Ancient Egypt was located in North Africa, in a region where peoples had always mixed.
The Egyptians were not homogeneous in appearance: in Lower Egypt (further north, near the Mediterranean), the population tended to have lighter skin due to Mediterranean influence (Greeks, Phoenicians, Libyans, etc.). In Upper Egypt (further south, closer to Nubia), darker skin was more common, as it was closer to Sub-Saharan Africa.
Archaeological records, paintings, and mummies show that Egyptians had a range of skin tones, from light to medium to darker shades.
In other words: to be Egyptian, you did not need to have "bronzed skin." There were Egyptians with light, medium, and darker complexions. Their identity came from their culture, language, and tradition—not from skin color.
So, for those who are uninformed and think Malik has the "wrong" skin color, I just hope this explanation is enough for you. Many ancient Egyptians, especially among the elite, had an appearance that today would be described as "Mediterranean white" (a light olive tone, beige, or slightly golden). The idea that "all were bronzed" is a modern stereotype.
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On that day, at the edge of an instant — Fuyuki's fate became ephemeral.
The genuine article required the souls of seven heroic spirits, the Holy Grail, and that year everything was duly prepared for that bloody ritual.
Certainly, everything was going according to plan. The trigger was pulled beautifully.
That is, until the Heroic Spirit, Saber, was summoned!
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The fire of hell burned the very ground of a ruined, lifeless city, covered in filth that could be described as contaminated. Skeletons of once-tall skyscrapers now stood twisted and bent, consumed by the flames licking at their foundations below.
Malik stood calmly before what remained of a building. His vivid red eyes, like fresh ink yet devoid of any trace of emotion, scanned the scene with coldness. A sarcastic smile curled his lips.
"... What a wonderful view for a humble tourist like me."
He had walked for a few minutes until he reached what, according to his instincts, was the old commercial district. How did he know? Just a hunch based on the surrounding architecture. Or rather, what remained of the old architecture.
Shattered shop windows spewed their shards onto the sidewalk, reflecting the infernal glow of the flames in thousands of tiny, blazing eyes. Store signs fell one by one, twisted by the heat, clinking like bells at an endless funeral.
There was what might have been a café, though it was hard to tell for sure, as the chairs were charred, reduced to glowing metal skeletons. The tables had partially melted, fusing into the cracked, blackened floor. Broken mugs evaporated what little liquid remained, releasing small columns of smoke.
Next to it, a clothing store burned with silent fury. The clothes, or what was left of them, fluttered like flaming banners, hanging from warped hangers. The mannequins were headless, slowly melting, as if silently weeping for the end.
Further ahead, the market seemed to be the epicenter of the disaster. The roof had collapsed, leaving a hole through which flames danced, rising like hungry tongues. Cans exploded from time to time, launching fragments down the darkened aisles. The floor was covered in a grotesque mixture of soot, ash, and unrecognizable remains of charred products.
It was as if hell had risen to the surface.
He let out a dry laugh, the smile still clinging to his lips as he gazed at everything with evident boredom.
"Yes... definitely a great place to go shopping..."
There was something tedious and almost humiliating about walking like a mere human. Worse still: having to talk to himself just to pass the time.
He couldn't help but wonder how exactly this "Singularity" he was in worked. If he stayed there for days... would the city keep burning? And what would happen afterward?
From what he remembered, if this distortion persisted for a year, modern humanity would cease to exist entirely. At least, that's what was described at the start of the "Game" he had played in his past life as a human.
What are Singularities, after all?
Well, one could say they are like holes torn in the timeline, fissures that break away from the regular temporal axis. If "human history" were a long scroll, Singularities would be stains that erode it, weakening its structure and contaminating the surrounding events.
They are "anomalous timelines," ignored by both the past and the future. Spatial and temporal distortions that emerge within the span of Human History and, if not corrected, if the cause behind them is not located and erased, they will end up restabilizing as new definitive timelines.
And when that happens, they threaten the very foundations of Human History: the so-called [Textures].
Textures, also known as Worlds, are like delicate fabrics stretched over the planet's surface, thin layers of reality that determine how fundamental laws operate in a given era. Each Texture has its own Laws of Physics and levels of Mystery, shaped by the dominant intelligent life form of that time.
One could think of Textures as different operating systems running on the same hardware, the Earth. When gods and fairies were the dominant species, the "system" favored high levels of Mystery and magical energy, allowing the supernatural to flourish. Reality was adjusted to accommodate these entities: Ether was abundant in the atmosphere, and mystical phenomena were part of everyday life.
However, over time, humans distanced themselves from the divine and became the dominant force on the planet. The operating system was then rewritten to favor them. The new Texture reduced Mystery and dissolved Ether, turning gods into mere echoes of nature and causing ancient magical beings to lose their place.
The death of the King of Magic, Solomon, accelerated this process even further. The Age of Gods officially ended around 1 A.D. Dragons, fairies, and other mystical entities, realizing their very existence violated the new "human rules," voluntarily migrated underground, ceding the surface to humanity.
