Chapter 5: Fem's Casa Part 5
The sky above Monaco was a deep, inky blue, the stars just beginning to fade as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. The cool air carried with it a damp mist, swirling lazily around the towering industrial structures that dominated the landscape. In the distance, the main supply depot stood as an imposing fortress, its concrete walls and steel gates glistening with moisture from the morning dew. Guard towers loomed over the perimeter, their spotlights casting wide arcs of light over the grounds below.
At 3 A.M, just like what the group have planned, the trio left the hotel straight towards the location of Morte's main supply depot. Turns out, Morte was using an old factory site in the Southwest district. The size of the factory site is similar to a small military base. But then again, it can also be considered as a local militia main base with how many Morte's henchmen guarding the place, and they're armed to the teeth.
Although they're confident that they can take them all out. Unfortunately, the situation is will become incredibly loud and chaotic enough to the point where it will attract the attention of the local authority enforcement. And that's something that the three of them prefer to avoid, so they opting to do this operation silently.
Shirou Emiya, Millarca, and Kuroka huddled together near the shadow of a warehouse, just beyond the depot's outer security fence. The tension in the air was palpable as they reviewed their plan one final time. The mission they were about to embark on was perilous, and failure wasn't an option. Lives were at stake—Valerie's life most of all.
"We don't have much time once we're inside," Shirou began, his voice steady but low, eyes scanning the depot as if calculating every possible danger. "We need to move quickly and quietly. Our main objectives are twofold: destroy Goetia's corpse and save Valerie. If we fail at either, Jester's and Morte's plans could succeed, and things will only get worse."
Millarca, who stood to Shirou's right, folded her arms, her eyes glowing faintly in the pre-dawn light. Her expression was serious, almost grim. "I'll head straight for Valerie. If we can rescue her before they can force her to use her Sacred Gear, we might be able to thwart their plan to ressurect Goetia. But we still don't know how deeply involved Elmehilde is. I'll handle her in case she's guarding Valerie."
Shirou nodded, considering her words. "Right. You'll need this," he said, summoning a flicker of magical energy into his hand. In an instant, a shimmering dagger materialized—the Rule Breaker, an anti-magic weapon designed to sever contracts and dispel magical effects. He handed it to Millarca. "This is Rule Breaker. If Valerie is bound by any magical restraints or contracts, use this to free her. All you need to do is just stab it to Valerie or the source of the magic. The Rule Breaker will automatically nulify it."
Millarca took the weapon, her grip firm and resolute. "Understood. I'll make sure Valerie gets out safely."
Turning to Kuroka, Shirou continued. "Once we're in, you and I will search for Goetia's corpse. I don't where its exact location, but in case if Morte and Jester are there as well. I need you to help me to fight them. Or you can just destroy the corpse while I keep them busy. Whatever their plan is, we need to stop them. If things go south, we'll need to be ready for anything."
Kuroka, standing with her arms crossed, gave Shirou a confident smirk. "Leave it to me. Once we find that corpse, I'll tear it apart. Morte and Jester won't know what hit them." She cracked her knuckles, a dangerous glint in her golden eyes.
Shirou gave her a firm nod, knowing full well she was as reliable as she was dangerous by now. He reached into his coat and, with a brief flicker of magical energy, Vajra appeared in his hand—a powerful divine weapon. The air around it buzzed with latent energy, its weight and potential unmistakable. He handed it to Kuroka. "You'll need this to destroy the corpse. This is Vajra, It's one of the only weapons capable of doing enough damage to make sure it stays dead."
Kuroka's expression shifted slightly as she took the weapon. She had heard about Vajra, and if she's not mistaken, it's a divine weapon that belongs to King of the gods of Hindu Mythology, Indra. She had no idea why it doesn't hurt her when touch the weapon despite the fact that demonic beings like her couldn't withstand weapons with strong Divinity nor does she knows how Shirou can get his hands on this weapon. But, as much as she wanted to ask Shirou about this, she knows that this isn't the right time.
"Got it. I'll use it to destroy Goetia's corpse. But, how does this work, Nyaa? And are you sure it's safe for me to use it? I'm a Devil a remember. And isn't Vajra supposed to be a Divine weapon?" Kuroka asked, feeling unsure while she's inspecting the weapon in her hand.
"Don't worry. It is totally safe for you to use it, unless you got hit by the lightning stored within Vajra. To use it, all you have to do is called the weapon's true name." Shirou explains cooly.
"Ah, I see. I got it, Nyaa!" Kuroka said with a nod.
With everything set, Shirou took a deep breath and glanced toward the depot, its cold, industrial silhouette looming over them.
"I'll check out the building before we go inside." He extended his hand, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he activated his Structural Grasping magecraft. His mind's eye reached out, probing the structure before them, seeking the information they needed.
The inside of the depot began to take shape in his mind. "I've got it," Shirou said, his voice tight with concentration. "Valerie and Elmehilde are in the left wing of the second basement level. Morte is in the right wing. No sign of Jester or Goetia's corpse, but if we can't locate them, they're probably with Morte."
Millarca nodded sharply. "Then we stick to the plan."
Shirou released a breath and opened his eyes, the intricate layout of the depot now etched into his mind. "Right. We go in, split up after reaching the second basement floor, and meet back here once it's done. Everyone clear?"
"Crystal," Kuroka replied, a predatory grin spreading across her face.
Millarca remained silent but nodded in agreement, her resolve unshakable.
With their plan in place, they moved forward, slipping through the depot's outer perimeter undetected. The fog was still thick, providing them with enough cover to approach the main entrance without drawing attention. They reached a side door, which Kuroka easily disabled using her nimble fingers and a few whispered words of magic.
Once inside, the air was heavy with the scent of oil and chemicals, the steady hum of machinery thrumming beneath their feet. The depot was a labyrinth of metal walkways and dimly lit corridors, the stark lighting casting long, eerie shadows as they made their way deeper into the facility.
