The rogue Servant charged the trio—only for her advance to be halted by Mash, who stepped forward with her shield raised. The two clashed in a whirlwind of sparks and steel, and for a moment, it looked like Mash was holding her own. She managed to keep the corrupted Lancer at bay, her footing stable as she absorbed blow after blow. But it quickly became clear that she couldn't hold out forever. Her inexperience was starting to show.
Even now, she was already beginning to lose ground. Her footwork was uneven, her strikes inefficient, and she was making far too many unnecessary movements.
Then Olga thought to herself, How do I know all of that?
A sudden spike of pain lanced through her skull—sharp, but brief. She winced, clutching the side of her head as images began flashing through her mind. Memories. But not her own.
Then, amidst the confusion, she heard a calm, composed voice echo faintly in her mind—a voice that sounded uncannily like her own.
"Apologies. It seems some of my memories slipped through. It shouldn't happen again."
The voice was serene, almost cold, but strangely comforting.
"Wait, what—?" Olga began, blinking as the headache started to fade. But before she could question the voice further, a sudden shout snapped her attention back to the fight.
Mash was pushed back, her heels skidding against the ground as the corrupted Lancer pressed forward with a fierce, brutal strike.
Reacting instinctively, Olga raised her hand and launched a spell to provide covering fire—a basic Gandr, nothing fancy, just a simple curse bolt to distract the enemy.
Or at least, that's what she meant to cast.
Instead of a small magic bullet, what erupted from her outstretched hand was a glowing orb of pure energy—roughly the size of a bowling ball—and it rocketed forward at the speed of a bullet. It slammed into the corrupted Lancer with a deafening impact, sending her flying backward and crashing through a nearby building in a cloud of rubble and dust.
Olga stared down at her own hand, eyes wide with shock, disbelief twisting across her face.
"Since when the hell could I do that...?" she muttered breathlessly, her voice trembling.
The voice in her mind responded again, its tone still calm, but now with a hint of pride.
"A side effect of our joining. I had to strengthen your body so that my power wouldn't destroy you."
"Who are you…?" Olga demanded in a low, cautious voice, heart pounding in her chest. "And wait—what do you mean your power would destroy me? And how the hell are you in my head!?"
The voice offered no further explanation, instead answering with practiced calm and urgency.
"We shall talk later, when you aren't in danger. There seems to be another one approaching—from behind."
Olga spun on her heels instantly, driven by the warning. Her sharp eyes scanned the shadows—just in time to see a tall figure step out from the darkness, his presence radiating power and mischief.
He was draped in blue robes lined with white fur, the fabric shifting gracefully with each step. Long blue hair cascaded down his back, and his crimson eyes glinted with cunning. In his hand, he carried an odd-looking staff—a long, gnarled piece of wood that looked like something between a shillelagh and a hockey stick.
He smirked as he approached, voice laced with dry amusement.
"I'm impressed, little lady. You managed to notice me."
Olga narrowed her eyes, completely on guard, her body tense as she stepped back cautiously.
"Who are you?" she demanded, voice cold and authoritative.
The man gave a lopsided grin, casually resting his staff on his shoulder.
"You can call me Caster. But that's enough chit-chat for now—let's deal with Lancer first."
Without waiting for her response, he moved past Olga with an easy swagger, heading straight toward the battlefield—just as the corrupted Lancer began to pull herself out of the rubble, her face twisted in fury.
When she saw Caster, Olga scowled, her lips curling with disdain.
"Oh, it's the blue pest," she sneered with venom in her voice. Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms tightly. "Why couldn't you just go somewhere and die like a good little doggy?"
Caster was not amused. His red eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't dignify her insult with a response. Instead, he turned his attention to Mash, his tone light but carrying a sharp edge.
"Young lady, if you don't mind—please help me shut this fool up for good."
Mash straightened, determination flashing in her violet eyes. Despite the tense situation, she gave a resolute nod.
"Yes! I'll do my best!" she declared with quiet conviction.
With that, she rushed forward, shield raised once more as she charged headlong into battle. Her footsteps pounded against the ground, steady and full of purpose. She clashed with the corrupted Lancer again, this time more fiercely than before. Each block, each strike, carried more weight—more resolve.
