Before Shirou left that world through the torii gate, the last thing he saw was the sky beginning to shed strange black fragments, a monstrous tsunami swallowing the entire city, districts collapsing piece by piece, and black beasts dragged into the raging tide, sinking without hope of ever rising again.
The Yamata no Orochi roared thunderously within the black waters. From the wounds pierced by the "Shooting Hundred Heads," blood poured endlessly, yet its vitality remained unbelievably fierce. The divine aura of the Kusanagi no Tsurugi swept the land, oppressing the heavens and earth, but still could not prevent them from fleeing through the torii gate's exit.
That world might already be ending.
Then, the merciless torrent swept Shirou and the others out of that world.
Boom!
When he opened his eyes again, Shirou found himself in a dimly lit passage, surrounded by rushing waters—in other words, he was floating in water.
By instinct, he kicked and swam, reaching out and catching a small restless hand.
"Erii?"
Splash! A wet red head popped up from the water. The girl grinned brightly, flashing a peace sign at him. Then she pointed toward the wide, pool-like flood channel ahead, gesturing as if to say, "Race to the front!"
Did she think this was some kind of swimming game?
Shirou was helpless—he really wanted to roll his eyes. Judging by the yellowish tunnel walls, this should be part of the city's sewer system. Their exit point happened to be nearby, so they were swept away by the flood… He just wasn't sure if the others had been scattered elsewhere because of the terrain.
Seriously? They had just finished a surreal journey in the mirror world, and now it was time for a sewer rafting adventure?
If he said that aloud, Erii would no doubt raise both hands and feet in enthusiastic agreement—though she'd likely be upset that her notebook had been ruined by water, and that she had forgotten to bring along her little yellow duck bath toy to make it even more fun.
Indeed, to Erii, bathing and any other water-related activity were all just forms of play.
But Shirou hated this. Play in water? He was way too old for that—and the sewer water quality was disgusting. Even with his abnormal physique, he had no intention of splashing around here. His obsessive cleanliness was screaming alarms already.
"Erii, let's swim to the side of the tunnel. There's an iron ladder—climb up to the platform above."
"…Okay." Erii nodded reluctantly, her dream of a sewer swimming race canceled. She looked like a child brought to an amusement park but told she could only look at the rides, not touch them.
Shhh…
A faint sound mixed with the thunderous rushing water. Shirou didn't notice at first. As he grabbed the iron ladder bolted to the wall, he saw Erii suddenly shiver.
"Erii?" Holding tight with one hand, Shirou turned. She floated in place, trembling, her gaze fixed far ahead.
"Hm?"
The rhythmic sound of clappers echoed louder, reverberating through the iron tunnel walls. Shirou followed her line of sight—there stood a masked figure on an upper ladder, striking a pair of black wooden clappers.
The sound and instrument were bizarre. Focusing his vision with magecraft, Shirou could see clearly even in the dimness—the mask was like a noh actor's smiling noble face, fitted so tightly to the skin that it seemed melded with flesh.
This must be the "Ōshō" (King General) that Kazama Ruri had warned of…
A mask… A puppet replicant… Odin… The enemy!
His thoughts connected in an instant. In his free hand, Shirou projected a weapon and aimed it at the Ōshō.
But the masked man ignored him, focusing only on controlling Erii with the clappers.
Having just faced a fake in the Genji Heavy Industries building, the Ōshō hesitated—but thought, "Trying won't kill me." So he played, staring intently at the girl.
Sure enough… Erii froze, floating like a doll, all attention stolen by the sound.
Excellent! A blessing in disguise. The counterfeit failed, but the real thing had delivered itself.
The Ōshō beat the clappers, watching her reaction carefully. But then he noticed something wrong—her golden eyes grew brighter with every beat.
The fear and helplessness he expected were gone. Instead, her gaze shone like the blazing corona of the sun, heavy with divine majesty. The oppressive weight of a higher bloodline bore down on him.
"What? Impossible!"
He froze in terror. Erii had undergone brain-bridge separation surgery, but she never developed a second personality. She shouldn't react like this!