They encountered guards along the way—Morte's henchmen. But these initial skirmishes were swift and decisive. Shirou and Kuroka worked in tandem, taking out enemies with ruthless efficiency, while Millarca dispatched any stragglers using her raw strength and magic.
After making their way to the main control hub, they found the elevator that led to the second basement floor. As they descended, the air grew colder, the low hum of the elevator the only sound in the narrow space.
When they reached the second basement level, the tension thickened. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a dimly lit corridor that branched off in two directions.
"This is where we split up," Shirou said, his voice hushed but firm. "Millarca, you head to the left wing. Kuroka and I will take the right."
Millarca gave a curt nod, her eyes fierce. "I'll get Valerie out of there. You two take care of Morte and Jester. And be sure that you guys destroy that Demon God's corpse."
"We will." Shirou responded with a firm nod.
Without another word, they parted ways—Millarca vanishing into the left corridor, her figure soon swallowed by the shadows, while Shirou and Kuroka proceeded to the right.
The right wing of the basement was noticeably more fortified, the walls thicker and the doors more heavily reinforced. Shirou's senses were on high alert as they moved through the dimly lit hallways. The further they ventured, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. Something was wrong.
As they approached the final stretch leading to Morte's chamber, the air was suddenly pierced by a loud, mechanical whine—the unmistakable roar of a chainsaw.
Shirou stopped in his tracks, recognizing the sound instantly. His heart sank.
"Damn it," he muttered. "It's Juste."
Kuroka frowned, her ears twitching at the noise. "Juste? Who's that, Nyaa?"
Shirou didn't answer Kuroka's question. Instead he projected his go to ready weapon and his grip tightened on his swords, Kanshou and Bakuya, as he turned the corner. There, standing in the center of the corridor, was Juste. He had just finished planting explosives along the structural supports, and a wicked grin spread across his face from behind his helmet as he caught sight of Shirou and Kuroka.
"Well, well," Juste drawled, his chainsaw revving ominously in his hand. "Look who decided to show up. Emiya Shirou, the Mercenary, and another one of your supernatural pets."
Kuroka bristled at the insult, but Shirou raised a hand, signaling her to stay calm. His eyes locked onto Juste, his mind racing. "Juste, what are you doing here?"
Juste laughed, a low, dark sound that echoed through the corridor. "Isn't it obvious? I'm here to blow this place sky high. I've had enough of Morte's games, and if I can take out some of his little experiments in the process, all the better."
Shirou's eyes narrowed. "We're here to stop Morte, too. You don't have to do this."
But Juste's grin only widened. "Oh, I'm doing this, whether you like it or not. You might've gotten lucky the last time we fought, but that's not happening again. This time, I'm going to make sure you don't walk away."
Shirou could see the fury in Juste's eyes, the anger boiling just beneath the surface. Their last encounter had left a deep wound, and now Juste was back for revenge. There would be no reasoning with him.
"Kuroka," Shirou said quietly, his gaze never leaving Juste. "Go deal with Goetia's corpse. I'll handle him."
Kuroka hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking between Shirou and Juste. "You sure you've got this?"
"I'll be fine," Shirou replied, his voice firm. "But if you don't destroy Goetia's corpse, this whole mission will be for nothing."
Kuroka nodded, her expression hardening. "Alright. But, don't die on me, Shirou-kun. You still have to repay me for my aids."
With that, she bolted down the corridor, leaving Shirou and Juste alone.
Juste watched her go, a cruel smile on his lips. "Sending her off to die, are you? Doesn't matter. I'll deal with her after I'm finished with you
Shirou tightened his grip on Kanshou and Bakuya, the twin blades feeling almost like extensions of his own body. The weight of the situation pressed on him, but he forced himself to stay calm. He had fought Juste before. He knew his technique, his fighting style and the danger of his weapons. Especially his melee weapons, an unrelenting chainsaws designed to tear through armor and flesh alike. But Shirou also knew that Juste can be reckless when driven by rage just like many fighters that he and by extension EMIYA, have fought in their life..
Juste revved the twin chainsaws on his wrist, the sharp teeth spinning with a high-pitched whine that echoed down the corridor. He took a step forward, his eyes locked onto Shirou. "Last time, I underestimated you, Emiya. But not this time. This time, I'm going all out."
Without another word, Juste make his first move. He shots several mini-rockets at Shirou from the launcher mounted on his wrist.
As Shirou was occupy with dodging the rockets, Juste lunged forward, the chainsaws roaring as he swung it toward Shirou in a wide, brutal arc.
Shirou sidestepped the attack, the chainsaw missing him by mere inches as it carved through the air. He could feel the heat of the spinning blade as it passed by, its destructive power unmistakable. But Shirou wasn't rattled. His mind was already calculating the next move.
Juste was fast—faster than before. His movements were erratic, unpredictable, but Shirou had fought enough battles to read the rhythm in his attacks. As Juste swung again, Shirou ducked low, his swords flashing as he aimed for Juste's exposed flank.
The clang of metal rang out as Juste parried the strike with the body of his chainsaw, a vicious grin spreading across his face. "You're gonna have to do better than that, Emiya."
Shirou's eyes narrowed. He had expected as much. Juste had improved since their last fight. He wasn't going to be as easy to take down this time.
Juste pushed forward, pressing his advantage. The chainsaw roared as he swung it in rapid succession, each strike aiming to tear Shirou apart. Shirou moved with precision, parrying and dodging, his twin swords dancing through the air as he deflected the brutal onslaught.
But Juste wasn't just relying on raw power. He was cunning, too. With each swing of the chainsaw, he forced Shirou into tighter and tighter quarters, backing him into a corner of the corridor. Shirou's mind raced as he realized what Juste was doing—trying to trap him in a position where he couldn't evade the deadly weapon.
"I've got you now," Juste growled, his eyes gleaming with malice. He swung the chainsaw in a downward slash, aiming to pin Shirou against the wall.