While Mash kept the corrupted Servant engaged, Caster provided support from behind, flinging a flurry of spells with smooth, practiced motions. His incantations were swift, each spell designed to disrupt, disorient, and wear her down. The attacks threw Lancer off balance, scalding her and singeing her limbs—not devastating, but enough to enrage her.
The corrupted Lancer's eyes flashed with fury. Snarling, she abruptly turned away from Mash and charged straight at Caster, fury driving her movements.
It was a fatal mistake.
In shifting her attention, she left her back completely exposed.
Mash may have been inexperienced, but she wasn't a fool. She recognized the opening instantly. Her eyes widened, and with a shout of effort, she dashed forward from behind. She threw every ounce of strength she had into one powerful strike—her shield glowing faintly as she brought it around in a crushing arc.
With a deafening impact, she slammed the shield directly into Lancer's gut.
There was a horrible crunch—several ribs shattered from the blow—and the corrupted Servant was sent flying backward, gasping in pain.
Caster didn't miss the opportunity.
With a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips, he raised his staff and conjured a torrent of roaring flames. The fire surged forth like a crashing wave, engulfing Lancer before she could recover.
The corrupted Servant let out a final cry of agony before her form was consumed entirely by the blaze. Her silhouette flickered—then dissolved into a cascade of golden particles, drifting into the air like sparks on the wind.
As Mash panted in exhaustion, her breath coming out in short gasps, Ritsuka ran over, concern written across his face. He gently patted her back, crouching beside her.
"Are you okay, Mash?" he asked, eyes searching hers.
Mash gave him a tired but genuine smile, her cheeks flushed and sweat clinging to her skin.
"I'm alright, Senpai. Just tired," she replied softly, her voice faint but steady.
Olga walked up to them, her arms folded tightly as she scanned their surroundings. Her tone was sharp but not unkind.
"Take a break. More enemies could come at any moment, so rest while you can."
Caster strolled over with his usual casual swagger, though his crimson eyes were serious as they met Olga's.
"She's right, you know. The city's still crawling with enemies."
Heeding the director's advice, Mash flopped down on the cracked pavement, letting out a small sigh of relief as she took a moment to catch her breath. She leaned her shield beside her, closing her eyes for a few seconds.
Olga turned her attention to Caster and narrowed her eyes.
"What happened here?" she asked, voice firm, expecting nothing less than full disclosure.
Caster sighed, resting his staff on his shoulder as he began to explain. His voice was calm but tinged with regret.
He told them everything—how Saber had won the Grail, but then somehow became corrupted. How she remained in this twisted form, warping the others with her, and how the corrupted Servants rampaged across the city, leaving devastation in their wake.
"Together... all of the evil Servants destroyed everything," he finished grimly.
Olga frowned deeply, digesting the gravity of the situation. Her fingers clenched at her sides.
"How many are left?" she asked after a long pause.
"Just Berserker, Archer, and Saber herself," Caster answered, rubbing the back of his neck. "We shouldn't have any trouble out of Berserker—he mostly keeps to himself. Archer, however..." He clicked his tongue. "He'll do everything he can to kill us before we get anywhere near Saber."
Olga exhaled slowly through her nose, steeling her nerves.
"Alright then. We just need to deal with Archer and Saber. Sounds simple enough."
Caster rolled his eyes and gave a sarcastic grin.
"Yeah, simple. That's why I already took them both out and everything is fine."
Olga gave him a side glance, her tone dry.
"Well, it's our only real option."
Then she turned to the others and said, "Let's just find a place to rest. Then we'll plan the rest out after."
Ritsuka and Mash nodded in agreement, both visibly weary. Caster shrugged his shoulders casually.
"Alright."
The four of them soon found a house that hadn't been destroyed—partially intact, with a roof and walls still standing. While Ritsuka, Mash, and Caster settled in to rest, Olga stayed alert. She stepped outside briefly and began tracing protective runes into the air and along the building's perimeter. As she worked, she muttered to herself.
"Okay… we're out of danger. Wanna tell me who you are now?"
