Olga Marie Animusphere's eyes shot wide open with a gasp. Her world was gray concrete and dim, flickering light. Her first sight was a nightmare come true: a four-armed demon and a blue-robed stranger loomed directly over the cot she lay. A raw, instinctual terror overrode her training, and she scrambled backwards, tumbling off the cot to hit the cold floor in a tangle of limbs.
From across the room, she heard a sharp "Tch" of pure annoyance. The four-armed being, without a backward glance, turned his back on her and walked to the deepest shadows of the bunker.
That brief moment of being ignored was the only cue Mash and Gudako needed.
"Director! Are you alright?" Mash was at her side in an instant, helping her up.
Olga waved her subordinate's hands away, her own trembling as she pushed herself to her feet. The Director's mask, her only shield, snapped into place. "I'm fine!" she said, her voice a brittle, high-strung command. Her eyes scanned her own body. Her arm was whole. Her leg was whole. She remembered the crunch of bone, the searing pain. This was impossible. Her mind seized on the blue-robed man with a staff. A healer? A Caster of some kind? This must be his work.
"Report," she snapped, her focus shifting to Mash. "What happened?"
Mash, her usual military composure completely gone, flinched at the sharp tone, her voice cracking as she began. "Director, we were attacked on the bridge! That giant… that monster… it-it took me out in a single blow." She took a shuddering breath, her gaze darting towards Gudako. "It was about to kill Senpai—Master. Her life was in danger, and I couldn't do anything!"
Olga's blood ran cold. Our last Master. Our last hope… nearly died?
"But she wasn't," Mash continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper as she gestured with a trembling hand toward the shadows. "She was saved. The… the pink-haired man, he intervened."
Olga's terrified gaze flitted over to the silent, terrifying silhouette. Her mind, a whirlwind of confusion, couldn't begin to process the contradiction. The demon had saved them?
Before she could demand more details, the blue-robed man interrupted, a lazy, charming grin spreading across his face. "I'm the one who fished you out of the river, by the way," he said casually. "A heroic rescue for a pretty lady like yourself. Doesn't that deserve a kiss?"
"You—you disgusting pervert!" Olga shrieked, her terror momentarily eclipsed by sheer indignation.
He just laughed, the sound echoing in the small bunker. "Name's Cú Chulainn," he continued, completely unfazed. "Caster of this botched little war. The big gray brute that knocked you around was a Berserker. Heracles, if you can believe it."
Heracles. The name, spoken so casually, hit Olga with the force of a physical blow. The pinnacle of Greek heroes, the most known hero in the world.
"And that's not all," the Caster continued, his red eyes twinkling with amusement. "After we got back here, the big guy over there,"—he jerked his chin towards the four-armed being—"is the one who fixed you up. Healed that nasty curse that was eating you, too."
The revelation struck Olga the most. Her mind reeled. The healing wasn't the work of the Caster. It was a casual afterthought for the silent demon in the corner. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her carefully constructed composure was gone, replaced by a raw, naked terror as she stared at the four-armed being.
The storytelling was clearly over. From the shadows, the four-armed being finally turned. His crimson eyes—all four of them—pinned them with a cold, impatient glare that seemed to suck all the warmth from the room.
"Are you done with this meaningless chit-chat?" the demon asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the very floor. The time for answers was over. His interrogation was about to begin.
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My four eyes were as I waited for the real conversation to begin. I had been patient and now it was at an end. I broke the silence. "You introduced yourself as 'Caster'," I began, my gaze shifting to the hound. "And the brute... you called him 'Berserker'. Explain these titles."
Instead of answering directly, the sorcerer let out a low whistle, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. "So I was right," he muttered under his breath. He looked directly at me, his crimson eyes sharp with certainty. "You're not from this world, are you? Oh King of Curses?"
My impassive expression was all the confirmation he needed. Interesting. The people of this world know of others. He took this as his cue and launched into his explanation, his tone that of a seasoned veteran briefing a new, unpredictable recruit.
"It's all part of the Holy Grail War," he said, leaning casually on his staff. "A battle royale between seven 'Masters' and seven 'Servants'. We Servants are heroic spirits, copies of warriors pulled from a place outside of time, and summoned into one of seven Classes. The winner gets a prize." He gestured to the redhead cowering behind the shield-maiden. "The humans, the Masters, bind us with the Command Seals on their hands. They're a mark of their authority."
