"How… how could it be finished already…?"
A short while earlier—deep in the western forests of Snowfield City—Haruri, Master of the True Berserker, snapped out of her terror from Novia's declaration of war and found herself staring in disbelief at the completed temple before her.
It was a colossal structure, as imposing as a mountain. At its forefront stood a vast lapis-lazuli–inlaid gate of glazed stone. Beyond that stretched a flight of stone steps leading upward to a shrine built upon a high platform.
At the summit, the shrine resembled ancient Mesopotamian ruins, its entrance flanked by golden and silver statues shaped after the Kokopelli dolls—charms said in America to bring wealth and fortune.
Yet more disturbing were the outer statues: guardian-like effigies shaped as grotesque monsters straight out of fables and fairy tales. Just looking at them inspired unease.
Originally, in Haruri's mind, even with Berserker's aid, completing such a temple—modeled after the divine shrines of Babylon—should have taken two or three days at best.
"Heh… what a hopelessly arrogant human."
A voice cut through her bewilderment. Haruri spun around at once, trembling as she stammered:
"Th-that… this isn't—"
"No matter. Since I appointed you as high priestess, sooner or later you would have built this anyway." Ishtar narrowed her eyes, flashing a seductive smile before glancing toward the city center. "The one who owes an apology… is that self-righteous fool—even worse than those other two."
Ishtar's presence in this world was possible only through the Einzbern homunculi. The mechanism was the blessing she had once bestowed upon the world—a lingering divine power that persisted even after her absorption into humanity.
That blessing had been sown the day the King of Heroes humiliated her, hurling divine beast entrails at her feet. From that moment until the instant she dissolved into the collective unconscious of mankind, the blessing never ceased.
Thus, when Enkidu and Gilgamesh returned, so too did she.
The Goddess of Beauty carried anger and hatred refined to perfection—residues of passion from the age when gods ruled the planet. Within the vessel named Philya, that ancient flame rekindled.
And now, for the one who dared to drag her into this alien realm without consent, her fury burned all the hotter.
"Could it be… you dislike that person from earlier? I thought he seemed like a good man…"
"Impudence I'll permit only once. Twice, and it means you're doubting me. Be careful."
Ishtar's smiling admonition froze Haruri's words in her throat.
Why had she been chosen as high priestess?
The answer was simple. Long ago in Uruk, though the high priestess served the King of Heroes, she was one of Ishtar's most devoted followers. Her name resembled Haruri's.
Still trembling, Haruri forced herself to speak—her gratitude and awe toward this goddess who had saved her life laced with fear.
"B-but… that person truly…"
Ishtar's voice dropped dangerously low.
"This is the second time. Do you want to die? But if you choose death… then at least, die smiling."
She seized Haruri's shoulders and drew her into an embrace. Divine mana poured into Haruri, wrapping her in the warmth of a mother's arms—so much like the mother she had lost.
That gentle illusion soon gave way to dread, as Ishtar's divinity invaded Haruri's body, transforming the color of her magical circuits.
For an instant, Haruri felt as though the entire world itself recognized her existence. Tears welled unbidden, yet even through the strange comfort, she struggled weakly, pleading:
"P-please… don't…"
Her words trembled, her breath breaking.
As she resisted, Ishtar saw into her memories—those at the shore just moments ago.
The sound of waves. The unbearable memory she avoided: her parents slain by magi, her home destroyed, her past happiness shattered.
"I… I want revenge…! I don't care what happens to the world! Mystery or no mystery, it doesn't matter! I just want them to suffer the same pain! To know what it means to lose something that never comes back! Just as my family will never return… I want them to feel that emptiness—when mystery disappears, and nothing remains!"
Haruri believed such petty, emotional words beneath her in front of a goddess. But—
"No matter the pain, someone will come to save you. Your suffering, your vengeance—they're natural. Never base. So after vengeance… live. Live long, live happily."
Waves stretched endlessly to the horizon, toward the World Tree whose leaves shimmered, reflecting the world.
"…Enough. You no longer belong to me. Choose as you wish. Whatever the end—beautiful ruin or ugly struggle—I will witness it."
