The air in the auxiliary cryo-bay was frigid and still, thick with the sterile scent of coolant and the low, monolithic hum of the generators next door. Dozens of coffins, gleaming white pods containing the broken bodies of Chaldea's Master Candidates, were arranged in solemn rows. Emergency lighting cast long, distorted shadows across the floor, making the chamber feel less like a state-of-the-art medical facility and more like a tomb.
Romani, Da Vinci, and Cú Chulainn stood in a tight, expectant cluster, their breath fogging in the cold. A few meters away, Sukuna stood before a single, open pod. The young woman within was a canvas of catastrophic injury, her body covered in a lattice of severe burns and deep lacerations—a casualty of the command room's fiery destruction. Hope, a fragile, brilliant thing, shone in Romani's eyes.
Sukuna observed the body with a detached, academic curiosity for a moment before placing one of his lower hands on the woman's chest. He said nothing. A stark, white energy, so intense it seemed almost transparent, flowed from his palm. It did not glow with warmth; it shimmered with a cold, clinical power. Before their very eyes, a miracle unfolded. The blackened, charred skin smoothed and lightened. Gaping wounds wavered for a moment under the transparent distortion before knitting themselves shut, leaving not so much as a scar. In seconds, the body was whole again, a perfect, unblemished vessel.
"It's… it's working," Romani whispered, a tear of pure, unadulterated relief tracing a path down his tired face.
But as the shimmering energy dissipated, Sukuna's brows furrowed. He tilted his head, his four eyes narrowing as he stared at the healed form. There was a stillness to her, an absence. He moved to the next pod, a young man this time, his chest crushed from fallen debris. Again, Sukuna placed his hand, and again, the white, clinical light bloomed. Bones audibly snapped and ground back into place, flesh mended, and the body was made pristine. But the same unsettling void remained.
"What's wrong?" Cú asked, his warrior's senses picking up on the shift in the room. "Why aren't they waking up?"
"It's the cryo-preservation," Romani said quickly, his voice high with excitement as he began to approach a control panel. "We just need to reverse the process, get him stimulated—"
"He will not wake," Sukuna's voice, low and flat, cut through Romani's hope like a scalpel.
Romani froze. "What… what do you mean?"
Cú Chulainn, now peering intently at the second healed body, saw what Sukuna had. He saw the flawless skin, the steady, machine-assisted rise and fall of the chest. He saw a perfect doll. He then looked back at Sukuna, a grim understanding dawning in his eyes. "King… you're seeing it too, aren't you?" he asked, his voice losing all of its earlier excitement. "There's nothing there."
"Nothing?" Da Vinci repeated, stepping forward, her curiosity piqued. "What are you two perceiving that we are not?"
"These are not people," Sukuna stated, his tone one of finality. He gestured with a dismissive hand to the row of pristine bodies. "They are husks. Their flesh is alive, yes, but their souls are gone."
The words hit Romani like a physical blow. His jaw opened, a silent, horrified gasp.
"Gone?" Cú muttered, his brow furrowed in thought. "Like how the Director's soul was pulled into the Rayshift? Maybe they were just… scattered. Unlucky."
Da Vinci, her scientific mind now racing to process this new, horrifying data, shook her head. "No," she said, her voice sharp with certainty. "For one soul to be an anomaly is a statistical possibility. For all forty-seven to suffer the exact same fate? That's not a malfunction. That's sabotage. It's a targeted attack."
"The mind, the body, the soul," Sukuna explained, his voice taking on the instructional tone of a master lecturing his pupils. "They are a trifecta. Damage one, and the whole may yet survive. Remove one entirely…" He looked at the row of coffins. "…and you are left with this. An empty vessel." He paused, a look of cold, analytical respect entering his eyes.
"This was not a scattering. This was a precise extraction. Someone plucked their souls out."
The group fell silent, the chilling implication of his words sinking in.
"The mastermind," Cú finally breathed, his voice a low growl.
"Porca miseria," Da Vinci whispered, her usual brilliance eclipsed by a grim fury. "If you are right, then we have underestimated them. They prepared a countermeasure for our last hope. They had Lev sabotage every single Master Candidate to ensure that, even if we could heal their bodies, there would be no one left to fight."