To use an analogy, imagine the Earth as a canvas, and Textures as layers of paint applied by different artists. Each artist—be it gods, fairies, or humans—paints according to their style and worldview. When humans took the brush, they covered the ancient art with a new, more rational and scientific layer. But the older layers still exist, buried beneath... waiting for a crack in the surface to emerge again.
Singularities directly affect this.
Because of them, Human History begins to disintegrate, and the future—once a continuous line—reduces to a chaotic mass of arbitrary possibilities. Order unravels, and the inevitable result is the total incineration of history.
Worse still: if not contained, the eras in which these Singularities manifest end up collapsing under the pressure of impossible events forced into existence. Reality breaks down, and that era is completely destroyed. Not as a mere point erased from the timeline, but as a hole that sucks in and corrodes everything around it.
When that happens, it's not just an era that dies—it's the very continuity of Human History that comes to an end.
In layman's terms, Singularities are like a "bug" in the operating system that regulates the planet. Each one has its own internal rules, and almost anything becomes possible within them. That's why he couldn't predict what would happen after a few hours or days there. That place simply didn't follow the expected pattern. The flames consuming the city, for example, showed no signs of dying out over time... and perhaps they never would.
Well, he had seen some places where the flames had already consumed everything, leaving absolutely nothing, and in those spots, the fire simply ceased.
So... would the fire only stop when the entire city vanished from the map?
It was a possibility.
...But why was he even thinking about this?
..... Boredom truly works wonders.
Malik shook his head and stopped dwelling on such futile things.
Deciding to move away from the commercial district, he paused for a brief moment in the middle of the ash-covered street. The ground beneath his feet crackled under the constant heat of the flames dancing around him.
He inhaled slowly, the hot air filling his lungs, then bent his knees.
In the blink of an eye, his body exploded into motion.
A trail of red sparks lingered behind as he cut through the air like a crimson bolt. The world around him slowed slightly. The sound of the wind warped in his ears, low and distorted. He landed with precision on the top of a partially flame-engulfed building. Embers rose around him in slow motion, dancing in the air like dying fireflies.
The concrete groaned under his feet, but he didn't even glance down.
Before the building could collapse, he was already in the air again.
His body spun lightly, the Egyptian cape billowing violently, his blood-red hair flowing freely like a river, and with a second leap, he crossed over twenty meters, landing on another, more intact building. He continued in succession.
Each landing was as light as a leaf, but each push cracked the ground.
"... Why does this feel even better than I remembered?" he murmured to himself, somewhat confused. "... As a god, it's only natural that I can do this. Even as the result of a millennia-long experiment, I could do something like this..."
He propelled himself once more.
This time, with more force.
The air around him was torn apart, and the world below became a blur of embers and concrete. He shot upward like a scarlet arrow, piercing through the dense layers of smoke that covered the skies like a veil of ash.
For a brief moment, everything fell silent.
He broke through the cloud of soot, and then, he was up there.
Suspended against the gray sky.
The wind cut across his face, laden with heat and fragments of glowing dust. Below him, the burning city stretched out like a borderless inferno—a living tapestry of fire and shadows. Collapsing buildings, streets illuminated by flames, the outlines of rivers turned to steaming vapor. Red, orange, and black blended into a cruel spectacle.
And then, for some reason... his heart beat harder.
Thump.
A single beat, dry, quick. Almost imperceptible.
Thump.
Stronger now.
He furrowed his brow slightly, his red eyes staring at that distorted world. Something down there... deep in that vision... touched him. Perhaps just the thrill of being above it all, once again, like a god looking down on a doomed world?
Or was it just his memories of an ordinary human life affecting him?
He felt his chest expand slightly with adrenaline.
"Heh..." A soft sound escaped, as if he were laughing at himself.
Then, he landed on a building hundreds of meters away and leaped again, continuing on the path he wanted.
Three minutes had passed since he launched himself at high speed across the buildings.
Malik crossed the city, and the fire, little by little, began to subside.
Until he stopped.
His feet touched the ground in an utterly unnatural way, as if gravity didn't exist for him.
The earth below was black, dry, charred.
The smell of burnt wood, melted resin, and ancient ash permeated the air.
He looked around.
It was supposed to be a forest.
But now... it was a graveyard of charred trees.
Twisted branches pointed to the sky like the hands of the damned begging for mercy. The vegetation had vanished entirely, leaving only cracked, barren soil. The wind blew through the dead trunks, carrying sparse embers that extinguished upon touching the ground.
A little further ahead, he spotted a mansion.
Tall, imposing, with Germanic architecture, featuring high windows, towers, and slanted roofs. The kind of structure that recalled ancient times of nobility and magical traditions. Unlike everything around it, it wasn't reduced to rubble. Its walls were merely scorched, some windows broken, but the fire hadn't managed to consume it.
Boom!
Not even a second later, a sound echoed through the area, and where he stood, a crater formed with a cloud of dust.
As the dust began to settle, the air seemed to grow heavier.
A massive silhouette rose from the shadows.
It was a monster.