Closing her eyes, Ishtar released Haruri.
"…Still, Haruri, I grant you joy. Love this world. Carve meaning from pain and happiness alike—and offer it to whomever you wish."
Her voice was soft, motherly—yet her words were those no true mother would say.
Ishtar pushed her away gently. Haruri collapsed to the ground, weeping uncontrollably, curled into herself.
The goddess neither scolded nor soothed—merely watched, like a mother seeing her child leave home.
"Struggle, dance upon this world. However clumsy, as long as you don't abandon your humanity… or rather, since you cannot… I'll keep smiling as I watch. I can no longer teach you to dance—but I can at least give you the dress and the shoes."
When Haruri had finally calmed, Ishtar led her and Humbaba toward the city's heart.
The proud goddess did not wait for pilgrims—she chose instead to become the first challenger.
---
Back to the present.
Standing before an unfolding miracle of infinite possibilities, Ishtar cast a dazzling smile that pierced straight into the hearts of all who beheld her.
"Show me… whether you can protect humanity beneath the full devotion of a god."
The sky itself roared. Thunderclouds erupted, lightning lancing downward with enough force to split the earth.
"In the face of the heavens, no god may overstep."
Her denial birthed light amidst the storm—a pure blue radiance, a star's glow shining upon the land.
At once, the Pale Rider howled its empty cry at the goddess.
"I am the sword, the beast, the thirst, the hunger… I am death, I am dirge, I am—death."
Yūya Hassan followed suit:
"O star of twilight from a foreign sky… if you dare, I shall ring the death knell with my ancestor's blade."
Humbaba too bellowed in mechanized rage for his mistress.
Yet Novia only laughed, waving his hand to dismiss both the Pale Rider and Hassan. His other hand clenched.
"The age of gods has long since ended, Ishtar."
At once, the air filled with the ether of the Age of Gods. Here, she was no mere shadow of herself—she was once again the true Venus, beloved of the pantheon.
And with her came her divine beast—the Bull of Heaven.
With bull and goddess united, their combined might eclipsed any Servant. But she understood: this realm itself was of Novia's making. He wielded a power greater still.
For in his hand, a crack had formed, birthing a blade of red, black, and white. The power radiating from it was the very recreation of the Age of Gods.
Ishtar's eyes widened. That sword… it was familiar.
"Maanna!"
With her cry, lapis and gold converged into a celestial barque—the Maanna. She soared upward, bending space, air, and even divine lightning to her command.
"Open the gate!"
Her words were divine edict. If Ishtar declared "crows are white," then white they became.
"Shatter all—Mountain-Shaking Flame of the Morning Star!"
Her strongest attack—greater even than the Hammer of Heaven. The Bull of Heaven answered her call, vomiting storms of lightning and rain, shaking the world like the dawn of creation.
But as destruction converged upon Novia—
The sword was already in his hand.
"…What—"
Cold sweat ran down her spine. It was the original holy sword. And yet, something was different.
Time stopped.
Her attack was harmless. Venus itself rejected her.
"Goddess, and your bull… return."
The moon appeared, birthing countless phantom moons that fell like a waterfall of light.
Despair. Judgment.
"Impossible… How could a human ritual grant such mana…?"
She raged, trying to redirect Venus, but her power was utterly denied. Novia advanced, wielding Albion's Spear fused with the True World blade.
"Here, I will end you."
His swing seemed casual. But Ishtar saw it—it was death itself.
The blade pierced her heart, spreading through her body in an instant.
"You are strong, I admit it. But why… why does Venus not obey me? I am its true keeper…"
Her smile faltered as her body fell, senses fading.
"…So be it. Human… remember your promise. Protect this child, and all like her."
Silence followed.
Novia nodded. The Bull of Heaven roared in madness but was devoured by Typhon's frame. Humbaba had already been destroyed by the Pale Rider and Hassan.
Thus, the first to fall in this Holy Grail War were the True Berserker's camp—and the goddess Ishtar herself, along with her divine beast.
***************************
Read advanced chapters ahead of everyone else on my P@treon.
P@treon/GodDragcell