LUCK:EX

by iamthezero

The world has been incinerated. The last remnants of humanity are on their last legs, unable to fight against those who wish to see them annihilated. To aid them, one man will cross even the boundary between worlds. A Paladin of Justice, a man whose mere presence comforts the masses and silences their cries. He is King, The Strongest Hero.

22. Orleans: Who?

"I am the bone of my sword."

The words spoken in a chant caught Ritsuka off guard for half a second. English. Arch– Emiya had never spoken anything but Japanese for as long as he had met him, though the Japanese accent was thick on the foreign language.

He put the thought to the back of his mind for now. One minute, was it? He could do that– he had to.

"Jeanne! Support Cu Chulainn!" he barked, and the ruler complied immediately, her metal boots clanging against the wooden floor as she made her way to the advancing lancer, who deftly avoided tentacles and bounced off the building's ruins to make his way to Bluebeard.

"Mash! Put your shield up in front of Emiya!" he yelled.

"Yes, Senpai!" the shielder replied as she slammed her shield down in front of the archer still chanting, creating a bright blue barrier.

"Steel is my body and fire is my blood."

Emiya stayed unmoving except for his mouth, which continued the chant as his hand draped over his heart began glowing, blue lines appearing, painting his darkened skin like rivers on a desert.

"My chthonians, stop him!" Bluebeard yelled as a torrent of eldritch energy ran towards the chanting archer in the form of writhing masses of tentacles that seemed both dead and alive.

Mash gritted her teeth as it hit her, surrounding her barrier like an army of ants to a mountain of sugar. It was more powerful than before, with only the power of hindsight preventing her from toppling over from the sheer force the attack pushed onto her shield.

"I have created over a thousand blades."

"Shit, what the hell?! It's like there's no end to 'em!" Cu Chulainn complained as he destroyed yet another of the tentacled creatures, chthonians, Bluebeard called them.

"I-I don't know, lancer! Is he really a part of Gilles?!" Jeanne yelled, exasperated as she glued her back to the Celt's, swatting away the chthonians aiming to attack his back as he focused on pure offense, yet even with their combined efforts, they could not reach Bluebeard, his onslaught continuing to swarm Mash's dwindling defenses.

"Unknown to Death,"

Crack. The blue barrier erected by Mash's shield began to crack.

"Nor known to Life."

"Senpai! I can't hold on for much longer!"

"..."

"...Senpai?"

"Have withstood pain to create many weapons."

Bluebeard grinned a smile that threatened to split his face, rows of sharp teeth glistening of the midday sunlight as his eyes bulged out of his sockets unnaturally, aimed at the man keeping calm among the chaos as he kept chanting. The shielder weathering his attacks was getting more and more tired, his two attempted attackers could not even reach him, and his smile impossibly grew even wider when the cracks in the girl's barrier turned to a hole as she fell, and–

"Forgetting the presence of an assassin. How careless of you."

He turned around. He wasn't fast enough. Laceration appeared on his torso before he could fathom the threat. He screamed as he fell to the ground, and so did his chthonians, dissolving into black sludge.

"But yet, those hands will never hold anything."

Bluebeard's hand tried to reach out to the archer, eldritch energy gathering at his palms, before crimson red and holy silver spears struck him, putting an end to that plan.

"So as I pray,"

Emiya thrusted his hand forward.

"Unlimited Blade Works"

---

The last thing Ritsuka remembered was the sound. Crackling, shaking, powerful, rippling through the air.

The first thing Ritsuka felt when it subsided was the wind blowing gently on his face, then the ground, soft, irregular, like the ground and not wood, and finally the air that he breathed in, different in ways he couldn't begin to describe.

When Ritsuka opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the color orange.

"...Man, what the hell?" The voice of Cu Chulainn rang, and it echoed everyone's sentiment, if worded differently.

"Fou…?" Even that one, yes.

'...What?' Ritsuka asked in his mind. What 'what', exactly? He couldn't– didn't have the mind to process what he was seeing. Orange skies– giant gears– weapons– an open field– are they still even in france–?

"Ritsuka! We detected a large spike in magical energy around you just now! What happened?!" the frantic voice of Romani sounded over the comms. Ritsuka opened his mouth and tried to answer, but his tongue could barely form the words necessary to describe the scene that surrounded him.

"Emiya– this– what–"

"A reality marble, master," Emiya said, his eyes staring at the distant horizon.

"Reality marble…? You have one?"

"You know what it is. You've been keeping up with your studies," Emiya said, a slight surprise in his tone.

"Err, here and there," he replied. Night time was pretty boring without a smartphone, so he figured requesting some books to learn more about magecraft when Murasaki was around couldn't hurt. What was it that King said? "You have to prepare before jumping into situations like these."

"Either way, this is my reality marble, and functionally, my noble phantasm, Unlimited Blade Works."

"Unlimited Blade Works…" Ritsuka whispered as he once again took in the sights of the orange skyline that blurred to darker colors when he took his eyes to the reality marble's ceilings. But the skyline wasn't what caught his eye the strongest, not even the enormous gears that decorated it. 'Unlimited Blade Works.' His English was pretty good, compared to his classmates, anyway. He understood the words individually, but for what they meant as a whole, he needed to think. Unlimited, there were weapons scattered on the ground as far as the horizon stretched. Blade, not all of the weapons were bladed, though most were. Works, this was Emiya's work, alright.

The sound of something… disgusting grunting and grumbling took Ritsuka's attention away, and to the writhing mass of tentacles that gathered a good distance away from him and his servants. Bluebeard, despite the attacks inflicted on him by Kojiro, Cu Chulainn, and Jeanne, was not only alive, but conscious and kicking.

"...Don't let your guard down. It's not over, Ritsuka," Emiya warned.

"Don't think you've already won, you pieces of trash!" The caster screamed, shrill and mad, was how Ritsuka would describe it, as the eldritch, black and purple energy gathered around him.

"Hahahahahaha! This is the taboo that kills its witnesses! Forbidden Red Room!"

In what Ritsuka could only describe as fission, like how worms would split its own body to reproduce, but in reverse, swarms of Bluebeard's chthonian creatures gathered at his body, and became stiff once they touched him. The grotesque process continued, each creature that solidified becoming a new body part of Bluebeard as his maniacal smile grew wider with each new extension of his body, until eventually, even his body was no longer visible under the mountain of wriggling chthonians.

Then, it stopped, a mountain of corpses of eldritch beings stacked atop one another.

Crack

The large amalgamation of creatures started to crack, and like a misshapen egg, something started to burst out, slimy, wriggling, eldritch.

The entirety of the structure broke piece-by-piece, then as a whole, to reveal what was inside, a far larger version of the chthonians, large enough to match the size of the buildings in Orleans, Ritsuka wagered. It was bottom heavy, a blob sprawled out on Emiya's reality marble. Its mouth was vertical, lined with razor sharp teeth, and around it, holes that seemed to serve as breathing orifices. It stretched vertically with purple pulsating orbs connected by mucous strands of tissue.

And in the center of the creature's body, six, gray female humanoid shapes jutted out, with Bluebeard's own bare body fused onto it, placed above the six figures with a slasher grin splitting his face.

'...Six women?' Ritsuka knew of the legend of Bluebeard vaguely. 'Then, they must be…'

"...What a horrible noble phantasm," Jeanne commented, shielding herself with her flag, all notions of the man in front of her being Gilles thrown out of the window.

Bluebeard laughed atop of the giant chthonian as dark energy began to wrap around its body like flames, and then it started to give birth, from its lower tentacled body, to the smaller chthonians. Had Ritsuka been able to eat breakfast this morning, he surely would've felt bile rising up from the scene.

Then it, with its offsprings, charged.

"Now, feel–!"

"It's useless."

Emiya snapped his fingers, and tens– no, hundreds of swords instantly materialized in the air.

"Wha–"

Before Ritsuka could ask, it rained.

The legion of swords fell on the giant creature like raindrops in a storm, eviscerating its smaller spawns, and halting their mother's advance as countless swords lodged, and broke apart, in the chthonian's body, its shrieks of pain merging with Bluebeard's own.

The sword rain stopped after thirty solid seconds, the field previously littered with a swarm of chthonians now back to its previous empty and desolate self, save for the copious amount of weapons sticking out of the ground.

Despite this, the giant chthonian, along with Bluebeard remained, both roaring into a single, unholy noise as its flesh jerked and coiled around each other, birthing numerous spawns in a matter of seconds and using them as fuel to regenerate once more, slowly restoring itself back.

"Tch. What is he, a cockroach?" Emiya cursed under his breath.

Ritsuka's mouth was wide agape in shock, and he had so many questions, but eventually, his mouth was able to form the most important question that he could think of. "How– how long does this last?"

"I've been conserving my energy until today, but even then, I doubt I can hold this up for long before you start to collapse."

"Specifically?"

"It depends. The more swords I use and break, the more you'll feel the cost. Worse if I start using high quality noble phantasms, and God forbid if the weapon isn't a sword. I'd say five, maybe seven minutes of conservative use before you start to feel sluggish," he explained.

"...Just how many weapons do you have?"

"Most of them," the archer replied, and somehow, even through the mostly neutral tone, Ritsuka could feel the smugness radiate from him.

'Most, huh?' Ritsuka thought, his gaze wandering briefly, landing on a certain someone.

"...Then, I have a proposal."

Ritsuka threw a quick glance at Bluebeard and his noble phantasm, still regenerating, good, and beckoned Emiya down to his level, before telling him of his thought-on-the-spot plan.

"...You're insane."

"Look, I'll deal with whatever the consequences are later, and you can stop if you think I can't handle it anymore, but I think… this might cinch it out for us."

"..." He didn't say anything, but Ritsuka could tell that Emiya regretfully saw the point in the plan.

He sighed. "...Alright. But if you pass out, I'll stop immediately, got it?"

"Sure! I'll go tell him! Mash, Jeanne! Help Emiya!" he ordered, and the two obliged immediately as they leapt across the barren field alongside the archer, deflecting tentacle, spit, and magical energy that were aimed at him as he summoned his bow in hand and began firing at the large chthonian using his myriad of weapons sprawled all over the field, halting its advance.

And amidst the chaos, Ritsuka ran.

As Ritsuka reached his target, he saw a small scowl form on his face. Probably because he didn't get the order to engage like the rest of the servants.

But Cu Chulainn wouldn't have to worry about that for long.

"Yo, Master, why'd I get left behind?" he grumbled, his spear slung over his shoulder, though his eyes still trained on the action a hundred meters away.

"You're not," Ritsuka replied. "I just need to know one thing, can you dual wield spears?"

"The hell…? You're saying there's a–" His eyes scoured the barren landscape, and landed on the red spear he knew better than anyone else. "...That son of a bitch."

"So, can you do it, Cu Chulainn?"

"Hah!" A face splitting grin appeared on the lancer's face. "Can I? Motherfucker, I've been waiting for this my entire life!"

"...What about more?"

"Huh?"

---

Emiya notched another sword on his bow, a nameless noble phantasm he couldn't bother to remember the name of, and let it fly. It hit the chthonian in the center, close to Bluebeard's body, tearing through its flesh while copper splinters lacerated the caster's skin. Yet it did no lasting damage, as with each wound it suffered, Bluebeard simply commanded it to birth more spawns, who crawled their way up to their mother to fill in the wound, using itself to graft the wound back shut.

"Hahaha! How long can you keep this up, I wonder? Hm, 'Archer'?" Bluebeard taunted as their eyes met, his eyes bulging through their sockets, betraying his polite tone that hid his radiating smugness.

Emiya clicked his tongue. They needed enough firepower to outpace his regeneration, and mere low-rank noble phantasms were simply not up for the job.

But that was fine, that's that damned lancer's job, anyway.

'...On second thought, that's not fine.'

Letting that bastard steal the show in his reality marble? He'd rather be forced to watch a kitchen newbie burn the kitchen by boiling water.

…But as a test for Ritsuka, he'd allow it. Just this once.

As he jumped back to retreat, several of the smaller creatures ran at him, which he easily dispatched with several arrows. But the sound of energy gathering only offered him less than a second to react before–

"Hah!"

Mash was suddenly in front of him, shield raised as she gritted her teeth from the oncoming violet beam shot out from the large chthonian's mouth.

"Mash! Hold on!" Jeanne yelled as she planted her flag beside her, noticeably giving Mash more energy, enough for until the beam dissipated.

"Are– are you okay, Mister Emiya?" The shielder asked through heavy gasps.

"...Yeah. Thanks," he replied.

Mash Kyrielight. A demi-servant. The concept was not foreign to him, yet this was his first time seeing one in the flesh. A girl, whose age couldn't be far off from Ritsuka's, made a servant by engraving the saint graph of a heroic spirit she didn't even know the identity of. A lot of it… didn't add up to him. He'd heard of attempts at creating a demi-servant, none of them bearing fruit, yet here she was, a girl who seemingly didn't know much better than the people around her who wondered the same thing. All made more difficult to decipher by Chaldea's current condition; with a director who only recently took up the mantle seriously and the old guard out of commission, who could answer his questions? He had his own suspicions regardless, however.

'Could she be–'

A blue blur cut his musings like a lightning out of the blue.

"...Tch. That bastard finally showed up, huh?"

Not that he hadn't noticed. The cost on him, and Ritsuka, needed for the boy's plan was more than noticeable. He just hoped it'd pay off.

Cu Chulainn rushed the battlefield at blinding speeds, more resembling a blue gale as he tore apart the spawns of the large chthonian faster than it could birth more. Eventually, before the rest of them could act, the field was cleaned, only Bluebeard and his giant familiar left with its youngs' blood covering the ground around them.