Over two meters tall, its body was covered in thick, gray skin marked by cracks and muscles that seemed ready to burst. In its hands, it held a grotesque weapon, a shapeless mix of axe and sword, as if someone had torn a rock from a mountain and brutally forced it into shape. The blade, if it could be called that, seemed so heavy that the ground sank beneath its weight.
And the eyes...
Even if one couldn't see its face, they would feel the madness piercing their skin due to its crazed eyes, ready to attack at any moment.
It was the Servant of the Berserker Class!
Each Heroic Spirit summoned for the Holy Grail War is placed in one of seven classes.
Saber. Archer. Lancer. Rider. Caster. Assassin. Berserker.
Heroic Spirits are summoned into classes that suit their various special characteristics, further enhancing their abilities. A sword-wielding hero might be summoned as Saber. A hero skilled with a spear as Lancer.
Revealing their true name is tantamount to exposing their weaknesses and special abilities. Thus, Servants are typically referred to by their class names. Each class also comes with abilities that can influence combat in distinct ways. For example, Caster has the power of [Territory Creation], while Assassin has the ability [Presence Concealment].
In a sense, the various classes are like chess pieces, each with a distinct ability.
But each player has only one piece. The chessboard is irregular, designed for a real battle. And each piece has a chance to control the board, as long as its player, its Master, is strong enough.
This was the fundamental principle of the Holy Grail War.
And the enemy now before him was a monster in every sense. A Berserker has an ability called [Mad Enhancement], trading sanity for a boost in power...
The Berserker charged toward him.
A deafening roar tore through the air, the pressure sounding like thunder trapped in a monstrous throat. Each step made the ground tremble, further cracking the dry, charred terrain. The grotesque weapon rose above its head, swollen muscles vibrating with raw power about to be unleashed.
Malik didn't even move.
"Oh..." His lips curled, his lazy tone carrying a subtle venom: "A rabid dog..."
As he finished speaking, the axe-sword in the Berserker's hands came down like a meteor, and the impact made the ground implode, raising a wave of dust and stone fragments. Malik simply took a step to the side, as if dodging someone handing out flyers on the street.
"That was... cute..." He tilted his head slightly, looking at the Berserker with disdain.
The monster swung the weapon in an attempt to cut Malik horizontally. The massive, irregular blade came in a trajectory that would tear anything in its path. Malik stepped back half a pace, just enough to feel the cutting wind of its passage, and then, seizing the opening, drove his knee into the side of the weapon.
The sound was dry.
It didn't sound like flesh against metal, but rather stone against stone. The impact diverted the blow's trajectory and threw the Berserker off balance, making the monster sink its foot into the ground to steady itself.
Before the Berserker could regain its posture, Malik spun his body and delivered a side kick straight to the giant's chest. The sound of the impact echoed like a drum breaking, and the creature was hurled backward in a grotesque arc, crashing through a charred trunk and skidding across the ground for several meters before stopping.
The monster rose again, letting out a primal roar. The veins pulsed beneath its gray skin, and the [Mad Enhancement] seemed to amplify the pressure of its presence even further.
It charged again, this time mixing rapid strikes—a diagonal slash, a low thrust, and a 360-degree spin that kicked up embers from the ground. Malik dodged them all with the same infuriating nonchalance, as if watching in slow motion. Each time the weapon passed, he felt the turbulence cut through the air, but he didn't let even the hem of his cape touch the metal.
In the midst of the sequence, Malik ducked, avoiding a high slash, and exploded forward with a punch straight to the creature's abdomen. There was no refined technique, just a clean, dry blow.
The result was immediate—the Berserker's torso caved in as if struck by a battering ram. A jet of hot air escaped the monster's mouth along with a guttural sound. It flew backward again, slamming into the side of the mansion with such force that bricks came loose, and its weapon flew out of its hand.
"Is that all?" Malik raised his eyebrows, genuinely bored. "I expected more from a Berserker..."
The monster didn't respond, only let out a deeper roar and charged again, this time without a weapon. It leaped like a wild beast, fists clenched, trying to crush Malik directly.
Each punch against the ground created craters and kicked up dust. Malik stepped back, leaning his body, dodging by mere inches. At one point, he simply grabbed the Berserker's fist with one hand and held it firmly.
"Tch... pathetic strength..." He twisted the enemy's arm and, effortlessly, threw it over his shoulder. The Berserker hit the ground with a crash, further cracking the terrain.
The monster rose with redoubled fury, but Malik was already in front of it. An upward kick struck the creature's chin, the sound of grinding bones mixing with a dry snap. The giant's body lifted a few centimeters before being hurled backward.
"You're resilient... I'll give you that." Malik took a slow step, dragging his sole across the ground as if in no hurry.
The Berserker charged with its entire body, trying to grab him. Malik leaped back and, in the same instant, leaned forward, building strength in his leg muscles.
The next blow was a front kick, delivered with absurd precision, hitting the center of the enemy's chest. The impact reverberated like a muffled explosion, and the Berserker was launched backward in a straight line, crashing through two charred trunks and rolling across the ground until it stopped at the edge of the clearing.
