The atmosphere in the refuge was a mix of weary relief and contained tension. The third and final magical point was the key, and everyone knew it. Tezcatlipoca, his dark, serene figure projected in a corner of the room, broke the silence with his deep voice that resonated like an echo from an ancient cavern.
"The dissipation of the fog has granted us a window of clarity. I have been able to triangulate the source of the third node. It is not in a building, nor in ruins... it is in the water."
Everyone turned their gaze toward him.
"The Thames," declared Leonel, understanding instantly. "Or more specifically, a distorted version of it. The records we recovered from the Clock Tower mentioned a secret facility near a lake."
"Correct," Tezcatlipoca nodded. "But you will not find it with your eyes. The lake referred to in the documents is a magical mirage, a fold in reality superimposed onto the river. The third point is not a structure to destroy, but an echo to silence. A phenomenon of resonance."
The explanation was complex, but the resulting plan was simple, and dangerous. They had to venture into the Thames, find the magical "signature" of the echo, and nullify it from within, which would likely trigger a catastrophic reaction from the location and attract any remaining enemy forces.
The group headed to the banks of the Thames, where the gray, still waters reflected a sky that didn't exist, a perpetual fog tinged with purple and green. The atmosphere was heavy, charged with mana so dense it was difficult to breathe.
"Look," Mash pointed out, her voice a whisper.
Before them, the air over the river began to ripple. The outlines of the ruined buildings on the opposite bank distorted, and in their place, the image of a serene, dark lake emerged, surrounded by skeletal cypress trees. It was beautiful and oppressive at once.
"There it is," Drake murmured, adjusting her hat. "A ghost in the water."
"Everyone on guard," ordered Leonel, his mind already calculating variables, probabilities, enemy movements. "Jeanne Alter, Drake, spearhead. Mash, with me. Kiyohime, Georgios, flanks. The Casters, long-range support and magical analysis. Tezca, guide our perception."
"Cross the threshold," the voice of the Mesoamerican god instructed in their minds. "I will hold your sanity against the illusions of this place."
As they stepped onto the surface of the mirage, the world changed. London disappeared. They were now on the shore of that silent lake. At the center, floating over the motionless waters, was a pulsating glow, a nucleus of pure energy beating like a heart: the third point.
And guarding it, a figure that froze the blood in their veins.
It was Artoria Pendragon, the one from the Holy Grail War. But not the queen with golden hair and shining armor. This was Artoria Alter, clad in armor as dark as night, her sword Excalibur Morgan emitting a malevolent glow, and a look of absolute disdain frozen on her face. The corrupted one of the Holy Grail.
"A final, pathetic attempt by humanity," her voice declared, cold and cutting as steel. "I will not allow you to defile the instrument of my reign."
The battle was inevitable.
The fight was chaotic from the first moment. Artoria Alter moved with brutal speed and power, each swing of her black sword a wave of destruction that made the illusory lake's waters boil.
"Mash, now!" Leonel shouted, dodging a slash of dark energy.
The Shielder interposed herself, her Lord Camelot deploying just in time to absorb the impact. The force pushed her back, but she held firm, her eyes filled with determination.
Jeanne Alter charged with a cry of rage, her flames clashing against Artoria's darkness. "Don't underestimate my hatred, false queen!"
Drake opened fire with her pistols, while Siegfried, with his massive sword, joined the front line, seeking an opening in the Saber Alter's defense. Kiyohime, in her Berserker state, attacked without restraint, but Artoria was too skilled, dodging and counterattacking with lethal precision.
"Leonel," Tezcatlipoca's voice sounded urgent in his mind. "The nucleus. While she distracts us, her energy is concentrated on maintaining her form and the mirage. We must weaken her by breaking the echo. Shakespeare, Andersen! I need you to alter the narrative of this place!"