"You…!" Bluebeard snarled, and his beast roared as he did, spewing black smoke that polluted the air around them and by the looks of it, corroded the swords that it touched.

But it mattered little for the Celtic Hero, as he danced around the smoke, completely avoiding any damage it might've done, before he jumped and drew back his spear.

"Hah!" Bluebeard yelled as his shoulder jerked upwards, and as if synchronized, one of the large creature's tentacles flew upwards, swatting Cu Chulainn's spear arm.

But he only smirked.

"Gotcha, bitch."

"Wha–"

A shriek of pain interrupted the caster as he found the lancer's crimson spear embedded in his familiar, through his shoulder. He glanced back at Cu Chulainn, the lancer wearing a bloodthirsty grin and in his other hand, somehow, there was another Gae Bolg.

"H-how–?"

"Defend this, asshole!"

A red line shot out from the lancer, and another scream marked that it hit its target. Then, without pause, both spears returned back to Cu Chulainn's hands as he launched himself in the air towards Bluebeard's body in the creature. The caster yelled desperately as multitudes of smaller chthonians were birthed and rushed their way to patch the wounds, yet like a buzzsaw through human flesh, the dual wielded crimson spears tore their way through the flesh of the giant chthonian.

The sight reminded Emiya that, as much as he hated to admit it, Cu Chulainn was perhaps the most skilled fighter in their roster, even if he didn't quite match Achilles' bevy of blessings or Karna's destructive power, skill that was proving to be useful as his offense with a Gae Bolg in each hand started to overwhelm the creature's regeneration.

"Jeanne! Emiya! Help out Cu Chulainn!" Ritsuka ordered, his voice booming through the battlefield.

"No need to tell me twice," the archer whispered under his breath as with a flick of his hand, nameless swords flew from their embedded graves to the sky, before falling down on the smaller chthonians trying to make their way to their mother, further slowing down its healing. Jeanne followed him suit, twirling her flag as a barrier that protected him from whatever projectile the creatures spat that would've otherwise hit his stationary body, while Mash fell back to protect their master.

But just as it seemed like things were about to be tipped in their favor, Bluebeard snapped.

The caster roared, and without warning, black smoke burst out from under the chthonian, rushing towards them like the sea as tentacles spurted out from them, destroying the weapons buried in the ground in its wake.

Emiya leaped backwards with a click of his tongue, while Jeanne followed him, putting a considerable distance between them and the giant creature, and isolating Cu Chulainn.

"Get the hell off of me!" Bluebeard screamed, the chthonian thrashing violently, causing Cu Chulainn's footing to start to slip on the already slippery creature.

Until eventually, it shook the lancer off.

Cu Chulainn growled, frustrated, as he twirled his body around, once again preparing to launch his spear, only to be met with the sight of the beast's gaping maw. And before the lancer could move, a violent burst of energy shot out of the chthonian's mouth, engulfing him whole.

And when the beam subsided, he was nowhere to be seen.

Emiya gazed at the aftermath, mouth slightly ajar as he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Their best fighter, and the lynchpin of their plan, gone, just like that.

By his side, Ritsuka did the same, but his eyes trailed upwards, to the dark clouds of Emiya's reality marble.

Then they turned to each other, and they nodded.

"Time for step two."

---

Murasaki's eyes were closed.

Her ears heard the music of the battle right in front of her. Raging fire, sounds of magical energy rushing, and the simple violence of spear striking through flesh.

Yet without even opening her eyes, she knew that these attacks would amount to none but mere annoyance to her friend-turned-dragon.

And the blame for that laid on her, her actions, her trust, her words.

And in the same vein, she too would be the one to put an end to it, her brush, her paper, her ink.

Their friendship.

But, it would not come without a cost.

And worse, the cost was someone else's to bear.

Murasaki's feet pitter pattered against the hard ground of Bordeaux. All around her, soldiers were trying to organize the civilians, putting them in their own homes to weak, but persistent protests.

'This is my fault this is my fault this is my fault'

Those three words repeated in her head over and over, almost in rhythm with the steps she took. It was like a mantra that would not leave her head until she made it right again.

And the key to the lock was a simple girl who had become an idol.

She sat atop a bench in the makeshift war camp they and the soldiers had set up to plan the assault on Orleans, with her broken lance-microphone on her lap alongside a metal pole she had picked up somewhere, grunting as she tried to use a piece of sturdy rope to tie both of the pieces together.

"...Lady Bathory."

"Oh, songwriter. What is it?"

Songwriter. The mention of her own role in building what had shaped up to be the mythos of the great idol known as Elizabeth Bathory created an uncomfortable lump in her throat. But she swallowed it whole, and asked her the question.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...So? What is it?" Elizabeth asked, tilting her head sideways.

Murasaki's mouth was refusing to even open, her upper canines serving as locks that wouldn't budge no matter how much she tried to push through. She wanted to say it, needed to, had to.

But, in the back of her mind, an absolute wave of thoughts based squarely on her heart told her an undeniable truth.

Elizabeth didn't deserve this.

"Look. Just speak your mind. I'm a generous idol after all~ Any complaints my employees have, I will take seriously!" She declared boldly as she stood up, before sitting back down in a panic as her lance's makeshift restoration project almost ended then and there.

But that only made the guilt on the author's shoulders heavier.

"Come oooonn! Just out with it! No matter what it is, I'm gonna accept with my big, wide, idol heart!" She reassured, putting a fist to her chest after making sure the rope tied her lance tight.

"I– I–"

"Yes?"

"I need to erase your time as an idol here!"

Silence.

Ah, she'd done it now.

"Sure, go for it."

"I-I'm sorry for– Eh?"

Murasaki was halfway into a dogeza when her ears were done processing the idol's answer.

"This is The President's mission, right? If so, then I guess I have no choice," Elizabeth said nonchalantly, going back to her spear without even sparing a glance towards the almost kneeling Murasaki, and the caster started to question if the idol heard the same thing she said.

"W-why, Lady Bathory?"

The lancer's hand stopped working, and for a moment, simply stared down, before exhaling through her nose with a huff and turning to Murasaki. "...You know, writer lady, there are a lot of people who will just follow fads nowadays. Idols like me, producers like the President, and fans too. I'm not that stupid. I know that there's only this many people coming to me because it's a trend, they'll leave me once there's a new girl in town."

"...So you know that this, um, hype is artificial."

"Obviously. I'm not that dumb. Especially not after I know what a fan is actually like." A noticeable pause. "I still liked it, though…" She whispered in a sulk.

A pang of guilt hit Murasaki in the chest. "A-are you sure, Lady Bathory? Won't you regret erasing your time here as an idol? No one in this singularity, except for us, will remember the idol Elizabeth Bathory."

This time, it did give the lancer a sliver of hesitation, but instead, she smiled. "...Yeah. Just do what you need to do, Murasaki Shikibu. No matter how popular I can get, there's only one thing that will stay forever. So you gotta stick to who you are originally, never go away from your roots, and–"

"That means I gotta stick with my first and biggest fan, right?"

Stick to what she truly felt…

Murasaki could not deny that she still felt a lingering sense of friendship towards the dragon in front of her.

And that was exactly why she needed to do this.

She opened her eyes, and the battle in front of her remained the same as it did before she closed her eyes. Karna unleashed all sorts of divine powers, flames, his golden spear, and his indestructible armor. Achilles used his blinding speed to circle and attack the dragon, with his chariot occasionally diving down to shave off the dragon's hide, while the blessing of Greece's river of the underworld protected him from any harm that might come. Siegfried, the nemesis of Fafnir, swung his sword with power onto its flesh, yet just like with every attempt beforehand, the dragon's hide did not suffer as much as a single wound, though Siegfried's armor denied any chance of any meaningful retaliation.

Just like in a board of Go where neither player attempted to make a meaningful move to surround the other's piece, it simply kept going on and on without any direction. Yet, unlike Go, only one of them served to benefit from dragging the game out as long as they could.

And the man hanging off Fafnir's neck, her master, King, certainly knew this.

His closed eyes told Murasaki that he did, and more, for he didn't even need to know his surroundings to know the flow of the battle now, and her role in changing it.

Her master had always prepared for this outcome, Murasaki thought. Why else would he so adamantly tell her to keep every record of her and Bune's meetings? She followed it, of course, initially out of simple duty, but eventually, simply because they enjoyed their time together. The result was multiple entries in her journal, a diary that painstakingly described her thoughts, feelings, and actions during her entire time in France.

This too, King had expected, Murasaki realized.

Maybe he knew of Bune's true identity, maybe he did not, but what he did know was that she would write all of it down, that by the end of this singularity, every single action Bune took to undermine France would be hers too.

And in turn, perfectly setting up her noble phantasm.

"...As expected of you, master."

Murasaki cast her gaze down, and on her small writing table, her journal manifested itself.

She never intended to use it this way, yet fate ordained that it be the missing piece to the puzzle now.

And with just a few brush strokes, her innocent daily recollections would soon be the bane of the dragon before her.

So, she flipped the book open.

Even with the idol's permission, her hand trembled as the ramifications of what the few strokes she was about to create would have on Elizabeth, and in turn, her own creations.

But she steeled herself, and the ink-tinged tip of her brush made contact.

Normally, this noble phantasm was a meager one, especially compared to her other, more famous work. It was, after all, a mere collection of her own thoughts and interactions that were not at all noteworthy. It was only because people from after her time decided to compile and publish it did it become a noble phantasm.

Lord Bune was a courteous and gentlemanly noble. It would seem that he is on a quest to give hope to the common citizens of France through his flyers, a quest that I now share.

If we do happen to meet again, he would surely make for a staunch ally.

Her eyes soon landed on the final words of the entry she made the first day she met Bune, and her brush made its first stroke.

a quest that I chose to not partake in.

She wondered if it was genuine mistake on Bune's part that he decided to use her as his accomplice, or if her master simply outwitted him for things to reach this conclusion.

But she supposed it didn't matter anymore, as irrespective of the reason that her diary was now a weapon, it had become her duty to finish it.

In a rather pleasant surprise, Lord Bune and I crossed paths again. He said that he simply happened to have business in Thiers when both Elizabeth and Kiyohime fought, it's fortunate that we were here, lest something happened to him.

Either way, it would seem that my endeavor won't be as arduous as I thought it would be, with another pair of hands to help.

Our meeting was cut short due to the interference of the impostor's forces, but I believe we spread our word enough in Thiers nevertheless. While I never quite saw our watcher, the feeling they gave made me certain that they were a servant.

Could it be one of the paladins? Did the other Jeanne d'Arc summon more servants? Time will tell. For now, I relish in my small victory with Lord Bune, and think ahead about how I will report this to my masters.

Their second meeting. She was elated then, being able to continue his work, and dismayed when the two figures she now knew were on her side interrupted it.

With the power of hindsight, she would've changed everything she did then, but alas, she could only change mere excerpts.

Either way, it would seem that his endeavor will be arduous, with my refusal to help.

Our meeting was cut short due to the interference of the impostor's forces, and I believe he was not able to spread his word on Thiers as a result.

Guilt crawled on her fingernails as she flipped to yet another page.

I met with Lord Bune again. He truly saved me today as I was a true beginner in the arts of trade, yet he lent his time to help me with not just some of the merchandise, but all of them. It is such a shame that we must part ways after this singularity is resolved. He would no longer have the memories that we spent together, and while that saddens me, I am glad to be able to call him a good friend. Though I do wonder how we sold every single piece of merchandise. Had Lady Antoinette's speech reached far more than we thought?

Her brush moved, another stroke made.

Though it is a shame we could not sell most of our items. It would seem that the people could not quite afford our prices.

Sincerity was the heart of stories, and with these strokes, she would lay bare her feelings with every movement of her brush. The actions she took with sincere feelings born from lies then, replaced with falsehoods she would've done with sincere feelings born from truths now.

As such, this noble phantasm of her could only work when two conditions were met; that she had an active hand in the events she wished to change, and that what replaced them were her sincere feelings.

So, when it came to the last mention of Bune in her diary, Murasaki took a pause.

Either way, tomorrow might be our last meeting if things go according to the director's plans. I plan to try and make it a memorable one.

–And she elected to not change a thing.

In the end, she could not call the feelings between her and the friend she made a lie. Maybe Bune had intended to trick her from the very start, maybe she had been naught but a tool in his eyes, and maybe it made her a fool to still hold on to these feelings.

But the fun they had together was real, and she intended to make the last line of her diary that was dedicated to him a reality, one way or another.

So in her mind, what she was doing was not merely in the service of her master, Chaldea's mission, and herself.

It, too, was done for him.

And that was why her noble phantasm could finally commence.

"Lady Murasaki! Watch out!"

Her neck snapped up, and met the dragon's own. Blue fire gathered in its mouth, like a volcano about to burst. Around him, her fellow servants threw their best attacks, Karna with a beaming laser from his eyes, Achilles tearing through its flesh by rushing through its entire body with his own speed, and Seigfried, who had called out to her, unleashing the might of his sword that once slayed the dragon, Balmung.

Yet the dragon let the damage accumulate, aware of the futility of the attempts as its gaze didn't budge from where Murasaki sat as it simply regenerated whatever damage was done to it.

Bune had noticed the magical energy building around her, she realized, and assessed her as the greatest threat. But she needed to finish her noble phantasm, come hell or high water.

So, even as Bune-Fafnir bellied out a roar that knocked away her three companions, leaving none to protect her from the incoming inferno, she gritted her teeth and closed her eyes through trembling fingers. She had to finish her diary, even at the cost of her own life.