Shirou reacted in an instant. He kicked off the wall behind him, using the momentum to launch himself over Juste's head, his swords slashing downward as he flipped through the air. Kanshou and Bakuya struck Juste's back, sparks flying as the blades glanced off his armor.
Juste stumbled forward with a snarl, blood trickling from the shallow cuts Shirou had managed to land. He whipped around, eyes blazing with fury. "You're gonna pay for that!"
Before Shirou could react, Juste's chainsaw came roaring toward him again. Shirou barely had time to bring his swords up to block, the force of the impact rattling through his arms. The chainsaw's teeth bit into the blades of Kanshou and Bakuya, sending sparks flying in all directions.
For a moment, they were locked in a deadly stalemate, the whine of the chainsaw filling the corridor as the two combatants struggled for dominance. Juste's strength was immense despite being a human, and Shirou could feel his muscles strains a little under the pressure. But this wasn't enough to make him give in.
With a grunt of slight effort, Shirou twisted his body, using the momentum to break the deadlock and push Juste back. He sprang to his feet, his mind racing as he analyzed the situation. Juste was powerful, yes—but his fighting style was wild, yet unpredictable. Unlike the first time when he fought them. If Shirou could exploit that recklessness, he might be able to turn the tide of the battle.
Juste, however, wasn't giving him any time to think. He came at Shirou again, this time faster, more aggressive. The chainsaw blurred as it cut through the air, each swing more vicious than the last. Shirou's arms burned with the effort of blocking and parrying, his body moving on instinct as he dodged and weaved through the relentless assault.
But even as he fought, Shirou's mind was working. He had seen this before—this chaotic, furious style. It was effective, but it had a weakness. Juste was burning through his energy quickly, each swing of the chainsaw taking its toll on him. If Shirou could outlast him, he could find an opening.
"I can see it in your eyes," Juste sneered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You think you've got me figured out, don't you? You think you're so smart, analyzing every move I make."
Shirou didn't respond, his focus solely on the battle. He wasn't going to let Juste get inside his head. Not now.
"You won't beat me with tricks this time, Emiya!" Juste roared, swinging the chainsaw in a wild arc. "I'm stronger than I was before!"
Shirou dodged the strike, feeling the rush of air as the chainsaw passed dangerously close to his face. He could see it now—Juste's movements were becoming sloppier, his attacks more desperate. The rage that fueled him was also his undoing.
Shirou's eyes flashed with determination. It was time to end this.
He took a deep breath, summoning his magical energy as he focused on his next move. He raised Kanshou and Bakuya, their black and white forms shimmering with power as he prepared to execute one of his most powerful techniques.
Shirou hurls the Kanshou and Bakuya in his hands at Juste, before projecting another pairs that he also threw at him.
Juste parries the first pair. The second pair gets a solid hit on Juste's torso that draws in the first pair.
As Juste finally got trapped inside an enclosed space with four blades spinning and hovering Hapzardly all around him from every direction, Shirou projected the third pair of Kanshou and Bakuya as he dashed toward Juste.
"Triple-linked Crane Wings!" Shirou shouts as he swings his married swords at the same time as his other swords spinning closer towards Juste.
The first strike landed on Juste's left side, cutting through his armor with ease. The second strike followed immediately, slashing across his chest. And then the third—Shirou's final blow—came down with the full force of his strength, sending Juste crashing to the ground, his chainsaw clattering uselessly to the floor beside him.
For a moment, there was only silence. The chainsaw, now dormant, lay still, its once-menacing roar reduced to a faint echo in the corridor.
Shirou stood over Juste, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. Kanshou and Bakuya were still in his hands, their gleaming edges reflecting the dim light of the hallway.
Juste groaned in pain, his body trembling as he tried to push himself up. But it was clear that the fight was over. His armor was torn, blood seeping from the deep cuts Shirou had inflicted, and his once-mighty strength had been drained.
"Damn you… Emiya," Juste spat, his voice hoarse with pain and frustration. "I won't… let it end like this."
Shirou looked down at him, his expression calm but resolute. "It's over, Juste."
Juste glared up at him, his eyes filled with hatred. "You think… you've won? You think this is over?" He coughed, blood splattering the floor beneath him.
Shirou's gaze hardened, but he didn't respond. He knew there was still more to do. Morte and Jester were waiting, and the mission wasn't over yet.
"Emiya…" Juste gasped, his voice laced with pain and anger. "This… isn't over…"
But those were the last words he could muster. His body went limp, and the life faded from his eyes, the fight extinguished.
Turning away from Juste, Shirou dismissed his projection back to the ether. He couldn't afford to waste any more time. Kuroka was out there, facing down whatever horrors Morte had prepared, and Millarca was fighting to save Valerie.
Without another word, Shirou walked down the corridor, leaving Juste behind. The battle had been won, but the war was far from over.
As he moved deeper into the facility, his thoughts turned to his companions. He hoped they were holding their own, because the final confrontation was drawing near—and there would be no room for failure.
Whatever awaited them in the depths of Morte's lair, Shirou was ready to face it head-on. The time for hesitation had passed.
Now, it was time to finish the mission.
Millarca moved swiftly through the darkened corridors of the supply depot, her senses sharp and her focus unwavering. Somewhere ahead, Valerie Tepes, the girl whose fate had sparked endless battles and conflicts, was in danger—trapped, possibly tortured, as part of some horrific ritual. Millarca had to reach her before it was too late. The tension in the air was thick with the remnants of dark magic, a twisted aura that filled the space, reminding her of the sinister forces at play.
She had split from Shirou and Kuroka not long ago, each of them tasked with different objectives. Now, Millarca was alone, tasked with an objective that carried its own emotional weight. Valerie Tepes, the girl caught in the middle of this dark scheme, was somewhere ahead—an unwilling pawn in a game of power between vampires and dark forces. Millarca's mission was simple in theory, but complex in emotion. To rescue Valerie, a Tepes vampire, was not something anyone from the Carmilla faction would easily condone.
