Nights at this time of year were always renowned for their chill. Japan's winters were never truly cold, but to its residents, knowing no other, they seemed scorchingly frosty. Yet this was no hindrance to those participating in the Holy Grail War. The alliance of Masters who had summoned Saber- and Archer-class Servants set out on the hunt. The sky was veiled by thin clouds, preventing the moon from lighting the dark streets. The group headed toward the port warehouses, where, according to the Primarch, one of his sons awaited.
Both Masters were somewhat out of form, for different reasons. Rin hadn't fully recovered from training and study. Her head throbbed faintly from information overload; after all, the scientific data of the distant future was complex even with a detailed manual. Though current science understood plasma formation, what Fulgrim provided delved far deeper—and the girl wasn't strong in physics beyond high school level.
Young Emiya, meanwhile, endured pain in body and nerves, both aching from overexertion. His sole consolation was realizing his projection magecraft surpassed that of other magi. As if something from his soul's depths simplified the process while making it more efficient. The only barrier to using this gift was he couldn't employ it so easily. The need to practice to grasp his Origin was obvious. But he needn't worry on that score—Shirou had those who would help… though with some came the risk of serious injury.
After the workday's end, the port lay abandoned and desolate, posing no risk of discovery. Even so, the group moved cautiously. Servants led, Masters trailed at a distance guarded by Vergil. His monumental figure stood out sharply against early third-millennium architecture. Purple armor gleamed in the sparse streetlights, heavy footfalls echoing across the area. Someone might think a Space Marine ill-suited for stealth ops, but Servants still had senses surpassing ordinary humans—and anyway, let them tell that to the Raven Guard. Corax's sons would surely laugh.
"We're close." The Primarch spoke as the destination was mere minutes away.
Ahead loomed a large warehouse, its very appearance proclaiming neglect. In the past, it had belonged to a mid-sized shipping company, now bankrupt. Reason: simple competition—they proved weaker than rivals and lost all assets. Some passed to other entrepreneurs, the rest left to decay. No buyer had emerged for this spot.
Passing through wide-open gates already rusting over, Artoria sensed a moment of danger. Her instincts warned of threat, then fell silent as if nothing had been.
"Defensive systems are already tuned to us." Fulgrim said as the girl grew more alert in her scanning. Her restrained demeanor didn't hinder the Primarch's keen eyes.
"..."
Though she didn't reply, she calmed at once. She had no reason to doubt Archer's words.
The spacious empty room betrayed no habitation—rather screamed abandonment. Piles of construction debris from equipment dismantling littered the concrete floor. Masters had to step more carefully to avoid mishaps like a nail-pierced foot.
The group followed the Primarch and finally halted at the far wall. For a moment, all wanted to ask a rather foolish question, but a metallic clank of opening bulkheads interrupted. The gray floor shifted, revealing a dimly lit passage with stairs.
"Like some villain's lair…" Shirou didn't hesitate to voice his first thought.
"Not a villain, but I must admit, Tacitus was always his own man." Vergil himself found the ambiance overly grim. Not the sort Legionaries of the Emperor's Children were accustomed to. But as said, one of the Third's finest Techmarines stood out for pragmatism more akin to the Lord of the Iron Hands' sons. Or perhaps that's what the Primarch liked in this Phoenix Guard—likeness to his most beloved brother.
The descent took little time but left myriad unusual impressions on the youths. Smooth walls were cut by some exotic tool—impact precise and instantaneous, without chips. Along the tunnel ran secured power cables of substantial conductivity, evident from thickness. Likely concealed on the surface and tied to the city grid.
A minute to reach the Astartes' workshop—and it impressed too. In the short days allotted, Tacitus had settled in. Armor service rack and module swap station. Small lathes and what could remotely be called a workbench, though far more futuristic. Behind it sat the master of the place. Clad in Tartaros-pattern Terminator armor, he bulked even larger than the Phoenix Guard's leader. In size, he barely yielded to his Primarch in true form.