And yet the divine authority in her eyes was undeniable. She was no mere girl—she was a god. How could a puppet dare to control a god?
His hands trembled uncontrollably, the clappers slipping from his grip. An urge to kneel before her welled up.
"No… as long as I keep playing… as long as I reach that place…"
Convulsing under divine pressure, he collapsed, fumbling desperately to grab the fallen clappers.
Clack, clack…
A faint sound came from his trembling fingers.
But the golden eyes flared blindingly. Before losing consciousness, he felt a vast torrent of spirit crash into him, drowning his fragile mortal body.
——
A few minutes earlier.
In his mountain research base, Herzog was ecstatic, believing he was about to reclaim his piece—Erii.
Unlike Kazama Ruri, she wasn't just a soldier—she was a vessel of the divine!
According to Bondarev's notes, the key step on the path to godhood and claiming the White King's throne required a perfect, controllable vessel to filter the White King's toxic bloodline.
As the parasite within that vessel, Herzog would claim the essence, discard the dregs, and seize the White King's power effortlessly.
But after the anomaly of the Holy Grail War, he had grown uneasy about the vessel's safety—especially as his "Masamune Tachibana" identity was nearing its expiration.
"…As for the coming Holy Grail War… Bondarev, we'll see."
Feeling triumphant, Herzog decided to reward himself. He walked to the storage room to fetch a prized whisky.
But when he opened the door, he found a cloaked man wearing a mask, casually pouring himself a glass of Macallan from Herzog's collection.
"…Who are you?"
Herzog stiffened, then snapped coldly, "I'll count to three. Stay silent, and the defenses here will shred you in seconds."
"You ask who I am? That's hurtful. After all these years, an old friend like me is met with such words?"
The man raised the glass, unfazed.
"Old friend…?" Herzog thought it ridiculous, but then realized it might mean something else.
"My visit must be brief. If you can't recognize me, just call me Mr. Macallan." He lifted the whisky.
"Macallan…" Herzog sneered. Using alcohol as a codename? Pathetic coward.
Though, he was the same.
"Fine, I'll be direct," the man said, refilling his glass. "Our group—usually called the Medical Society—we've been your investors for years. We're here to check your progress."
"Investors?" Herzog laughed bitterly. His rise in Japan had been entirely his own doing. What did they have to do with it?
The man began to count on his fingers. "First investment—the 'Path to Apotheosis' plan. I gave you the notebook."
Herzog froze, mind trembling. "…You're—"
"Second investment—the 'Shadow Warrior' technology. You thought it pure science? No—it required a touch of alchemy."
"Third investment—the clappers. My old friend, did you really think you learned them from some tribal ritual? We arranged that."
Herzog's pupils shrank to pinpoints, his head aching as cracks formed in his memory.
"Fourth investment—the test subjects. We provided the drug lord-slash-trafficker, Pig Neo. You never ran out of materials, did you? He was one of ours."
"Fifth—our people inside the Orochi family and the Ghost Gang. We helped you climb faster because frankly, your skills weren't good enough. Otherwise, I wouldn't have personally brought you here years ago."
"Bondarev! You're Bondarev!" Herzog shouted, eyes wide with rage. "You manipulated me, fed me lies, lured me to act while you faked your death to vanish! You've been pulling my strings all along!"
"You finally remember. Yes—I'm Macallan. I'm also Bondarev. I'm of the Medical Society, and I'm your old friend."
The man grinned, raising his glass in mock toast.
"Damn you! Hypocrite! Devil!" Herzog roared, completely losing composure. He could not accept that his life's work had been a dance in someone else's palm—or that most of his life was built on falsehood.
"You'll… you'll die—!" He reached for his control device to activate the base's defenses.
But his hand grasped nothing.
His strength left him. Like a puppet with cut strings, he collapsed—dead.
"What a shame." Mr. Macallan stepped forward and closed Herzog's hateful eyes.
"Our Shadow Warrior tech isn't flawless. Remote control requires mental projection… And you thought you could use a puppet to challenge a king of the mind?"
(End of Chapter)
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