The very notion of risking herself for a Tepes went against the deep-rooted enmity between the factions. And yet, Millarca couldn't bring herself to leave the girl to her fate. Valerie's life had been marked by manipulation, her powers abused for political gain, and though she came from the rival Tepes faction, Millarca could not stand by and watch her suffer.
As she neared a set of heavy double doors, Millarca sensed the dark pulse of ritual magic emanating from the chamber ahead. Time was running out. She needed to act.
But just as she prepared to push forward, a familiar figure stepped from the shadows, blocking her path.
"Elmenhilde…" Millarca's voice carried a sharp edge.
Elmenhilde, a proud daughter of the Carmilla faction, stood tall in her crimson cloak, her blonde hair cascading down her back. Her red eyes glittered with determination, and her hand gripped an ornate dagger—one charged with magical energy. There was no mistaking her purpose or her loyalty.
"Millarca," Elmenhilde's voice was laced with bitter disappointment. "I knew you'd come. You always did have a soft spot for lost causes."
Millarca's eyes narrowed, her fists clenching at her sides. "I don't have time for this, Elmenhilde. Step aside."
Elmenhilde's lips curved into a mocking smile. "Step aside? To let you betray our faction? I don't think so." She tilted her head, her voice cold and contemptuous. "Saving Valerie Tepes? Do you realize what you're doing? You, of all people—throwing away everything for a Tepes."
Millarca's jaw tightened. "This isn't about factions. This is about doing what's right."
"What's right?" Elmenhilde scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. "What's right for you? Or right for the Carmilla faction?" She took a step forward, her dagger gleaming in the dim light. "You're deluding yourself, Millarca. By saving Valerie, you're destroying the one chance we have to strengthen the Carmilla faction and break the stranglehold the Tepes have over vampire politics."
"I'm trying to stop senseless violence," Millarca shot back, her voice rising. "Valerie is a victim! You know what they've done to her."
"And what of it?" Elmenhilde's eyes flashed with fury. "Yes, Valerie Tepes is a victim. But she is also the key to our faction's survival. We've been fighting for years to maintain our influence, to hold off the Tepes and their wretched allies. Now we have a chance—a chance to rise above them! If we eliminate Van-Fem, we'll break the Tepes stranglehold once and for all."
Millarca's expression hardened. "You're using Valerie like a tool—like a weapon. You've aligned yourself with Morte and Jester, monsters who don't care about anything but destruction. You think Carmilla's survival comes from dealing with people like them?"
Elmenhilde's face twisted with righteous anger. "I've done what was necessary! If aligning with them helps us rise to power, then so be it. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good, and you… you've abandoned your duty. You're the traitor here, Millarca!"
Millarca's chest tightened at the accusation. A traitor. The word cut deeper than any weapon. But she couldn't—no, wouldn't—abandon her principles just to follow a path of blind ambition.
"If protecting an innocent girl from being sacrificed to the whims of power-hungry fanatics makes me a traitor, then so be it," Millarca said, her voice low but steady. "Valerie's been used enough. I won't let you or anyone else destroy her for some warped version of loyalty."
Elmenhilde's eyes narrowed, her grip on the dagger tightening. "You've lost your mind, Millarca. Choosing a Tepes over your own people? You're nothing but a coward, afraid to make the hard choices for the greater good. Valerie Tepes is a tool—her Sacred Gear, her life force, everything she represents belongs to us now. And if you stand in the way, I'll cut you down without a second thought."
Millarca braced herself. The tension between them was like a live wire, crackling with unspoken anger and bitter resentment. But she couldn't back down—not now.
"Then you'll have to go through me," Millarca said, her voice resolute.
Without another word, Elmenhilde lunged forward, her dagger flashing through the air with deadly intent. Millarca reacted instantly, summoning a magical shield just in time to block the strike. Sparks flew as the blade collided with her barrier, and the force of the blow sent a shockwave through the air.
Elmenhilde pressed the attack, her movements fast and precise. Her dagger was not just a weapon—it was infused with the magical energy of their kind, a deadly extension of her will. Each strike was aimed at Millarca's vital points, calculated to incapacitate her.
But Millarca was no stranger to battle. She sidestepped Elmenhilde's attacks with grace, her own magic crackling around her hands as she parried each strike. The two vampires were evenly matched, their movements blurring as they clashed in a flurry of blows. Millarca's fists glowed with raw power as she countered with punches that sent ripples of energy through the air, while Elmenhilde danced around her with the speed of a viper, her dagger slashing through the air in a deadly arc.
"You've always been a fool, Millarca!" Elmenhilde shouted as she narrowly avoided a powerful strike. "You're weak—always letting your emotions cloud your judgment!"
"And you've always been blinded by ambition!" Millarca retorted, her voice strained as she blocked another strike. "You think sacrificing everything will save Carmilla, but you're only destroying what's left of our honor!"
Elmenhilde snarled, her eyes burning with fury. "Honor won't save us from the Tepes! Power will. And if you're too weak to see that, then you deserve to die alongside Valerie!"
With a surge of energy, Elmenhilde charged at Millarca with renewed fury, her dagger aimed for Millarca's heart. But Millarca was ready. She sidestepped the attack, grabbing Elmenhilde's wrist in a vice-like grip and twisting it sharply. Elmenhilde let out a cry of pain as the dagger fell from her hand, clattering to the ground.
Millarca didn't hesitate. She followed through with a powerful punch, sending Elmenhilde sprawling to the ground. Elmenhilde tried to rise, but Millarca was faster. She pinned her to the ground, her magic crackling around her as she held her down.
"It's over, Elmenhilde," Millarca said, her voice cold and steady. "You've lost."
Elmenhilde glared up at her, panting heavily, her face twisted in pain and fury. "You think this changes anything? Valerie is already lost. The ritual… it's nearly complete. She's beyond saving."
Millarca's heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to let doubt cloud her mind. She released Elmenhilde and rushed toward the doors that led deeper into the chamber.