The two Casters, now freed, nodded. Shakespeare raised his hands. "Oh, drama of creation and destruction! Let this lake of lies find its truthful end!" Andersen, with his usual pessimism, grunted: "A badly written tale deserves to be torn out. Let us undo this predictable ending!"
A wave of golden energy and another of silvery light crashed against the pulsating nucleus. The mirage faltered. Artoria Alter screamed in fury, feeling the connection weaken.
It was the opportunity they needed.
"Everyone, now!" Leonel ordered, channeling all his Wild Card power instinctively. It wasn't Persona power, but a raw version of the same principle: the ability to unite souls, to synchronize wills. A faint glow, like a veil of rainbow, extended from him toward his Servants.
For an instant, they felt like a single entity.
Mash charged with renewed power, her shield glowing with a light that was not hers alone. Nero, appearing in a flash of rose petals, struck with her sword alongside Jeanne Alter. Tamamo no Mae, from behind, channeled her magical energy to strengthen them. Even the original Jeanne joined, her banner held high, granting blessings of protection.
The combined attack, guided by Leonel's strategy and Tezcatlipoca's supernatural perception, struck the nucleus directly.
The world exploded in white light and shattered sound.
When the light dissipated, the lake had disappeared. They were back on the banks of the Thames, under London's poisoned sky. The fog, for the first time, had completely dissipated. In the distance, at the center of what was the city, a tower of light rose toward the sky: the true location of the Holy Grail.
They had won.
But victory had a bittersweet taste. Artoria Alter, wounded and momentarily freed from the corruption, had looked at them with an expression that was both emptiness and a glimpse of the queen she once was, before disappearing into particles of light.
The group was exhausted, bruised, but alive.
In the silence that followed, Mash approached Leonel. She said nothing. She simply took his hand and held it tightly. Her cheeks were flushed, but her gaze was firm. There was no jealousy in that moment, only deep relief and a silent confirmation of what she felt.
Kiyohime nestled against his other side, seeking warmth and confirmation. Drake gave him a pat on the back with a tired but genuine smile. Jeanne Alter grumbled something about "making too much noise" before looking away, but she didn't leave. Nero proclaimed her love for her "bold emperor," and Tamamo smiled with a tenderness that understood everything.
Leonel looked around at this disparate group of heroes and spirits who had become his family. He felt the weight of their trust, the complexity of their affections, and the immense responsibility on his shoulders.
Tezcatlipoca materialized beside him, his presence as imposing as ever. "The path to the Grail is clear, Leonel. But the true battle, the one that will define the fate of this Humanity, has only just begun. And you... are no longer the confused boy who arrived here. You have gathered not just an army, but a pillar."
Leonel nodded, gently squeezing Mash's hand. He knew Tezcatlipoca was right. The journey continued, but for the first time, he felt no fear of the future. He looked toward the tower of light on the horizon.
"Tomorrow," he said, his voice calm but filled with a steel determination. "Tomorrow we end this Singularity."
The fog, which had once been an impenetrable wall of confusion and corruption, now retreated like a wounded animal, revealing the scars of a dying London. The buildings, ghostly and silent, watched with their empty windows as humanity's last and most fragile bastion passed by. The air, though clearer, was heavy with a new weight, that of the prelude to an existential battle. It wasn't just the weight of magic, but the weight of destiny.
Leonel Herrera walked with a determination that felt carved into bone and soul. Beside him, Mash Kyrielight kept a firm pace, her shield, Lord Camelot, emitting a faint glow, as if eager to deploy. The Shielder's gaze was fixed on the path, but her peripheral attention was completely absorbed by her Master's presence. She could feel the tension in his shoulders, the whirlwind of strategic thoughts, and the cold premonition taking root in his heart. She, who had begun this journey as an instrument, now understood the nuances of human fear, and in that moment, she felt her own—not for herself, but for him.
