The notebook fluttered in the breeze, pages trembling faintly.
While the group discussed, Erii lowered her head and diligently scribbled down the story of Daedalus and the Great Labyrinth. Then she paused, biting her pen in thought, before flipping to the back page and doodling a crooked, abstract bull-headed figure.
Only when Shirou tugged twice at her sleeve did the girl raise her head, and continue following the group into the endless colossal city.
Shirou and Herakles led the way. The ancient city unfurled like a divine tapestry. At its center stood a tower taller than Tokyo Tower, its spire piercing the clouds as if to stab the sky itself.
Buildings like mountains stretched on, their roofs swelling like ridges, clad in iron-black tiles engraved with dragons and curling clouds. Massive chains and scythes hung from the corners, with bronze bells swaying eerily without a sound.
Ever since entering, Masao's mouth hadn't closed. Such architecture was something she'd only ever seen in fantasy films. The reality of this place dwarfed any ancient ruins of mankind.
The carvings in stone, the silver, iron, and bronze fused into cold, sharp ornamentation—all of it shattered her assumptions about antiquity, and confirmed what Shirou and Herakles had said of the Age of Gods.
A lost civilization, advanced beyond imagining, had truly once existed.
—Swish!
"Master, watch your step."
Chiyome's chain-scythe shot out, catching Masao's sash just in time as the stone beneath her feet sank away. Hidden bronze gears turned, revealing a pit of black-violet spikes.
"Ah!" Masao gasped, belatedly realizing the city wasn't a dead relic at all, but a cold, hostile guardian against intruders.
Shirou pulled Erii close, stepping back from the shifting floor. "So the city defends itself?"
Herakles studied the vast layout—the avenues, the spires, the coliseum-like plaza, the towering central tower.
"Not necessarily. This is a city, not a fortress or labyrinth. It wasn't meant to reject all who enter… except, perhaps, in wartime."
The words had barely left him when a rumble shook the ground. Stone slabs quivered. Even Masao, ignorant as she was, knew disaster was coming.
"Hold on!"
Herakles wrapped Nemean Lion's pelt tighter around Fingal and leapt to the rooftops, tiles shattering beneath his weight. Shirou swept Erii into his arms and vaulted upward. Chiyome, mid-jump, swung her chain to fling Masao into the air, catching her safely.
"Don't toss your Master around like a sack of rice, Assassin!" Masao cried.
"Forgive me, but necessity dictates it!"
The whole city groaned like a living beast. Streets arched upward, buildings cracked and shifted, the ground exposing its grim foundations. Black sludge surged forth—thick, oily mud crawling with… bones. Countless corpses, soldiers entombed in armor, seeped with writhing mud.
The source of the Black Mud—here!
"Like Tartarus itself…" Herakles muttered.
His keen eyes scanned for safety. "There—around the mud, then right to the central plaza. It's stable!"
"Move!" Shirou ordered.
The group raced over rooftops as the streets twisted like serpents. Black mud fountained up, corpses reforming into shadowy Servants, yokai, monstrous phantoms.
Herakles's bow flashed. Each arrow struck with lightning force, splintering airborne wraiths. Shirou passed a projected blade to Erii.
"Can you handle this?"
She smiled and nodded. Silver arcs of death's judgment spread, her domain reducing mud and phantoms to dust.
Meanwhile, Masao stumbled. A rooftop gave way. She screamed—until Chiyome's kunai and wires formed a net, stopping her fall, then her chain hauled the girl back up.
But then—the city's heart thundered. Mud bulged upward. A massive skeletal dragon's head broke free, ghostly flames burning in hollow eyes.
"Another dragon?!" Masao gasped.
Herakles's bow sang. Lightning arrows blew its skull apart, bone fragments raining down. Chiyome shielded Masao, blades deflecting the mud-tainted shards.
But more came. Skeletal dragons surged from the black tide, blocking the way to the plaza.
Herakles, undaunted, stood like a god descended. Even carrying Fingal on his back, he loosed arrow after arrow, bursting skulls by the dozen.
"Careful!" Shirou shouted. "Some regenerate! You must strike the core!"
Indeed, three dragons reformed, stronger than the rest, their bodies knitting flesh and bone, divine aura blazing. They had hidden until now, ambushing like cowards.
Herakles's eyes sharpened. His [Mind's Eye (False)] and [Mind's Eye (True)] activated together, letting him choose perfectly amid chaos.
He dodged streams of molten fire, countered with three arrows, each tearing bloody holes through dragon necks—but not killing blows.
"Archer, move—! Noble Phantasm, release! Zan'etsu Chūaku: Danryūtai (Dragon-Slaying Platform)!"
Shirou's ice-fire torrent roared past, colliding with mud and dragon alike. Flames and frost combined, magnified by the damp mire, smothering the beasts. A perfect counter.
Herakles's eyes widened. He'd thought to entrust his Master to Shirou and stay behind. Now he saw: this ally was no less extraordinary.
But then—white light.
Herakles's instincts screamed. He hurled Fingal toward Shirou.
"Don't come closer!"
In the next instant, a blade of pure divinity swept from afar. No sound, no clash, just impossibly sharp brilliance.
The Ame-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi—the Divine Sword!
Herakles was cleaved cleanly in two. Bronze skin, indestructible muscle, all parted without resistance.
Shirou caught Fingal just as the shockwave split the ground, carving a rift tens of kilometers long.
And from the plaza, the earth burst open. A colossal beast with eight heads, divine aura surging, emerged from below—
(End of Chapter)
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