A place outside of time? Wait. "A slave's brand," I stated, my voice dripping with disdain. My four eyes gazed at the red sigils on the girl's hand with open disgust. It was an obscenity.
He let out a weary sigh. "You're not entirely wrong," he admitted, a flicker of a dark memory in his eyes that I recognized as genuine. "Some Masters do treat it that way. But that's not all they are." He raised a finger. "A Master can burn one to give us a massive surge of power, instantly heal wounds that should be fatal, or even pull us across the city to their side in a blink. They're useful tricks."
The tactical applications were intriguing, but the core concept remained repulsive. "Fascinating abilities for a leash," I retorted. "But the question remains. Why would any true warrior willingly wear it?"
"Some of us, like me, just come for a good fight," he said with a shrug and a grin. "But most spirits on the Throne... they have regrets. Things they failed to do, people they failed to save. They come for the prize." He finally named it. "The Holy Grail. An artifact that can grant any wish. Rewrite your past, change your legend, anything."
My amusement curdled into disgust. Pathetic. If you want something, you take it with your own hands. The desire to erase one's past is the ultimate weakness. To erase your past is to erase who you are. The past is what makes you 'YOU'. The girls' lack of reaction told me this was a commonly accepted truth in their world, but I was certain a prize this powerful had to have a price. There was always a price.
The white-haired woman, having gathered a sliver of her courage, stepped forward. Her voice was still shaky, but firm. "If you are from another world… how did you get here?" She then asked the question that truly mattered to her. "Before you arrived, did you encounter an old man… a magician by the name of Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg?"
"Why is this man's presence important?" I asked. Is he someone to take note off.
It was Cú who answered, recognizing the woman was too terrified to explain clearly. "He's different," the sorcerer said, his casual tone gone, replaced by one of genuine gravity. "He is a Magician. He wields True Magic, not the parlor tricks and limited 'Magecraft' the rest of us use." He paused, letting the weight of the term settle, his crimson eyes locking onto mine. "What he does… it's not sorcery. It is a Miracle. The Second Magic. They call it the Kaleidoscope, and it grants him the authority to operate parallel worlds."
For the first time since waking in this wretched city, I fell completely silent. The sorcerer noted the shift in my demeanor instantly. The woman, lost in her own explanation, missed it.
Miracles. The operation of parallel worlds.
My Jujutsu, the absolute pinnacle of power in my own world, could bend and break the rules of reality. It could command life and death, space and energy. But it was still bound by the fundamental laws of existence. This "True Magic" was something else entirely. It was the power to rewrite those laws. A level of mastery, a tier of power, I had never even conceived of. A burning, avaricious hunger ignited within me, a desire more potent than any simple battle lust. Forget a good fight. Forget the Grail. Knowledge of this world's sorcery was now the true prize.
The woman, mistaking my silence for consideration, pressed what she thought was her advantage. "The Wizard marshal—Zelretch is the only person who can send you back!" she pleaded. "Help us fix this Singularity, and I swear on the Animusphere name, I will use every favor, every resource my family has, to arrange an audience. We will find a way to send you home!"
I began to laugh—a low, dry, humorless sound that startled them all. "Go back?" I asked, a predatory grin spreading across my face. "Why would I ever want to leave a place that has suddenly become so… fascinating?" I let the threat hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "But I will hold you to your 'offer.' Perhaps after I am done here, you can arrange for this 'Wizard Marshall' to take me somewhere even more entertaining."
A flicker of a memory: a battle with the six eyes, a fight where my own overwhelming power was not enough. I pushed the irritating thought aside. Perhaps a rematch was needed.
"Very well, woman. I accept." I paused, my gaze deliberate. "You keep using that term. What… is a 'Singularity'?"
This opened the final floodgate. The woman, Olga, now feeling a sliver of control, explained everything: Chaldea's mission, observing the timeline, the utter incineration of humanity's future, and how this "error" in Fuyuki was the cause. She told me of a saboteur, of the loss of their primary Masters, leaving them with a single, "incompetent" civilian in Fujimaru.
"Hey!" came a faint protest from the back.