At the forefront, advancing with the devastating arrogance of a walking storm, was Jeanne d'Arc Alter. Her sword, La Grondement du Haine, rested on her shoulder, and her eyes, the color of molten amber, scanned the ruins with disdain. She was the spearhead, the concentrated fury that would clear the path. Her brute power, born of distortion and hatred, was her credential for that position, and she claimed it with a ferocity that made even her allies nervous.
In the rear, Francis Drake whistled a sailor's tune, a melody that clashed grotesquely with the solemnity of the surroundings. Her eyes, however, missed no detail. Her two pistols, polished and lethal, were drawn. She knew the most insidious dangers often came from behind.
Kiyohime, the Berserker, moved like a caged tiger within the group. Her obsession with Leonel was a beacon guiding her movements. Every sigh from him, every adjustment in his posture, was analyzed by her madness-sharpened senses. She was ready to intercept any threat, to turn her body into a burning shield if necessary.
Flanking the group, with their grimoires floating in the air, were William Shakespeare and Hans Christian Andersen. The former, with dramatic gestures, was already whispering phrases for future spells, seeing the moment as the final act of a Greek tragedy. The latter, with his eternal frown, analyzed the ley lines of reality, seeking inconsistencies or weak points in the fabric of the Singularity.
And then there was Tezcatlipoca. He did not walk with them, but his essence, a dark, semi-transparent figure, slid like intelligent smoke through the adjacent streets, acting as a living radar. His voice, grave and serene, resonated directly in Leonel's mind, reporting voids, echoes of residual magic, the total absence of life. There were no automatons, no ghosts, no resistance. The silence itself was the most terrifying threat.
«The calm precedes annihilation, Leonel,» the voice of the Mesoamerican god was a whisper of rock on rock. «The enemy has withdrawn its pawns. Only the king remains on the board. He is ahead. The concentration of mana is... absolute.»
Leonel nodded to himself, his fingers unconsciously tightening on the edge of his Mystic Code. His mind, so quick and analytical, was his greatest weapon and his greatest torture. Because he knew. He knew what the others, even Tezcatlipoca, could only intuit. His past life, that mundane existence in front of a screen, had granted him the curse of prescience. He had played Fate/Grand Order. He had journeyed through this London Singularity. And he knew that the being awaiting them was not simply a Demon King or a rebel mage. It was the incarnation of a will that sought to rewrite history through the fire of the Incineration.
It was Goetia. And he would manifest with the face of the King of Mages, Solomon.
No book knowledge, no memory from a game, could prepare a man for the visceral reality of that entity. The theory of relativity prepares no one for the force of a hurricane. And Leonel felt like a man about to be swept away by the most violent wind of creation.
Finally, they reached what had been the heart of the city. A wide plaza, now a crater of pulverized rubble. And there, floating serenely at the center, as a mockery to the laws of physics and reason, was the Holy Grail. It was not a chalice of legends, but an object of golden, geometric perfection, radiating a warm, tempting light. It was the source of all the distortion, the key to this Singularity. And yet, it seemed so... reachable.
«It's a trap,» Mash murmured, voicing everyone's thought.
«Of course it is, little one,» Drake laughed bitterly. «But it's the only trap we have to step on.»
Jeanne Alter spat on the ground. «It doesn't matter. We'll burn it, the Grail and whoever's behind it.»
It was then that the air split.
It wasn't a sound, it was a sensation of glass shattering on a universal scale. In front of the Grail, reality tore like rotten canvas. The rift was not dark; it was an unnatural color, a greenish purple that hurt the eyes and the mind. From it emanated an aura, and that one was a physical experience.
A wave of magical pressure slammed into them, forcing them back. It wasn't an attack, it was a declaration. It was as if the very concept of "power" had materialized and was breathing down on them. Mash instinctively stepped in front of Leonel, her shield glowing with strength, but not even it could completely block the psychological oppression. Kiyohime emitted a low, animal growl, while Jeanne Alter clenched her teeth, her pride forcing her to stand firm against the tide of pure dominion.