Once Servants and Masters entered, the Techmarine froze utterly—though till then only a large mechadendrite on his right back had moved. Then the ceramite behemoth turned, crimson visors flashing in the gloom.
"Primarch." The booming voice made even the least experienced among those present start slightly. Shirou, like any normal human, couldn't stay calm near a Space Marine. He was getting used to Vergil, but Tacitus was unknown.
"Report, Tacitus."
"Workshop fitted to minimal standards. City surveillance hacked and expanded in tactically vital blind spots. Priority order fulfilled at minimal level."
"Didn't you say you made several melta-charges? That's minimal?"
"Minimal."
Hearing this, Fulgrim shook his head. He hadn't known Tacitus deemed potent explosives so… unimpressive. At maximum? Emperor-class Titan? Tempting, but a Machine God incarnation too destructive. And pity the poor Servants—the Grail surely hadn't prepped them for that.
"Fine, have it your way. Intel?"
Instead of words, the Techmarine materialized a small holosphere embedded in matte-black plating in his hand. Like his Primarch, he could use gear cherished in life. A portable tactical hololith. Handy in the field for planning with superior accuracy via greater visibility.
The Terminator approached the arrivals, vibrating the walls noticeably. His weight neared half a ton, focused on two limbs. The device dropped from hand to floor, projecting a city map with tactical data. Servant clash sites, known Master bases, Church of the Watcher, etc.
"And what are these points?" Rin had no intention of staying silent during briefing—she was a War participant. At her words, Tacitus turned his head her way, met by expectant gaze. Tohsaka awaited answer.
"Coma incidents. Obvious Servant interference."
"Least mark them somehow—we've no tactical display. And switch the interface to Japanese; Low Gothic's beyond us." After this, Rin felt the gaze not of a son, but a father upon her. Fulgrim stared intently into her eyes, unnerving her slightly.
"So, you did see after all." Rin made a puzzled face for the first seconds, then…
"N-not sure what you're talking about." She turned to the suddenly fascinating wall. But it didn't help. "What!?" The girl realized the talk couldn't be brushed off easily. And to blurt without thinking—she'd just wanted to simplify the projection for herself and Shirou. "Not my fault your memories haunt my dreams, and I won't apologize for it."
Rin avoided the topic fearing strained relations with the Primarch. He'd made clear he didn't wish to share his past; she wanted no church repeat—the last sufficed.
"Now it makes sense why you argue calmly with Vergil." The named shifted his halberd slightly in displeasure. This brazen girl refused the slightest due respect to his lord, leading to constant bickering. Verbal only, of course—guarding the Master forbade… disciplinary measures.
"What about?"
"Transcendent dread. Instinctive grasp of Astartes' total superiority over baseline humans. Few stay calm unaccustomed. You, however, seem quite accustomed."
"I've seen through your eyes, and before you the Emperor's Children were just awestruck boys." Tohsaka haughtily lifted her nose and turned away again, arms crossed. "So what?"
"Nothing, Rin. I won't blame you for it." At these words, undisguised astonishment bloomed on the girl's face.
"...What? But didn't you…"
"Not want to talk about myself? That's no longer important. Better tell how much you saw?"
"Uh, well… quite a lot." Myriad memory images rose before her eyes. Rin didn't know, but the Primarch's recall let her see far more than other Masters. Majestic cities whose spires pierced clouds. Scientific wonders defying natural laws. Mankind's renaissance, breathing life into cold cosmos voids.
"How much?" The voice pulled from such captivating thoughts they lingered. Especially the warm glow enfolding mankind's luminary. Rin admitted she couldn't resist following the Revelation, as the Emperor of Mankind called himself.
"...I could list all your brothers and Captains. And I know a fair bit about the Imperium."
"And how… far did you look?" This concerned Fulgrim most. Most his life was worthy—even shaft work in youth. But nearing its end, things turned… different.
"Preparations to conquer a world called Laeran."
