Fuyuki – a few years later.
It had been four years since Zoth took Shinji and Shirou under his wing.
During that time, the two kids had basically lived in a hell tailor-made by Zoth himself — day after day, they were forced to fight monsters pouring out of Wonder Ride Books, not to mention the gaudy golden Mecha troops summoned by the so-called King of Solomon — Zoth's idea of "physical training."
Shinji and Shirou struggled through each day, week, and year, enduring countless brutal battles, getting beat down over and over again.
But precisely because of that — they had grown immensely.
Now, both could swing their swords at lightning speed, combine techniques with surgical precision, and their reaction time and combat awareness had reached warrior-level territory.
To put it bluntly: the more Zoth beat the crap out of them, the stronger they got.
And as for Zoth?
Well… over those four years, he also "evolved" — just in a very peculiar direction.
After an extended period of ultra-freeloading at the Matou residence, Byakuya finally snapped and kicked him out onto the street.
Unbothered, Zoth simply switched targets — and leapt over to the Emiya household instead.
With a face thicker than titanium-reinforced concrete, he not only shamelessly squatted there… he even claimed an entire room as his own.
At first, Kiritsugu tried to explain the situation awkwardly…
But eventually, he just gave up. Too exhausting.
By that time, Kiritsugu had only one remaining wish — to rescue Illya from the Einzbern family in Germany.
He once asked Zoth for help, but Zoth's reply was:
"She's your daughter, not mine. Why should I care?
I don't do other people's drama.
Go by yourself."
Cold as ice — indifferent as smoke.
So Kiritsugu began preparing in silence.
Many nights, he sat alone at the porch, eyes fixed toward a faraway horizon, as if hoping for something hopeless.
Shirou once asked him about it — but all he got in return… was a faint smile and long silence.
Zoth thought he could finally live in peace — but oh, how wrong he was.
One fine morning, Byakuya came knocking again.
Zoth was confused.
This time, Byakuya claimed he wanted to "help him get his life together."
Zoth immediately felt something was off — especially when he saw the black briefcase Byakuya was carrying.
It looked serious. Dangerous.
Without wasting time, Byakuya pulled out a thick stack of papers and slammed them onto the table in front of Zoth.
Zoth's eyes widened.
His face went pale.
Job application forms.
"NO WAY!!! THERE'S NO WAY I'M TOUCHING THOSE CURSED PAPERS!!!
I just want to live the life of a proud, unemployed freeloader!!"
Zoth howled like a beast being skinned alive, thrashing about, trying to escape — but was held firmly in place.
"You spend all day doing NOTHING.
It's either gaming, reading manga, or binging light novels!
You may be a Servant, but I'm trying to help you reintegrate into society!
You're not supposed to rot into some full-time hikikomori!"
Byakuya, face cold as steel, gripped Zoth's hand and forcibly pressed it toward the ink stamp — aiming it straight at the job application form.
His movements were like a father trying to get his degenerate son to sign into rehab.
Realizing the danger, Zoth flared up — scarlet magical energy burst from his body.
The room trembled as he vanished into a red mist, dissolving into blood-tinged fog like a shameful ghost escaping accountability.
Silence returned to the house.
Only Shirou stood there, dumbfounded, holding a juice box…
While Byakuya sat in quiet exhaustion — like a father who just failed to reform his anime-addicted delinquent son.
---
Fuyuki – Mion River.
Zoth had run all the way to the riverbank, where he finally collapsed to his knees, panting like a dying man.
His face was pale as death, one hand clutching his chest, the other bracing himself on the trembling ground.
He gasped and cursed the heavens:
"Damn it! I'm not working for some soul-sucking capitalist company, no way!
Seven-hour shifts AND unpaid overtime?!
I'd rather rot at home!!"
Suddenly—
A voice echoed beside him.
Same tone. Same speech pattern.
Only colder… deeper… like ice carving into flesh.
"That's right… We, Zoth… will never bow to employment.
Unless… it's for something much bigger."
Zoth instantly nodded like a bobblehead, crossing his arms with an expression of absolute agreement:
"Exactly! You're so right, we—"
Mid-sentence, he froze.
Something was off.
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously…
Then snapped his head to the side to look at the speaker.
His eyes widened. Jaw dropped.
He sprang up like a spring-loaded trap and screamed:
"Chotto matte!! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!"
Standing beside him was… something unnatural.
The figure wore a black-and-red armor, laced with ominous golden patterns.
His shoulder armor flared out like green fangs, while a tattered black cloak fluttered behind him like smoke.
His helmet had two twisted horns, resembling gnarled tree roots, intertwined with glowing golden rings.
And where a face should be—
An open book hovered, etched with glowing green runes that pulsed like a reaper's breath.
Zoth instinctively took a step back, pointing at him with a shaking finger, shouting like he'd seen a ghost:
"SON OF A—?! Kamen Rider Storious?!?"
The mysterious man — or rather, another version of Zoth — slowly rose, his footsteps slicing the silence like blades on glass.
He tilted his head slightly, voice low, yet laced with madness:
"What's wrong? Surprised… that I've taken this form?