«Tezca... analysis, now,» Leonel ordered, his voice tense.
The dark figure of Tezcatlipoca materialized fully beside him, something he only did in moments of extreme danger. His eyes, like polished obsidian, fixed on the rift. Leonel could feel the entity's vast processing power working at superhuman speed, analyzing magical composition, existential wavelength, weaknesses.
Seconds felt like hours. Finally, Tezcatlipoca's voice sounded in Leonel's mind, and for the first time, Leonel detected something that chilled his blood more than the aura itself: a tone of absolute perplexity.
«No... there are no weaknesses.» The voice was an incredulous whisper. «Resistance... no. Immunity. Total immunity to all known types of magic: fire, water, earth, air, curses, blessings, negation, affirmation... It is a closed existence. A perfect loop of energy. It's... impossible.»
Leonel paled. Color drained from his face as if a sponge had sucked away all his blood. Knowing it in theory was one thing. Hearing it from the lips of a god, confirmed with cold, hard data, was another. It was the death sentence for any hope of victory through conventional force.
From the dimensional rift, a figure ascended.
He wore a simple white robe, his hair a mass of silver fluff, and his eyes, a color between pink and gold, held the depth of stars. It was a face Leonel had seen hundreds of times in his past life: that of the Saber Caster, Solomon. But the energy he radiated was not that of a Heroic Spirit. It was something more, something ancient, alien, and divine at the same time.
"Solomon" smiled. It wasn't a warm smile, not even an evil one. It was the smile of a mathematician watching a child trying to solve a differential equation with its fingers.
«My congratulations,» his voice began, soft and yet penetrating, resonating not in the air, but directly in their souls. «You have come this far. You have overcome the trials, cleared the fog, defeated my guardians. You are, without a doubt, the last and most tenacious echo of a Humanity clinging to its right to exist. It is... touching.»
His gaze rested on Leonel, and the young man felt his mind dissected, every thought, every memory, every fear, exposed before that omniscient gaze.
«Leonel Herrera. A curious soul, displaced, with a glimmer of a power you do not even comprehend. The Wild Card... an interesting concept, but insignificant before the order I intend to establish.» He paused, letting his words, laden with contempt, sink in. «You have fought bravely. You have forged bonds, loved, suffered. All that effort... is futile.»
He extended an arm, encompassing the destroyed London, and by extension, all of human history.
«The Incineration of Humanity is not an act of evil, it is a correction. It is the final act of compassion for a species condemned to suffer and die. I offer annihilation without pain, the end of all suffering. And your effort, though admirable, is nothing more than a spasm of agony before the inevitable end. No matter what you do here. Destiny is written.»
Despair, cold and sticky, began to climb up Leonel's back. It wasn't the fear of dying, it was the fear of irrelevance. The fear that all his suffering, the love of his Servants, Mash's loyalty, everything was, as he said, a simple, meaningless echo.
But then, he saw Mash's gaze. It wasn't of fear, but of faith. Faith in him. He saw the angry face of Jeanne Alter, who refused to be belittled. He saw the fierce loyalty in Kiyohime's eyes. They weren't fighting for an abstract concept of humanity. They were fighting for him. And he would fight for them.
«No...,» Leonel's voice emerged as a croak, but then gained strength. «It is not futile. As long as a single being refuses to surrender, as long as a single heart keeps beating, your 'compassion' is nothing but tyranny in disguise.»
"Solomon" arched an eyebrow, slightly amused. «Brave words. But words do not change reality. Only power does.»
With an almost casual gesture, he snapped his fingers.
The world exploded around them.
Out of nowhere, four nightmare monoliths rose from the rubble, surrounding them. They were the Pillars of Demonic Energy: Forneus, Halphas, Flauros, and Phenex. Each was a tower of twisted flesh, eyes, and mouths, radiating pure hatred and an evil that made London's automatons look like innocent toys. The air filled with a deafening hum, a chant of madness that eroded sanity.