The voice in her mind returned—calm, direct, and unmistakably her own... yet not. It spoke with gentle authority.
"I am Castiel. Angel of the Lord."
Olga froze mid-rune. Her eyes widened as she slowly turned her head, though no one was there. She drew in a shaky breath.
"...You can't be an angel. They don't exist," she said slowly, struggling to believe what she'd just heard.
Castiel let out a quiet sigh, tinged with faint resignation.
"I should have expected that. A magic user would be a non-believer. Not everyone can be like Solomon. Though, I understand your skepticism… since the angels of this world are long gone."
Olga's brow furrowed, lips parted in disbelief.
"This world…? Are you saying you're from outside the world?"
"Correct," Castiel answered simply. "I was sent here by the Lord to aid in the salvation of humanity."
Olga looked down, rubbing her forehead. Her voice was laced with disbelief and fatigue.
"Okay… so God—or a god—sent you to aid humanity. Then why are you in me?"
"If I were to appear in my true form," Castiel explained, "I would cause destruction merely by walking. I need a vessel to keep my power under control. You were on the brink of death and asked for someone to save you. I answered your prayer."
Olga gasped softly as the memories came flooding back.
The explosion.
She hadn't escaped it at all.
She remembered the heat, the pressure—her body being thrown like a ragdoll. Blood everywhere. The crushing pain. Her voice—crying out weakly for someone—anyone—to help her.
She had nearly died.
Trying to steady herself, she took a few calming breaths, though her hands were trembling.
"Can you prove that you're an angel?" she asked cautiously.
There was no verbal reply.
Suddenly, with a sound like the rustle of feathers and a flash of light, magnificent wings unfurled from Olga's back—brilliant, radiant, and pulsing with divine energy.
She stared, eyes wide in awe and shock, her breath catching in her throat.
Slowly, as if afraid they'd vanish, she reached behind and stroked them. They were soft—downy, almost ethereal—but humming with power. But most importantly they were real.
Then, without a word, Castiel retracted the wings.
"Do you believe now, Olga Marie Animusphere?"
Olga stood frozen, then nodded slowly.
"Yes... I believe. Thank you… for saving me."
But then she narrowed her eyes in confusion.
"Wait a minute… why didn't you help against that rogue Servant?"
"I needed to make adjustments to your body to ensure you could handle my power without... exploding," Castiel replied, blunt and without embellishment.
Olga gulped at the word. Her voice cracked slightly.
"Oh… well… thank you for that. Are you finished?"
"No," Castiel said flatly. "The final adjustments will have to wait until later. They're quite unpleasant and best done when you have time to rest… and a bathing facility available."
Olga blinked, taken aback.
"Why do I need a bathing facility—? You know what? I don't want to know. Right. Can you help in the event of an emergency?"
"Yes. But me staying out for long periods of time isn't a good idea until I'm finished strengthening you."
Olga slowly nodded, her voice quieter now.
"That's good. I'll count on you… if I need to."
"Of course. Should you need me, I'll be ready."
With that, Olga rejoined the others inside. Her posture was still composed, but her expression betrayed a weariness far beyond physical fatigue.
"Alright. We're safe enough for now. Everyone get some sleep."
The other three nodded in silence. One by one, they lay down on whatever makeshift bedding they could find, their eyes drifting shut.
Olga sat quietly for a moment, listening to the sound of their breathing. And for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to relax—if only just a little.
Morning came—
Not that anyone could tell. The entire city was still shrouded in an unnatural darkness, thick and heavy like smoke. The only light for miles came from the burning buildings scattered across the ruined skyline, their flames crackling quietly in the distant silence.
Olga was the first to rise.
Her amber eyes fluttered open, alert and sharp despite the fatigue lingering behind them. She took a breath, exhaled slowly, then stood up and stretched her limbs before walking over to the others. With practiced efficiency, she stirred Ritsuka and Mash awake.
"Alright, let's go. The sooner we get this done, the better," Olga said, her tone brisk and commanding.
Mash stood at once, grabbing her shield with both hands. Though her body still ached from the last fight, her expression was calm and composed.
Ritsuka rubbed the sleep from her eyes, yawning quietly before rising to her feet with a tired smile.
