"Haha! Interesting—truly interesting! Have you lost your mind from fear? What, you think you can take on this king alone?!"
Seeing Yoru charge forward as if charging toward death, Archer narrowed his red eyes, crossing his arms and laughing with delight.
"Of course I'm not taking you on alone. I'm not arrogant to your level. But what about you? Do you want the three of us to fight you together, or will you take us one by one?"
Yoru smiled lightly as he said this. And as his words fell, two figures began to materialize at his sides.
Artoria, clad in blue and white armor and armed with the holy sword. And Flan, wielding the cursed demon sword Valentin that once destroyed the world. The two girls appeared flanking Yoru, left and right, standing protectively by his side, coldly staring down Archer.
"Tch... So even a mongrel has learned to provoke. But do you think I would fear you? All three of you—come at me together!"
Archer's voice was proud and fearless. Behind him, rippling golden light spread out like waves. His arrogance remained as wild as ever.
But this time, it was different.
There was no torrential rain of Noble Phantasms. Instead, there was only one sword—if it could even be called a sword. A bizarre weapon that barely resembled a blade.
Could this truly be called a "sword"?
It was too strange. It had a hilt, a guard, and its length matched that of a typical longsword. But its "blade" was far from conventional. Three cylindrical segments were tightly interlocked, their blunt edges twisted into a spiral. Like a chain, the three columns intertwined and rotated around one another.
Indeed, this could no longer be described as a sword. It was something born even before the very concept of the sword existed. Forged before humanity, before the shaping of the world, it was the physical embodiment of divine authority from the dawn of creation.
The three massive cylinders rotated in unison with the motion of the celestial spheres, each grinding and churning with the power of tectonic shifts. The surging magical energy radiating from it was beyond measure.
"Come now—let me put an end to your eternal dream. I shall show you the true order of the world myself."
Archer raised his arm high above his head. The Sword of Origin began to spin faster and faster, each revolution gaining more speed—more momentum.
Sensing the overwhelming threat, Artoria and Flan both broke into full charge.
An anti-army weapon?
An anti-fortress Noble Phantasm?
No—it was beyond any category that could be logically calculated. Yet neither Artoria nor Flan showed the slightest hesitation.
"Awaken—Ea. Your grand stage has been prepared!"
Ea—in Mesopotamian mythology, the god who ruled the heavens and the earth, master of land and water.
And the sword called by this name, Ea the Sword of Rupture, was the legendary blade that witnessed the act of creation itself. Its role was to split the heavens from the earth when the world was still chaos, and give form to existence.
Now, the divine blade spun once more, raising stormwinds in its wake. It was preparing to recreate the miracle of creation.
The golden King of Heroes proclaimed:
"Behold—this is Enuma Elish: The Star of Creation that Split Heaven and Earth!"
The sky screamed. The earth roared.
The torrent of magic energy erupted forth, shaking the very laws of the universe.
Archer swung the sword—not aiming at anyone in particular.
There was no need to aim. The blade of Ea did not merely cut down an "enemy."
The two girls' silhouettes were minuscule in the face of this radiance. Even Yoru's crystalline-blue pupils were completely engulfed by the blinding light.
And then… within those gem-like eyes, what exactly was reflected—?
Irisviel opened her eyes and looked around.
A strange sensation.
Her awareness was crystal clear, yet her thoughts were jumbled and directionless.
It seemed that what was muddled and meaningless was not her mind—but the world itself.
Countless scenes flew past her eyes. Each one brought only unbearable sorrow and emptiness.
What she saw were visions devoid of joy or happiness—only pain, grief, and regretful longing. A kaleidoscope of chaos.
Crying. Humiliation. Resentment. Loss.
So much hatred! So much hate! So much hate! I hate it all!
A voice echoed constantly beside her, screaming, cursing in agony.
Stop it… Stop saying those things!
Clutching her ears in pain, Irisviel curled up, collapsing to the ground.
"Why…?" a voice echoed behind her—a voice she knew too well. A voice so familiar it filled her with dread.
Who was it? Who—
Her body slowly turned around. Standing behind her… was herself—an identical version of herself clad in a pitch-black dress.
"Why?" Irisviel stared in terror as the black-garbed version of herself stepped forward. Black mud flowed from her—oozing from her eyes, mouth, ears, and even her pores. Like a vessel broken and leaking filth.
"Why…?" the doppelgänger fell to her knees, just inches away. She giggled madly, her body slowly sinking like it was swallowed by a swamp.
"Why…?" she repeated over and over, her filthy hands smearing Irisviel's white skirt, staining it black.
"I don't know… I don't know… I don't know…" Irisviel murmured blankly. Her tears had already dried. Then—beneath her feet, the ground began to ripple violently.
"Come… Come… Come…" Countless voices called out. From the ground, numerous hands reached upward. The floor became a mire, dragging her down.
No… No… Someone, save me… Flan… Yoru… Illya… Save me… Save me…
Irisviel jerked awake, as if from a nightmare. Everything felt like a dream.
Looking around—she was in the Einzbern castle. And in her arms slept her daughter, Illya.
Outside, snowstorm winds howled. Illya's small hands clung tightly to her mother for safety.
"Mommy… I had a nightmare. A dream where I became a cup…"
Despite her fear, Illya's crimson eyes looked up with trust.
Irisviel hugged her tightly, her silver bangs brushing against Illya's tear-streaked cheeks.
"It's okay… It's okay. That won't happen. You'll never see such a thing, Illya."
An inescapable fate… the sorrow of being an Einzbern homunculus… the eternal vessel for fragments of the Holy Grail.
The Third Magic—Heaven's Feel… that was the only salvation.
Countless voices flooded Irisviel's ears. She chanted together with her countless sisters.
Holy Grail… grant the Grail into our hands…
In the deepest part of the forest, in the dumping grounds where used-up homunculi were discarded, corpses of her sisters lay in heaps and chanted.
Rotting faces crawling with maggots merged with the image of young Illya's face, groaning in pain.
"It's okay…"
A mother, full of love, held her daughter tightly.
That kind of fate will never happen… because soon, I'll become the omnipotent wish-granting machine… and it will all be over.
Suddenly, the snow outside stopped. What now flowed into the night was thick black mud that swirled in vortexes.
Irisviel was neither afraid nor surprised. She simply understood—and watched.
The mud seeped in through the corners of the room, dripping from the chimney, slowly soaking the floor beneath her.
All I need to do… is offer myself. All I need to do is sacrifice myself… complete the Third Magic… complete Heaven's Feel…
The searing mud clung to her skin, staining her elegant dress black.
As she awaited the moment her wish would be granted, the woman completely enveloped in black smiled.
Let all sighs be silenced… let all suffering be cleansed.
Very soon now, she would obtain the power to grant any wish.
The omnipotent wish-granting machine—was nearly complete.
---
Access more chapters at patreon.com/dzeref887