Millarca's heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to let doubt cloud her mind. She released Elmenhilde and rushed toward the doors that led deeper into the chamber.
As Millarca pushed open the heavy metal doors, her breath caught in her throat at the sight before her. Valerie Tepes, the fragile vampire girl, was bound to a makeshift cross, her arms outstretched, her head hanging limply. Her once vibrant hair was dull, her skin pale and lifeless. Beneath her, a dark magic circle glowed ominously, the ritual drawing closer to completion.
"Valerie!" Millarca cried out as she rushed forward, her voice echoing through the chamber.
Valerie stirred weakly, her eyes barely opening. She looked like a ghost, her body so frail and broken that it seemed a miracle she was still alive. The sight sent a wave of anger and sorrow through Millarca.
Without hesitation, Millarca reached into her coat and pulled out the Rule Breaker, the enchanted dagger Shirou had entrusted her with. This dagger had the power to nullify magic, to break curses and disrupt rituals. With a swift, decisive movement, she plunged the dagger into the center of the magic circle.
The effect was immediate. The dark energy that had been pulsing through the room began to dissipate, the glow of the runes fading as the ritual was undone. The oppressive atmosphere lifted, and the magic that bound Valerie weakened.
Millarca rushed to Valerie's side, gently cradling the frail girl in her arms. "It's over, Valerie. You're safe now."
Valerie's eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, filled with confusion and pain. Her voice was weak, barely more than a whisper. "Why...?" she croaked, her eyes searching Millarca's face, her expression a mix of fear and exhaustion. "Why did you... save me?"
Millarca knelt beside her, her arms steady yet tender as she held Valerie close. She could feel how fragile the other girl was, her body barely holding on after the torment she had endured. For all their history, for all the rivalries between their factions, none of it mattered in this moment. Valerie was not the enemy here.
"You didn't deserve any of this," Millarca replied softly, her voice full of sincerity. "I couldn't let them use you like that. You've suffered enough."
Valerie blinked, a tear slipping down her cheek. "But... I'm just a Tepes," she murmured, her voice trembling with disbelief. "Why would someone from Carmilla—"
"Forget that," Millarca cut her off gently. "We may come from different factions, but none of that matters now. You're more than just a tool for them to use, Valerie. You're more than just a Tepes." Her voice softened further. "You're still a person."
For a moment, Valerie looked stunned, as if no one had ever told her that before, or at least no one had said it with such conviction. Her lips quivered, and she weakly lowered her head, too drained to say more, but the gratitude in her eyes was unmistakable.
Millarca held her tightly, glancing back at the dissipating remnants of the ritual circle. She had acted quickly enough to stop the worst of it, but Valerie was still gravely weakened. The girl needed rest, safety, and above all, a place where she wouldn't be used or manipulated again.
"I'll get you out of here, Valerie," Millarca promised, her voice firm with determination. "You'll be free."
Valerie closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her lips as if the weight of that word—*free*—was something she had long ago stopped believing in. For the first time in what felt like years, the suffering might finally come to an end.
But as Millarca prepared to lift her up, she heard the sound of footsteps echoing from behind. Elmenhilde, bruised but not defeated, stood in the doorway, her face contorted with rage.
"You...," Elmenhilde hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "You betrayed us, Millarca. You chose *her* over your own people."
Millarca rose slowly, positioning herself protectively in front of Valerie. She met Elmenhilde's furious gaze with calm resolve. "You're wrong, Elmenhilde. I didn't betray the Carmilla faction—I'm saving us from becoming the same kind of monsters we claim to oppose."
Elmenhilde's lips curled into a bitter snarl. "You think mercy will save us? Power is what keeps our people alive. Power is what keeps Carmilla on top."
"Power without principles isn't worth having," Millarca replied coolly. "You've forgotten what it means to protect our kind. Valerie may be a Tepes, but she's still one of us—a vampire. I won't let her be sacrificed for your ambitions."
The two women stared at each other in silence, the tension thick between them. Elmenhilde's chest heaved with barely contained fury, but something in Millarca's unwavering stance seemed to give her pause. She knew, deep down, that Millarca's resolve wasn't something that could be easily broken.
For a brief moment, it seemed like Elmenhilde might attack again, her hand twitching toward the dagger at her side. But then she stopped, her eyes flickering with a flash of indecision, before she spat on the ground and turned away.
"This isn't over, Millarca," Elmenhilde growled as she stormed out of the room. "You've made enemies of the Carmilla faction, and I won't forget this."
Millarca watched her leave but felt no regret. The road ahead would be hard, but she had made her choice—and for the first time in a long while, it felt like the right one.
She turned back to Valerie, gently lifting the weakened girl into her arms. Valerie's head rested against her shoulder, her breath shallow but steady. Millarca could feel how light she was, as if all the strength had been drained from her body. But there was still life there, still hope.
"Hold on, Valerie," Millarca whispered as she carried her out of the chamber. "We're going to find a way out of this. Together."
As she made her way through the labyrinth of corridors, her steps sure and steady despite the weight of the choices she had made, Millarca couldn't help but think of how this rescue had changed more than just one life. She had stood up against her own people, against the old rivalries that had defined their world for centuries. And in doing so, she had proven that sometimes, the bonds of loyalty went deeper than bloodlines or factional lines.
For now, all that mattered was getting Valerie to safety. The future—and whatever new battle it would bring—could wait until then.
The air was thick with tension as Kuroka made her way through the dimly lit corridors of the right wing. Her footsteps were soundless, her lithe figure moving like a shadow, always alert for the smallest sign of danger. The deeper she ventured into the heart of Morte's lair, the more oppressive the atmosphere became, as if the very walls exuded a malevolent energy. She could feel it—dark, twisted magic, something unnatural lingering in the air, though no sign of Goetia's corpse or Jester was yet apparent.