The four of them set out, slowly making their way toward Ryūdō Temple—the site of their next confrontation, and the entrance to the cave that held the Greater Grail.
As they approached the stone steps leading toward the temple's inner sanctum, they spotted a man standing near the entrance, as if waiting for them.
He had tan skin, near-golden amber eyes, and silver-white hair. He wore a black sleeveless leather cuirass with elegant silver lines across it, black leather pants tucked into iron-plated black boots, and a long crimson shroud wrapped around his waist like a banner. His presence radiated confidence—and danger.
Olga narrowed her eyes, feeling a strange sensation as she gazed at him.
Then, Castiel spoke inside her mind, her voice calm but faintly puzzled.
"Why does the cloth that man wears feel... similar to the Shroud of Turin?"
Olga's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of realization surfacing.
"Is it the actual Shroud?" she asked mentally, her thoughts sharp and urgent.
"No," Castiel replied after a pause. "But its abilities are similar. I can tell this man is not one of the faithful… so why does he have it?"
"Good question," Olga muttered internally, squinting at the man. "I'll ask when I'm not in danger of being shot."
Archer turned his gaze on them, locking eyes with Caster. His tone was dry and scornful.
"So... the dog lives. Have you come to bark some more?"
Caster smirked, rolling his shoulders and leaning lazily on his staff.
"Nah. We're here for Saber."
Archer's eyes narrowed. A flash of killing intent sparked behind them.
"Then I'll have to kill you."
Caster's smirk widened into a sharp grin. His posture straightened as he stepped forward slightly.
"Bring it on, you asshole. I've been waiting for this."
But then, Castiel's voice echoed in Olga's mind again—firmer this time.
"No, Olga. Tell him to go with Mash and Ritsuka to handle Saber. You and I will take care of Archer."
Olga paused for a heartbeat, then gave a slight nod of agreement.
"Alright. I'll trust you."
She turned sharply, voice loud and authoritative.
"Caster, go with Fujimaru and Mash to take on Saber. I'll handle Archer."
Caster stopped in his tracks and looked back at her like she'd grown a second head.
"Young lady, are you nuts?! He's a Servant!" he exclaimed, disbelief clear in his voice.
Olga stepped forward with full confidence, her expression cool and unwavering.
"I'll be fine."
Archer raised an eyebrow at her and gave a dry chuckle.
"I admire your courage, miss... but you should stay in your leag—"
Boom!
A powerful Gandr spell shot from Olga's hand mid-sentence and slammed straight into Archer's chest, sending him tumbling violently down the hillside with a surprised grunt.
She exhaled through her nose, smirking coldly.
"I'll show you who's out of their league."
She turned to look back at the trio, hands on her hips.
"Well? What are you waiting for? I gave you orders. Get going, people."
Then, without another word, she walked down the hill after Archer in a confident stride, her coat billowing behind her like a cape.
Caster stroked his chin, watching her with a bemused expression.
"If she were a few years older, I'd—"
He caught himself, cleared his throat, and looked to the others.
"Nevermind. Let's go, kids. We've got a Saber to kill."
Ritsuka hesitated, looking back toward the descending Olga with concern.
"But the Director—"
"I know," Caster interrupted gently, his tone more serious now. "But she must have something up her sleeve if she's this confident. We just have to trust her."
Down at the bottom of the hill, Olga stood face to face with Archer, who had already risen to his feet. He rubbed his shoulder where the Gandr had struck, irritation flashing in his eyes.
"Well, that certainly wasn't nice," he growled. "I was gonna make your death easy… but now we're doing this. I'll try to make it quick, at least."
Olga's voice was low, calm, and nearly emotionless—like a blade being drawn slowly from its sheath.
"I should say the same to you… fallen hero."
Archer's eyes narrowed in confusion.
Then he watched in stunned silence as Olga's amber eyes shifted—changing into a glowing blue that radiated divine light. In a burst of power, two massive, white feathery wings unfurled from her back, majestic and impossibly vast. Above her head, a golden halo appeared, glowing like the sun.
Her presence changed entirely. Regal. Commanding. Otherworldly.
She stared him down and said.
"Prepare yourself."