Malik sighed, as if watching a poor performance.
"If this keeps up, it's going to get boring."
The Berserker, completely consumed by madness, roared and moved like lightning.
Malik didn't retreat and charged as well, the two colliding in the center of the clearing.
Malik's fist sank into the monster's stomach with enough force to make its spine arch backward.
Before the Berserker could react, Malik twisted his hips and delivered an upward hook to its chin. The giant's body lifted into the air, and Malik spun again, landing a lateral spinning kick to the enemy's neck.
The impact was devastating. The Berserker was launched like a projectile, soaring over twenty meters before crashing into the ground, creating a crater.
Malik stood still, looking at the fallen body. The silence of the clearing returned, broken only by the distant sound of fire consuming the world.
He cracked his neck and sighed.
"And here I thought there'd be some excitement in this..."
Deciding it was time to end it, he slowly raised his right hand, and the air around him seemed to distort, as if an invisible force were drawing every fragment of heat and light into a single point.
Red and golden flames danced in the void between his fingers, converging until gleaming metal began to form.
In an instant, it was there.
Its design exuded an almost divine splendor: the spiraled golden shaft gleamed even under the dim light of distant flames, reflecting as if polished by the hands of kings. At the rear end, a triangular isosceles blade, adorned with a small cross. The main tip, a double-edged blade resembling an elongated khopesh, sharp as a god's will, pulsed in deep red, bisected by a golden line that seemed alive, throbbing in sync with the wielder's heart. Small golden details spread across the blade, reinforcing its sacred and lethal grandeur.
He spun the spear with dexterity, the metallic sound slicing through the air in a sharp hum, each rotation like the prelude to an inevitable execution.
This was the same spear depicted as a harpoon in the stories told by humans, the weapon used to slay Apophis, the giant serpent that tried to devour the sun every night. At night, it crossed the sky, attempting to swallow Ra's solar boat, the Sun God. He had lost count of how many times he was called to protect Ra from that immense serpent of death, that old fool...
One thing humans didn't know was that this weapon had a name. His spear was called [Sha'tep Was], a Divine Construct he had forged himself and carried throughout his life...
From the crater ahead, the Berserker emerged with an even wilder roar, its gray skin trembling under the tension of its muscles, and the [Mad Enhancement] burning like an uncontrollable fire. Its eyes, already insane, now looked like two embers about to explode.
The monster staggered a few steps until it spotted the fallen axe-sword nearby. With a brutal motion, it grabbed the weapon and raised it, the grotesque blade clinking under its weight.
"Let's go..." Malik said in an almost bored tone, spinning the [Sha'tep Was] again, as if merely warming up his wrists.
The Berserker charged, and the impact was immediate.
The shapeless blade met the golden shaft of the spear, and the clash echoed through the clearing like metallic thunder. Malik blocked with a single arm, not retreating an inch, his face impassive as the monster's muscles trembled under the effort.
The exchange continued—brutal slashes, top-down strikes, wide lunges, all countered by elegant spins and minimal movements. Malik wielded the spear as if it were an extension of his body, deflecting the enemy's blade with slight angle changes, countering with rapid thrusts that sliced the air inches from the Berserker.
Then, in a sudden motion, Malik spun the spear in a low arc.
The sound of flesh and bone being cut rang out dryly.
Both of the Berserker's legs were severed at once, and the giant fell to its knees, letting out a guttural roar, its weapon crashing to the ground with a thud.
Malik didn't stop.
With a single upward swing, the red blade severed both of the monster's arms, the blood evaporating before it even hit the ground, replaced by black particles that scattered like living ash.
Malik's eyes glowed with a deep hue, like embers in a volcano about to erupt.
"Pathetic..." he mocked, raising the spear. "I hope the others are more entertaining..."
He drove the [Sha'tep Was] straight into the Berserker's head.
The impact sounded muffled, and then the monster's body began to disintegrate. First, the muscles and skin fragmented into glowing particles, then the bones, until nothing remained but a puff of light that dispersed into the air like golden dust in the wind.
He spun the spear and rested it on his shoulder, letting out an almost disappointed sigh.
Despite his bored exterior, at some point, a deep restlessness burned within him, a silent flame that brought forth a sense of vulnerability he didn't recognize in himself. The adrenaline gave way to a strange feeling, a mix of sadness, relief, and a quiet melancholy that made him question what it truly meant to be who he had always been, yet now felt so intensely...
In his chest, something contracted and expanded, like waves of a restless sea that found no peace. It was a raw, almost human emotion, a paradoxical force: the pain of existing and the strange beauty of being alive to feel it. And in that moment of stillness after killing his opponent, he realized that the true weight of eternity might just be this newfound ability to feel both emptiness and fullness so deeply at the same time...
Poetic, isn't it?
Those were the only words he could find to describe what he felt in his chest...
It was something indescribable...
Never had so many emotions intertwined in a single moment. Even though the battle carried the weight of boredom, it returned to him the freshness of his first dance with war.
Indeed, his human life had influenced his ego more than he had initially thought.
Thanks to that, everything was more fun.
