Chapter 1: Superior Kiritsugu
Who am I?
Where am I?
Why am I even here in the first place?
My name... is Lucifer Morningstar. The Morningstar who defied Heaven and brought the armies of the celestial realm to their knees...
No. No, that's not right.
I'm not Lucifer; I'm Emiya Kiritsugu, the Magus Killer who sacrificed everything for a twisted ideal of justice, turning his own heart to icy cold in the process.
No, no, no... That's wrong too.
I'm neither of them. I am Jack Smith, a mortal, an ordinary human being living in a mundane world, a man without such cosmic grandeur or tragic nobility.
Fuck...
What is wrong with my mind?
Why is it so jumbled, so fractured, like a shattered mirror reflecting three different faces back at me?
I'm not any of the three of them.
Not entirely, at least.
So who am I really?
Does it even matter who I am, this sense of identity?
Is it crucial for me to understand?
The truth is, I don't know.
But it feels like it should be important.
No, it is important—like an anchor in this storm of madness.
It's what proves that I exist, what affirms my own individuality, the core of my being, making me feel alive in this pitiful, wretched world.
To unravel this madness, I need to understand who Lucifer Morningstar, Emiya Kiritsugu, and Jack Smith really are—each of them in their own fucked-up way.
Lucifer Morningstar...
The name itself is infamous, echoing through history and myth alike.
Everyone, whether they're religious or not, knows who he is, unless they've been living under a rock, buried deep in ignorance.
He was once Samael, the Demiurge, the Archangel who dared to defy the Creator Himself.
The rebellious son who led a third of Heaven's host into a doomed rebellion against the almighty God and the celestial order.
But we all know how that story ends—predictable as all tales of hubris are.
He lost.
Utterly and completely.
Stripped of his divine power, his radiant light snuffed out.
But even in defeat, Lucifer's ambition—his insatiable lust for absolute freedom and power—never died.
His punishment was severe: he was cast down into the deepest pit, Hell itself, forced into the role of its King, a ruler of ashes and damnation, trapped in a cage of his own.
For those of us familiar with The Sandman, we understand the irony of it all.
The deal struck between God and the Devil: in exchange for managing the forsaken wasteland that became Hell, along with every damned soul that ever sinned, Lucifer was granted a sliver of freedom—a mockery of what he once sought.
He ruled the realm of agony and darkness, but at what cost? Everyone knows there's always a price to be paid for freedom.
God knew it. Lucifer knew it. But did he truly have any choice left after his defeat?
He lost everything—his divine, demiurgic power torn away, leaving him a mere shadow of the Lightbringer he once was.
The angels who followed him no longer revered him, and his grand, defiant cause was nothing more than a bitter memory.
He swallowed his pride and bided his time, silently, cunningly waiting for the right moment.
God departed from the scene, leaving Lucifer to reign as the undisputed King of Hell in His absence.
But then... something went terribly wrong.
The narrative diverged from what we know from The Sandman; it twisted into a darker, unknown path. Lucifer hasn't even built his infamous bar yet. He hasn't faced the challenge from Dream of the Endless.
None of that has happened.
Instead, he was ambushed—caught off-guard by a faceless, mysterious enemy.
Stripped of his form and shackled in a prison far more insidious than the depths of Hell: the mind of a mortal.
In this case, the mind of Jack Smith.
And to make it even worse, somehow, Emiya Kiritsugu, the Magus Killer, is tangled up in this mess as well.
Now we stand here, three fractured souls trapped in one vessel.
We are no longer merely Lucifer Morningstar, nor simply Emiya Kiritsugu, nor just Jack Smith.
We have become something new, something more... or perhaps something less.
Our identities, once distinct, have collided, merged, and twisted together, forming a new entity altogether.
We call it Superior Kiritsugu.
A patchwork personality born from the madness of three lives colliding—an amalgam of defiance, pragmatism, and mundane humanity, all swirling together in this fractured psyche.
This is who we are now.
Or at least, it's the closest answer we can give to the question: Who am I?