Only, the blazing heat that should have seared her skin never came.

"Lord Georgios?!"

"Lady Murasaki! I've come to your aid!" He yelled as he and his mount jumped in front of her, their body shielding her from the blue flames that would have otherwise turned her to cinders.

He had no shield, barrier, or any defensive measure of any sort, yet– No, that was inaccurate, his body, and the body of the horse that so loyally followed him into the flames, they were the defensive measure.

"I'm sorry, Bayard, but please, let your hide shield Lady Murasaki!" Georgios cried.

The horse neighed at his master's order, and it pushed forward as the rider jumped off his mount, the equestrian somehow pushing back against the sea of flames, parting it apart.

It should've killed him, for he was a mere servant's horse. Murasaki knew Fafnir's blue flames would've killed even lesser servants like herself, and yet the black horse stood its ground.

And in the end, Fafnir could not keep his attack for any longer, and the flames, and the animal, too, disappeared.

"...Thank you, Bayard. You were a fine friend 'till the end, as you've always been," he whispered, before letting out a battle cry as he drew his sword towards Fafnir.

"Dragon born of my sin! Let me be the blade that carves the path to your downfall!"

Fafnir let out a cry of his own, and once again, fire gathered in its mouth, faster than the rider could ever hope to reach him.

"Forgot about us, buddy?"

A blast of energy exploded on the back of Fafnir's head, just above where their master was, and sent him roaring in pain, interrupting the fiery breath he had intended to unleash.

"Now, my sword turns its blade to slay dragons! Interfectum Dracones!"

Georgios thrusted his sword forward, light covering its tip, and the point in which it made contact with the dragon's flesh. Holy fire seeped into the dragon from the sword, rapidly burning away its hide faster than it could replace them. Though, this would not last forever. Georgios, no matter how magnificent a servant he was, did not have the unlimited energy Fafnir did, and the dragon knew this.

Ywt, it tried to break free regardless, fighting through the searing pain and overwhelming advantage the dragon-slaying noble phantasm had to no avail, for it also knew that a few seconds worth of time was all that was needed for his downfall.

"Lady Murasaki! Now! Use your noble phantasm!"

Murasaki's hand was already moving before her mind was snapped out by Georgios' yell, the final stroke on her diary complete, and slowly, the words fought with each other, the past that she witnessed struggling against the past that she had replaced them with.

Her former friend, Bune, the dragon of greed, Fafnir, they both thrashed wildly as one as the ink on her diary settled, the only reason his claws and fire didn't reach her being the four servants outpouring a constant stream of attacks that gave the dragon not an iota of space to act.

And Murasaki took a deep breath.

She had never considered herself a 'special' person. Fujiwara no Kaoruko, that was the name that her parents had given to her in her birth, following their family line of Fujiwara no Hidesato, the legendary hero that shot down Taira no Masakado. She only became Murasaki Shikibu after the death of her husband before she even had the chance to raise their daughter together, and perhaps to distract herself, she turned to writing.

And in that moment, Murasaki Shikibu turned from a simple, unremarkable noblewoman, to an author whose work resisted a millennia of changes.

But to her, none of those ever mattered.

She wrote The Tale of Genji, only because she found it to be fun. She wrote her poems, only so that she could let out those ideas that struck her while she meandered. She wrote her diary, only to keep records of her days with her one daughter.

'...Yes. There is… absolutely nothing remarkable about me.'

Yet, this unremarkable woman, simply by living her unremarkable way of living, made herself an important, vile, irreplaceable friend.

Her hands moved, and it was as if she was back in her home. A tatami mat under her knees, shojis with masterworks on them around her, and a simple brush and ink that completed the pentagram.

She was just a palace attendant.

She was just a novelist.

And this was just a diary.

"This is The Diary of Lady Murasaki."

---

"Stay in your damned houses, the lot of you!"

"Why?! I ain't see no dragons! Let us out!"

"It's not because of the dragons, you half-witted peasant! It's because of–! Because of– …Because of…"

What was it again?

The soldier's gaze turned down, as if expecting something to remind him of something that he had missed, like if he had forgotten to gather wood for the fireplace, but much more important.

Yet, when his gaze met the struggling peasant's body, all that he saw was the teal brown that so many other citizens wore. No sign of…

"...Wait, why were we doing this again?"

"Uhh… I, I don't know," his colleague stammered, his grip on the door loosening.

"...You! You won't be rushing to no dragons, will you?"

"What, me? The hell I would! What in tarnation would be so important for me, my family, or any of us for that matter that we're going to go against goddamn dragons?!" he yelled as he finally broke free of the soldier's hold on his door, almost falling as he spilled out onto the street.

The soldiers in question had no good answer to the question. Why had they been forcing the citizens into their own homes as if they would run onto death head first otherwise? No one was that idiotic, and even if they were, they could not recall any events, past, present, or future, that would make them act that way.

All across France, the same thing happened in different flavors. Rambunctious children that had been a pain in the soldiers' behind suddenly became far more obedient, and their manic parents more understanding of the gravity of the situation.

Something was amiss, but slowly and surely, that feeling went to the back of their minds, and never came up again.

All they, civilians and soldiers alike, know now was one thing.

Sans the dragons and witches, to which they prayed all their faith the assault on would be successful, it was a normal day in France, with nothing to look forward to.

---

"AAAAAAAHHH!"

The roar of the dragon shook the air, disjointed and unsynchronized, like two voices sharing the same throat. It thrashed wildly as the red eyes that wrapped around its body began to burst, and from them, masses of tendrils shot out, sprawling into the ground lifelessly as the dragon struggled to stand on its feet.

"Whew, sure seems like he's pissed off," Achilles commented. "Man, Master's pretty strong to hold on while he's jumping all over the place, huh?"

Unbeknownst to everyone else present, said master could barely see, much less hold on. His only saving grace had been the fact that his flannel had been snagged on the dragon's spiky neck.

For the servants, their master seemed persistent, hell-bent on keeping the dragon in check from simply flying away and feeling.

For King, it was the worst carnival ride in his life, and he wanted the fuck off.

And for Bune/Fafnir, he could only rage.

"Lady… Murasaki…!" it hissed. "What… did… you… do?!" He turned towards the caster that he had tricked, called a friend when his words dripped with lies, and now, became the bane of his existence.

Yet, the sight that greeted him… confused him.

Tears streamed down her face, few and fleeting, but sincere.

"You…"

"Lord Bune…" Murasaki whispered. "Let this mark the end of our friendship."

---

"Elizabeth! You're still there?!"

"Who else could this lovely voice belong to? Of course I'm still here!"

Elizabeth grunted as another wyvern dived down on her, knocking her down and forcing her to roll back to stand.

Their strength from before and after whatever the hell happened to them was like day and night. They were stronger, faster, tougher, and even their flames felt hotter on Elizabeth's skin. Plus, she thought that those red and black eyes didn't fit on their skins whatsoever!

Now, the odds were stacked against them. There had to be hundreds flying around, circling them, and with Georgios running off to help one of the teams and whatnot, the number of servants had fallen to merely four, and only two of them were really geared for big fights like these.

CRASH

"Elizabeth! Are you fine?" Marie asked from behind her, gasping for air as a wyvern fell beside her, squirming as it ran through a crystal barrier en route to Elizabeth.

The lancer turned to the fallen dragon and pierced its head with all her might. "...Could be worse."

She looked down towards the ground. The bodies of soldiers littered the earth, a few died from mere blunt trauma, they were the unlucky ones, for the lancer knew just how suffocating such a death was. Those torn apart, whose only remains were half a body, a shattered head, or just a few measly limbs, were the lucky ones, they didn't even feel it.

"Men! Retreat back! Leave the frontlines to the 'servants'!" a voice yelled, the commander's, Elizabeth recognized after a second.

As the remaining soldiers ran to their commander, one bumped into Elizabeth, almost causing him to fall, and his helmet to come off.

"Oh, sorry, Eli… Wait, who are you, again?"

The lancer closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. She saw his face once, among the crowd, among her adoring fans.

"No one you need to know. Now get moving!"

"Y-yes, ma'am!"

She huffed as the man hurriedly ran past her, but she was glad that he missed her biting her lip fervently.

Unfortunately, she could not say the same for the thin, pale man who approached her, a smug smile gracing his face.

"...It seems that your popularity is… diminishing," Amadeus said, strutting up beside her.

"Hmph! I don't care. I just need one fan!" she retorted to her former instrument provider person.

And that she did.

And that was why she charged ahead, even if she knew she wouldn't see him again.

---

Her vision was blurry, red, unbalanced, and yet, she now saw far clearer than she ever did before.

She wished she never could.

The cloth under her armor felt wet, and she hated it. If she could simply die, sink into whatever unknowable, soft ground she had found herself in, she would be glad that it was over.

But instead, in the cruelest form of mercy that made her believe in the existence of a God, a cruel, vain God with a twisted sense of humor, she lived still, even as she felt wet viscera on her skin, tasted flesh with her tongue and teeth, smelled iron with her nose, drowning in her own blood with all her limbs too weak to swim through the suffocation. She should be dead.

Yet she wasn't.

And now, she had to live for as much time as God's 'mercy' would allow it, the cruel truth as her only companion, one that pressed heavy on her prone back.

"..."

Her mouth opened, but why? She had only realized it when her chin felt blood pouring from her open mouth down her neck, as if she was trying to say something, a message from one person to another.

But what use would it have? The owner of this mouth was not a person, or even a ghost, or even a mere identity.

This body was just a vessel, a goddamn vessel that never served a purpose. Its creator, may hell be his home for the rest of time, didn't even bother to truly accompany her for a single day before he went and died, leaving her a puppet without its master. The second owner only saw it as a nuisance that he put up with for the sake of 'image', and eventually threw it in the trash the very moment it was no longer necessary. And now that existence was by itself, meek, weak, pathetic, just like every life she snuffed out in her quest to complete some goal that was never even hers.

She wanted to laugh, and she would if she could. She couldn't blame any of them, she would do the same in their place.

But being on the other side of the equation…

She didn't know it would feel like this.

A few thuds rang in her right ear, the only one that still worked. Eventually, the thuds became vibrations that her body felt, tingling her skin.

"...You're still here," a voice told her.

"...Unfortunately," she answered, though she could barely hear it. Did it sound as pathetic as she thought, she wondered. There was nothing left for a faceless, nameless, ignorant puppet to do, anyway, so why not entertain whoever was idiotic enough to strike her with a conversation?

Whoever it was that stood above her let out a chuckle in a tone that felt sardonic, but she deserved that much as the nameless nothing that she was. "You are persistent, if nothing else."

"Wish I wasn't," she admitted. If she had just succumbed from the wounds delivered to her, or better yet, weak enough to be killed when her enemies came to face her the first time around, then she would've died hateful, ignorant, but blissful.

The figure took a few more steps, which she could only tell by the sound and shifting in the air, until the first glimpse of their body appeared in her blurred vision, sandals, with purple garment covering their legs. "I think that's a gift, personally."

"...What would you know?" she spat. Easy for him to say, the assassin that served her once-enemy, Sasaki Kojiro. A legendary swordsman hailing from the east whose name was etched as a master of the sword, she knew who he was. Benefits of being a ruler, she supposed. If only she could've done the same to herself.

"A few things, I suppose. I, too, was a mere artificial phantom before I was summoned here."

Her lips twitched, bringing pain unto her face, and however insignificant the pain was, what it reminded her still hurt.

"...Why are you here? All your buddies are over there, fighting. Are you some kind of coward…? Because you're just a phantom?" 'Like me?' she wanted to add, but she didn't need the pity. No existence like hers deserved it.

"An assassin's job is to stay out of sight."

"...The hell– The hell you're talking to me for then?"

"Killing time, perhaps. I'm simply waiting for a signal, after all, like how Master has ordered me to."

Despite herself, she managed a chuckle. As she had guessed, it would seem the fate of existences like them, entities whose individuality were farces created by the ego of others who had no regard of what their creation would think, were just that, blindly following whatever orders they were given.

"Ah, fuck. We're just fucking unfortunate, aren't we?"

"Are we?"

"You, me, we never had a goddamn chance. All because we aren't real. Everything we do, would never amount to jackshit," she cursed. All she had done was to bring justice to Jeanne d'Arc, to the name she thought belonged to her. Yet, as it turned out, that name was never hers, just an imprint forced upon her existence by a raving madman.

"...I think that is just you."

Her eyes snapped in the direction of the man's body, catching a glimpse of his face, looking down on her, almost pitying, but more confused than anything. She did her best to glare at him, but she supposed the best she could master was a weak stare, like a dying dog trying to assert its dominance in a last show of pride in its last moments.

"I've never once questioned my existence," he continued. " It just so happens that what I desire and my master's orders align."

"...So what? You just… exist like that? No identity, no true name to call your own, no origin?" she asked, uncaring of the desperation seeping into her voice. It didn't make a lick of sense, not to her at least. How could anyone– anything live on knowing that the reason, the very essence of their being was just someone else's fabrication? and that none of their thoughts, dreams, and feelings were truly their own?

"That's how we are, as phantoms," he answered, as if that simple combination of words was the most natural answer to such a loaded question.

"...Sounds fuckin' miserable."

"Speak for yourself. You see the knowledge of your lack of identity as the paths you once walked that you thought were purely yours crumbling, leaving you a stranded, wounded animal with nowhere to go, and nothing to do but die. But I see it differently, if to you, the endless expanse is a void of choice, then I see it the other way. I see in our lack of origin, an infinity of choices."