I processed the information, my world expanding with each word. I had assumed this "Grail" was a local artifact, that these "Servants" were simply this land's equivalent of Cursed Spirits. But if these humans could observe time, if Cú Chulainn, a figure from mythology, was real... then gods were real in this world. And time travel... a feat even I, in my centuries of mastery, had deemed impossible... these fragile humans had achieved it. The scale of this new playground was vastly greater than I could have ever imagined.
I let out another, louder laugh, this one of pure, unadulterated joy. This was no mere side-show. This was the greatest, most entertaining stage in the multiverse. The new human memories, with their sentimental notion of "saving people," aligned perfectly with my own hedonistic desires. The path forward was clear.
Saving humanity? Me? The idea was so beautifully, exquisitely ironic, I had no choice. How amusing.
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With the fragile alliance set, Olga's Director persona fully reasserted itself. The first priority was to re-establish a clear line of communication with Chaldea.
"Caster," she began, her tone sharp and formal, "We are on a leyline, correct?"
"A minor one, but yeah," Cú affirmed. "It's why I picked it. I am a Caster, even if not a proper one."
Olga nodded once, then activated the communication device on her wrist. A holographic screen flickered to life, showing the exhausted, pale face of Dr. Romani Archaman.
"Director!" he exclaimed, his relief palpable. "Your vitals are stable! We were… we were losing you!" He then noticed the two figures behind her, and his professional demeanor cracked into sheer, unadulterated shock, his eyes widening at the sight of Sukuna.
"Romani, report," Olga demanded.
Romani flinched, his gaze darting nervously away from Sukuna. "Th-the Master Candidates are in cryopreservation as you had asked," he stammered. "But Chaldea's resources… eighty percent were destroyed. We are on backup power. Director, the situation is…"
"I am aware," Olga interrupted. She took a breath, forcing herself to be clinical. "Listen closely. We were attacked on the bridge by a Berserker-class Servant, Heracles."
"Heracles?!" Romani shouted, his voice cracking with disbelief.
Cú, leaning against a wall, let out a dry chuckle. "Guys a riot." He pushed himself off the wall and walked closer, now a part of the conversation. "That's what I told them, Doc. And I'm the Caster for this botched little war, by the way. Name's Cú Chulainn."
"Cú Chulainn! Ireland's Child of Light," Romani said in disbelief.
"The one and only," Cú replied. "Berserker was defeated by the big guy"—he pointed at Sukuna—"over there."
"He then... Healed me," finished Olga.
It was Cú who clarified the most critical point for them. "Hold on now," he said, his tone shifting from casual to serious as he looked at Olga. "I wouldn't exactly call you 'healed.' He only repaired the physical damage." Cú's gaze hardened. "The King is the one who worked on you. He said the curse from the corrupted river is still there, tainting your soul. He put a seal on it, but if you use your own Magic Circuits for more than five or ten minutes, it'll start to break down." He then added, "Your Crest should be safer to use, but even that will strain it over time."
"What?!" Olga and Romani shouted in unison. "Why didn't he remove it completely?!" Olga demanded.
"You'd have to ask him," Cú said with a shrug, jerking a thumb towards Sukuna.
Sukuna, who had been observing their pathetic drama with growing boredom, finally spoke, his voice a low rumble. "The woman's soul is tainted," he said, not bothering to look at her. "While I could remove it, the resulting clash of the taint and my craft... Well, let's just say I doubt you'd want her returned as a vegetable."
Romani, trying to get a grip, seized on the only positive news. "If Heracles is gone, what's holding this Singularity up?"
The question hung in the air, and it was Cú who answered. "Saber... She's propping up this whole mess with the Grail." He shook his head. "She's hooked right into it, gives her a bottomless tank of mana. Something happened to her early in the war, she started a bloodbath, and somehow revived the Servants she killed to be her puppets."
Olga's face was grim. "Do you know her identity?"
"I do," Cú confirmed. "Anyone who has seen her swinging her sword would know. She's wielding Excalibur." He added, his tone turning grim, "I saw her use it once. One swing. It took out three Servants and their Masters and carved a trench in the city clean out to the sea. That's what we're up against."
The name and the description struck the Chaldeans like a thunderbolt. "Excalibur?!" Romani shrieked. "King Arthur?!" Olga and Mash gasped in horror. Sukuna, however, shifted from bored observer to a state of sharp, focused attention, his four eyes narrowing.