Kuroka frowned, her golden eyes narrowing in frustration. Shirou said that the corpse of Goetia, the Demon God they had come to destroy, was likely hidden in this wing, but so far, there was no trace of it. Only the eerie silence, broken by the occasional distant creak of metal or the scuttling of unseen creatures, accompanied her.
It felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still.
"Where are you hiding...?" she muttered under her breath, her tail swishing back and forth as her senses remained alert.
Rounding a corner, Kuroka entered a vast, open chamber at the far end of the right wing. The space was cavernous, dimly lit by flickering torches that cast long, dancing shadows across the walls. Shelves stacked with mysterious vials, dark tomes, and alchemical instruments filled the room, giving it the appearance of a twisted laboratory. In the center stood a tall figure, draped in dark robes and hunched over a workbench.
Morte.
He didn't seem to notice her at first, engrossed in whatever twisted experiment he was working on. Kuroka's eyes flicked around the room, scanning for any sign of Jester or Goetia's corpse. There was none. Just Morte, and the stench of decay that clung to the air like a suffocating fog.
Still, she felt no relief. Something was off.
With a deep breath, Kuroka stepped forward, her presence no longer concealed. The moment her footfall echoed across the chamber, Morte's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing in surprise.
"Well, well, well," he sneered, his voice a raspy hiss. "I wasn't expecting you of all people to the one to show up in front of me, Kuroka."
Kuroka tilted her head, her lips curling into a predatory smile. "Expecting someone else, Nyaa? Sorry to disappoint."
Morte chuckled darkly, standing to his full height. His pale, gaunt face twisted into a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "I was expecting more of a challenge. I honestly thought the one that will show up is that recently famous young Mercenary that people dubbed as the Phantasmal Killer since most of the work he took involve killing supernatural beings and those who uses magic. And not a stray cat wandering in where she doesn't belong. So, were you the one that's been giving me trouble? Did you come here to die on your own?"
Kuroka's smile didn't waver, but her eyes gleamed with cold intent. "I'm not here to die, Nyaa. I'm here to make sure you do."
With that, Kuroka moved, her body a blur of motion as she closed the distance between them in an instant. Her claws extended, glowing with dark energy as she lashed out at Morte's throat. But Morte was fast—faster than she anticipated. He sidestepped her attack with ease, his robes swirling around him as he moved with a fluid grace that belied his thin frame.
Kuroka skidded to a halt, already spinning around to face him again, her claws ready to strike. But Morte didn't engage immediately. Instead, he laughed, a chilling sound that echoed through the chamber.
"You think you can kill me so easily?" he taunted, spreading his arms wide as if inviting her attack. "I have survived far worse than anything you can muster, little kitten."
Kuroka's eyes flashed with annoyance. "Let's test that theory, shall we?"
She lunged again, her movements quick and precise as she unleashed a flurry of slashes aimed at Morte's chest and throat. Her strikes were sharp and lethal, each one backed by her demonic energy, but Morte continued to evade her with unnatural speed, ducking and weaving through her attacks as if she were moving in slow motion.
Frustration began to gnaw at Kuroka as her claws found only air. Morte's grin grew wider, his confidence swelling as he danced around her attacks, clearly enjoying toying with her.
"You're fast," Kuroka admitted, her breathing steady but her eyes blazing with fury. "But let's see how long you can keep up."
She pulled back for a moment, raising her hands and channeling her demonic power. Dark energy crackled around her fingertips, and in an instant, she launched a series of black magic orbs toward Morte, each one crackling with destructive force.
Morte's eyes widened, and he dodged the first orb with a swift leap to the side. But Kuroka wasn't done—she kept her hands raised, unleashing more orbs in quick succession, each one forcing Morte further back as he narrowly avoided the blasts. The orbs struck the walls and floor around him, exploding with tremendous force and sending debris flying.
But despite the barrage, Morte remained unscathed. He moved with the precision of a snake, always one step ahead of the destruction.
And then, with a sudden, eerie calmness, he stopped dodging.
Kuroka blinked in surprise as Morte stood still, allowing the last of her magic orbs to strike him squarely in the chest. The explosion engulfed him in black smoke and flames, and for a brief moment, Kuroka thought she had landed a decisive blow.
But as the smoke cleared, her eyes widened in shock.
Morte stood there, completely unharmed. His robes were singed, but his body bore no signs of injury. He smirked at her, his eyes gleaming with malevolent triumph.
"Your magic is... insignificant," he said mockingly. "You cannot defeat me with such childish tricks."
Before Kuroka could respond, Morte reached into his robes and pulled out a small vial filled with a glowing, sickly green liquid. His grin widened as he uncorked the vial and drank its contents in one swift motion.
"What are you—" Kuroka started to ask, but her words were cut off as Morte's body began to convulse violently.
His form started to shift, muscles bulging and bones cracking as his body expanded, grotesquely transforming before her eyes. His pale skin darkened, becoming scaled and hardened, and his limbs grew longer and more powerful. His face elongated into a draconic snout, sharp fangs protruding from his mouth. Wings tore through his back, leathery and massive, while his eyes glowed with an unholy red light.
Morte had become a mutated dragon.
Kuroka's heart skipped a beat as she stared at the monstrous figure before her. His transformation was complete, and the power radiating from him was immense. Far beyond anything she had anticipated.
"Now," Morte's voice rumbled, deeper and more bestial, "let's see how well you fare against this."
With a roar that shook the very walls, Morte lunged at Kuroka with terrifying speed, his massive claws swiping toward her. Kuroka barely managed to dodge, flipping backward as the claws tore through the stone floor where she had just stood, leaving deep gouges in the ground.
The sheer strength behind his attack was overwhelming, and Kuroka realized with a sinking feeling that her usual methods weren't going to work. Her magic had barely scratched him before, and now, in this form, he was even more resilient.
She gritted her teeth, dodging another swipe of his claws. "Tch... This is bad..."
Morte's dragon form towered over her, his wings stretching out as he prepared to attack again. He swiped at her with one hand, then the other, each strike powerful enough to shatter stone. Kuroka darted and weaved, narrowly avoiding each blow, but she knew she couldn't keep dodging forever.