"And out of those infinite choices… you chose to just assume your false identity as your own?" she asked, incredulous. "Why would you do that?"

"To each their own," he retorted, and she didn't quite have a strong argument against such a short, and confidence laden response. "You don't have to follow me, or see me as a guide simply because our circumstances are cut from the same cloth."

A shift in the air rippled throughout the strange place that she was in. Something had happened, that much was clear, and her uninvited companion seemed to take notice. She imagined that he knew what it was, that 'signal' he spoke of, probably.

"It would seem that it is time to fulfill my duties, the role I have chosen to undertake," he proclaimed, before looking down on her, but now she realized what the look in his eyes actually was.

It was an inquisition on her being.

"What about you? What role do you choose to take? or will you simply keep laying down and disappear with your what ifs and how shoulds?"

"..."

"...I've nothing else to say to you, my master needs me," he said, turning and walking away from her, his sandals brushing against the soft ground with an almost crackling sound. "Yet, I suspect I'll find your answer soon, regardless."

"...You–"

"Farewell, girl with no name."

She did not see him leave, she couldn't lift her neck up that high, but the sound of his footsteps being slowly replaced with the howling, hot wind told her that he did, and that she was once again alone, left with blood and questions, two things that still gave her life, in absence of an identity to call her own.

And so the question remained, with this pitiful, short, unimportant remains of a life, what was she to do?

A jolt of pain ran up her arm, and before thought, her clenching fist crushing dirt answered her first.

---

Ritsuka gazed up at the sky, ignoring the gloats of the caster embedded in his own grotesque familiar, with threats of murder, torture, and less savory ones directed to Mash and Jeanne. It looked the same as it did when he first saw it a few minutes prior, still covered by dark clouds that flew unabated and still through the orange skies, as if it too was unaware of what was brewing behind them.

He stood there, dazed at the simple thought of what was about to transpire.

Even though it was his own plan… 'No, that's not right.' It was because it was his own plan that he felt so bewildered. Where did he learn to do all this? he asked himself.

But there was no answer, because he did not 'learn' to do this.

He simply did, and now, just as simply as he 'did', he had to 'simply' face the consequences.

His eyes shifted to his left, where Emiya, the owner of the very reality marble he was standing in, as well as the second lynchpin of their plan, had his arm pointed forward and up, towards the sky above Bluebeard.

"Trace…" he began, grabbing his outstretched arm. "...On!"

Nothing happened that Ritsuka could see, but something undeniably did.

And it only took a fraction of a second for his body to feel it.

The first thing that came to him was the noise, ringing in his ears that stifled any other sounds. Then, it was the liquid, wetness that interrupted him as he tried to open his mouth and speak. And he only noticed that his vision was stained red when his servant worriedly went over to him, speaking what he only heard as ringings in his ears, the archer's white hair dyed a red hue from his eyes.

"...ka! …tsuka! Ritsuka!" Emiya shouted, before harshly clicking his tongue. "I knew that this was too–"

"I'm still standing!" Ritsuka shouted back, or at least he hoped that was what came out of his mouth. The words, both his and his servant's still muffled, as if he had his headphones on. "...I'm still walking," he said more slowly, the pain settling in his body as the seconds passed by.

Emiya didn't look too convinced, likely because of the bile of blood that almost landed on the man's clothes spewing from his mouth. He noticed that his breath labored and his heart beating hard, almost breaking his ribs, his senses finally catching up to the damage done to his body. Yet he still stood there, mustering as much as he could to meet the archer's doubtful stare with a defiant one.

"Senpai!" "Master!"

Ritsuka felt his side being grasped by slender, but very strong hands, eliciting a wince, and an apology from the perpetrator, his own kouhai.

"M-miss Jeanne! Do you have anything that can heal Senpai?!"

"N-no, I'm afraid I don't. I was never educated on medical assistance…"

"I-it's fine. D-don't worry about me," he tried to placate. It was not fine. Almost a minute had passed since the second part of their plan was enacted, and each of those sixty seconds was more painful than the last. He couldn't even see Bluebeard anymore, though his mocking laugh reached his ears still, echoing in their canals.

"Oh? What do we have here? A boy in over his head, destroying his body just to stand against me?" the caster's voice rang, the sarcastic, mocking tone clear to even Ritsuka's bleeding ears. "Why, I'm honored! For a mere fairy tale story like myself to receive such effort… I shall repay you back in kind!"

Ritsuka gritted his teeth and wiped the blood off his eyes, staining his uniform's sleeves red. He tried to stand upright, using Mash's shoulders to stabilize himself, but the most he could manage was a meager, bent-over stance. He couldn't feel below his knees, everything past them a chilly static with occasional interruptions of pain, but even so, he struggled against it, meeting Bluebeard's grotesque form with his fiercest glare.

"Pray tell, boy, why are you going this far?" Bluebeard asked, that mocking tone ever present. "Why not, just, lay down here and die? I will take great care of your little shield girl here."

Why?

He'd felt like he had been asked this question numerous times, each time the situation differing from the last. Yet, whether it was in Fuyuki, in Chaldea, in France, whether it was Emiya that asked him, when he thought that it would be best to give up, or King, when his fellow master gave him a piece of advice, and a choice, truthfully his answer had always been the same.

It just took his dumbass this long to put it into words.

"Because I want to live."

"...How trite," was the response Bluebeard gave, his mocking tone replaced with a disgusted one. Then, he struck a grin that stretched ear to ear. "I'll have a lot of fun killing such a young boy like you!" he yelled, then he, along with the chthonian fused to him, charged, birthing its youngs along the way.

Just as he was about to bark his own order, Ritsuka instead a sigh from his left.

"Hmph. Good to see that you're not losing sight of your goal, at least, Master."

Ritsuka saw red, but it wasn't his own blood anymore.

Emiya stood in front of him, his arms bared through his sleeveless shirt.

"Keep it," he said with no room to argue. "It's a holy shroud. Should be better than nothing against this monstrosity."

"R-right. Thanks," Ritsuka managed to say, wrapping the archer's coat around him, covering his entire body. It was far too oversized but, surprisingly, comfortable.

"Mash. Jeanne. Keep Ritsuka safe, he's in no shape to be giving orders or use his mystic code right now," he ordered, voice neutral but holding a commanding tone nevertheless, to which the both of them nodded. "I'll take over from now."

The archer strided his way across his own noble phantasm, his bow materializing in his hands, unfazed by the horde of creatures rushing his way as he willed the swords buried in the ground to come to him, and notched them on his bow. He fired the swords turned arrows, each of them hitting the smaller chthonians with terrifying accuracy. Ritsuka had always wondered how the archer class fit Emiya when he seemingly only used the bow for a few select attacks, but seeing the expert display of basic accuracy made it clear that, swordsman or not, the servant was worthy of the archer class.

But Emiya could only focus on the smaller distractions for so long until the larger chthonian reached him, and eventually, it did.

The chthonian gathered energy in its misshapen mouth as it charged, dark energy swirling in its mouth, becoming liquid that sloshed around in its maw. It was now close enough that Ritsuka could see the beast clearly, and with it, Bluebeard's maniacal eyes.

Then, it lurched forward, and from its mouth, spilled countless eldritch tentacles carried by a black wave that it vomited.

Emiya simply thrusted his forward, and from behind him, hundreds of swords came rushing forward, meeting the attack head on.

The black flood and the flurry of swords met in a clash that Ritsuka could best describe as 'mismatched', more in terms of appearances than strength, but that too, as slowly but surely, the flood began pushing back against Emiya's swords, the black fluid almost splattering on Ritsuka's face, only protected by Mash's quick thinking as she rushed forward and deployed her shield, protecting his skin from the corrosive substance.

Bluebeard let out a mad laughter. "You think mere swords would be able to stop my familiar?! My, my, how ill prepared of you!"

Emiya simply chuckled. "As much as I hate to say it, I'm just a distraction."

"What?!"

Ritsuka nodded along to Emiya's words.

He was just a distraction.

In lieu of Elizabeth, they needed a new star of the show.

And today, that role was reserved for one Ireland's Child of Light.

The clouds rumbled, like thunder preceding a storm, but such a thing should be impossible in a reality marble, something that Bluebeard caught on quickly, judging by the stupefied look on his face. It brought Ritsuka some joy, admittedly, to see the ugly bastard's face twisting in fear.

A laughter from the skies echoed throughout the reality marble, the tone part mockery, part humorous, and all bloodlust. It sounded through even the rumbling thunders which only grew in intensity as time went on, a red hue overtaking the dark clouds.

Then, for a moment, the skies returned to silence.

Ritsuka closed his eyes, blinking a furtive drop of blood away.

"...Get his ass, Cu Chulainn," he whispered.

And as if he could hear him, his lancer obliged.

A boom from an explosion was the first herald of Cu Chulainn's arrival. The second would be Bluebeard's scream as half of his familiar's body, along with a portion of his own body, was obliterated to smithereens, causing his attack to falter and allowing Emiya to fall back. The final would manifest in rain that was foretold by the thunder.

Only, it was not water that rained down.

Bluebeard only had the sliverest of time before another Gae Bolg fell upon him, preventing him from reconstructing his familiar. Then another, and another, and soon enough it was like entire armories' worth of Gae Bolgs fell down from the skies, raining, only here, each raindrop was like a bomb, exploding in a burst of red energy.

"HAHAHAHA!" Cu Chulainn's laughter roared, his form finally descending down the clouds, riding atop one of Emiya's projected Gae Bolgs with another one, presumably the real one, in his hands. The sight brought to Ritsuka's mind of Sun Wukong, if instead of the Flying Nimbus, he rode on another Jingu Bang. "MISS ME?!" the lancer continued to taunt as he kicked another replica of his noble phantasm among the myriads that surrounded him in the skies, launching it with fervor towards Bluebeard, aimed at just below his body, and as with every other crimson spear, it hit and exploded, reducing the chthonian to a mere fleshy blob protecting the caster.

"Gah! You– You!" Bluebeard yelled in frustration, shielding himself with his hands in a sorry attempt to protect himself. "AHHH!" Or not, as a membrane suddenly wrapped around him in a bubble, one that was able to protect, or at least recover, from the Gae Bolg assault, regenerating in a fraction of the time the chthonian needed, successfully protecting him.

But Ritsuka foresaw that the caster still had an ace up his sleeve, and so he kept one as well.

In addition to projecting as many Gae Bolgs as Emiya thought Ritsuka could handle, Ritsuka had a backup in mind, a backup in case an attack that could surpass time and space itself was needed.

"Kojiro, now!"

"Wha–?!"

"Falling for the same trick twice? How shameful."

Ritsuka couldn't particularly describe what he saw. Sword slashes, that much was clear, multiple, but only a single stroke was swung. But he supposed it matched what Kojiro told him, that divine technique…

"Tsubame Gaeshi!"

Faster than Ritsuka could process, the membrane was dissected in three slices, flayed like the petals of a flower, and in the center, a hapless, and panicked Bluebeard.

"Mash! Jeanne! Emiya! Hold the membrane down! Don't let him recover!"

"But–!"

"I can stand on my own!" he insisted, though he didn't know much it convinced them. He could feel his knees wobbling, an improvement from not feeling them at all, but a shaky one nonetheless. "...The sooner we win, the sooner I can rest."

That spurred his servants into moving, planting each of their weapons onto the flayed membrane, Mash with her shield, Jeanne with her flag, Kojiro with his sword, and Emiya with a massive stone slab of a shield from God knows where.

All leaving Cu Chulainn with an open target.

The lancer's descent was almost upon them, the glint of his toothy grin visible to Ritsuka's eyes. The rest of Emiya's projected version of the Cu Chulainn's noble phantasm continued to fall, the lancer jumping from spear to spear, grabbing each one and throwing them down powerfully, the explosions consuming Bluebeard, until the chthonian was all but gone.

"Your heart is mine! Gae Bolg!"

The sentence was uttered, the noble phantasm deployed, and Ritsuka knew Bluebeard's heart was gone, the effect before the cause.

The last two replicas pierced down Bluebeard's body through his shoulders and stabbing the ground to his shrill screams, pinning his body into the ground.

And finally, the true crimson spear struck the caster's heart.

It was over.

Ritsuka breathed a sigh of relief, and almost fell onto his fours then and there, but persevered. He should probably wait until Emiya deactivated this reality marble. Wouldn't want to miss that.

For now, he'd enjoy watching the look of dread on Bluebeard's face as he realized that his dreams were over, and that France would live beyond this age.

But then, the face twisted into a hateful sneer, and alarm bells set off in Ritsuka's head.

"Watch out, he's–!"

An explosion of dark energy cut Ritsuka off, alongside launching him several meters back, his back crashing to the ground in agonizing pain. He wriggled around in pain, the impact sending the blood in his lungs to his mouth again mixing with that morning's breakfast, and in that moment, he erased his mind of anything other than the pain coursing through his body.

Still, his mind reoriented itself faster than Ritsuka thought possible, the fear of dying overpowering his fear of pain, and his knees moved against the nerves that begged him to stay.

But moving was the only thing it managed to do, as his body refused to follow his legs, sending him plummeting back into the wet, sticky ground.

...Sticky?

He hurriedly turned his gaze down, and found that it wasn't for the lack of effort nor strength that he failed to stand.

Far worse, it was that same substance that the chthonian had spewed over and over, though it wasn't as corrosive if his still living, breathing self was any indication. A weakened version? a different one? No time to ponder on that, he thought, shaking his head.

