
The sparks dancing around the sapphire throne, turned into a flaming blade guarding paradise.
The warriors lost their senses as they became engulfed in a sea of flames.
The first sensation to return was hearing, as they were met with the rustle of leaves and the crashing of waves. Though they'd never encountered these sounds, they were strangely familiar. Vaguely, they resembled the passionate heartbeats resounding in their chests.
It prompted the legions to squint and open their eyes, and the landscape of fierce tempests barraging rolling dunes was replaced with a selenic meadow. Flowers of all shapes and colors littered the green grass, making the field seem like a dyed tapestry decorated with jewels. Their faint, pleasant scent mixed with the bewitching sweetness of the thousands of fruit trees that blossomed around the armies.
Suspended in the air a distance away was a round altar with two fruit trees of immense proportions. Their roots bore deep into the ground and were the foundation of this paradise, while their canopies stretched upward to touch the clouds. One bore the golden apples Ritsuka had offered to Rider, while the other had fruits that no mortal would recognize.
The Tree of Knowledge and the Tree of Life.
The warriors and their king had long since realized this was not the Ionian Hetairoi, but due to miracles they were unaware of, they had not vanished due to the corrective impulses of the World. They gazed around in wonder; this place felt like home.
The endless deserts of the Ionian Hetairoi shall always be an irreplaceable mindscape in their hearts. It represented their pride as warriors and the joy of conquest with their lord. But this tranquil plain was a diametrically different kind of familiarity. Warm and serene, like a mother's embrace or a comforting home. The feeling one would get when, after a long day's work, they sat around a fireplace with their parents and children, telling asemic stories and simply basking in each other's presence.
Though their minds had forgotten, their bodies and souls still remember this paradise. Passed down from the very first humans, generation to generation. It is a line of code so etched in their beings that, even millenniums after their banishment, remnants of memory remain buried deep in their origin.
"Welcome, brave warriors." Ritsuka appeared, standing upon one of the mountainous roots wrapping the altar. "You now stand in the Inner Sea of the Planet, the furthest ocean humanity can ever hope to reach. My name is Uriel=Cherubiel. I welcome you all to the Garden of Eden."
Below the altar, golden leaves piled upon the meadow, becoming a shoreline made not of sand. Beyond the altar, a blue ocean filled not with water but with billions of aquamarine flowers stretched on and on, reaching for endlessness and merging with the horizon till both lost their boundaries and meaning.
Iskandar looked down when he felt a dull burn on his body, but it was gone as soon as he did. Yet when it vanished, it left a feeling of vitality and reinvigoration. His body felt real, as if he had been fighting with an empty husk throughout this entire Heaven's Feel Ritual.
"Do you feel it, everyone? The changes occurring to your bodies? Only humans are permitted to step foot in Eden. Thus, you are spirits no more." A savage grin unbefitting of her innocent nature spread on Ritsuka's face. "But don't fear. Within Eden, you are the strongest you shall ever be. Can you all feel the blood raging in your veins?"
Titanous beings appeared from pillars of light that shot up from around the altar. Numbering in the hundreds, their height rivaled the giants of old Norse. The heads of a lion, ox, and eagle framed their human faces covered by metal masks. Two wings stretched upward while the other two covered their bodies donned in armor, and their feet, like those of a newborn calf, shined like polished bronze.
The Cherubim, hearing the call of their lord, had gathered.
"Now, King of Conquerors, I have granted your wish. If you desire to walk away with your plunder... Well, you know what to do, yes?" Ritsuka retreated into the altar, flaming sword held at her hip. "Come, show me the glorious dreams you have gathered within your eternal conquest!"
There was no need for any hesitation.
The King of Conquerors raised his sword to the sky, pointing at their angelic enemies.
"Chaaaaaaaaaarrrge!"
"AAAALaLaLaLaLaie!"
The collective roar of the Ionian Hetairoiechoed in the garden, mirroring and amplifying their king's intensity. The armies that had swept up thousands of tribes and nations took proudly to battle once more.