Her final words hung in the frigid air. The hope that had blossomed in Romani only moments before withered and died. He stared at the row of pristine, empty bodies, his expression going blank. The datapad he was holding slipped from his numb fingers and clattered onto the metal floor.
Da Vinci reacted instantly, a firm, supporting hand on his arm. "Roman," she said, her voice sharp but not unkind. "Breathe. We are not done yet." She then looked to the two warriors. "I'm taking him to the infirmary. Don't break anything while I'm gone."
With that, she guided the shell-shocked doctor out of the cryo-bay, leaving Sukuna and Cú Chulainn alone in the silent tomb.
The silence stretched for a long moment, broken only by the low hum of the coffins. It was Cú who finally shattered it, a low chuckle echoing in the sterile room. He turned to face the four-armed being, a wide, challenging grin spreading across his face.
"Well now, King," he began. "If I recall, we had a wager back in that burning city. And if my memory serves me right, I won. You accepted the girls as part of the team, didn't you?"
Sukuna's four eyes, which had been observing the coffins with a detached interest, shifted to him. They widened ever so slightly in recognition.
Cú's grin widened in triumph. His runed staff materialized in his hand with a soft shimmer of light, and he leaned on it casually. "So, the question is," he pressed, "when do I get that spar you owe me?"
A slow, predatory grin mirrored Cú's on Sukuna's faces. "Your memory is flawed, Hound," he rumbled. "The wager also stipulated that you would not intervene in their battle. Yet you were the one to land the final blow."
"Not so fast, King," Cú countered, his grin turning sharp. "The wager wasn't just 'can they win.' It was 'can they prove themselves.' And you were the one who gave the order to 'Finish it.' That was your concession. That was you admitting they passed the test. Me stepping in wasn't a violation of the terms; it was me acting on the result after I'd already won the bet." He leaned on his staff, smug. "A technicality, maybe. But I'm still right."
"So it seems we have reached an impasse," Sukuna said, his grin never faltering.
"That we have," Cú laughed. "How about this? We both broke the rules, so we both lost… and we both won." He straightened up. "I get my spar. And since I'm a man of my word, I'll owe you one favor. Anything within my power to grant."
Sukuna considered the offer for a moment, his crimson eyes gleaming with a strange light. "Teach me your Runecraft."
The Caster's confident expression was replaced by one of genuine surprise. He blinked, genuinely taken aback for a moment. "Heh, you want to learn my runes?" He let out a short, sharp laugh, shaking his head. "I have to admit, King, that's not what I was expecting." He paused, a look of dawning understanding crossing his face. "Then again, it makes perfect sense. I've seen you work. A master of so many different crafts… of course you wouldn't leave a stone unturned." He nodded, a new level of respect in his eyes. "You're direct, I'll give you that."
"I am not too proud to seek knowledge," Sukuna stated. "Nor was there ever anyone in a position to deny me."
Cú's surprise melted back into that feral grin. "Alright then," he said, his knuckles whitening around his staff. "But first things first." The very air around him began to crackle with contained power. "Are you ready?"
Sukuna's own grin widened until it seemed his face was about to split. In response, a heavy, suffocating pressure slammed back into the room. A fierce, blue battle-light flared to life in Cú's eyes as the floor beneath them began to vibrate. The metal walls of the chamber groaned under the strain of their clashing auras. Alarms began to flicker, and then the entire facility shook with a deep, violent tremor—
"I know you two are excited," a voice, bright and utterly exasperated, cut through their building power.
The door hissed open to reveal Da Vinci, her arms crossed, with a worried-looking Mash standing just behind her. She pointed a stern finger at the rows of coffins lining the walls. "But not here. Have you forgotten where you are?"
The pressure from both beings vanished in an instant.
Cú let out a theatrically long and frustrated sigh. "You just had to go and ruin all the fun, didn't you?"
"There is a place for this," Da Vinci replied, her smile returning. "A training room, though I must insist you do not go all out. I'd rather not have the entire facility vanish from existence because you two got carried away."
Cú's excitement immediately returned. "A dedicated room for sparring? Well, what are you waiting for? Lead the way, beautiful!"
Da Vinci laughed, a sound that finally seemed to chase the last of the room's grim shadows away. "Very well," she said, turning with a swish of her dress. "Follow me."