He looked around him, his servants suffered much of the same fate as him, glued to the ground even as they attempted to tear themselves off the liquid. "S-Senpai!" Mash's voice rang, though he couldn't see her. "A-are you alright?" she asked.

"I-I can manage," he replied, though for how long he didn't know. Even after all this, Emiya's noble phantasm was still draining him of magical energy, or Chaldea's to be precise. His body was a mere conduit, or at least that was how Da Vinci explained it. Of course, she also said that "Be careful, though. A conduit had limited capacity, you know? So even if Chaldea has practically unlimited energy, you still need to take care of yourself, okay?"

'Well, thanks for the warning, Da Vinci, and sorry for not following it.'

"If… if I'm going down… I'M TAKING YOU ALL WITH ME!" Bluebeard madly yelled, his voice shrill and desperate, and the fierce gathering of magical energy made the words a promise.

"Yo, Master! Think of something, would you?! Whatever this shit he got us on, it ain't coming off!" Cu Chulainn shouted from a distance.

"Calm down, Lancer. If us servants can barely do a thing against this desperate attack, then I doubt Master could do much," Kojiro placated, his body still, seemingly conserving his strength.

"...Tch. I should've expected something like this," Emiya berated himself, following Kojiro's lead in conservation. "Ritsuka. I'm sorry for asking this after everything I said back there, but is there anything you can do?

This was bad. Ritsuka's eyes darted from left to right, up and down, but a glow pulled his eyes towards his own body, his own hand. Three glowing marks, he hadn't needed to use a command spell up until now, but he'd be damned if there wasn't a better time to dump the magazine.

"Emiya, by my com– Agh!"

"Ritsuka!" Jeanne yelled from his right, but he didn't bother to turn or respond, he couldn't. The moment he even thought of using one of the three command spells Chaldea provided, the searing pain throughout his body felt like it was multiplied, focused, then sent directly into his brain. The only reason he wasn't writhing in absolute pain was the fact that the substance's hold over him tightened as time went on, preventing any sort of free movement.

"Damn it!" Emiya cursed. Any more swords would send Ritsuka into a coma, or worse, and they both knew it. The knowledge that the archer would not kill him, even as a last resort, brought some strange comfort to Ritsuka, though it might as well be a drop of water in a volcano in this situation.

The magical energy gathering on Bluebeard grew even more intense. What could it be, he couldn't help but wonder. A suicide bombing? An instant escape? A whole new noble phantasm? Whatever it was, it was sure to kill him if it came to be.

And goddamnit, King didn't make him see that he just wanted to live just for him to die like this!

Yet, he was just a high schooler in the end.

What was he to do against all… this?

'Is… is this as far as I go?'

Crackle

He flinched.

His neck moved shakily to look behind him.

He'd felt something, he swore he did.

But there was no one there.

But he felt it still, that something had whizzed past his neck, carrying with it a warm, but intense heat, and a smoldering smell.

It would only later, in the middle of ruefully writing a 'report' on his time in the singularity, would Ritsuka realize what it was that caught his attention.

It was a wisp of flame that had flown past him, whispering past his ear.

---

King's day was going… somewhere.

He'd lost the ability to form coherent thoughts sometime after Karna launched an attack that was too close for comfort to his body. Even if he trusted that the lancer knew what he was doing, his body couldn't help but react towards the heat that touched his hair. Throw Achilles and Siegfried into the proverbial blender, and you got a recipe on how to shave fifty years off his life.

All that being said, somehow, someway, something began to elevate his hopes.

And of course, it took the form of Murasaki Shikibu, the sweet, kind, ever so helpful and responsible caster of his.

He didn't know what happened to be exact. One moment it was still the same chaos of multicolored explosions and motion sickness, the next the dragon was shrieking in pain, and went stiff, almost plummeting it to the ground, and for a moment, King was finally, finally off the fucking ride.

'...W-what?' was his question at the time as he, shakily and fearfully, shifted his body over the prone dragon to at least look at the situation.

Whatever it was that Murasaki did, it did real damage to the dragon, some black innards of some sorts sprawling out of the dragon. All around the dragon and him, his servants stood by surrounding the beast with their weapons drawn.

But what drew his attention most was the injuries it had suffered, and the fact that the wounds stayed.

'...Holy fuck?' He might actually have a chance to survive here, if his servants could destroy the dragon without destroying him, anyway. He hoped to whatever God was watching over this world that they didn't have any funny ideas about him being able to protect himself–

'Who the fuck am I kidding, of course they do!' Why else would they not get him off the dragon this whole time?!

A sudden feeling of weightlessness cut his thoughts off, accompanied by the now unfortunately all-too-familiar sound of wings flapping.

Fuck! He had to do something here, anything but another ride above the clouds!

"Karna! Take out his legs!" he ordered with as much command as he could. He still couldn't see the lancer, and every battle seemed to serve him a reminder of his own comparison that using servants was just like a video game, as if saying 'Ha! So you think this shit is a game, huh?', because what kind of video game doesn't let you see your own characters and enemy properly?

But, he supposed he didn't need to.

It's Karna, he always accomplished his missions perfectly, and even if what he thought of King was… questionable, his results weren't.

And neither was King's trust in him.

He heard the sound of flames whizzing past underneath him, followed by a shrill roar, and he knew that Karna did his orders perfectly. Great. No legs, no balance for it.

'Okay, okay… Now I just need to–' His eyes wandered down in the middle of thinking, and his breath was caught in his throat as the distance between him and the ground entered his line of sight.

In and out, King, in and out. You lose your breath, you lose your mind, and in this position, you lose your mind, you lose your life.

"Achilles! You need to–" His own scream cut him off as the dragon twisted in the air, like a corkscrew in the roller coaster analogy, and he thought his soul left him when he felt his flannel unclasp from the dragon's scales, his only saving grace being the pure adrenaline that immediately grasped his fingers alongside the scales.

His weak, untrained fingers that could not hold his own body weight.

Another undignified yelp escaped from his mouth, just as the corkscrew of this roller coaster ended, with the dragon returning back to a more stable, upright orientation, and King's own breath becoming more chaotic.

Easier said than done, huh?

He felt another shift, and realized that the longer he did nothing here, the more the dragon would simply lose balance and fall, which would be nice for the servants, King imagined, their own prey falling to the ground, unable to flee, leaving it an open target for their attacks.

The problem is that he would fucking die if it fell like that. It's the sudden stop that kills you, not the fall, or something along those lines, if he remembered correctly.

So, immediately off the second it started to tilt again, King's thoughts that had ran through his mind in that miniscule timespan condensed into words, and this time, he let them out clearly, and quickly. "Achilles! Slam its sides!"

"You got it!"

He gritted his teeth as he felt a reverberation throughout the dragon's body, and by extension, his, no doubt from Achilles' chariot slamming into its body.

Then, finally, King once again felt slow, stable, proper descent.

There! If the dragon's fall is diagonal, it should be slower, right? More distance to cross, the more time it'd try to reorient itself, the more time he had time to try and call for Karna to pick him up.

…That had been the plan at the time.

Sadly, at that very same time, King forgot a crucial piece of information, one that was so blatant, that he'd later knock himself over for not thinking it over then, among many other instances.

He could not see where he would go.

'...Oh, right. We're close to a city, aren't we?'

CRASH

The realization came far too late, and he didn't even have the chance to call himself a dumbass before he felt the shock spread throughout his body, the bones in his arms shaking as the sudden stop he so proudly espoused in his mind came to him regardless, alongside dirt, rubble, and whatever small particles that came his way, and any effort to shield his eyes did nothing to the ones that entered between the gap of his clothes.

Then, finally, a stop, for real this time.

'Is… is it over?' He dared to open his eyes, and lo and behold, the dragon, his eyes shut, and pinned down to the ground.

'...'

Well, that was far more action-packed than he wished for, but at least it was over now.

He sighed. "If I ride another animal, it'd be a lifetime too soon," he muttered as he slowly and carefully scaled the many rough gaps in the skin of the dragon, climbing it down. As he made his way halfway down, he turned around the mess he made, a gigantic hole where the city walls were. 'Man, am I glad that I'll be gone when this singularity is over.' If anyone tried to charge him for it, he might have to side with The Witch or something.

From his peripheral, a familiar feminine figure appeared, running towards him in haste.

He waved his arm towards her. "Miss Murasaki, it's–"

"Master! Watch out!"

"Huh?"

King did not, nor did he want to know how his feet were no longer touching the ground, or what that piercing guttural sound was. Not like he had a choice, he was aware of what they were, unfortunately.

One was the claw of the dragon he thought dead lifting him off the ground.

Two was the roar of said dragon.

And three was his own girlish scream that he was both glad and dismayed no one but him heard owing to that second thing.

And so, he was back where he began–

Then, he flew, flung into the air by the claws of the dragon, and into the line of the dragon's maw with a throat filled with blue flames.

–Worse, actually.

'Yeah,' he thought to himself. 'I'm done for.' Maybe that was a blessing. Between situations like these, keeping up the pretense of being a mage, and seemingly having to hand out advice every other night because he was the most qualified person by process of elimination, he was tired.

Tired enough that he could only smile sardonically at the shit he had gotten himself into, staring to the jaws of death without a single way to escape. He reached his hand out to the direction of the said jaw, palm outstretched. Yep, too far away. No escaping this. His servants were probably too far too.

He knew he'd say it far too many times since coming here, but this was really, really it.

No way out now.

…

…

…

'...Where's the fire?'

He'd closed his eyes in preparation of his own demise, he wasn't about to die with brown pants like he would if he saw the fire coming right at him. Even so, he'd expected at least a wave of searing pain washing over him before he opened his eyes to the afterlife, whatever it might look like.

Yet, nothing. He was still in the air, and everything was feeling like a slo-mo scene in a movie. Pretty cliché, to be honest, but experiencing it himself, maybe those scenes had a point.

Then he felt something slam into him, but with a gentle touch in the slam.

Then his body came to a full stop, and he slowly opened his eyes.

"It would seem that you picked the wrong meal to feast on, Fafnir," Karna said from beside him.

"...What?"

"You… What are you?!" the dragon, Fafnir, now King knew, roared at him, and he could only point to himself in confusion.

"A man beyond your capabilities," Karna replied for him. "One that, even if he could not match you in a true, one-on-one duel, is your better in every other conceivable way." The lancer twirled his spear, pointing it at Fafnir. "To the point that you got careless, and let him be in a position where he could damage you," Karna finished.

'...What?' King asked again, though not voicing it this time. He didn't know how the fuck the thing thought he could do anything to it, but he didn't give a shit.

'...Holy shit, I'm alive!' And on the ground! Solid, lovely, familiar, earthy ground!

He was safe!

"GRAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

The roar shook King out of his brief moment of euphoria, and brought the reality back to him.

"Yo, Master! You alright?!" Achilles asked as he reached him.

He just nodded, better than just seconds ago, at least.

"Thank goodness…" Murasaki said. "Though perhaps you might not have even needed help, if what Lord Karna said was true."

No, no, he definitely needed it alright.

"...Master. Your orders?"

King's neck snapped towards Karna's voice. Another man beside Achilles had joined him at his side. Siegfried, he remembered him. Didn't Romani say he was Fafnir's slayer or something? Then, he turned his gaze to his left, where Murasaki was, joined by yet another man, another servant he presumed. The man in armor seemed to notice the lack of familiarity in King's eyes, and he introduced himself. "Saint Georgios, Rider, my Lord."

Yeah, he didn't know who that was.

But that didn't matter.

What mattered was that he now had five servants with him, and in front of him, the enemy, Fafnir the dragon, wounded throughout its large body with its appendages missing.

And he wanted it gone.

"Achilles, Murasaki, Georgios, Karna, Siegfried!" he shouted, his temper getting the best of him. "...End this." he ordered, his gaze cast downwards, tired.

There was a pause, and even he could pick up the hint of fear from Fafnir, even through its draconic visage.

"Gotcha, Master!" Achilles was the one to first break his silence, and launch his attack as he disappeared faster than anyone there could blink.

Desperately, Fafnir tried to fly away with a shriek that sounded more pathetic than anything else, its crippled wings flapping in futility as a green comet circled around and ascended far above him.

It was too late.

"Troias Tragōidia!"

Achilles slammed down on the dragon with his chariot, akin to a shooting star that fell to earth, only it had an intent in mind, and crashed down on its target with as much force as it could. Fafnir screamed in pain as it was pinned to the ground, Achilles' chariot tearing through its gut along the way. The shockwave of his noble phantasm's landing rocked through the area, destroying the surrounding buildings, and damn near blowing King off his socks.

It roared in pain, but a far cry from the roar that sent shivers to King's spine when he was on its spine, this one sounded like a goat bleating its final cries. And just like a dying animal, it thrashed in desperation, flinging its tattered wings, its almost limp tail, and its head with its tongue sticking out, almost like reaching for help.

To be honest, he almost felt bad about ordering its death.

Almost.

King never considered himself cruel, or even ever willfully mean, but goddamn, those screams were fucking music in his ears after everything it had put him through.

Yet his happiness was short lived, as despite all the force pushing its body down, Fafnir, against all odds, began to rise. Its wings, tattered and riddled in holes as they might be, started to flap again, and this time to some actual results, though a lot of it probably had to do with how Achilles' noble phantasm was starting to disappear as the rider clicked his tongue.

King bit his lip. Was that not enough?

Then, he heard a whisper, right from beside him, "No you don't, Lord Bune," Murasaki said, voice slightly somber yet full of conviction.

…Bune? Wasn't that–?