Weapons of light appeared in the Cherubim's hands and in the skies above them. Spears, swords, axes, and more. Met with such a daunting display, the human soldiers looked forward with a ferocious grin and untamable glint in their eyes.
The weapons of light fell like comets, yet each was met with at least a hundred thrown spears and released arrows. Fed with constant strength by their origin garden, the warriors of the king's armies progressed forward with unified battle cries.
They reached the Cherubim before the altar, and most battalions were halted. Only a few continued inward with Iskandar, all to approach the angel standing above them.
The warriors left behind clashed their spears and shields together before engaging in battle. A single swing from the swords of light from the beings towering over them like mountains before ants reduced a troop to nothing, yet another one with sages and casters enhancing a small circle of bowmen's arrows took their place. They pierced the heads of the mighty angel, and it tumbled to the ground with a parting roar.
Seeing their first victory, a cry of victory spread through the Ionian Hetairoi, and the soldiers rushed in to attack with renewed strength.
Their king did not look back, for it was unnecessary. He was more than content with the ecstatic voices of victory of his treasured men. For their respect and sacrifice, he would continue onward. Even should his spirit be charred to ashes.
Where the fallen angels and warriors died, the scent of blood and death was non-existent. Instead, feeding on their final wishes, the flowers of Eden grew on and buried their corpses. They emitted a scent as sweet as honey. Akin to the exalted taste of victory, it drove the warriors onward. The weapons of the fallen were stuck by their blooming grave, as if to prove the ones who wielded them were genuinely heroic.
Finally reaching a previously unnoticed tear in space outlined by a blue and golden frame, the King of Conquerors alone entered with his Master as all his men had gone to fend off the summoned angels.
On the other side, they were met with Ritsuka, patiently waiting on the opposite side of the altar. Her expression was neutral and kind, yet it had an underlying sense of danger and ferocity. The sword of the Cherubim crackled expectantly in her grip.
Their positions had not changed from the bridge in Fuyuki; it was as if the stage had been reset.
Rider, having come to a decision, dematerialized his chariot. A sleek warhorse soon galloped up beside him. "Hello again, old friend." He smiled as he stroked the horse's mane.
"Rider...?"
The giant Servant posed a question to his Master, standing in the field of golden leaves.
"Right, come to think of it, there's one last thing I must ask you."
"Huh?"
"Master Waver Velvet. Would you be willing to serve as my retainer?"
Waver's body shook violently with emotion as his eyes misted over. There was no reason to formulate a reply, for he already had one ready, hidden deep inside him like a treasure.
"You..."
The boy replied steadily, not wiping away his tears. For this instance, he looked into his king's eyes fearlessly with his tear-filled ones.
"You are my king, sire. I will serve you with devotion, and may you grant me the honor of leading me. Let me dream what you dream!"
"Hm. Very well." Hearing this, the tyrannical king smiled as he mounted Bucephalus. "As king, it is my duty to inspire others to dream. And as my retainer, it is your sacred duty to see my dream's conclusion and share it with future generations."
Upon a saddle so high Waver's stature couldn't even reach it, the king heartily smiled as he passed down his royal command.
"Now live, Waver. Live long and tell everyone you meet how your king upheld himself. Tell everyone about the last charge of Iskandar upon the shores of the furthest sea."
Waver hung his head, and Rider took that as consent.
Ritsuka raised her sword of fire as Iskandar took the reigns of his warhorse.
Beneath the two trees that laid the very foundation for humanity's existence and progression, a legend of rebellion shall be told.
"Now go, Bucephalus! To conquest!"
The King of Conquerors kicked the flanks of his beloved horse and went to face his last sprint.
Roots and branches marked his line of progression with arches and pillars, with each gallop of his steed kicking up a flurry of golden leaves.
The angel before him was hotter than the deserts of Mackran. The final guardian of the paradise humanity was banished from and strove to reclaim.
Thus, there was no fear. The excitement of possibly claiming a shard of heaven itself was too much for the charging Servant to contain.
Ritsuka calmly watched his progress and lifted her sword high.