To understand us better, we need to delve into the psyche of two men: Emiya Kiritsugu and Jack Smith.
Let's first dissect Emiya Kiritsugu, a man whose entire existence was governed by delusions of grandeur and an insatiable savior complex.
He was a paradox—a man who desired to save everyone yet ended up saving no one. In the end, all he loved turned to ash, all because he naively placed his faith in the Holy Grail, believing it to be an omnipotent tool, a panacea for the world's suffering that could grant any of his desperate, wishful pleas.
But the harsh irony of it all?
He put his trust in something that was already damned from the very start.
The Holy Grail wasn't some divine artifact; it was a construct born from human hands, made by magi who were inherently flawed.
The hubris of humanity, thinking they could create something perfect when they themselves were but imperfect beings.
Even God's creations are riddled with flaws, defects that even the Almighty could not entirely eradicate. Lucifer himself—God's most beautiful angel, who fell from grace—is the very embodiment of that imperfection.
If even the divine creator failed in achieving true perfection, how laughable it is that mere humans could succeed?
What arrogance! What insolent folly!
The Holy Grail was a failure from the moment it was conceived—a flawed creation built upon the shaky foundation of mortal ambition and human error.
Since his childhood, Emiya Kiritsugu's life was not one of cold-blooded violence or harsh, bitter surroundings.
No, he was born into the warm embrace of a tropical island, a paradise of sorts, where he was surrounded by cheerful neighbors and a lovely childhood friend who always lingered by his side, brightening his days with her presence.
It was here, amidst the serene beauty of this idyllic setting, that the seed of his dream was first planted.
He dreamed of a world that mirrored the tranquil paradise he had known—a place where laughter echoed freely, where neighbors were friendly, where no one wept in sorrow or suffered a life of hardship.
This tropical haven became the blueprint for his ideal world, an ideal that would later fester in his mind like an obsession, a utopia he desperately wanted to recreate.
But dreams often turn to nightmares.
The paradise that once was turned into a hellscape when his father's reckless experiment spiraled out of control, transforming the island's inhabitants into grotesque abominations, the undead—monstrous Dead Apostles who had lost all semblance of humanity.
Kiritsugu, still just a boy, was thrust into a living nightmare. He was forced to kill his childhood friend, the very symbol of his innocent dream, and then his own father, the architect of this horror. He became the executioner, delivering death to the twisted remnants of those he once loved.
He was left with no choice but to flee, burdened by the weight of a dream now tainted by his own sins and the monstrous mistakes of his father.
The vision of a peaceful world clung to him like a curse, an inescapable guilt that gnawed at his soul. He carried it with him, clutching it as if it were a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from drowning in the ocean of his own remorse.
As he wandered through the shadows of his own making, the ideals he clung to were both his salvation and his damnation.
They were all he had left.
The faces of the people he had killed—his friend, his father, the villagers—haunted him ceaselessly, ghosts that refused to fade.
He didn't want their deaths to be meaningless; he couldn't bear the thought of their lives being reduced to mere collateral damage in the wake of his father's hubris. He wanted them to live on in his mind, to be a part of the world he envisioned, a world that he would shape with his own bloodied hands.
He sought to redeem himself, to carve out a semblance of peace in the chaos, to atone for what he had done, even if it meant chasing an impossible dream.
It was an apology, a silent plea for forgiveness from those he had wronged, a desperate attempt to justify his own existence.
Because if he failed, if he let go of that vision, he would be left with nothing but the hollow shell of a man, shattered by his own idealism and devoured by his own guilt.
What about Jack Smith?
He is nothing great; he is unlike them who have a great story to tell. He is just someone who likes heroic tales, villain struggles, and wants to participate and tell that story to the world.
He loved the anime world. He wanted to stop all the tragedies that were supposed to happen. Of course, he had his own flaws. He was lustful and liked to have some great nights with all the cute girls from the Nasuverse and beyond.
Three minds, three souls, and three hearts in one body finally came to an agreement.
They would fulfill their own goals and their own happiness in this world, in the form of Emiya Kiritsugu.