"Despite all the sorrow of parting ways with you, I still want to live my life," the author began to say, or sing, more accurately, as one would a poem. Maybe even her own, King thought. And as she did, the air above the dragon seemed to wave gently, like paper softly wrinkling in the hands of a caring writer, yet the ink that appeared in said thin, rippling air showed that 'caring' does not always mean 'gentle'.

"Tale of Genji – Kiritsubo – Parting."

Murasaki's voice sounded soft as it always did, yet also domineering in a way King didn't think could come out of the woman's mouth. Setting the somewhat unsettling feeling it gave him aside, a black pentagram appeared on top of the dragon on the whole ink-air-thing that appeared above him, and as if it was actually paper, the pentagram crushed the air around him, creating an invisible, yet inescapable prison.

"Whew! I'm outta here! Didn't know you have that in you, Caster!" Achilles shouted, getting out of harm's way as his chariot disappeared.

"...Well, a woman has to have secrets, don't you think?"

"Got me there."

'Got me there too,' King said in silence.

By now, it was clear to King that the battle was as much as over. What else could the dragon do? Sure, it still made sounds, but it grew closer to the dying breaths of an old person with every second. They got this!

However, as he would find out, servants, it seemed, had a tendency to forget the meaning of 'overkill'.

"It is your end, dragon! Ascalon!" the voice of Georgios roared as he charged forward, sword in hand, and stabbed the prone dragon in its head, a massive pillar of light rising where he struck it.

'...Well, damn. I mean, we already won, but hey, go for it I guess.' Reassurance couldn't be a bad thing.

"Let's go, Karna."

"Yes."

Two figures zoomed past him, and the only thing that King could think of was, 'They're still going?'

Then, they jumped into the air.

"Brahmastra Kundala!"

"Balmung!"

He instinctively brought his hands up to his face, but he couldn't resist the temptation of opening his fingers to peek. Thinking about it, he had missed seeing Karna's noble phantasm(s), and now, all he could say was, "Wow."

He sure had been missing out.

Karna's spear shone brightly even as the sun shone down on them, which made sense, King thought, considering who the lancer was, while Siegfried's sword glowed blue against the same colored sky, the two teaming together as if to upstage nature's greatest enveloping presence.

And it was there that the full scope of the potential servants had finally dawned on King.

Karna's arm swung mightily against the air at the same time Siegfried brought his down, their weapons thrown and brought down respectively, and in the middle, Fafnir, flailing helplessly as the two noble phantasms met where he was, a flaming spear on his left, and a burst of magical energy on his right.

Then, they collided in what King could only describe as a tornado of mismatched colors of which the heat he could feel even standing a solid fifty or so meters away.

And after the dust, energy, and violence settled, not even a speck of the dragon remained. Gone, just like he wanted.

Yet somehow, King felt somewhat fearful as the two who dealt the final blow approached him.

"Enemy vanquished, Master," Karna reported.

"R-right. Great job, Karna," King replied, trying his best to get over his nervousness, but he couldn't tear his gaze off the aftermath of their noble phantasms.

'They must've calculated it,' was the first thought that came to his mind after several seconds of stunned silence at the sight of the destruction. Desolate, barren, empty, those were the words that best described the spot where the dragon once was, just a crater full of nothing. And around it, against the direction where he himself was, many, many houses reduced to nothing but rubble, probably five or so modern blocks if his eyes weren't lying.

'...So these are servants, huh?'

It was like multiple dragon-level monsters under his order.

God, he hoped all of them are as nice and understanding as Karna and Murasaki are.

"I see that Karna had not been exaggerating about your strategic prowess. That was some fine leadership," Siegfried said as he approached him with Karna.

'...Was it?' he asked but did not dare voice.

"I agree. You were brilliant as always, Master," Karna chimed in. "The order of our names which you called out told us all we needed for the strategy you had in mind."

'...Whatever you say, man.'

His absentminded nodding seemed to be reply enough to Karna as he turned away from him, and towards the town whose walls they had just destroyed.

"King!"

Ah, a familiar, human, more comforting voice.

"Director," he replied, bringing the device to his face.

"I see you succeeded, as always."

Succeeded was a very generous word for what he did. Even surviving felt overblown. He was just… there, really, there at the worst time and place possible.

"Of course we did! That overgrown lizard wasn't anything compared to Atalanta!" Achilles commented from beside him. "He was just persistent, like a damn cockroach."

"...In the end, he was an existence defined by greed," Murasaki said. "A powerful greed, but simply greed nonetheless."

"I see. Either way, you should regroup with the rest," Olga commented, her eyes diverting to another direction on her hologram, Romani probably.

"I'm just making sure of something first." His lungs, his heart, his soul, were what he was making sure of, but he didn't tell them that. "You all go before me."

"I understand. Take as much time as you need. Ritsuka and the others have reported that they are finished with their portion of the job too," Olga said. "We are now only waiting for the singularity to disappear."

Well, that was reassuring.

"You heard him. Go towards Ritsuka and the others, they're only about half a mile from where you're from," Olga ordered the servants, which was met by nods as they left King alone. "Tell me when you're ready, King. I'll give you directions once you are."

He only nodded wordlessly at her, then the comms device shut off with a bleep.

And he was finally alone, in silent, quiet peace.

Except for one.

"So, you are one of Chaldea's masters."

'Who–?'

The inquisitive stare belonging to the owner of the deep voice met him. Right, Saint Georgios, that guy was still here.

"Incredible work back then, my good man. Trapping him within the enclosed constraints of the city walls and buildings, after depriving him of both flight and feet," the man in bronze armor said, his fingers stroking his chin in thought.

That was not the intention he had in mind, but he supposed it was the end result. Still, whoever this guy that helped them was should direct his thanks elsewhere, like God, or the wind, or, shit, something. That being said, saying any of that would be a rude response to a compliment, so King settled with "...Yeah, it's nothing. Anyone could do it."

Anyone could, really. His survival was just like a cockroach surviving a bomb. Just some luck.

Georgios chuckled. "I've been told you are a humble one. I hope our next meeting, we can fight together longer, as servant and master," he said, before walking away, leaving with the rest of the servants.

'...WOULD YOU STOP DOING THAT?!' King complained to no one in particular, but also everyone.

He hoped that was the last time anyone took his words, made jigsaw puzzles out of it, and 'solved' it into something unrecognizable from its origins. At least, at the very, fucking least, the last time in this singularity.

"...Fuck," he sighed, his mind going into calm for the first time in what felt like a week, even if it had only been today that shit went south.

This singularity's end couldn't come sooner.

---

A commonly held belief is that to live, one must have purpose. It doesn't particularly matter what purpose it is, or what it is born from, only that it is an intrinsic quality of those that call themselves living beings. A warm meal that the stomach craves, water to quench one's throat, and even the simple want to live, all were enough to qualify one as a 'living being'.

That girl had none of even those barest desires.

Even so, spurred by the words of that assassin, whether because she thought it to be meaningful advice or just to challenge them and prove that it was no mockery, she persevered.

All the pain, the blood, sweat and tears, replaced by a desire to live, and for desire, first, a purpose is needed.

And it is why, in lieu of any other reason, that girl clung to the only thing she ever knew.

Hatred.

He saw herself in his eyes, form warped by the fear in them, like a demon that clawed itself from the pits of hell to exact vengeance.

He was just like that damned bishop, a pathetic, sniveling coward who shrunk when the consequences of their actions finally reached them. And yet, she, a nameless puppet with nothing to call her own, was beneath them, for even they had desires.

It brought a grin to her face.

That meant that this meaningless thing was going to send the fucker above her to hell.

"La Grondement Du Haine!"

Was this noble phantasm a mere fake too, she wondered. Just what a madman thought would fit best his vision of 'Jeanne d'Arc' instead of the essence of her existence. She knew it ever since she came to be, now she knew that was only because how she came to be was a sham for someone else's will.

But she could care less about the semantics now.

By her hands, by her spears that burst out from the ground beneath, by her flames that surrounded him as terrified screams became one with the roaring fire and then engulfed by it, she had done it.

She had killed the bastard who had his strings over her, and this, she could say definitively to be her own.

This act of murder was hers and no one else's.

She finally did something for herself.

…

And yet, as the world around her collapsed, unraveling like thread, she still felt unfulfilled.

Her grin fell.

A piece of the puzzle was still missing.

"...Hah. Serves me right."

---

"W…what happened?"

Fujimaru Ritsuka looked around to find the answer to his question, but was only met with stunned silence by his servants, all of them now back in that house from before Emiya deployed his reality marble.

"...Her, Master. She happened," Emiya answered, his arms crossed while his gaze fixated on something else.

The boy followed his archer's eyes, and found a sight that led him to share the stunned silence of the others.

The girl, The Witch, The Fake Saintess, but in the end none of those things, kneeling over a charred, disfigured thing that Ritsuka could only assume to be Bluebeard– or what remained of him.

"She came outta nowhere and blasted the fucker with her noble phantasm," Cu Chulainn commented, sounding slightly annoyed, like his kill was stolen from him. Then, a toothy grin spread across his cheeks. "Well? Your orders, Master. Should we finish her off?"

Ritsuka did not respond immediately, his eyes still locked on the girl. He could hear her breaths from all the way where he was, had to be a solid ten meters away at least, and her hair, swept away by the blood that stained her face, gave way to her eyes.

Empty, there was absolutely nothing there. A far cry from the fiery, headstrong girl that argued with King just last night.

"...No," he finally said. "That won't be necessary."

The lancer clicked his tongue but obeyed, and put away his spear.

Finally she turned to them, wordless still. Her gaze shifted from person to person, Cu Chulainn, Emiya, Kojiro, Mash, Ritsuka, before finally landing on Jeanne d'Arc.

"..."

"..."

There was an air of lacking between the two of them that was apparent to even Cu Chulainn. There should be words exchanged between them, there should be some things that needed to be said, there should be at least something for them.

But the seconds passed, and silence was all that they heard.

Eventually, the girl turned away, tearing her gaze forcefully from the face that looked like hers, and with wobbly, unsteady legs, forced herself to walk. It was more of a hobble, really, but none dared to point it out, and instead, the master and his shielder simply stepped aside when her path met them, letting her feet step into the earth outside, the sun glinting off her broken headpiece.

No words were said as the distance between her and them became larger. Her form shrunk, dwarfed by the buildings that looked like they squeezed her with how despondent and small she looked.

Still, no one said a word, and maybe there was no need to.

"Catherine."

But one thought otherwise.

The girl stopped walking.

"Catherine," Jeanne said again, her voice gentle but firm, making sure that she was heard.. "That's my little sister's name. If you ever need to be my 'little sister' again, use her name instead."

She snorted. Was it out of amusement? disdain? or just a simple physical reaction? No one could tell.

Maybe not even herself.

Soon enough, her figure disappeared as she kept walking without purpose, and with it, Chaldea's mission was complete.

"...Doctor. Reporting that Bluebeard has been defeated," Mash said as she took out her comms device.

"Great job! But, uh, the singularity is still there, the timeline isn't repairing itself yet. Do you have any idea–"

"It's her," Jeanne interrupted. "She's one of the main reasons why France is in the state it is now, and also a wish born from the Holy Grail. If I understand your explanations correctly, this singularity should disappear with her death. But… I think we should just let her disappear by herself." Her eyes lingered on the direction the girl walked, her trace disappearing as the seconds ticked, and soon, all of her would. "I think she deserves at least that much."

"Yeah. Sorry, Doctor, but can we just let her go? I don't think she poses any more threat," Ritsuka said. He doubted what he felt even came close to what Jeanne was feeling now, but even he understood and agreed that the girl deserved that much, a death to call her own, if nothing else.

"...I'm probably supposed to scold you here, but I'll let it slide this time," the doctor relented. "Think of it as payment for using your room back then."

Ritsuka let out a chuckle. "Right. Than–"

The boy interrupted himself with a sneeze that carried no snot, though it would have been preferable to the spurt of blood that shot out of his nose.

"Senpai!"

"What's that about wanting to live?" Emiya asked sarcastically.

"Well… I'm still walking, aren't I?" the boy snarked back, before betraying those exact words by letting his body fall on Mash's shoulder to another concerned "Senpai?!" from her.

"Sure you are."

Ritsuka groaned. "Still awake."

"Whatever you say, Master."

"...Say, you want this back or…?" the boy said, gripping at the red overcoat still hanging loosely off his limp body. "Because, to be frank with you, I kinda like it."

"I'll need it back later."

"Bummer."

The boy groaned again as Mash helped him drag his body over to a chair that had somehow survived everything the fight threw at the house. Jeanne quickly hurried over to the pair, and did her best to alleviate his pains alongside Mash, to Ritsuka's pained hisses.

"...Our master, he has grown," Kojiro commented offhandedly.

"He sure did alright," Emiya said, pressing his knuckles into his forehead, half in frustration, half in pride. "He changed pretty quickly overnight, but I have an idea who's responsible for that."

"Who cares? All's well that ends well, as they say," Cu Chulainn interjected. "He's a cheeky kid. You two might just be made for each other."

"...Don't jinx it."

---

"...Is– is it over?" Elizabeth dared ask.

It seemed like it. All of a sudden, just as France's military was on its last legs, the dragons just started to disappear, turning to dust as their breaths ragged on for moments before turning into sighs of relief.

"We… we did it," a soldier whispered. "We fucking did it!" he yelled now, shouting to the skies in jubilation, which his cohorts followed, some even throwing their weapons in the air, there was no need for them anymore.

"It looks like they did it," Marie said, she too breathing a sigh of relief.