There was a nostalgic sweetness in that feeling. His divine essence as the God of War reflected in every fiber: he was born to fight, to spill blood, and to bathe in pain, the fiery spice of his eternal banquet. All his desires, every yearning, were sated in the chaos of combat. But time, relentless, had made everything monotonous in his long existence. And in rediscovering that flame, he felt something unexpected bloom in his core: happiness.
Though nothing compared to the happiest moment of his life—the murder and dismemberment of his own brother—it was still a bittersweet feeling that left him in good spirits.
But his good mood quickly faded...
He slowly turned his face in a specific direction.
On the horizon, about two kilometers away, standing out against the curtain of smoke, rose a building still standing. At its top, a silhouette was outlined against the gray, opaque glow of the sky.
Something glinted as it was thrown by that silhouette.
Swoooosh!
An instant later, the air was torn by a projectile that moved so fast the atmosphere hissed in agony.
Malik raised an eyebrow.
Moving the [Sha'tep Was] with a certain gentleness, he intercepted the shot the exact moment it touched the golden shaft.
The impact rang out with a metallic snap followed by an incandescent explosion of magical energy that engulfed the red-haired figure, embers and fragments of light scattering in all directions.
Atop the building, the silhouette tilted its head slightly.
There were no words, only a dry gesture and a mocking posture, as if saying, "So that's all you've got?"
But before it could turn and disappear, a voice sounded behind it. Low, laced with irony, cutting through the distant noise of the flames:
"So… did you hit him?"
The figure's spine stiffened.
The shadow turned, alarmed.
Malik was there, a few steps away, the spear casually resting on his shoulder, as if he had strolled there in the middle of a walk. Was the one before him the Archer? His smile widened, the predatory glint in his eyes betraying his next move.
He commented mockingly.
"... What's that? Did you really think a little projectile like that could catch me off guard? You're hilarious! Heh, I know archers struggle in one-on-one battles, but to attack sneakily like that... you clearly have no pride to speak of."
Archer felt his eyebrows twitch involuntarily.
Why is everyone talking about pride lately? Is it a trend?
Though he had the urge to punch the red-haired man's face, he couldn't help but be surprised that he was unscathed, even after taking a projectile from one of the most powerful swords in his arsenal. Who was this man, anyway...? Earlier, Archer had been shooting at the black-haired boy and the shield-wielding girl who appeared out of nowhere to kill them. Then, the Berserker's growls and roars caught his attention; as he approached, he witnessed the redhead kill the monster as if it were a mere inconvenience. Thinking he'd be trouble for "her," he decided to attack him by surprise...
His sharp gaze settled on Malik again, sizing him up carefully. There was something exasperating about him, something that made his blood simmer slightly.
"This thing called pride won't get you very far..." Archer said, his tone heavy with experience and a hint of irritation. "I hope you can remember those words..."
With that, he turned, ready to leave, now that he'd been discovered, feeling it wasn't a good idea to engage in combat with the man before him.
"No rush. You greeted me, so if I don't greet you back, it'll surely leave a bad taste in my mouth..."
Malik smiled.
With a careless gesture, he let the [Sha'tep Was] slip from his hand. The spear didn't fall; the space around it seemed to collapse in on itself, as if someone had painted a black ink box and swallowed its glow. In a blink, the void consumed the weapon, and it vanished.
In the same motion, two blades appeared in Malik's hands: twin khopeshes, crafted in a shade of gold that reflected the world's heat.
These khopeshes were his primary weapons, his twin Divine Construct called [Sha'Khop].
The twin swords spun in a single moment in his hands, joining calmly with a hissing click, and their union formed an arc, an exuberant and relentless curve...
Malik pulled where a bowstring would be as a red line appeared, a thread of living lightning crackling with electric tension. The arrow that formed at its tip was pure lightning shard.
Archer only had time to let out a hoarse "Shit." He leaped back, his body already transitioning into spirit form—
But Malik was faster and released the arrow.
It sliced through the air in a second.
The lightning crossed the distance in a mere instant and struck Archer's shoulder, but instead of piercing as expected, it turned into a kind of anchor that yanked him backward like a mere ragdoll.
The trajectory was a streak of light across the dull gray sky; Archer screamed, gasping, his spirit form flickering, unable to complete the transition. In seconds, he was hurled against a distant building, a tower already consumed by fire.
Boom!
The lightning that accompanied him didn't stop there.
Upon hitting the building's facade, it turned into a cataclysm. The discharge struck where beams intersected, and the metal, overheated, gave way like a feather under a blade of heat. An arc of energy leaped through the internal structures; cables exploded, turning into fire serpents that climbed through the floors. The sound came like thunder crushed against glass: a cavernous explosion that made even the distant flames tremble.
Windows shattered in a star-shower pattern; incandescent curtains turned into flames that blew outward from the building. Entire floors collapsed in a cascade, one after another, as if the building were vomiting its own metallic soul. The facade split longitudinally, opening a mouth that spewed sparks and debris. Concrete panels broke off in slabs that sliced through the air; an arc of smoke and heat rose so fast it seemed to want to swallow the sky.