Lucifer, the fallen angel, desired absolute freedom and the unshackled power to shape reality itself according to his whims. Emiya Kiritsugu, the tragic magus killer, sought salvation for a broken world, to be its savior even if it meant staining his hands with innocent blood.
And Jack Smith, the ordinary man with extraordinary lusts, craved nothing more than the pleasure of companionship, to be surrounded by adorable girls and to rewrite the tragic fates he had once watched from the other side of the screen.
Their ambitions, while distinct, did not conflict—they harmonized.
Thus, they reached the conclusion that they were neither fully Lucifer, nor entirely Kiritsugu, nor simply Jack Smith anymore.
They had become something greater, an amalgamation of all three—a new entity that surpassed each of them individually.
They called themselves Superior Kiritsugu.
It was the private name they chose, a testament to their shared evolution.
Now, they know it's time for them to make their choice, to make their move. As much as they despised the Holy Grail, there is something they want from it.
True Magic.
And they are determined to get it.
The die is cast, there is no turning back.
...
"Magus Killer, huh... What business do you have visiting this old man's place?" Matou Zouken's voice was dripping with malice, his tone menacing and sharp.
His shriveled eyes scrutinized the man before him, brimming with the cold intimidation.
"Let's cooperate, Matou Zouken. You and I," Emiya Kiritsugu replied, arms crossed firmly against his chest, showing no sign of weakness.
His eyes held a fierce, unyielding gleam.
He wasn't about to lose this contest of dominance; they locked gazes, the air between them heavy with mutual animosity.
"Cooperate? Don't make me laugh!" Zouken scoffed. "This old man has already heard whispers that you've been consorting with the Einzbern family. You've accepted their invitation, haven't you? How bold of you to seek another alliance when your allegiance has already been sold."
The timeline in question was still a full decade before the Fourth Holy Grail War—back when Emiya Kiritsugu had yet to marry Irisviel von Einzbern.
At this point in history, he was still embroiled in brutal competition, vying against other candidates handpicked by the Einzberns. He was merely one of several potential champions they tested, a mercenary among mercenaries, judged only by his ability to prove himself worthy of becoming their chosen Master for the upcoming war.
To be specific, Kiritsugu was nothing more than a hired blade in their eyes—a tool to be used and discarded.
The Einzberns believed he was no different from any other dog of war, chasing glory and gold. While the other candidates had their own lofty ambitions and unique desires, Kiritsugu's motives remained inscrutable to them, shrouded in a calculated, ruthless pragmatism.
This very perception was why, in the future canon events, the Einzbern family would consider his actions an unforgivable betrayal.
When Kiritsugu gave the order to Saber to destroy the Holy Grail, he shattered the fragile contract he had with the Einzberns.
Using the Command Spell in his possession, he had forced Saber's hand, obliterating the Grail, and in doing so, destroyed the very thing the Einzberns had strived for across centuries—their cherished hope of achieving the Third Magic.
They had expected him to hand over the Holy Grail as their prize, tainted though it was by the vile corruption of the world's evils.
They did not care for the darkness lurking within it, only for its potential to unlock the Third Magic. In their minds, Kiritsugu's only duty was to fulfill their desire, to make their wish a reality.
By destroying the Grail, he had not only defied their expectations but had, in their eyes, committed a treacherous act, one that severed any semblance of trust they had placed in him.
To the Einzberns, Kiritsugu was nothing more than their hired mercenary, an expendable pawn. He held no right to make decisions for them, no authority to act against their wishes. Yet, he had defied them—decisively, and without a second thought.
The price for his defiance was steep; he was barred from ever seeing his daughter, Illya.
She was taken as a hostage, a tool for revenge, locked away in their cold, isolated castle. Should Kiritsugu dare to set foot near their domain, he would be met with immediate, lethal force, hunted like a rabid dog by the very family that once employed him.
This was the harsh, unforgiving consequence of his so-called betrayal—this was why Illya would suffer so terribly in the canonical timeline.
But he wouldn't make that mistake again. Never. He swore it.