"...Yeah." Elizabeth's gaze was stuck in the direction of the city of Orleans as she absentmindedly replied. It lingered there for pretty long, she thought, but she couldn't tear herself from it, not even as her eyes started to betray her.

Soft, gentle steps came to her. "Here."

"...What the heck are you holding out that napkin for?"

The berserker huffed. "Even I'm not so tactless to let someone cry and not help."

The lancer stayed quiet for a while, she didn't want to admit it, it'd just make it harder, she thought, but the blur was becoming too much for her eyes, and even the greatest dams would break under the girl's now flowing tears.

Tearfully, she snatched the napkin off Kiyohime's hands, and blew into it. "Ugh… Hic, sob… S-say, Kiyohime. That stuff about believing in the stars, can– can I believe in it too?"

"Of course. So long as it's not my Anchin, I support any maiden seeking to be reunited with their true love."

"Not like that, you dumb, love-obsessed snake!"

A few paces away from the dragon duo, a commander looked at his men. They were cheering, but he was not.

Somebody had to mourn for the fallen, and he was more than willing to be the one to bear that burden. What else is a commander good for, if not to take what his men can't?

"It is over, commander."

"Yes it is, Marshal," he replied to his compatriot sauntering over to him. "Yet I feel that it is truly over, as if this is the end of something beyond me," he continued, then shook his head. "My age is getting to me."

"Haha! Well, let's hope that it catches you before I catch a glimpse of it."

"...Marshal Gilles, do you not desire to see your friend?" the commander asked, the identity of the 'friend' in question transparent in his question.

"...I do, I really do," he said, the sudden hoarseness making his emotions clear. "But, I do not deserve it, not after I see what I will turn into."

"...You mean him, Marshall? That twisted thing who claimed your name?"

"That is what I thought as well, yet… when I remember the sight of his face…" Gilles shuddered, uncharacteristic to the point that the commander almost jumped in surprise. "I know that, had I gone unchecked, he is what I would've become."

The commander didn't quite know how to respond to that, and he wasn't sure anything he said could alleviate the man's doubts.

So, he relented that role to a saint he knew could.

"Lady Jeanne would forgive you, Gilles."

"I… will keep that in mind."

An awkward silence, as both had expected, followed.

But it didn't last long, neither of them wanted it to.

"So, commander, what is your plan after this… mess we have just helped clear up?"

"Well, after I see to it that the citizens are safe and well tended to, I have a, let's say rendezvous with someone dear to my heart."

Gilles let out a hearty laugh. "Sounds like a plan."

And finally, quite a way aways from the two leaders of the army, a queen and a composer walked side-by-side slowly, the sound of grass crunching under their feet deafening in their ears.

"...Say, Amadeus, do you have anything left you want to do?"

"In this singularity, as a servant now, you mean?" he asked for clarification, to which he received a short nod. "No, I can't say I do. You, Marie?"

"I want to see Jeanne again. Maybe it's my fault for not believing her immediately, but, still, I wanted to know her better, as friends, not as queen and saint, just as two girls."

"I see."

She chuckled. "Tactless as ever, hm? …Do you believe in fate bringing us together again, Amadeus? Like those two over there?" she said, gesturing over to the dragon girls who were bickering with each other, though a sense of friendship between the two could be felt even all the way where they were.

"...Even without fate, we can believe, Marie."

"...Thank you."

Unwittingly, her head turned to the city of Orleans, which they were now closer to. There, she saw a destroyed wall, and billows of smoke flying to the sky, yet what stayed in her mind was a person she could not even see.

One she knew had lost everything.

"...I hope that girl can find something too."

---

She walked. One foot over the other, her eyes only gazing down at her feet pushing gravel and rubble apart as she made her way to who knows where.

She wiped the blood off her eyes and face, then laughed at herself with no mirth. Now? After everything she now knew of herself? Why even bother?

When she set off from that house that was not hers, she had no destination in mind, or anything, for that matter. She simply decided to walk, to find herself somewhere alone, to die on her own terms as best as she could make them.

Yet, annoyingly, thoughts kept prodding her brain, as if they were so important that the reptilian part of her brain kept pestering her. Answer, answer, answer.

But she could not.

'Who am I?'

Yet she tried.

She could be Jeanne d'Arc. But she wasn't even graced with her memories, neither of family nor battle, just death.

She could be the will of Gilles de Rais, then, his hatred of France, of England, of The World. But what is she to do with a dead man's will? One that she had never truly known? Would it mean anything for her to accept it?

Her anger, her actions, her existence, was any of it even hers? Just a madman's final act of vengeance? Some wish upon the Holy Grail? And were the feelings she held after his death mere puppetry of some misbegotten figure of fairy tale?

The golden sheen spreading through her body told her that it no longer mattered.

It was then that she saw a figure, coming up over the horizon. A figure she knew well by now.

The man who had irked her to no end, the man who saw through her every step of the way, and the man who sought to help her still in spite of it.

"Jean."

Jean, he said. She wanted to laugh. Even now he called her by that spur-of-the-moment fake name? Was it to mock her? insult her? or maybe…

…

Why? She still wanted to ask, but she doubted that any answer he could give before she disappeared would be enough for her. Instead, another question came to her mind just as she could no longer feel her legs.

It was not a complicated question, nor was it a simple one, and perhaps the answer would just be as disappointing as if she asked why instead, yet it burned in her mind, her thoughts circling back to it no matter how much she told herself that it wouldn't change anything, like the last cinder of a dying flame clinging to the remnants of its existence.

Maybe it was desperation.

Maybe she just didn't want to disappear with the question still lingering in her mind.

Maybe it was pointless, but she asked anyway–

"Who do you think I am?"

---

What?

"..."

"..."

"..."

He knew he didn't voice his question, but he kept expecting the girl to clarify herself, or change the subject, but no, she just… stood there, waiting for a response. Whatever the equivalent of rubbing your eyes was for ears, King wanted to do that; make sure that he didn't simply mishear her question.

"Who do you think I am?" wasn't a particularly uncommon question. He heard it all the time from association execs when a city had the misfortune of being one of their destinations to spend money in. Arrogant bastards, most of them were.

But the girl in front of him was not an arrogant bastard, and the question she said was not delivered with that typical 'more-important-than-thou' tone he had grown accustomed to.

So this was a real, genuine question.

Which only really served to change his question from 'what?' to 'why?'

'That's… kinda loaded, Jean,' he said, but didn't voice. Was it supposed to be a philosophical type of question? Who am I, perceived by your eyes? Something along those lines? And most importantly, why ask something like that to him?

'...Also, why is she wearing armor?' It looked like Jeanne's too, but in black. Some sort of familial armor style, maybe?

Shaking off the invading thoughts, there was one thing he was certain of; she asked him a question, meant squarely for him. A true question with no scent of irony or deceit.

So, he did the only thing he could, and should.

He answered as genuinely as she asked.

…After he figured out what that answer was first.

Friends? No, they were not that close. The only thing he knew which she informed was her name, then the tattoo he accidentally saw, and the tumultuous home life that he deduced. There was too little connection between them for the word 'friends' to apply here, but it was somewhere along that distinction of relationships, a positive one, just not that close.

Acquaintances? Not that either, too much distance between them in that word, like they simply bumped into each other, exchanged names, and only met again by coincidence. No, they met again and again because they had a shared goal– well, not quite now that he thought about it, he was just helping the girl meet her sister, even if in the end he earned quite a bit of her ire.

Accomplices? That was far closer to what he had in mind, but the exclusively professional connotation still bothered him some. But, with a simple nudge, it went in the right direction of his vocabulary, and he landed on the word that he thought fit their relationship best.

"Partners," he said. "We're partners." A pause, and an addendum appeared on his train of thought. "Partners in crime."

---

…

Huh.

She had been expecting to react in a good number of ways. Anger, resignation, or even confusion.

But she didn't quite feel any of that.

She didn't even know what it was that she was feeling, yet, for a reason she didn't bother figuring out what, she knew that what he said was right. She didn't know why, how, or even what he meant.

She just knew it to be true.

"..That's it?" she couldn't help but ask. All of the time he spent with her, knowing who she was, and all he had to say was that?

"Just between you and me, without anything else, yeah, I'd say so," he said, as if there was nothing else that was important between the two of them. Just him, and her. "I don't think any other thing matters that much if that's what you're asking for."

Just him and her.

'The Witch', 'The Saintess', Vengeance, Motives, Hatred– Nothing else mattered now.

In fact, nothing ever did, other than them two, bullshitting the night away as… Partners. The world rolled off the tongue easily, and fit in her existence like a missing part of a puzzle.

"...Ha."

How stupid.

"Haha."

How trite.

"Hahahahaha!"

How pleasing.

She laughed for what felt like hours. She knew that couldn't be true, of course, she would have died long before hours passed, but the statement stood, it felt like an eternity.

Partners, in crime. The series of words repeated in her head like it was the only thing she ever heard.

This was it.

Something that was hers, hers and no one else's. Not that damn madman that summoned her, his killer that used her, or any divine fuckery that meddled with her.

Hers, through spending those damnable nights with her damnable partner and listening to his damnable words that brought up the feelings that she herself held.

"Right…" she managed to say eventually. She didn't know when she stopped laughing and started to talk. The guy, King, her partner, had a look in his face she couldn't quite decipher. Amused, maybe? She wanted to wipe the look off his face, through a punch, isn't that what partners do? at least she thought it was.

But in the end, there was really only one proper response she could give.

"Thanks."

She stepped hastily right after she said her last word, walking a good distance past him in just a short moment. She didn't intend to stop, she wanted to keep walking as much as she could, so that she could keep this damned stupid grin on her face until she disappeared.

But a thought stopped her. She never bid farewell properly to him, did she? Always storming off into the night, all because he thought his partner needed any of his wisdom, maybe an angry word in between her steps as she left him on those nights.

Couldn't say she regretted it. Her partner was being a bitch. A useful, way too trusting, blase, and kind bitch, but a bitch nonetheless.

But she would regret it if she didn't do it now.

So, "Goodbye," left her mouth before she could think more of it.

And she found that she didn't regret saying it at all. She supposed that meant she was fine with that.

Jean. Just this guy's partner. A completely unremarkable and unimportant identity.

One that she was content with.

---

'...Goodbye, huh?'

Pretty ominous, King thought. Jean couldn't have possibly known that they were never going to meet again. He only ever explained Chaldea in the briefest of terms, after all, not like he knew that much anyway.

'Kind of a pessimistic thing to say,' King thought.

If it was up to him, and he was bidding a farewell to a, uh, partner that he might see again, it would sound more like…

"See you later, Jean."

He heard her stop walking.

"We don't know for sure if we'll never meet again, so it's 'see you later', not 'goodbye'." He knew they were never going to meet again, but she didn't, and he didn't want to break that illusion. And, hey, if by all the miracles in the world they meet again, he'd like to explain himself to her, Chaldea, and all.

She let out a chuckle. "...See you later, King."

He nodded, knowing she couldn't see him, and he imagined that she did something similar behind him.

He walked forward, stereo footsteps fading into a singular one, and all traces of Jean disappeared.

'...What was that all about, anyway?'

---

"Rayshift prerequisites fulfilled! Timeline restoration is starting! Commencing rayshift in three, two, one!"

Olga didn't bother shielding her eyes as the light from the process filled the command room. Her eyes couldn't possibly be damaged any further than from how little sleep she'd had in the past week anyway.

"Medical team, go!" She barked whatever was left inside of her, and they moved before she even fully gave out the order, stretcher at the ready as Mash gently lowered Ritsuka onto it, before they moved as quickly as they could to the medical bay, Mash and Arch– Emiya in tow.

The archer's sudden revealing of his true name, coupled with the fact that she could not for the life of her recall any figure, mythological or historical, with that name was just one of the many things that troubled her. Her eyelids screamed at her to put it, with many other issues that had arised, for the next day.

But there was one she thought she had to try to resolve now.

"Romani."

The doctor stopped at the mention of his name, gesturing to the medical team to go on without him. "Yes, Director?"

"...What do you make of the last day of that singularity?"

"...Bluebeard, huh? I didn't know fairy tales can become a servant…" he mused, putting his chin over his finger. "Then again, we did see that assassin Murasaki encountered, Phantom of The Opera, so I guess it's not too far-fetched. Still, even so, an existence that faint shouldn't have been that strong. What's going on here?"

"...I'm talking more about that man, Bune, and how he became Fafnir by just spreading around money," she clarified.

"O-oh, right! Well… maybe he's in leagues with the enemy? You know, the same faction as whatever Lev is in?" he offered, stumbling over his words slightly.

"That is obvious. But their names, Bune, Flauros, don't they sound familiar to you?" She lowered her head into her hands, and began knocking it. Those names were familiar, she knew they were! And their powers, they were no mere strong mages, either. Something was up, and the answer was in her brain somewhere. She knocked her head harder with her knuckles, trying to unrack the knowledge that her brain refused to show–

–until a hand found itself on her shoulder.

"Go to sleep, Director." Romani said placatingly. "There's always a tomorrow."

"...Pot, kettle."

"Touché."

---

The medical bay was quiet with the exceptions of the beeping machines. A stark contrast to what his master had just gone through in the past hour, Emiya thought. It was just the two of them now, Mash had been called by Romani to assist with something, which she reluctantly followed, while most of the other servants went off to their own corners, and he told the ones that wanted to say here, Murasaki and Achilles, that he could do it alone. He sat on a swivel chair beside Ritsuka, who laid on the bed, arms sprawled out as IV drips were connected to the blood vessels in his wrists. Internal bleeding, the staff said, from overloading his body with magical energy to fuel Emiya's own noble phantasm and the myriad of Gae Bolg copies he had to project.