She swung down, and the fuller of lightning elongated, slithering like a snake covered in fire and crackling as it whipped against Iskandar's skin. The blade was returned to her hip in less than one-hundredth of a second. Such was the sheer speed of an angel born from the Divine Sparks.
Rider felt the scorch on his skin, and he couldn't help but be reminded of how similar it was to when the burning desert sands scratched his body, propelled by hellish winds.
The stallion advanced to the halfway point, and spears of light coated with fire materialized around Ritsuka's head. Burning so bright like supernovas, Iskandar reminisced of the starry skies of the east that drove him forward during his conquest.
"Branches of Ein Sof!"
The stars came down ruthlessly and incessantly. Each deflection sent rattles down Rider's bones. But the pain was but a worthless trifle at this point. The excitement was far too much.
One step, and another further. Each meter progressed was met with a slash from the Cherub's defiant sword, accompanied by a hundred spears of light he must deflect.
Then, at some point, the king realized he was running on his own feet. How far did his beloved Bucephalus reach? Where did he end? He wanted desperately to mourn his friend, the one who carried him and completed her duty, but that was why he could not stop. These steps onward were for all the friends and comrades who had been scattered and lost.
He could no longer hear the sound of his footsteps. Even the impact of the angel's spears and the crackle of her bizarre lightning sword became drowned and dulled. All that remained was the beating of his heart, resonating with the crashing waves of flowers.
The waves of the Inner Sea of the Planet, the furthest ocean humanity could hope to reach.
Right now, he ran on such a shore, each step kicking up golden leaves.
Could there be a more fulfilling bliss than this?
One more step. Just one more step, and the angel would be slain.
He raised his sword of the Cypriots high with the ring of victory in his ears. The shattering of the angel's halo was in sight.
It was during the peak of the moment when he was convinced of his victory when the Cherub thrust her sword and pierced his heart.
Oddly, he did not feel any pain, only an intense warmness that wasn't all that uncomfortable.
The Garden of Eden vanished, and the two Servants stood upon Fuyuki's bridge as they had done at the start of their battle. The garden as well was nothing but an image of the heart, akin to the furthest ocean that Rider never saw.
"Tell me, King of Conquerors," Ritsuka asked, her voice soft and tender. "Was the end to your eternal dream satisfactory? Did you find the furthest ocean as mesmerizing as you envisioned?"
"...Mhm... It was...a bit bright. Who'd have thought... it shall be of leaves and flowers... instead of sand and water..." The King of Conquerors breathed a shaky, blood-stained sigh. "Though...it was as enchanting as I imagined. I must... offer my thanks, Ruler."
"Heh. Then perhaps you would be happy to know that in another time, you and I stood as comrades in arms." Ritsuka smiled, "Though the chain of command was reversed for you, you were still an irreplaceable friend."
"...Hoh...?" Iskandar chuckled. "Such an... amusing situation... you describe, Ruler."
The King of Conquerors left the world quietly with an accomplished and bemused smile.
Ritsuka dismissed her whirling sword and walked up to Waver. He did not avert his eyes, for there was no reason to. The warmness of the angel promised no harm shall befall him.
"It's not my place to say this, but I'm sorry. I did what must be done."
Waver shook his head and replied with a hoarse voice.
"No, you mustn't be. You showed him his greatest dream."
"Yes, I suppose you are right. Then, I shall leave you with a parting gift to complement your skillset." A Craft Essence fell from a gate in space. Volumen Hydrargyrum: Marrow of the Moon Spirit. It was compressed into a card and tucked into Waver's pocket. Ritsuka patted him on the shoulder and back. "Now, stand with your chin up and head high. You have a long, tedious life ahead of you."
The angel vanished in a wisp of fire, leaving Waver on the bridge.
He wet his cheeks without any regrets.
The boy had become a man.
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Well, how was it?
As Ritsuka took Berserker, Rider still has his chariot. However, that didn't matter much.
And to any believers out there, sorry for merging Uriel and Cherubiel into a single angel.
If there are any suggestions, leave those in the comments.
I don't know when I can squeeze the next chapter out. Maybe in 3 months?
Well, have a great rest of your days and see you all in the next one.