«Defense!» Leonel shouted, his mind entering a state of hyper-lucidity, despair temporarily drowned by the adrenaline of combat. «Tezca, coordinates! Mash, central shield! Jeanne Alter, the one on the left! Drake, cover the flanks! Kiyohime, with Andersen and Shakespeare! Georgios, Siegfried, to my side!»
It was the most ordered chaos Leonel could have conceived, and yet, it was insufficient.
Mash deployed Lord Camelot, and the great round shield became a bastion of light against the corrupt energy rays spat by the Pillars. Each impact was like a hammer blow against her soul, but she held firm, her legs trembled but didn't give way, her cries of effort lost in the roar.
Jeanne Alter lunged at Halphas with the fury of a dragon. Her black sword cut and burned, tearing demonic flesh, but the wounds closed almost instantly. «Stand still, damn monster!» she roared, unleashing her Noble Phantasm. «Grondement Du Haine!» A column of black fire enveloped the Pillar, making it writhe in pain, but failing to destroy it.
Drake, with the agility of a pirate on a ship's deck in a storm, dodged tentacles and rays, firing her pistols. Her bullets, imbued with her own power, exploded against Forneus's eyes, temporarily blinding it. «You're nothing but stones on the path!» she shouted, her defiant smile still on her face.
Kiyohime, in a state of total frenzy, protected the two Casters. Her body transformed, golden scales covering her skin, blue flames escaping her mouth. She destroyed any tentacle that approached Shakespeare or Andersen, who, in turn, worked tirelessly. Shakespeare created illusions to confuse Phenex, while Andersen tried to rewrite Flauros's lines of fate, seeking to create a paradox that would weaken it.
«Their core is regenerative!» Tezcatlipoca shouted, his voice a thread of calm in the mental storm. «Jeanne Alter, attack the central eye at 0.7-second intervals! Drake, the right Pillar has a fluctuation in its field, shoot now! Mash, tilt the shield 15 degrees to the right!»
Leonel felt his magical circuit burning. He wasn't casting spells directly, but the connection with Tezcatlipoca, who processed and distributed information at a prodigious speed, consumed his energy at an alarming rate. It was the price of holding back a force that, by rights, should have annihilated them in seconds. Cold sweat dripped down his temple. He saw how, despite their efforts, his Servants began to give way.
A tentacle from Flauros escaped Kiyohime's fire and struck Shakespeare, throwing him against a wall of rubble. The Caster screamed, his Servant body couldn't withstand much more.
«Will!» Andersen shouted, distracted for a moment. It was the time Phenex needed to fire a purple energy ray that struck the small Caster head-on, leaving him prone and motionless.
«Hans!» Leonel's voice broke. Despair returned, stronger.
Georgios, with his sword Ascalon, and Siegfried, with his Balmung, fought side by side against Forneus. Siegfried released his Noble Phantasm, the dragon of light crashed into the Pillar, opening a huge gap in its side. For a moment, they thought they would succeed. But then, Halphas, freeing itself from Jeanne Alter's onslaught, launched a concentrated counterattack against Siegfried. The dragon hero took the full impact on his chest, his armor cracked, and he fell to his knees, disappearing into particles of light before hitting the ground.
«Siegfried!» Mash screamed, the pain of losing an ally piercing her.
One by one, they fell.
Drake, after exhausting all her magical ammunition, was enveloped by Forneus's tentacles. «This... is just a bad trip!» were her last words before being crushed against the ground, disappearing.
Kiyohime, seeing Leonel in distress, threw herself at Flauros in a suicidal attack. «Master! I will protect you!» Her Noble Phantasm, the fire of her lie transformed into truth, erupted in a cataclysmic explosion that vaporized half of the Demonic Pillar. But the cost was her own existence. Her last particles of light faded, and her gaze, for an instant completely lucid and full of love, met Leonel's before disappearing forever.