He sighed. He already told the boy of his capabilities, that his magic circuits were only sufficient enough to make him a mage on a technical level, yet he pushed himself anyway, using as much magical energy from Chaldea as his body could take and then some.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to feel mad, either. The boy said that he would stop when he collapsed, and he managed to hold on until Bluebeard was defeated. Begrudgingly, Emiya had to admit that the ballsy move, while idiotic, did pay off in the end.

The silence was neither awkward, nor comforting, it was just there, and Emiya didn't know how long it would stay that way. Until he was done watching the boy over, maybe, but he knew inside that he wanted to hear from Ritsuka before he was satisfied.

So, eventually, the boy finally talked.

"...I barely got to say goodbye to Jeanne."

"That's the first thing you say?"

"Hey, it was really sudden, alright? I didn't know that it would be that abrupt! She was in the middle of saying something!" he complained. "Man, I didn't even get to say anything to her or King before Romani just yelled on the comms."

"Hmph, you sure are spirited," Emiya said, crossing his arms.

"...Hey, you're right. Maybe I actually have a fast recovery or something?"

"Adrenaline is still helping you. You will feel like shit tomorrow, and the day after that."

"Wow, thanks for the reassuring words."

"You're welcome."

That elicited a chuckle, and a wince, from Ritsuka, one that Emiya couldn't help but share a little.

"Say, you're not going to ask me why I changed my mind overnight?" Ritsuka asked, tilting his neck over to meet Emiya's eyes.

"I have an idea who did it."

"I thought you would. Yeah, it was him." The 'him' in question needed no more elaboration for them both to know who he is.

"Hmph. I suppose you owe him thanks, then."

"Yeah, I do."

Another period of silence followed, but they both knew this one would not last.

"Hey, uh, remember when I said something about crossing that bridge when I see it?"

Emiya nodded. "So, how did you do it? What was your choice?"

"...The one you told me to choose, to stay back, it made sense, almost pleasant, even. But it didn't feel right."

"Not right, huh?"

"It just doesn't feel right to just sit back when I'm one of the two that can do something here. Even if it's just one percent to King's ninety-nine."

Emiya snorted. "You got a long way to go before you even reach that one digit."

"Then, I'm counting on you… Emiya."

The archer chuckled. "You better not end up regretting it."

---

It had been more than a few hours since the singularity ended, just enough time for Ritsuka to be able to walk on his own to feet, albeit slowly, King to gain some of his bearings back and subsequently feel an overwhelming sense of guilt on the sight of the poor boy.

"...Ritsuka?"

"Yeah?"

The question "Are you okay?" flashed through King's mind for a moment, but the answer to that was clear enough with just one look at Ritsuka, and he'd be damned if the kid answered "Yeah, don't worry about me". He couldn't handle that!

"...Nevermind. Great job back there."

"Yeah. You too, King."

Could the boy just– stop being like this? He could've said anything else, "Yeah, my back's killing me, though", "Man, you shoulda seen what I did", or even, "I sure did. Bet you got off easy compared to me", but no, he just had to riposte King's poor attempt at consolation with an honest praise.

On the other hand, what could King say? "I'm sorry for not helping you"? No, too empty and self-centered. "You shouldn't have done something so dangerous"? Yeah, real hypocritical after what he told him last night. "Next time, I'll have your back"? Nope, no, nada, the worst possible option. There was no goddamn way he could make good on that promise.

So, he sighed, and continued walking with the conversation ending on a lame note.

About that, Romani had called the both of them to the summoning room. Something about there being 'a bunch of Quartz' and that they should 'totally do some kind of celebratory summon' as a way to end the entire ordeal on a happier note.

King, for one, couldn't quite imagine whatever outcome this summoning could make what he experienced end on a 'happier note'. Maybe Elizabeth, he didn't get a chance to say a proper goodbye to her after all, the end of his journey there was rather abrupt. He didn't even have the time to say anything to Jeanne or try to go to Eli before Romani said "Rayshift ready!" Next thing he knew, he was back in Chaldea. All that aside, having an idol in this place if he had to stay for longer wasn't the worst idea, but even then, he doubted it would change his overall opinion of his experience to anything other than a 'complete clusterfuck'.

Oh well, he supposed it couldn't make his day worse, so why not?

The door opened with a hiss, and Romani's friendly face greeted them both. "Hey! Great job on the singularity you two! Sorry I couldn't congratulate you earlier, you needed rest and all," he said. "Speaking of, uh, you okay, Ritsuka?"

"You have eyes, Doctor," Mash admonished from beside him, now clad in her Chaldea uniform.

"R-right, sorry," Romani said while sheepishly rubbing his head. "A-anyway, me and the director will properly congratulate you tomorrow, but for now, let's summon a servant or two, yeah?"

'What is this, pity gacha?' King thought, slightly annoyed, but at the same time, unable to refuse the calling of the gacha as his hands reached towards the rainbow colored rocks.

"So, we throw this in there, right? Like last time." Ritsuka asked while carefully stretching his still injured body.

"Sure do. King, you wanna go first or…?"

"You do it first, Ritsuka," he answered the doctor while gesturing to Ritsuka, to which the boy nodded. He'd like the pressure of going first not to be with him, thank you.

The Quartz was thrown, rainbow lights spun, and just like last time, a figure emerged.

"I am Jeanne d'Arc, a Ruler-class Servant," a feminine, familiar voice boomed through the summoning room.

"Jeanne!" Ritsuka exclaimed.

"Ritsuka! and King! I'm so glad to meet you again!" she said, strutting to the both of them, hand outstretched.

"Oh, right! Contract!"

A glow on his and Ritsuka's hand, and the contract was sealed, a new servant added to the roster.

"How long has it been since we last met? I have some memories of our journey together, and if I remember correctly… we didn't get to say goodbye," Jeanne said, her eyes wandering about in the summoning room, admiration and confusion glinting off of them.

"Honestly? A few hours," Ritsuka admitted, to which she looked surprised. "Guess we don't need a goodbye anymore, though. Welcome aboard, Jeanne. Looking forward to working with you."

"Y-yeah. Welcome, Jeanne," King followed. It felt slightly strange saying it even now, like stolen valor somehow.

"Of course! I'd be glad to help with your mission!"

"So, the phenomenon with Chaldea's summoning continues," Romani mused. "She even remembers her time in the singularity!"

"Well, it is to our advantage, isn't it?" Mash pointed out.

"It sure is. That aside, your turn, King."

He sighed internally. 'Well, here's hoping I get someone not troublesome.'

He threw the rocks just like Ritsuka did, and the same rainbow light appeared again. Yet, 'Why do I feel ominous all of a sudden?' Like bells, not the alarm kind, rung in his head once, a solemn, pitying ringing.

The light died down, and the first thing he heard was a gasp from Mash, followed by the sound of Romani stepping back.

"Servant, Avenger. Summoned upon your request."

Then he finally saw his new servant. A girl just like Jeanne, and he meant that in damn near every way. Same hair, same face, same type of armor, all with simply a different color attached to those attributes from Jeanne's.

And he was familiar with the appearance of his new servant, Avenger.

"Jean?"

The Jeanne lookalike looked at him with amused eyes, her lips curving into a small smile.

"Still calling me by that name, huh?" she chuckled. "Well, I don't mind though."

"You– What are you doing here?!" Ritsuka asked suddenly, and King could only look at him confused. Why all the hostility? "Coming here to take revenge or something?"

'...What?'

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked back in a mocking tone. "I'm just here to answer my summons. You know, like servants do." She walked down the summoning area, and into the midst. Mash looked at him as if she had to change back to her servant form any time now, and Romani looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Relaaax. I'm being serious here, I'm here to help you all!" she claimed, exaggeratingly spreading out her arms.

Then, she moved her gaze towards the girl who had the same face as hers.

"Jeanne d'Arc."

"...That is me, yes. And you?"

"Witch, Saintess, Goat-Fucker, you're free to choose, really," she replied snidely.

'...Wait.'

That couldn't be.

Finally, she turned to King, him.

"Well, Master. It's nice to see you again," she said in a tone dripping with sarcasm, yet King somehow felt a sincerity there too. "My true name is Jeanne d'Arc Alter, pleased to be your servant."

She handed her hand out, and before he could think about it any longer, he instinctively held his out too. The contract was formed.

"Hmph, there we go," she said, satisfied. "Oh, and personally, I don't mind being called Jean again like you stubbornly do."

'...Like I stubbornly do?'

Synapses began to lit up in his meager brain, slowly coming to terms as his neurons connected the words that had been traded in the room with what they meant.

"Let's do our best, Partner."

Jean was The Witch.

Jean was The Fake Saintess.

Jean was their enemy.

And that enemy was the same girl he had met each night, the one he offended repeatedly when he spouted his poorly thought advice as she stormed off, the one he thought of his partner.

The very same fucking Jean.

He froze in place, and thought of so many things. She hated him, she definitely did. She definitely thought that he was mocking her each of those nights. In the first place, why in the fuck did she go there each night anyway? To infiltrate them? To kill one of their servants? To kill him?

Shit, then he had pissed her off, didn't he? To the point that she could not bear him any longer and decided to leave empty-handed. How close was he to death each of those nights?

All these thoughts, and the most important one, the crux of what just happened eluded him until it felt like his brain almost ran out of power.

The enemy that he insulted so much, gave empty advice, and definitely wanted him dead, Jean, was now his servant.

She could come and kill him any time she wanted.

"Haha! Stunned for words?" Yes. "Well, you do you. I'm beat, so I'll take my ass somewhere else, I guess," she said offhandedly, before starting to strut her way out of the room, the employees wisely moving themselves out of her way.

There was silence then, because how the fuck do you follow that?

"I'll… keep an eye on her," Jeanne said eventually, eyes locked on the door that closed in the form of her sister (?).

"Please do," Romani said tiredly, sinking into his chair and burying his head into his arms.

Jeanne nodded and left, leaving only masters, a demi-servant, and Chaldea staff in bewildered silence.

"W-well, that was… eventful," Romani commented. "But, I guess we shouldn't worry about her rebelling?" Even he didn't sound convinced by that.

"...Maybe?" Ritsuka didn't sound convinced either.

"I-I'll make sure she doesn't harm you, Senpai!" Now that had conviction.

And King? He was damn jealous of them to be able to even say anything.

"You should rest now, Ritsuka, King. I wanted this to be a relaxing thing, but it turned out FATE had different plans," Romani said, before laughing weakly.

Ritsuka sighed. "Yeah, you're right. King? You coming or…?"

"I think he's thinking about how to handle our new avenger, Senpai. We should leave him be." Mash offered her two cents.

Well, she wasn't entirely wrong.

"Right. See you later, King!"

So, they left him there, still frozen, as if his body was the prison housing his thoughts, and that his thoughts were his only existence. They swirled, crashed into each other forming thoughts that eventually became incoherent, but there was a common idea in them.

Jean was The Dragon Witch.

When King came to, he was alone, the clock read thirty minutes past what he remembered it being, and thought it was a surprise that he was still alive.

And a bit of a shame too.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

Bad luck used to be so predictable.

---

"So, you failed too, Bune."

"Yes, my liege. I have no excuses."

"...No. This man, this… unexpected rock in the cogs of our plan, he is more than enough for an excuse. …Flauros."

"Yes, My King!"

"The second singularity is your responsibility. For Bune's failure to be worth something, then we must use his failures as a benchmark. Do what you must to stop Chaldea, interfere with our established plans as much as you think necessary."

"Of course, My King!"

"King… a foreign number in our two millennia long calculations. Are you a rational number, irrational number, or something far more troublesome, I wonder."

---

"You're going, Sensei?"

"Yeah, don't wanna keep King waiting for too long, you know?"

"I see. Be careful, though I can't see any monster that would pose a problem to you, not that there's any roaming around today."

"Yeah, yeah. Guard the fort while I'm gone, alright?"

"With all my being, Sensei!"

"Sheesh, you don't need to be that serious about it. …Appreciate it, though."

---

Holy Fuck.

I'm finally done.

22k words, 62 pages in my docs, and 100k non-space characters.

Suffice to say, I went overboard.

But hey, If I take a month to drop a chapter, then at least it should be twice the length of the usual, right?

Well, I guess not. I was just being fucking stubborn. Told myself I'll finish this arc this chapter, insisted on it even when it passed the 15k mark, and ended up with this monstrosity.

It what it is.

On that topic,

So, uh,

What do you think?

Not only of this chapter, but also the Orleans Arc as whole.

I'll be honest, there are a lot of parts that I'm not particularly proud of, like, a lot, maybe more than half of it.

But in the end, I'm proud of me overall, for finishing an arc, for writing this much, so it wasn't all bad, I suppose.

Yeah.

Would you believe me that the first rough draft of the arc was insanely barebones? I think the first solid idea I had was the whole idol subplot thing, and that wasn't supposed to play as big of a role as it did, it was supposed to be a one-off thing!

But that's the magic of writing, I guess. Characters defy your plans.

So, again, tell me what you think of the arc. Tell me right to my face what you like, don't like, and just straight up hated, be real with me.

Oh, and, bad news.

I'll be taking a break.

Yeah, I know, I just took a month to drop a chapter, but I'm on my final year of college, and I want to focus on the heavy assignments that is hitting me right now.

I also need time to think for the next arc.

So, a break.

See you in a month or two (if I'm lucky lol).