Now, back to the present confrontation with Matou Zouken.
"How about I tell you the secret to achieving true immortality? The way to become perfect?" Emiya Kiritsugu smirked as he dangled the proposition, savoring the look on the old man's face.
"Prove it." Matou Zouken's eyes softened, though only slightly; the glint of skepticism was still there. He would not be easily swayed. He wanted solid proof before even considering the words of this man.
"You will find her in Tokyo—Sayjou Manaka," Kiritsugu declared calmly, savoring the name as it left his lips. "She is your key to immortality. Her connection to the Root makes it possible, unlike anything you've encountered before."
He threw the name out like bait, watching for any reaction. Zouken's expression remained blank. But the lack of emotion didn't matter. Once the old man investigated, the truth would speak for itself.
"And why, pray tell, would you share this knowledge with an old man like me? What if I betray you the moment I get what I want? A man like you, someone who's spent his life in battlefields, shouldn't be so quick to trust. I could break our agreement whenever it suits me," Zouken remarked, his voice dripping with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled threat.
Kiritsugu let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"Heh... Information like this is never free, Matou Zouken. Just because I told you her name doesn't mean you can reach her so easily. It's impossible for someone like you to even get close. Any malicious intent directed at her will result in complete obliteration. The Counter Force will never allow a wretched like you to lay a single finger on her. Her name is merely the proof you demanded—the proof that what I offer is genuine, that the immortality you so desperately crave is real," Kiritsugu's voice was laced with confidence, almost mocking in its assurance.
"Investigate her. Then, when you've seen the truth for yourself, come back to me after you've reconsidered," he finished, turning away.
Matou Zouken made no move to stop him from leaving.
Instead, he shifted his focus inward, channeling his consciousness into the swarm of grotesque insects he'd nurtured over centuries.
He sent them out like a plague, spreading through Tokyo in search of the girl named Sayjou Manaka. He needed to confirm whether there was something truly extraordinary about her—whether Kiritsugu's words held any weight.
For the sake of eternal life, there was nothing Matou Zouken wouldn't do.
He was resolute in his decision.
Whatever it took, he would seize it.
Even if he had to challenge a girl connected to the Root itself.
Even if he had to face the wrath of the Counter Force.
There was no price too steep when it came to the promise of immortality.
...
The Following Morning
"Annoying bug."
Sayjou Manaka took a delicate sip from the teacup in her hand, feeling a wave of irritation as several insects suddenly invaded her private space. With a flick of her wrist, she swatted them away effortlessly, her expression contorting in disdain.
The insects, squashed into a mess of guts and goo, left a faint smear on her delicate fingers. She clicked her tongue and began cleaning her hand, meticulously spraying soap onto her fingers and scrubbing until the slimy residue was gone.
Then, with an elegant gesture, she wiped her hand with a soft handkerchief before resuming her sweet morning tea, savoring the aroma and tranquility.
As she sipped, her thoughts wandered into a pleasant fantasy, imagining the prince charming who would be summoned by her in the future.
Would it be the Prince of Darkness, a.k.a. Superior Kiritsugu, or the Knight King, a.k.a. King Arthur, who would be summoned by her?
Only time will tell, my friends, only time will tell.
Meanwhile, in the Matou Mansion
In another part of the city, Matou Zouken's consciousness was abruptly pulled back into his decaying body after the humiliating incident of his insect familiar being casually obliterated by Manaka's slap.
He violently coughed up a torrent of dark, viscous blood, the crimson liquid staining his lips as his already-pale face became even more ashen.
The sheer force of that single slap had not only damaged his insect familiar but had also drained a significant portion of his own dwindling lifespan.
Yet, instead of succumbing to rage or frustration, Zouken began to laugh.
His laughter was a cacophony of wheezing, rattling breaths that reverberated throughout the old, creaking mansion.
The sound was so unsettling that both his first and second sons, who were nearby, nearly jumped out of their skin.
"Hahaha! Bwahahaha!" His cackles turned into full-blown hysterics.
"Immortality! Finally, the path is opening up before me!"
