The roar of the tides thundered.
The coastline outside the divine city suddenly surged upward, birthing towering waves, as though Poseidon himself had commanded the seas and countless marine spirits to rage forth, dragging endless water to sweep away all.
The wind chimes suspended in the air above the ancient god-city seemed to sense the impending calamity. They shivered wildly, chiming together in a dirge of destruction. Yet the city had already been reduced to a ruined wasteland by the eruption of black mud. Each crashing wave only buried more mountain-like heaps of rubble beneath the boundless waters.
The sea roared in fury, and the earth wailed in grief. The land quaked once more, cracks splitting open to swallow the black sludge, only for plumes of dust and folds of broken ground to surge forth in its place. The clash of sea and land produced a cataclysmic reaction—the colossal city began to sink, crumbling as it was steadily dragged beneath the raging flood.
It was like a reenactment of the ancient scene in the Kōbunki: when Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi unleashed the mimicry of the kotodama, "Dance of Shiva's Destruction" and "Return to the Abyss," sending Takamagahara into the deep sea.
This seemed to be the true doomsday of the Night Banquet.
The Yamata no Orochi screeched uneasily at the sight, sensing the end of the world itself. From its reeking maw came a sonic bellow, its fangs dripping venom that glimmered in the gray haze.
"What's it doing?" Aso gasped, startled and confused.
"Not good!" Herakles, with the keenest view, caught the shifting of the surrounding districts and bellowed, "Everyone, beware! It's calling all the monsters to gather at the plaza!"
As the White King's divine corpse-spawn, the Orochi naturally inherited her ability to summon its kin. All alchemic abominations, mud-forged servants, and twisted beasts now surged toward the call like devout zealots. They threw themselves through rubble and flood alike, uncaring if they drowned or fell into chasms.
And the battle was already taking place beneath the central tower in the plaza. With the tide of monsters converging and the Orochi looming, their situation was nothing short of certain death. Escape was a laughable dream.
"Assassin, are you alright!?" Aso cried, seeing Chiyome clutch her head as though in pain.
"I'm fine… That snake's cry muddled my mind a moment…" Chiyome grimaced, then straightened with her short blade and kusarigama at the ready. "Master, retreat inward. The horde is coming."
The damp reek thickened. Water already pooled several inches around their feet, cold seeping up their legs like a serpent's tongue.
Aso forced down her fear, glimpsing the endless dark shapes merging with the flood, terror threatening to drown her spirit.
Yet even in such despair, Chiyome stood unwavering, shielding her like a wall of steel.
Could such loyalty be her only wish as a Heroic Spirit?
"Master! Behind you!" Chiyome snapped, flinging a kunai that skewered a creeping weasel-demon just as it lunged.
"Sorry!" Aso cursed her lapse and took in the nightmare once more. The black tide engulfed everything—more terrifying than any nightmare she'd ever dreamt. She had no idea how to break free.
"The target is there! The torii—that's the exit!"
A female voice rang out like heavenly bells. Aso turned to see it was the dark-skinned, white-haired stranger—Attila.
Doubt flickered in her heart. Not mistrust, but the unease of unfamiliarity.
"Are you certain?" Shirou called from amidst the Orochi's onslaught. "Our lives hinge on this."
"This labyrinth is vast, but it still has a true gate," Attila answered flatly. "And the proof… is that all the water flows there. Look closely—the torii sits above ground level, yet the currents run toward it. There is only one reason…"
"That's the exit out of this world!?" Shirou's eyes widened.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Herakles' Nine Lives rained light upon the Orochi's colossal heads, explosions bursting in waves of fire.
"Archer, stop wasting shots! We need to retreat toward the exit!" Shirou roared, cleaving through the black tide with Duan Long Tai, flames and frost searing monsters alike.
Shing—!
The Orochi's Kusanagi flared once more, a blade of force slicing the city in half. Even its own summoned creatures were severed instantly, disintegrating to ash.
But this time, Herakles' battle-honed instinct saw it coming. With one great leap, he avoided the deadly strike and shoved Shirou forward.
"Forgive me. Someone must hold it back. And this monster must never reach the exit."
His time was nearly gone. Too many Noble Phantasms had drained his Master. His body was close to fading. Only by burning his own Saint Graph could he fight on.
He pulled off the pelt of the Nemean Lion and prepared to hand the unconscious Fingal to Shirou.
But then—
Snap!
Fingal's eyes flew open. He grabbed Herakles' arm, voice hoarse but steady.
"Oi, Archer, planning to ditch me now? You've drained me dry already, I've got nothing left in the tank—and you'd toss me aside here?"
Shirou twitched an ear. So he'd been awake all along! Just too weak to move!
"Forgive me, Master," Herakles murmured. "It's my failing. I am too great a burden."
"What crap! Without you, I'd have been demon chow ages ago!" Fingal barked, tightening his grip. "Quit this nonsense about who's dragging who down! What matters is we all get out alive!"
The thought of going back empty-handed, telling Director Ange he'd lost the relics, the Servant, the works—Fingal nearly gagged. If he went home like that, he'd be repeating his final year all over again!
He raised his Command Seal. "Ain't I the Master? Then let's see if this damn thing works!"
"Command Seals bind Servants absolutely," Shirou called, still hacking through the tide. "They enforce orders or strengthen abilities, regardless of Master's state!"
Ahead, Attila was nearing the torii. Black water surged into it like a cosmic whirlpool.
And behind, the Orochi's heads were rising again, fully healed, divine aura swelling like a storm.
"Then it's simple… it works when it matters most!"
Fingal roared, raising his hand. "By the Command Seal—I order you, Archer! Get every last one of us out alive! No one dies!"
Herakles felt the power flood his fading Saint Graph. He could only laugh, raising his bow once more.
"As you command, my Master."
———
"Damn it… what's the Dragon King doing? Why isn't it over yet?"
In the steel arteries of the Iron Dome Cathedral, the masked General prowled, irritation mounting. The thunder of water echoed endlessly in the pipes.
The Cathedral, a colossal flood system, was built of Maruyama steel. Vast tunnels, reservoirs, turbines—the city's shield against storms. But also a perfect smuggler's highway.
That was how the General, under the guise of clan head Tachibana Masamune, had infiltrated and seeded it with the Ghosts.
He tapped his lacquered clapper against the railing in a strange rhythm. Immediately, pale faces rose from the water—serpentlike Dead Apostles.
Thanks to Herzog's surgery, even Dead Apostles could be controlled. These were bred to swarm, even reproduce, forming a private army. They had been the spearhead against Genji's tower.
But Dragon King Kazama Ruri and Ibaraki-dōji were too slow. Gen Uryuu and his Servant, Watanabe no Tsuna, were slaughtering them in droves. He needed to send reinforcements.
Then—RUMBLE.
The pipes shook. Water surged, a white dragon of foam roaring down the tunnels.
"…Strange. No storms lately."
The General peered down from the gantry. The torrent tore his Dead Apostles apart like rag dolls, smashing them against the walls.
He frowned. As if some unseen heaven had poured a river into the sewers.
He tapped the clapper harder, forcing his creatures to cling to the walls desperately.
And then—two red heads broke the surface.
He froze.
That long-haired face—Erii.
It had to be real this time. Surely… right?
Suppressing his doubt, he raised the clapper again.
(End of Chapter)
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