«Kiyohime... no...» Leonel fell to his knees, fatigue and emotional pain overwhelming him. His breathing was ragged, his body trembled. The overuse of magic, channeled through Tezcatlipoca, had left him exhausted. He felt as if his very life was being drained.
Only Mash, Jeanne Alter, and he remained. Tezcatlipoca, beside him, his form began to grow fainter, the connection weakening.
Jeanne Alter, bleeding from multiple wounds, placed herself in front of them, her sword still held high. Her breathing was heavy, but her gaze remained a challenge. «Is this all?» she spat toward "Solomon," who had observed the massacre with the same expression of bored superiority. «Come and face me directly, coward!»
"Solomon" smiled. «As you wish.»
Without even moving a finger, an invisible pressure crushed Jeanne Alter. She screamed, trying to resist with her pure will, but her bones cracked. Her sword shattered. «Leonel...» she managed to articulate, before the force made her vanish, not in a flash of light, but in an explosion of silenced darkness.
Only Mash and Leonel remained.
Mash, with her shield still deployed, interposed herself between her Master and the entity. She was wounded, her armor cracked, but her spirit was indomitable. «No... he will not touch you, Senpai.»
"Solomon" looked at them, and for the first time, his expression showed something akin to... pity.
«Brave. But useless.» With a wave of his hand, a force tore Mash from the ground and hurled her against the rubble. She hit with a dull thud and moved no more. She hadn't disappeared, but she was gravely wounded, unconscious.
Leonel could no longer even stand. He crawled toward where Mash lay, his hand outstretched, each movement an agony. Tears, warm and salty, traced paths through the dust and blood on his face. He had failed. He had led them all to slaughter. His strategic mind, his Wild Card, his empathy... all had been useless. Despair consumed him completely. He was a castaway in an ocean of powerlessness.
"Solomon" floated closer until he was right in front of him. He leaned down, his perfect face centimeters from Leonel's devastated one.
«See,» he said softly. «See the result of your tenacity. The pain you cause. The death you bring to your followers. This is humanity: an endless cycle of unnecessary suffering. I will put an end to this.»
Leonel tried to speak, but only a groan came out.
«Do not fear,» "Solomon" continued. «I will not kill you. You are an interesting specimen. An error in the calculation. I want you to survive. I want you to carry the weight of this failure. I want you to understand, in the journey you have left, the absolute futility of your existence.»
He straightened up, looking toward the dimensional rift that still pulsed behind him.
«I await you at the Temple of Time, Leonel Herrera. There, at the origin of everything, you will witness the dawn of true humanity. Or its definitive sunset. The final confrontation that will decide the fate of this world... if you manage to get there, of course.»
And then, with the same ease with which he had arrived, "Solomon" turned and vanished into the rift. The four Pillars of Demonic Energy, their task complete, dissolved into the air, leaving a sudden and terrifying silence.
The rift closed.
Leonel was left alone, kneeling in the rubble, surrounded by the sepulchral silence of an empty London. The unconscious body of Mash lay a few meters away. The Grail, now inert, fell to the ground with a dull metallic clunk. The battle was over. And they had lost. Not just the battle, but almost everything.
With a superhuman effort, crawling, he reached Mash. He took her hand. It was cold. The despair he felt in that moment was deeper than any darkness he had ever imagined. It wasn't the despair of a defeated warrior, but that of a man who has seen his family die before him and could do nothing.
He raised his eyes to the sky, a torn and silent scream stuck in his throat. Goetia was gone, but his shadow loomed over him, heavier than any stone wall. The path to the Temple of Time was the only route left, a path stretching over an abyss of pain and loss. But deep within his being, exhausted and broken, a faint fire refused to go out. It wasn't the fire of victory, not even that of hope. It was the fire of obstinacy.
As his hand squeezed Mash's, he swore, in the silence of his shattered heart, that this would not be the end. It was only the beginning of the true ordeal.