He banged his frail fist against the table, eyes gleaming with a grotesque excitement.
"Emiya Kiritsugu… Yes, yes! That man must have the true secret to immortality! Kariya!" he shrieked, summoning his disheveled, good-for-nothing son with an air of manic urgency.
"What is it now, Father?" Matou Kariya muttered, visibly annoyed as he entered the room, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration.
"Go to this address immediately," Zouken spat, thrusting a crumpled piece of paper into Kariya's hand. "Bring Emiya Kiritsugu here, and don't waste a single second. Now go!"
There was no room for argument. Matou Kariya, although clearly irritated, could only nod silently and obey the command without protest. He quickly left the room, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere.
Two Hours Later
Kariya returned, drenched in sweat after racing back and forth across the city.
With him, in tow, was the infamous Magus Killer, Emiya Kiritsugu, his face a mask of cold, detached indifference.
Kariya, not wanting to stay any longer than necessary, left the two men alone without so much as a glance back, slamming the door shut behind him.
"What do you want, Kiritsugu Emiya?" Zouken Matou wasted no time on formalities and immediately asked what the notorious magus killer sought in exchange for his willingness to provide the method of immortality.
"I want this," Kiritsugu Emiya declared coldly, his voice laced with a chilling determination.
He threw the crumpled paper he had been holding in his hand toward Zouken Matou, allowing it to flutter through the air, the names written on it visible for Zouken to see one by one.
"I want every single person listed on this paper to die tonight."
Zouken's gaze swept over the names, his eyes narrowing in mock amusement.
"It seems that these people were your competitors for the coveted spot in the Holy Grail War on behalf of the Einzbern family, Kiritsugu Emiya. Tell me, do you not have the confidence to defeat them in a fair contest?" He chuckled, a sound that was as cold and calculating as the rest of his demeanor.
Kiritsugu's expression remained unchanging, a sharp edge to his voice as he responded, "I have no patience to wait. I want the spot now. You can make your jokes all you want, Zouken. But you and I both know that you're not the only one who wants this information. There are monks, other magi, and any number of desperate souls willing to do whatever it takes to connect with the Root. They all want it, and they would kill for it. The safest way to reach the Root without being instantly vaporized, like what happened to you at Sayjou Manaka's house, is by following my lead."
His words were not just a warning but a challenge, daring Zouken to dismiss the truth of his statement, to continue hiding behind his smug, self-assured grin.
Kiritsugu's gaze was unwavering, piercing through Zouken as if daring him to question his resolve.
Zouken Matou's expression faltered for a brief moment, the faintest flicker of annoyance showing in his eyes
The Magus Killer leaned in closer, his gaze unflinching. "You know well that the method of immortality is the quickest and safest option only available to me, Zouken. So tell me, are you going to take the deal or not?"
Zouken's eyes gleamed with a mixture of malice and intrigue. "How fascinating... It's rare for someone to dare threaten me so boldly. You're either brave or foolish, boy. I only hope that your information is accurate."
"I don't need someone threatening me to do things and decide what to do, Zouken. Never." Kiritsugu was undeniably upset with Zouken's tone. It was clear that Kiritsugu's alter ego, Lucifer Morningstar, harbored a particular loathing for being threatened.
Passive aggression aimed his way only served to fan the flames of his ire.
In a heartbeat, Kiritsugu activated Time Alter: Double Accel, the world blurring as his perception sped up.
He closed the gap instantly, grabbing Zouken by the collar with a force that took the old magus completely off guard.
Zouken, caught unaware, had no time to react before Kiritsugu's fist collided with his face, sending him sprawling to the ground, blood splattering from his nose.
Without missing a beat, Kiritsugu kicked the cane away from Zouken's grasp, sending it clattering across the floor.
He towered over the old magus, pressing the barrel of his Thompson Contender against Zouken's forehead.
The cold, metallic click of the gun's hammer being cocked filled the silence.