And so, the new and frankly terrifying heart of Chaldea's fighting force followed the Universal Genius from the tomb of their fallen hopes, eager for a battle to begin.
----------------------------
The room Da Vinci led them to was not the grand, reality-bending Simulator bay, but a cavernous, reinforced hangar clearly repurposed from storage. Heavy metal plates lined the walls, and the floor was a single, seamless slab of reinforced concrete.
"Apologies for the less-than-opulent arena," Da Vinci announced, her voice echoing in the vast space. "The primary simulators are still down for power conservation. This is the sturdiest, most isolated room we have. Now," she said, her expression turning from apologetic hostess to stern proctor, "the rules are simple. Try not to bring the entire facility down on our heads. I've taken the liberty of reinforcing the observation room, but my protections only go so far."
She gestured to the walls, where the faint, blue glow of Cú Chulainn's runes could be seen humming faintly. A single, iron nail lay innocuously on the floor near the center of the room—Sukuna's much cruder, but no less effective, contribution to containing their battle.
"Ready when you are, handsome," Da Vinci chirped, before she and Mash sealed themselves behind a thick pane of magi-tech glass in a small observation booth.
Sukuna and Cú Chulainn faced each other across a hundred feet of open floor. Cú held his wooden staff loosely in a two-handed grip, a lazy, predatory slouch in his posture. Sukuna stood relaxed, his lower arms crossed over his chest, his upper arms hanging loose at his sides.
"Don't hold back because I'm a Caster, King," Cú's voice cut through the silence, his grin sharp. "I'd hate for our first dance to be a boring one."
"Show me if you are worth the effort, Hound," Sukuna rumbled in response, a slow, predatory smile of his own spreading across his faces.
The quiet standoff lasted only a breath. Then Cú moved.
He didn't charge; he flowed. He closed the distance in a series of blurring, angular steps, his staff becoming a phantom that left afterimages in the air as he tested Sukuna's defenses. A high thrust aimed for the throat. A low sweep meant to buckle a knee. A sharp, snapping strike at the temple. It was a masterclass in controlling distance, using his weapon's superior reach to keep his opponent on the defensive.
Sukuna met the assault with an economy of motion that was unnerving. He did not retreat. He did not dodge. His four arms moved with inhuman, independent coordination. His upper left hand would deflect the staff's tip with an open palm. In the same instant, his lower right would slap the weapon's shaft, disrupting Cú's follow-up. He was a fortress of flesh, turning aside every probe with contemptuous ease, his feet remaining planted on the floor.
Frustrated by the impenetrable defense, Cú changed tactics. Feinting another high strike, he instead planted the butt of his staff on the floor and used it as a pivot, his body spinning in a vicious roundhouse kick aimed at Sukuna's midsection. At the same moment, the rune on his palm flashed. A contained, invisible wave of pure force erupted from the kick, designed to blast his opponent off his feet.
Sukuna saw the flash. Instead of bracing, he did the last thing Cú expected; he took the full force of the blow. The invisible blast smashed into him, shoving him back a single, sliding step, but in that same instant, all four of his arms shot forward, closing like a cage around Cú's extended leg. He had tanked the magical blow just to trap his opponent.
A spark of genuine surprise flared in Cú's eyes. Before Sukuna could exert his monstrous strength and shatter the captured limb, the Caster reacted on pure instinct. The staff, held in one hand, slammed back down onto the floor, and he used it to vault himself upwards, his captured leg wrenching free from Sukuna's grip as his body contorted in a feat of impossible acrobatics. He landed silently twenty feet away, the lazy grin back on his face, but a new, sharp respect in his eyes.
"Clever," Cú admitted, rolling his shoulders. "Not many would eat a rune-shot just to get a hold."
"Your tricks are mundane," Sukuna replied, a flicker of genuine pleasure in his four crimson eyes. This was more interesting. The Hound had instincts.
This time, Sukuna was the one to initiate. He exploded forward, his speed a jarring match for the Caster's own. He closed the distance instantly, unleashing a ferocious barrage of hand-to-hand strikes. It was not a flurry; it was a storm. Four fists, a relentless piston-like assault, targeting Cú's head, chest, and legs simultaneously. The air crackled with the sound of his blows displacing it.