Silence followed like a tomb. The Primarch fell quiet, staring into nothing pensively. Rin had suspected special meaning for her Servant's history. A lingering strange feeling, as if that planet draped in melancholy. His current reaction confirmed. Even proud Vergil lost majestic poise—unnoticed by normals. But Rin grasped Astartes body language well, inherited from Fulgrim. Though Tacitus showed no reflection. No surprise—from brief snippets with him, his nature was clear.
"So… only nightmares await henceforth." Fulgrim shifted his clouded gaze to the city projection glowing in gloom.
Now, dead Primarch regrets mattered less than preventing Chaos' incursion into this world. The Dark Prince had made clear he'd return. Fulgrim knew confrontation impossible before opposition readiness, but trying was worth it. The War must end soon—delay heralded doom. Till now, Phoenix hadn't rushed, loath to plunge unprepared into fray, but conditions now satisfied.
His gaze caught an intriguing pattern in coma sites. Scattered citywide, varied spots. Over seventy, no links save faint peculiarity. Within a certain circle, points absent entirely. Like a blind spot, mysteriously arisen. The Servant causing this feared not even the Watcher's Church—what made it shun a zone? Answer obvious.
"Rin." Tohsaka was noticing her Servant habitually startling his Master with sudden addresses. "This place—Ryudō Temple—could it serve as a Servant base?"
"The Temple? Yes, ley lines converge there, granting the knowledgeable vast magical energy." And something in the Primarch's gaze toward her displeased the girl.
"Really? So why didn't you settle there yourself?" Rin realized Fulgrim teased again—she'd nearly forgotten this trait. Irritation twitched her cheek.
"Think taming planetary Magical Circuits so simple? In theory I could try, but I'd likely lose control. Instability could affect nearby areas." She wanted no innocents' deaths on her conscience.
"Could a Caster Servant?"
"You mean…"
"Right—most likely an ancient magus dwells the hill. He avoided drawing eyes to his domain, but it backfired." Absence of eye-catchers was obvious stealth. But void where something should be inevitably drew notice. Indirectly, this sign showed the sorcerer no military savant. A seasoned tactician wouldn't gift foes so easy a find.
"Wait—Isssei lives there!" Shirou finally spoke, till now silent. "If a Servant's settled the temple, it'd affect residents somehow."
"You're right, but it just means the Master was originally a resident. Well, we've concluded—now discuss action." Only Rin noticed nostalgia gleam in the Primarch's eyes. "A mini-Heliopolis, eh?" The girl smiled faintly at the thought, recalling the Emperor's Children's flagship council chamber.
****
The rustle of countless trees filled the city park, faint wind tousling crowns whose leaves whispered softly. Near the entrance, at the same table sat the gray wizard. He'd liked the spot, so Zelretch saw no need to leave sans necessity. Such might be something worth seeing personally—why he was in Fuyuki. For that which had pierced this Kaleidoscope world's shard.
Days prior, the Clock Tower's Marshal sensed strong reality boundary disturbance: intrusion. The metaphysical membrane parting existence from Origin's uncontrolled energy oceans was breached. Even now, the rift unsealed, shocking Kishua's experience. For even the Holy Grail's full activation opened Akasha passage but briefly. An entity capable thus rivaled Gaia in might, perhaps surpassed. For world preservation, this worry couldn't be ignored.
From reverie, the wizard was torn by faint lilac glow. Tiny particles gathered from nowhere, moments later forming a human figure. A youthful maiden whose beauty challenged all the man had seen sat opposite in graceful pose betraying boredom nonetheless. Lavender eyes brimmed disdain for her interlocutor—contempt even. A light motion adjusted snow-white hair, and she spoke.
"You're the one seeking me, mortal?" Crystal chime carried her voice through air. It could be music to any fortunate ear. Yet it hid baleful effect on the susceptible. Zelretch deemed this natural for the entity. "Why?"
"Ho-ho, didn't think you'd come yourself. Frankly, unsure how to address you." Habitually, the magus adjusted his short beard.