When the final boom erupted, the shockwave swept through the clearing. The sound of the impact made the embers flare and raised a curtain of dust that clouded the eyes for a moment.
Fragments rained from above, scraping rooftops and turning the nearby world into a shower of deadly glow.
Malik slightly lowered the bow as he dematerialized it.
From the smoking rubble, Archer emerged with a horrific wound on his body.
"Looks like we're even," he muttered, his voice carrying a mix of pain and frustration. Without wasting time, his body began to fade, turning into mana particles as he vanished from the scene without looking back.
Malik merely gave an amused smile, sensing the Archer moving quickly in a specific direction.
The spirit form he assumed was interesting...
From what he remembered, Servants are entities capable of freely switching between a Spiritual Body and a Material Body. In the spiritual form Archer had just taken, they become invisible to the naked eye and difficult to detect even by advanced scrying methods, as well as immune to most physical interference. In this state, they can pass through walls and move freely, though they cannot carry objects.
... Well, he wouldn't chase a mere puppy he could kill at any moment. Let him run to his Master; things are more interesting that way.
His ink-red eyes scanned a distant spot where he could see a group of skeletons chasing a girl...
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
.
.
.
.
.
The air smelled of smoke and hot iron. Each breath was harsh, burning her throat, but she couldn't stop. Her legs ached as if they might break, yet they kept moving.
She wore a black sweater over a white-collared dress, red stockings, a bow tie, and black high-heeled shoes that now hindered her as she ran. Her long white hair was tied in a small braid on the left side, while the rest fell over her shoulders. Her amber eyes were filled with a tumultuous mix of panic and despair.
The ground beneath her feet was covered in ash, and pieces of burning wood fell from the buildings around her. The windows reflected the orange glow of the flames, like eyes shining in the dark.
Behind her, the sound echoed: a dry, rhythmic clack, clack, clack. The sound of bones clattering against each other.
"Don't look back... don't look back..." she repeated in her mind, but her body didn't obey.
She glanced back for a moment.
They were there. Skeletons. Lifeless skulls, yet their empty orbits seemed to follow her. Their jaws opened and closed as if chewing the air, and their bony hands reached for her.
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.
The heat of the flames mixed with the cold creeping up her spine. Her feet slipped, and she nearly fell, but she clung to a broken door to stay upright. The sound of bones was getting closer.
There was no one to help. Nowhere to run.
But she kept running.
Even if her legs were about to give out... even if her breath was nearly gone... she could only run.
"Why does this kind of thing always happen to me!" she shouted as she kept running.
This was Olga Marie Animusphere.
As she ran, she couldn't help but think about how things had come to this and everything that had led her life to this moment. Was this that phenomenon of seeing her life flash before her eyes...?
Hundreds of years ago, the heads of various families relied on her family to predict their futures. They spent small fortunes to know what the future held, a sentiment that had faded over time due to the decline of the "Mystery" contained in the stars. Now that powerful telescopes existed, to the point where even ordinary people could discover new celestial bodies with personally funded equipment, the way people observed the night sky had fundamentally changed.
Though humans had always looked to the night sky for answers, the very sentiment that gave meaning to the thaumaturgical study of Astronomy had significantly diminished as Science continued to "reveal" the Universe's secrets. Even if most of their theories were utterly foolish, often far from the truth of things, people were easily swayed by those with authority in the scientific community. Now, it was enough for some renowned physicist to say something completely baseless, sometimes bordering on the metaphysical, for people to swallow it like freshly baked sweets. Then, a few months later, they'd latch onto some new idea thrown out randomly by a trending celebrity on some social network.
Thus, although they had no idea what secrets the Universe truly held, a "common sense" had been established among those who considered themselves informed. This greatly weakened all Magic related to Astronomy, with the only exceptions being techniques passed down through the main lineage of various Mage families, including hers. Her family possessed the rare ability to see not only the future but also the past. Though this might seem useless to most, there were some truths that could only be uncovered by directly observing events that had already occurred.
The founding members of the Animusphere family made their name and fortune using an advanced form of Psychometry, the ability to discern an object's past through touch, to locate various lost treasures. This ability was later modified to allow the projection of past locations to be viewed in the present, a technique known only to her and her father. Unfortunately, executing it required an immense amount of wealth and resources, two things her family lacked after her grandfather's failures...
It was ironic how far her family had fallen. In the past, they had over ten branch families acting as their arms and legs, and though that number had dwindled to just three, it was possible they could regain their former glory if they made the right promises to the right people. The problem was achieving this without being absorbed by a larger family once it became clear they were rising again...
With that thought in mind, her mind wandered to the Trambelio family, the second most powerful family, behind only the Barthomeloi. When she was thirteen, to lift her family out of poverty, she even considered marrying the second son of the former family head, who hadn't inherited the position because he simply didn't want it.