Now their roles were reversed. Cú became a whirlwind of desperate defense, his staff a spinning shield. He blocked a punch aimed at his face, the impact a thunderous crack that sent a shudder through the rune-hardened wood and numbed his entire arm. He used the shaft to parry two more strikes aimed at his ribs but was forced to abandon his staff to a single-handed grip as he brought his other hand up to slap away a fourth jab. He was being overwhelmed by sheer, multi-limbed volume. With a snarl of effort, he dropped low, sweeping his staff in a wide arc that forced Sukuna to leap back, giving him a precious moment to breathe.
"Four arms is just cheating, you know that?" Cú panted, though the grin on his face was wider than ever.
They began to circle each other, a silent agreement passing between them. The initial probing was over. Sukuna's relaxed stance tightened, a clear, palpable killing intent now rolling off him in waves. In response, Cú's staff began to hum, the runes etched into it glowing with a soft, blue light. He spun the weapon once, and as it came to a rest, a shimmering, contained sphere of unstable energy coalesced at its very tip, no larger than a fist.
Sukuna saw the energy gathering. He recognized it as a focused, potent attack. His own stance shifted. A watery, translucent shimmer distorted the air around his body, a visible field of power that seemed to warp the light itself. It was Domain Amplification. As he settled into this new state, a low, sharp snikt echoed in the room. His fingernails elongated, sharpening and hardening into black, claw-like talons.
Both men had unveiled a new weapon. Both were ready for the next stage.
Cú exploded forward again, a blue comet streaking across the concrete. His staff was not held for a swing or a jab; it was leveled like a lance, the shimmering ball of energy at its tip aimed directly at Sukuna's abdomen. He wasn't trying to out-maneuver him this time. He was banking on a direct, decisive blow.
Sukuna did not dodge. He met the charge head-on, his lower two arms crossed over his chest to take the brunt of the impact, his upper two held back, his new talons glinting in the hangar's dim light, ready for his own counter.
The two forces met in the center of the room.
The sphere of energy at the tip of Cú's staff struck the shimmering veil of Sukuna's Domain Amplification. For a split second, it was not neutralized, but dampened. The volatile magical energy of the rune sizzled and fought against the invasive field, its explosive potential being actively degraded by Sukuna's technique, reducing its raw output. The rune-ball still detonated in a deep, concussive BOOM that shook the entire hangar, but its power was a fraction of what it should have been. The Amplification flared, absorbing the worst of the weakened magical blast, but the sheer physical impact was still immense.
In the single, violent instant of the explosion, before the shockwave could even blast him backwards, Sukuna's upper right hand lashed out. His sharpened claws, reinforced with Cursed Energy, became four distinct razors. They sliced across the Caster's face, a movement of surgical, vicious speed.
The concussive force of Cú's attack sent Sukuna skidding back a full thirty feet, his sandals carving deep furrows into the reinforced concrete. He came to a halt, the front of his kimono singed, but a low, pleased rumble vibrated in his chest.
Cú, for his part, stumbled back only a single step, a thin, crimson line of four perfect scratches now drawn from his cheekbone to his jaw. A single drop of blood welled up and traced a path down his neck. He raised a hand, touching the wound, a look of shocked delight on his face. He brought his fingers away, looked at the blood on them, and then back at Sukuna.
Both men were grinning, a shared, feral expression of profound, violent joy. This was what they had been waiting for.
They launched themselves at each other again, two blurs of power and purpose meeting in a clash that promised only the beginning of their true battle.
----------------------------
From behind the magi-tech glass of the observation booth, the world had been reduced to a silent, violent ballet. Da Vinci stood beside her, completely engrossed, her eyes alight with an intense focus as she analyzed every impossibly fast exchange. Mash, however, saw something else. She saw a benchmark. A level of power and purpose so absolute, so far beyond her own reach, that it felt like staring into the sun. The sound was muted, but she could still feel the impacts through the floor—the deep, shuddering thuds of flesh meeting flesh, the sharp, cracking reports of Cú Chulainn's staff intercepting a blow.
With every blur of motion, her own memories of the Fuyuki Singularity played out in stark, humiliating contrast. It had all started with that light, with the sensation of being reborn into fire. The power that had flooded her system was overwhelming, a gift from a knight whose name she couldn't even recall. It came with a purpose as solid and unwavering as the great shield that had materialized in her hands: Protect. It felt like a promise, not just to her new Master, but to herself. A promise that she, Mash Kyrielight, the girl who had known nothing but the sterile white walls of Chaldea, could finally be useful.