Her demonic power was barely affecting him, and even her physical strikes seemed ineffective against his hardened scales. Every time she tried to counter, her claws skidded off his scales harmlessly, like trying to cut through steel.
Kuroka leaped back, creating distance between them, her mind racing. She needed another strategy—something stronger, something more lethal. And then, her eyes flicked down to the Vajra that hung at her side, the weapon Shirou had given her earlier.
Vajra—the weapon of the god Indra, said to wield the power of lightning itself. A weapon capable of destroying even the most powerful beings.
Kuroka hesitated for only a moment. She had been saving it to destroy Goetia's corpse, but with no sign of the Demon God anywhere, it seemed that plan was no longer viable. And now, with Morte transformed into this monstrous dragon, it was clear that she had no choice.
With a determined breath, Kuroka unsheathed Vajra, feeling its immense power surge through her the moment her fingers closed around the hilt. The weapon hummed with energy, crackling with the raw power of lightning.
Morte paused, his red eyes narrowing as he sensed the shift in the air. "What's this?" he rumbled, his voice deep and menacing.
Kuroka didn't respond. Instead, she raised Vajra high, channeling her demonic power into the weapon. The air around her grew thick with electricity, arcs of lightning dancing along the blade as the weapon's true power awakened.
"Let's see how your scales handle this, Nyaa." Kuroka muttered, she gripped Vajra tightly, the weapon crackling with the raw power of lightning as the air around her seemed to hum with energy. Her demonic power amplifying the weapon's godly strength. This was her only chance to take down Morte—this monster he had become.
Morte roared, his wings spreading wide as he lunged at her, claws outstretched. His movements were faster than before, but Kuroka stood her ground, waiting for the perfect moment.
Just as Morte's claws came within striking distance, Kuroka thrust Vajra forward with all her strength. "Vajra!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the chamber as a bolt of pure, divine lightning shot from the weapon, surging toward Morte with blinding speed.
The lightning struck Morte square in the chest, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.
Then, with a deafening crack, the room was consumed by light and sound as the force of the attack ripped through Morte's body. His mutated dragon form writhed and twisted, electricity coursing through his veins, his roars of agony shaking the very foundations of the depot. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as his massive frame convulsed under the relentless power of Vajra.
Kuroka leapt back, watching as Morte's body began to crumble. His dragon form shrank and withered, his scales cracking and breaking apart as the life was torn from him. In seconds, the towering, terrifying figure of Morte was reduced to nothing more than a charred, broken husk that collapsed to the floor with a resounding thud.
Silence fell over the chamber, broken only by the faint crackle of residual energy still dancing around Vajra. Kuroka stood there for a moment, catching her breath, her eyes fixed on Morte's lifeless body. It was over.
But the adrenaline still pumped through her veins, and she didn't lower Vajra just yet.
"That was... tougher than expected," she murmured to herself, her breath still coming in shallow gasps. The room seemed to tilt slightly as the full weight of the battle settled over her, but she quickly straightened herself. She wasn't done yet.
A sound from behind her caused Kuroka to spin, her senses still on high alert. But when she saw the figure approaching her, she relaxed.
Shirou.
He stepped into the chamber, his body showing signs of wear from his own battle, but his face remained calm, as always. His eyes quickly scanned the room before settling on the charred remains of Morte.
"You dealt with him," Shirou said, his voice even, though there was a note of approval in his tone.
Kuroka smirked, resting Vajra on her shoulder as the tension drained from her body. "Of course. Did you expect anything less?"
Shirou gave a small nod, glancing once more at Morte's fallen form before stepping closer to her. "You used Vajra?"
She nodded, her tail flicking lazily behind her as she glanced at the divine weapon. "Had no choice. My magic wasn't doing anything to him after he transformed. Vajra was the only way to finish it. And sorry about Goetia's corpse, I can't find it and neither can I find Jester."
Shirou's eyes softened. "It's alright, we'll figure something out. And good work, Kuroka."
Kuroka's smirk widened, though she didn't say anything else. She didn't need to. The battle was won, and they still had one more thing to do.
"Let's go," Shirou said after a brief moment. "We need to regroup with Millarca and see if she's rescued Valerie."
Together, the two of them made their way back through the twisting corridors of the depot. The air was still thick with the tension of the battles they had fought, but there was a sense of urgency now. They had succeeded in their respective tasks, but they needed to make sure Millarca had done the same.
As they reached the main hallway leading to the left wing, they found Millarca waiting for them, cradling Valerie in her arms. The younger vampire looked pale and weak, her body frail from the torment she had endured, but she was alive. Millarca's eyes met theirs, relief evident in her expression.
"It's done," Millarca said softly, though her voice carried a weight of exhaustion. "I managed to break the ritual and save her in time. But she needs rest. She's barely hanging on."
Shirou nodded, his eyes scanning Valerie's form briefly before focusing on Millarca. "Good. Let's get her out of here. The surface isn't far."
Kuroka glanced around the hallway. "We need to move quickly. There might still be reinforcements on the surface, Nyaa."
Without another word, they all moved toward the elevator, their mission nearly complete. The ride to the surface was tense but silent, the low hum of the elevator the only sound as they ascended from the depths of the depot. Valerie, still unconscious in Millarca's arms, stirred slightly but didn't wake.
Finally, the elevator doors opened, and the fresh night air of the surface rushed in. They stepped out, relieved to finally be free from the oppressive atmosphere of the underground facility.
But their relief was short-lived.
As soon as they emerged from the building, they found themselves surrounded by a group of Morte's remaining henchmen. The mercenaries stood in a wide circle, their weapons raised, their faces grim. They had been waiting.
Kuroka's ears twitched, her eyes narrowing as she counted their numbers. "Too many to take on in a straight fight," she muttered, her tail flicking with irritation.