In reality, instead of opposing his elder brother's right to succession, the second son supported him from a young age. Though not the family head, he held significant influence in internal affairs and was considered his brother Alexander Trambelio's "intermediary." In the past, she met him at a dinner, and even though she was only thirteen at the time, that man approached her father to arrange a marriage, which would have made her his third wife. Now, she was twenty-two, while "he" had celebrated his forty-seventh birthday two months earlier. When the Barthomeloi family began pressuring hers, even before the end of the Judgment, he had already contacted her to try to make arrangements, this time bypassing her father directly...
Though the idea of marrying a man even older than her father left a bitter taste in her mouth, the "contract" he offered meant she'd only need to be married to him for ten years.
As temporary marriages weren't uncommon among Mage families, often as a means to secure an heir and establish familial ties between two families, back then, she had seriously considered the idea as a way to lift her family from the ashes. Ten years didn't seem like an unbearable period, and as his genes would undoubtedly be highly beneficial for her future descendants, there were numerous benefits she could gain. Though it would be nearly impossible to escape the Trambelio family's shadow from that point on, it was infinitely better than being driven to ruin and cannibalized by other Mage families in the Association when they went bankrupt.
Fortunately, her father turned their family's financial situation around when rumors emerged of a Holy Grail War in Fuyuki where a wish could be granted. He managed to win and wished for enough wealth to found his beloved organization, Finis Chaldea, which aimed to prevent the inevitable end of the human race.
Thanks to that, they completed a byproduct of their family's Magecraft, a mystic code finished in 1990 A.D. Using the soul of the World as a base, the system manifests a perfectly accurate miniature replica of the planetary body of Earth, allowing a representation of the World's status in past and future eras. However, detailed observation of specific time-space locations is impossible without the assistance of [Sheba], which was invented by Lev...
Though it had been built in 1990, the reality was that [Chaldeas] was incomplete. It was constructed and established as a model of Earth to convince sponsors, but it was far from its original function. While the theory was complete, [Chaldeas] lacked the crucial "fuel" for its operation. To make it run, they needed the power of a plant capable of supplying an entire country for about half a year. Even with the combination of an oil platform, Seraphix, and a French nuclear reactor, it wasn't possible to keep it running...
Through the creation of Chaldea, her family regained its power and returned to a high position among other Mage families, but her father ended up dying...
She had to inherit everything he left behind as his only daughter and heir.
She couldn't help but wonder, had she done well? Would her father be proud?
She didn't want to die!
What would happen to...
... her Chaldea?
Those rats from the Mage's Association would surely cannibalize the organization her father fought tooth and nail to create. She couldn't allow that...
They would use her "failure" to try to oust her from her position!
But what could she do?
All because of that explosion!
If not for it, she could have fulfilled Chaldea's mission!
Of course, all this was possible because of Lev, who created [Sheba], a mechanism designed to allow detailed observation of information represented in the planetary projection of [Chaldeas], similar in concept to an environmental observation satellite placed in Earth's orbit. Instead of a closed-circuit camera system, [Sheba] also serves as an integral component for Chaldeas' security, monitoring any occurrences within the research facility's surroundings in real-time.
It reads how far civilization has developed in any region, though the details of the future remain unknown. The system, however, is ultimately accurate only for observing the Common Era; for more distant eras in the past, accuracy drops rapidly, and the demands for mana and electricity rise to unmanageable levels, but thanks to her father, everything became manageable...
Except a few months ago, [Sheba] observed an unobservable location: Fuyuki City in 2004, also known as [Singularity F]. She requested help from the Mage's Association and managed to gather the most talented mages in the world with aptitude as Masters, including most of Team A, which her father had assembled beforehand, and was ready for the mission.
But that explosion happened, clearly an attack by some other family or the Association to plant a mistake and oust her from her position as director. They would obviously do something like that...
The worst part was that she didn't know what was happening there. During the explosion, she was sent to [Singularity F] and was here now!
She could only worry about herself at this moment, but she hoped in her heart that everyone was okay...
Snapping out of her thoughts, Olga Marie gritted her teeth, the heat and the bitter taste of iron in her mouth mixing with the smoke filling the air.
"Tch… get out of my way!" she growled, spinning on her heels.
Her finger pointed directly at the nearest skulls. A dense, vibrant black beam shot from her fingertip like a bullet.
Gandr!
The shot hit the first skeleton, exploding its skull into shards of bone that flew through the air, sparking under the reflection of the flames. Before the second could react, another beam followed, piercing its chest and disintegrating its ribcage into white dust.
The dry sound of falling bones echoed through the alley.
But Olga Marie had no time to celebrate. The relentless steps, clack, clack, clack, continued behind her, and the shadows distorted by the flames were approaching too quickly.
"Damned…" she gasped, out of breath, resuming her run. Her high heels sank into the cracks of the broken asphalt, making each step a risk of falling. Her loose white hair swayed messily, catching sparks that died in the air.
The smell of burnt wood and flesh… or something like flesh… was so strong it made her nauseous. Still, she kept going.
If she stopped, she'd be reduced to dust like those two.
Her heart pounded. Her thoughts, once filled with memories and plans, now boiled down to a raw instinct: survive.