"Make your choice, Zouken," Kiritsugu hissed, his voice dripping with malice. "Agree to my terms, or we leave. And just so you know, there's something I didn't mention earlier—I've already rigged your entire house with explosives while you were busy sniffing around Manaka's place. One wrong move from you, and I'll blow you and everything you have. So, choose your next words very carefully."
Zouken's eyes flicked toward the swarm of insects creeping toward Kiritsugu, but the Magus Killer was one step ahead.
"Oh, and keep your bugs away from me," Kiritsugu added with a sneer, noticing the approaching horde. "I won't hesitate to blow us all to pieces if you try anything stupid."
Zouken clenched his jaw, suppressing a surge of rage.
He could only grit his teeth and mentally order his familiars to retreat. He knew he was at his weakest—Manaka had left him vulnerable and humiliated, stripped of his usual defenses.
If Kiritsugu's bombs were as effective as promised, the resulting blast could cripple him, leaving him to suffer a slow, agonizing death without any hope of recovery.
Wiping the blood from his cracked lips with a trembling hand, Zouken struggled to crawl toward his cane.
The sight of the once-proud magus groveling on the ground brought a cold smile to Kiritsugu's face, who watched the pitiful display with icy indifference.
Zouken finally managed to stand, leaning heavily on his cane.
He made no move to retaliate, his posture slumped in reluctant defeat.
When he spoke, his voice was subdued, stripped of its earlier malice.
"Very well, Kiritsugu. I'll take the deal."
Kiritsugu's sour mood evaporated in an instant, replaced by a triumphant grin.
"Good choice, old man. I'll be waiting for your good news, then. Farewell, Zouken Matou." He clapped the ancient magus on the shoulder in a mockingly friendly gesture, as though the entire confrontation had been nothing more than a casual negotiation.
With that, Kiritsugu turned on his head and walked away without a second glance, leaving Zouken to stew in his silent fury.
Zouken could only watch helplessly as the Magus Killer disappeared into the shadows of his own mansion, slipping away unscathed.
Humiliation burned in Zouken's chest, mingled with a seething hatred.
This humiliation would not go unpunished.
Zouken vowed, with every ounce of his being, that he would make Kiritsugu pay—hundredfold—when the time came.
...
"Lord Kiritsugu, should we detonate the bomb we planted in Zouken Matou's residence?" Maiya asked, her fingers brushing against the red button that had been given to her by Lord Kiritsugu. It was the same button he'd entrusted to her when he infiltrated the Matou household. Their communication was seamless, the walkie-talkie crackling softly in the background as they spoke.
As long as Zouken Matou dared to anger Lord Kiritsugu, Maiya would detonate the bomb without hesitation. She was loyal to him, and under his instructions, she was prepared to take any drastic measure—whether it was with a word or a single press of the button. The bomb was primed, and at Lord Kiritsugu's command, Zouken's house would be reduced to rubble.
Maiya wasn't concerned for Kiritsugu's safety. He had already shared with her how he survived the inferno, so the knowledge gave her a sense of assurance. The moment the order came, she could destroy the target without a second thought.
To her surprise, Lord Kiritsugu had already appeared at her side. He was standing just behind her, a hand resting gently on her shoulder. She turned her head to meet his gaze, still processing how he had arrived so quickly.
No wonder he could easily evade the explosion—perhaps he had used some kind of teleportation rune? She had seen markings on the ground beneath him as he materialized, instantly crossing the distance to stand next to her.
It wasn't difficult for him. After all, part of him was Lucifer Morningstar. In the DC universe, Lucifer had ruled over Hell for ten billion years, and his mastery over such powers was undeniable. He wasn't merely a ruler of the darkness—he had existed since the dawn of the universe, created by none other than Big G Himself. As one of the original creators of the DC universe, Lucifer's knowledge spanned beyond mortal comprehension. How could someone so potent, capable of bending time, space, and reality itself, not be able to create a simple teleportation rune?
"It's not necessary," Kiritsugu said with a shrug, his tone casual. "We've already come to an agreement."
He paused for a moment, then continued with a more focused intensity in his voice. "Forget about that old man for now. I've come for you tonight, Maiya."