It was a promise she had broken almost immediately.
The bridge. The image was burned into her mind. She could still feel the bone-jarring impact of the Berserker's blow, the sensation of being thrown through the air like a discarded toy. She had been defeated in a single, contemptuous strike. Her failure had a cost. She had watched, helpless, as the Director—Olga Marie Animusphere—was swatted from the bridge, her scream swallowed by the muddy water below. She had watched, paralyzed, as that monster turned its crimson gaze upon Senpai. Her Master was going to die because she was too weak. Because her new power, her entire reason for being, was meaningless against a true catastrophe.
And then, he had arrived. Sukuna. He hadn't saved Senpai with a heroic charge. He had simply intercepted the disaster, smashing into the Berserker with the casual force of a rival predator clearing its territory. He hadn't done it for her. He had done it because the Berserker was an interesting challenge. In that moment, Mash understood. She wasn't the shield that stood between her Master and death. She was merely a momentary inconvenience on the path to the real fight. He had done in an instant what she, a Servant designed for protection, had utterly failed to do.
That feeling of utter inadequacy had only solidified in the darkness of the bunker. She remembered his presence, a weight that made it hard to breathe, that made the very air feel cold and thin. She had only tried to ask about the Director, a simple question born of concern. His response wasn't a rebuke; it was a classification. "You are an insect," he had said, his voice quiet, almost conversational, yet it had struck her with more force than the Berserker's axe. It wasn't an insult; it was a statement of fact from his perspective. Even with the power of a Heroic Spirit thrumming in her veins, to a being like him, she was still just a bug trying to speak at a king's table. And the worst part was, she believed him. Her actions had proven him right.
That was why the battle with the Lancer had felt so important. It wasn't just a mission; it was a chance at redemption. A chance to prove to Senpai that her trust wasn't misplaced. A chance to prove to the Doctor, her quiet, gentle father figure, that she wasn't a failure of an experiment. A chance to prove to Olga Marie, wherever her spirit was, that she could be the soldier she needed. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to prove to Sukuna that she was more than an insect.
For a moment, it felt like she had a chance. Senpai's strategy, the Director's runes… they worked. The blinding flash, the triumphant feeling of smashing her shield into the Lancer, of bringing that entire building down upon her—it was a fleeting, glorious moment of success. She had been useful. They had been a team.
The feeling turned to ash in her mouth when the Lancer emerged from the rubble without a scratch, her expression one of pure, predatory amusement. She had been playing with them. Cú Chulainn's arrival wasn't a triumphant reinforcement; it was another rescue. Once again, she had been unable to finish a fight on her own. Once again, someone stronger had been needed to clean up her mess.
But then… then came the sky of swords. The Archer's ultimate attack, a storm of death that she knew, with absolute certainty, she could not block piece by piece. Senpai's voice, a desperate, final command fueled by the burning light of a Command Seal. And in that moment, something inside her had answered. The power had flooded her, and with it came a name, a concept whispered into the core of her soul. A fortress of white walls, a bastion of unwavering hope. For one shining, perfect moment, she had done it. She had been a hero. She had saved them all.
And what good had it done?
The image of Lev Lainur holding the Director in the air, a cruel, mocking smile on his face, returned with sickening clarity. Mash had stood there, her heart hammering against her ribs, the power of a conceptual fortress still buzzing in her arms, and she had done nothing. She had been frozen. A perfect, impenetrable shield is useless if you are too naive, too slow, too weak to raise it when it truly matters. It had been Sukuna, again, who had acted. It had been him who had saved the Director, however temporary that salvation had turned out to be.
The powers of a Demi-Servant… they hadn't changed a thing. She was still the same girl who had lived her entire life in the sheltered, sterile halls of Chaldea. The strength of a Heroic Spirit, the legacy of an unknown knight, the ultimate shield… it all felt like a borrowed suit of armor, far too big and heavy for the frightened child wearing it.
A sudden, deafening silence from the hangar jolted her from her spiraling thoughts. Beside her, Da Vinci let out a sharp, audible gasp. Mash's eyes snapped back to the sparring floor, focusing on the scene that had brought their furious dance to a halt.