She turned the corner into a narrow street, where the building walls burned like torches, and the orange light reflected in her amber eyes.
The sound of bones didn't lessen.
For a moment, Olga Marie felt the cold in her spine overpower the suffocating heat of the flames. She knew that if she was caught here, no one would ever find her body.
"I… won't die here…!" she whispered to herself, and her fingers began to glow again, preparing another shot as she ran.
She turned quickly, raising her hand again.
Gandr!
The black beam hit another skeleton in the shoulder, tearing off its entire arm and making it spin in the air before shattering on the ground.
She kept running, but another came from the side. She spun again, fired another Gandr! and the enemy's skull broke like shattered glass.
"Three…" she murmured between panting breaths.
Another emerged from the smoke, tall, with exposed ribs. Olga aimed and fired quickly, hitting its hip and knocking it to the ground. A kick with her high heel crushed its skull.
Clack, clack, clack.
More were coming. Two advanced together, and she didn't think twice: she aimed at the one on the right, fired, and blew it to pieces, then aimed at the other and took out its legs with a shot.
When she realized, only five remained, scattered but closing in.
Her lungs burned. Her legs were about to give out. And then, she turned a corner and saw… a dead end.
"No, no, no…" she muttered, panic rising in her chest. She tried to backtrack, but her high heel caught in a crack in the asphalt. She stumbled, fell to the side, the impact knocking the air from her lungs.
Her vision blurred for a moment, but the skeletal silhouettes were already approaching, bones clattering.
Olga raised her hand in a hurry, her finger trembling.
"Gandr!!" she shouted.
The beam shot straight through the air, completely missing the target and dissipating against the scorched wall.
The sound of bones was so close she could almost feel the wind from their movements. Fear took over, swallowing any pride she had.
"Help me, Lev!" she pleaded, her voice breaking.
But there was no one.
The skeletons drew closer.
She closed her eyes, her fingers still trembling, and waited for the icy impact of death. The sound of bones was so near she could feel the air being sliced by their skeletal hands.
But… nothing happened.
The clack, clack, clack stopped. The flames still roared, but the heat seemed distant, muffled, as if the world had held its breath.
Hesitantly, Olga Marie opened her eyes.
And he was there.
A man in his mid-twenties.
His red hair, long and straight, cascaded to the middle of his back, gleaming with a deep hue that recalled dried blood under the sun. A bizarre, malevolent red… that made her heart tighten...
His eyes… rubies steeped in blood. They held no spark of life, no reflection of light, just absolute, pure red like ink. His skin, pale as polished marble, was flawless. The dark kohl lines around his eyes only heightened that inhuman gaze, reminiscent of the lost aesthetic of pharaohs. Discreet gold earrings hung from his ears, glinting softly.
And his face… Olga Marie felt her breath catch. It wasn't human. It couldn't be. So symmetrical, so perfect, so… dangerous. Refined Egyptian features, as if a divine artisan had carved each curve with obsession.
His body, draped in a simple yet noble white outfit, hinted at perfect musculature—not exaggerated, but that of a warrior at his peak, capable of unleashing overwhelming power at any moment. A golden necklace adorned his partially exposed chest, and a long white cape fell to the ground, swaying gently in a nonexistent breeze.
Olga Marie couldn't look away. Her mind, until then consumed by panic and fear, was now intoxicated by that presence. It was mesmerizing… and at the same time diabolical. A poison that seeped into the soul just by existing.
The world, the fire, the sound of bones… everything vanished for her.
Only he remained.
The man before her eyes.
He didn't move immediately.
He merely turned his face, slowly, to face the five remaining skeletons. His gaze swept over them from head to toe, as if measuring every inch of their fragile bodies.
Then, his eyes glinted… just for an instant.
And everything changed.
The sound of bones was replaced by a dry, almost muffled crash. The skulls and ribs began to fragment, not into pieces, but into the finest grains. In the blink of an eye, the five skeletons turned into sand sculptures, still for less than a second before completely dissolving, vanishing into the air as if an invisible wind had claimed them.
Olga Marie's eyes widened, the shock leaving her speechless.
He then turned to her.
Without a word, he extended his hand and asked casually, "Are you okay?"
Olga Marie blinked, as if only now snapping out of a trance. Her heart raced. Her cheeks burned, and not from the heat of the flames. She realized she was sitting on the ground, legs folded in an undignified manner, and shame burned within her.
"I-I…" she tried to speak, but the words faltered.
Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his. His grip was firm, warm. He pulled her up with ease, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.
And then… their eyes met.
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(A/N: Good evening, everyone!
Here's the second chapter of this story. I want to work on each scene with the utmost detail and care, bringing something truly worthy of the Nasuverse — which, as a proper Fate rat, I absolutely love.
My goal is to keep all the lore as faithful as possible, delving deep into each character's personality, without that "extra" maximized affection I used in Kazuya's story.
I hope you enjoy this immersion!
If you like it, leave a like and a comment. If both this chapter and the first reach 25 likes each, next Sunday I'll release two chapters at once.
Should I keep Olga Marie alive? 👀
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