Cú lamented with a sigh, "If I'd been summoned as a Lancer, I might've had a shot. Her main defense, aside from that sword, is her Archer guard dog. He's a real piece of work. Fights up close with two short swords like a Saber, but snipes from a mountain away. An annoyance."
"Seven Servants," Sukuna interjected, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. He had been counting. "You are Caster. I killed Berserker. Saber and Archer remain. That is four. What happened to the other three?"
Cú blinked, impressed by the quick tactical accounting. "Right. Assassin I took out myself, early on. Rider was a fool who mocked Berserker's dead Master, so the brute tore him apart. That just leaves one… a Lancer. She's still out there."
With the new information settling in, Gudako, wanting to contribute, finally spoke up. "The plan is simple then!" she said with a burst of naive confidence. "We'll just ignore the Lancer, and all march to the mountain together!"
A genuine, mocking laugh escaped Sukuna's lips. Cú just stared at her with a deadpan expression.
"Right," Cú began, his voice laced with pity. "First, the Archer will see us coming from miles away and turn you two,"—he gestured to Gudako and Olga—"into pin cushions before we get halfway there."
"And you would leave your backs open to an attack from this 'Lancer'," Sukuna added, his tone dripping with condescension.
Cú then raised the final, critical issue, turning to Gudako. "Besides all that, I don't have a Master. I'm running on fumes."
Seeing the undeniable logic, Olga gave the order, her voice tight with resignation. "Fujimaru. Contract with him. Now."
Cú, smirking, pulled up his arm in a fist. Gudako raised her hand in kind. A flash of light later and a new connection was formed between them.
With the team finally, officially, assembled, Sukuna turned to Cú, a sharp glint in his four eyes. "Your idea of a plan, sorcerer?"
"Simple," Cú replied, now with a Master backing him. "The three of us take down the Archer, create an opening, and then we all face Saber together."
Sukuna laughed again. "The brute was a decent warm-up. This 'Saber'… she sounds truly entertaining." He paused, his gaze sweeping over all of them. "I will fight her alone."
Olga looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. "Are you insane?! You heard what Caster said—"
Cú silenced her with a sharp, warning look. He turned back to Sukuna, a cunning glint in his eye. "Alright, King. I get it. But you need an opening. Even you can't fight two top-tiers at once."
Sukuna cut him off, his gaze dismissing the girls. "And how would they help? The shield-maiden might be a decent wall, if she possesses a strong... what did you call it? Ah, a Noble Phantasm."
Mash, flinching under his gaze, was forced to admit the truth, her voice a near whisper. "I… I can't use it. I don't know the name of the Servant I've bonded with… or my Noble Phantasm's True Name."
Another laugh, this one cold and devoid of all humor, left Sukuna's lips. "This," he said, gesturing to the three terrified women. "This rabble is what you would use to fight the Archer?"
Cú's grin turned sharp. "Let's make a wager, then, King of Curses."
Sukuna's four eyes narrowed in genuine intrigue.
"We let these three handle the Lancer I talked about. No help from you or me," Cú proposed. "If they can beat her on their own, you owe me a proper spar when we make it out of this hell alive. If they fail…" He shrugged. "Then I'll owe you one favor. Anything within my power to grant."
Sukuna considered the bet. A test of the "teamwork" concept. A chance to see these weakling's struggle. The entertainment value was simply too high to refuse. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.
"Amusing. I accept."
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Author's Note
Hey everyone,
Just a quick note on this chapter. I know it's a bit of a shorter one, clocking in at just over 3k words compared to the 5k+ of the last two chapters. That was a choice, as this chapter is primarily an info dump to set the stage and establish all the rules and relationships for the rest of this arc. Thank you for bearing with the necessary exposition!
Rest assured, the next chapter will be an absolute banger.
On my pat-reon, the Fuyuki arc has ended. I will add the last chapter by tonight, while I start writing Orleans, I might take a weak or two to prepare by researching some stuff. So, for my pat-reon viewers, I will either make a pat-reon only short story on this singularity with the change being what if it was Yuta who was dropped in Fuyuki? Or maybe Higuruma? Or Kusakabe for the heck of it... Or maybe I could start a secondary story... A poll will be up by tonight so do be sure to check it out.
As always, thank you for reading and for all your support.
Ciao.