"No need to speak—only answer. And don't waste my time." Nonchalant tone turned frosty. The girl disliked this human dodging.
"Ahem, then—why appear in this world?" Prime question; answer shaped dialogue.
"For he who should be mine. Know no more."
"This someone—isn't a tall blond with insufferable character, by chance?" Zelretch still recalled the Primarch's stunt. It bruised pride—chess defeat rare for a magus, moreso humiliating.
"You weren't listening—I said know no more." Her face took faintly menacing cast. Perhaps from insolence, or reproaching her dear Primarch in anything. He, perfection incarnate, most beloved by the Prince of Pleasure.
"Still, may I ask what you plan while here…"
The man's body froze midword. Every muscle refused motion, gaze filling with disjointed visions. Chaotic, incomprehensible yet horrifying. Ears rang with nightmarish voices promising earthly torments. Zelretch's head split from pain long forgotten. All he saw: glowing eyes… of a monster.
This woman hid unseen might, something unnatural, otherworldly. At one point, he sensed myriad souls' wails begging oblivion. Their agony transmitted, spasming his body. In this state, Schweinorg couldn't muster basic spellcraft—let alone second True Magic. Should his captor wish, the ancient magus' soul would dissipate—or worse, join the countless unfortunates felt.
"You're unusual, mortal. Killing you causes inconvenience—so live." Slender hand vise-gripped the magus' throat, agony unrelieved. "But dare not bother me, much less interfere. I trust consequences clear."
Finally, the pain receded, along with the hand that had released his throat, and the feeble old man was now such not just in name. He immediately slumped onto the table in an attempt to catch his breath. From the shaking, the pieces shifted slightly, remaining in the positions where Fulgrim had left them. Zelretch didn't bother resetting them, considering it an admission of defeat; instead, he devoted an unjustifiably long time to trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. It was precisely this that drew the attention of the dark lady.
Her beautiful eyes quickly scanned the battlefield, bringing a satisfied smile to her lips. She could clearly see the battle that had taken place, the decisive and precise moves of her champion. And the magnificent climax, where he had defeated the enemy in such an elegant manner. Her hand unconsciously rested on her chest to calm her racing heart.
Since her incarnation in a living vessel, she had been experiencing unfamiliar sensations. The warmth of her beloved champion's lips and strong body even now stirred in her a desire to conquer him again as quickly as possible. She could resist him, since it was still too early, but… "I think if I visit him unobtrusively, nothing terrible will happen. I'll try to be very… gentle." The main thing was not to pounce on him again; that would definitely worsen the situation, and it was already far from ideal.
The Goddess found the primarch's desire to banish her extremely charming. And how magnificent he was when filled with determination—words couldn't describe it. She had seen everything he had done since their meeting, so she knew his plans. And she knew about his relationships with those little humans, especially that wretched swordswoman. Their "sacrament" that evening had caused a pang of irritation. They had so sweetly helped each other overcome regrets about the past. The Dark Prince considered that this… Artoria was allowing herself too much. Of course, Fulgrim could do whatever he wanted, but treating some medieval kinglet better than his own lady… unforgivable.
"I think I need to punish him for that later. After all, he should look only at me and no one else. Though, maybe he'll make those bugs his toys for pleasure; they can't be denied beauty. I just don't like the boy's gaze, as if his own desires don't matter at all. Yes, perhaps I'll approve of the swordswoman and the summoner, but him I can break completely and discard."
Nodding to her own thoughts, She-Who-Thirsts vanished without a trace, leaving the barely recovered magus alone. Zelretch steadied his breathing and, with a groan, lifted his face from the table.
"What kind of trouble is this? First that little bastard, now this bitch." And on top of that, a clump of dark energies had begun roaming the city, killing people and draining their strength. A Servant from the previous war, who hadn't disappeared for some reason over the past ten years, and an observer who clearly had his own plans for this ritual. Unpleasant separately, but all together… "Oh, my back."
***
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