Shirou's eyes scanned the group calmly. There were at least a dozen of them, heavily armed and ready for a fight. They couldn't risk engaging with Valerie in such a fragile state, and there wasn't enough time to plan anything elaborate.
Shirou sighed, almost wearily. "Get to a safe distance," he said quietly to Millarca and Kuroka, his voice calm despite the situation. "I'll take care of them."
Millarca's eyes widened. "What do you mean? There's too many—"
Shirou shook his head, cutting her off with a glance. "Trust me. I'll be fine. Just make sure Valerie is safe."
Millarca hesitated for a moment but then nodded, her grip tightening on Valerie as she began to move toward the treeline, putting as much distance between them and the depot as possible. Kuroka followed after them, though she glanced back at Shirou with a raised brow.
"Don't take too long, yeah?" she called back, her tone half-teasing despite the danger.
Shirou offered her a small smile before turning his full attention to the mercenaries. His eyes hardened as he reached into his arsenal of projections, a familiar blade forming in his hand—Caladbolg.
The mercenaries faltered for a moment, seeing the deadly weapon appear in Shirou's grip. Their hesitation was all Shirou needed.
With a swift, precise motion, he raised Caladbolg, the twisted spiral of the sword glowing with an ominous light. Energy crackled along its edge as Shirou took aim, his body brimming with prana.
"Caladbolg... ," Shirou murmured, releasing the weapon in a single, devastating blast.
The world seemed to explode around him. A massive shockwave tore through the air, engulfing the mercenaries in a brilliant flash of light and energy. The ground trembled beneath his feet as the force of the explosion rippled outward, obliterating the entire area in a sea of destruction.
When the dust settled, the supply depot was nothing more than a smoldering ruin, the mercenaries reduced to ashes in the aftermath of Caladbolg's devastating power.
Shirou stood at the center of the destruction, his eyes scanning the wreckage to ensure there were no survivors. Satisfied, he turned and made his way toward the treeline, where Millarca, Kuroka, and Valerie waited.
As he reached them, Kuroka raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Not bad, Nyaa! As expected from the Phantasmal Killer." Kuroka said in a teasing tone.
"The Phantasmal Killer?" Shirou parroted the name that Kuroka mentioned at the end quizingly.
"Who's that?" Besides Shirou, Millarca also seems confused at who Kuroka was referring to.
Kuroka raised an eye brow at Shirou and Millarca's confused look, "It's a moniker I heard from Morte before I fought him, Nyaa. He mentioned that he was expecting the Phantasmal Killer to come and not me. Apparently, this Phantasmal Killer guy is a recently famous young mercenary who managed to make a name for himself by taking jobs that involves killing supernatural creatures. And the only mercenary I know that likes taking job where it involves killing supernatural creature is..."
"Me..." Shirou finished Kuroka's sentences with a groan while messaging his temple in exasperation. It's true that the jobs that he took ever since he started his career as a Mercenary did mostly involved killing supernatural beings, but the ones that he killed were those that actually deserve to be killed. Despite his distrust towards most supernatural beings, he's not prejudice enough to kill every single supernatural beings that he met. And if that's the case, then he wouldn't be making acquaintances with the likes of Millarca and Kuroka.
Still, for him to be called as Phantasmal Killer that nearly resembles his father's moniker when he was still an active Mercenary. That's just too much and also somewhat ironic.
"The Phantasmal Killer, huh? That's actually not a bad moniker for a Mercenary. In fact, that sounds rather cool and it suits Shirou just right." Millarca commented, which makes Shirou confused whether she's praising him or making fun of him, especially at how teasing her tone was at the end.
Shirou shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Let's just go. We've finished here."
With that, the group turned and headed back to their hotel, their mission can be considered complete. But even as they left the destroyed depot behind, Shirou couldn't shake the feeling that their challenges were far from over. Especially with Jester Karture still on the loose and Goetia's Corpse still in his possession.
But for now, at least, they had won. And that was enough for now.
"Still we can't be relaxed just yet. We still need to track down where Jester has gone off to with Goetia's corpse." Shirou said with a grim look as they walk along the quiet streets toward their hotel.
"Leave that to me, Shirou." Millarca said. "I'll send out my familiar to scout the city later."
"And I can use my senjutsu to sense Jester's magical energy signature and track down his location, Nyaa. If you want me to, I can scout the city as well later." Kuroka said in a strangely earnest tone. It sounds like she's still trying to prove herself useful, especially to Shirou for some reason.
"Thank you, both of you. Whatever happens, we need to stop Jester before he can put his plan into motion. We need to stop him from taking out Van Fem if the situation is as dire as Millarca said. The sooner we find him, the better." Shirou said in serious tone. Despite what he said thought, his real reason for wanting to find Jester as soon as possible was more selfish than what Millarca and Kuroka can ever guess.
Jester Karture is one of the targets that Zelretch have ordered him to kill. If he can kill him, he'll be one step closer to reuniting with his sister.
'Miyu... Once this is all over. I'll definitely take you to see the beach.' Shirou thought, his chest is filled with the determination as he watches the sun starts to peek out in the horizon.
He didn't know how the fight between him and Jester would go. However, one thing he will definitely do, he will immediately play all his cards if it means he can kill Jester sure.
To be continued.
Another chapter is done, and this one is full of actions and battles. To be honest thought, I'm not quite confidence on how the fight scenes in this battle turns out. I honestly think that I made more than one errors while writing the fight scenes. Still, I truly hope that the fight scenes that I wrote doesn't feel too short or rushed. After all, this basically the first time I actually wrote a long chapter full of fighting scenes.
Oh, and sorry. I know that in the last chapter, I mentioned that Shirou will activate his Sacred Gear for the first time. But it turns out, I couldn't bring out the moment in this chapter. I have planned that Shirou will activate his Sacred Gear during his encounter his Jester and Goetia.
Alright, that's it for now. Please leave some comments and tell me what you think of the story. Your comments is highly appreciated so that I can improve my writings.