The fight was over. A haze of steam and ozone hung in the air. Cú Chulainn was on the ground, one knee driven into the cracked concrete, his staff lying several feet away. Sukuna stood over him, his own posture a testament to the battle's intensity. Angry, red energy burns, like fresh lightning scars, sizzled across the right side of his chest and down one of his upper right arms. But he was the victor. One of his lower hands was braced on Cú's shoulder, pinning him in place. And his other hand, its fingernails elongated into black, vicious claws, was resting with an almost delicate pressure against the pale skin of Cú's throat.
----------------------------
Sukuna held the position for a beat longer, a silent acknowledgment of his victory, before the pressure from his lower hand vanished and the claws at Cú's throat retracted. A predatory grin remained on his faces as he extended his now-unblemished upper right hand—not a gesture of mercy, but of respect from one warrior to another.
Cú took the offered arm, and Sukuna hauled him to his feet with an easy strength. The Caster clapped his shoulder, dusting himself off with his free hand.
"Alright, alright, you win this round," Cú conceded, his own grin returning, wide and unbothered by defeat. "But let's be honest, King, this wasn't a proper battle, now was it? Neither of us even came close to going all out." He let out a theatrical sigh of lament. "Gods, it's a shame I'm not a Lancer."
One of Sukuna's eyebrows arched in genuine interest. "Would that have changed the outcome?"
Cú's smirk turned sharp and proud. "Changed it? It would have been a different fight entirely," he declared, launching into a familiar, boastful tirade. "As a Lancer, I'd have my own spear, for one. A weapon that knows my grip, one that has a nasty little habit of seeking the heart. My body would be stronger, tougher. And the speed…" He shook his head, a look of true yearning in his eyes. "Heh. As I am now, you and I are a decent match in a footrace. As a Lancer? The wind itself would have trouble keeping up. I'd have finished that whole Singularity myself before you even woke up."
A look of faint, almost imperceptible surprise crossed Sukuna's faces. He could tell, with the certainty of a being who has judged the souls of countless men, that the Hound was not lying. He wasn't delusional. The power he spoke of was real.
"Intriguing," Sukuna rumbled, his tone laced with a familiar, condescending amusement. "In that form, perhaps you would have been a slight challenge."
"You don't even know the half of it, you bas—," Cú started to retort, his laugh booming, but was cut off by the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from the observation booth.
Both warriors turned. It was Mash. She ran onto the hangar floor, stopping a few feet before them. Her expression was a mask of pure, desperate resolve. Without a word, she lowered herself into a deep, formal bow, her forehead nearly touching the concrete floor.
Her voice, when it came out, was trembling but clear, ringing with a conviction that cut through the lingering battle energy in the room. "Please," she began, her head still bowed. "I need your help. Both of you."
She looked up then, her violet eyes meeting theirs, raw and pleading but completely devoid of fear.
"Please… train me. Help me become someone worthy of this power."
Sukuna's expression was impassive, his four crimson eyes observing her with an unreadable, analytical stillness. Cú Chulainn, however, broke into a wide, warm grin. He rested his staff on his shoulder, a new, genuine respect in his eyes as he looked down at the kneeling girl.
"Heh," he chuckled, the sound deep and approving. "Got some fire in you after all, huh, Shielder?"
He looked from her determined face to Sukuna's silent form, his grin widening.
"Alright," he declared, speaking for the both of them. "Don't see why not. Could be fun."
----------------------------
----------------------------
Authors Notes
Thank you for reading the chapter, everyone!
This was a decently longer one, at around 5,000 words, so I appreciate you sticking with it.
I'm sure a few questions might have popped up, so I want to address the most significant one: the soulless Masters. To give a simple explanation, this was done to avoid a situation where Chaldea has 48 Masters and Servants, which would make the story's challenges far too easy. Beyond that, there is a lore-based reason that will be explored later on. If you'd like to know now, I have discussed the details with some people over on the Questionable Questing site.
More content for both this and 'OF ALIENS, MAGIC AND SUPERHEROES' available on pat-reon . com / st_scarface so be sure to check that out.
As always, feel free to leave any other questions you may have in the comments below. Your feedback is very helpful, so please leave a review and point out any errors you spot.
Ciao!