Of course you are… after all, I'm still you —
Just one who threw away the name 'Zoth' a long time ago."
Zoth instantly snatched up his Wonder Ride Book – Omni Force, gripping it tightly.
His eyes sharpened as he pointed straight at the other:
"What are you doing here?!"
The other chuckled darkly.
He gently brushed a metal hand across his helmet, then cracked his neck with an audible pop —
And lifted his gaze to meet Zoth's,
his stare piercing straight through to the soul.
"I'm being hunted, a.
And~ since we're both Zoth…
You'll help me out, won't you~?"
Zoth narrowed his eyes, voice heavy with distrust:
"You're being hunted? By who?
And what the hell do you mean help you?!"
The man stepped closer, clapping Zoth on the shoulder like an old friend.
But just as suddenly, he turned on his heel — as if time was short — and faded into black mist, vanishing without another word.
Zoth stood frozen like a statue, still trying to process what had just happened when—
BOOM — WHOOSH — FWOOSH!!
A barrage of radiant arrows and magical blasts screamed toward him like a rain of judgment.
With a roar, he swung Toán, his blade cleaving through the air and whipping up a spiral of wind that deflected the entire assault.
He flipped backward, spinning in midair before landing in a low crouch.
Eyes sharp, heart pounding — he scanned the figures now glaring at him like hungry wolves ready to tear him limb from limb.
The air had frozen solid. Killing intent poured in like a tidal wave.
Zoth didn't hesitate —
He transformed.
Kamen Rider Solomon.
His armor shone brilliant white and gold, gleaming under the sun like some mythic messiah.
He tightened his grip on Caladbolg, jaw clenched, eyes darting to each hostile presence before him:
– Grand Archer: Orions.
– Grand Assassin: First Hassan.
– Grand Saber: Miyamoto Musashi.
– And others: Arthur Pendragon, Gawain, Ozymandias, Xuanzang Sanzang, Beowulf.
Zoth inhaled deeply—
Then screamed like a man who just realized he was absolutely, irrevocably screwed:
"MOTHERF—!! THAT'S A LOT OF THEM!!
I REALLY HAVE BECOME THE FALL GUY, HAVEN'T I?!"
Orions stepped forward, divine bow in hand, his eyes locking onto Zoth's chest like a sniper sighting prey.
His voice was cold, flat — as calm as a frozen lake:
"Storious…
Where do you think you're running this time?"
WHOOSH!!
A sacred arrow tore through space, howling toward Zoth.
He barely twisted aside, the shot grazing past as dust exploded under his boots.
Face pale, he shrieked:
"I'M NOT HIM!! I'M NOT STORIOUS!!
WHY DOES FATE KEEP MAKING ME PAY FOR HIS SINS?!"
Orions narrowed his eyes, expression unimpressed:
"Still denying it?
That lazy tone, that smug slacker attitude —
If you're not Storious, who the hell is?
You think anyone's buying this act?!"
Zoth swung Caladbolg skyward, golden light crackling along its edge. His anger boiled over:
"ARE YOU PEOPLE INSANE?!
I'M TELLING THE TRUTH AND NOBODY BELIEVES ME?!
BEING HONEST IS A CRIME NOW, HUH?!"
THUD!
A deep metallic crash shook the earth.
Grand Assassin – First Hassan had driven his massive sword into the ground.
One hand rested on the hilt, his gaze bottomless — ancient — as his voice rumbled out like boulders grinding in the abyss:
"We meet again, young one.
Last time… I let you slip through Akasha. That was my failing.
But if fate brings us face-to-face once more…
…then it is already decided:
You shall fall here."
Zoth's eyes widened in panic.
He stumbled back, arms flailing as if trying to swat away a ghost from his past.
Old PTSD from Akasha came crashing down like a tsunami.
His face went pale, voice trembling on the verge of tears:
"No no no!! I don't wanna die!!
I didn't even do anything, why am I being hunted like this?!
Aren't you guys supposed to be chasing the real Storious?!
Why are you aiming at me?!"
The Servants had surrounded him completely.
The killing intent was still thick in the air —
But, one by one, they all lowered their weapons.
First Hassan — his face as frozen as if it hadn't thawed for a thousand years — was the one who spoke:
"Young one.
Though you may be a potential threat…
Right now,
Eliminating him takes precedence.
Therefore…"
Zoth narrowed his eyes, voice uneasy:
"…therefore?"
First Hassan didn't blink. His tone stayed even, but behind it was a blade barely sheathed:
"One of the four of us will remain here.
Their task:
Watch over you.
If you show any signs of danger—
You will be dealt with immediately."
Zoth froze.
In that moment, he said nothing.
Just tilted his head up, staring at the sky.
A flicker of sorrow — and resignation — crossed his eyes.
Then he sighed, like an old man who had already seen the end of the world:
"…So be it.
Maybe I was born to be put under surveillance."
The decision was made.
Arthur Pendragon — bearer of royal blood and noble aura — was chosen to stay.
He approached Zoth without a word, and simply stood behind him like a silent sentinel.
Silence fell once again.
The silhouettes of the Grand Servants and other heroes faded into the mist, heading toward the place where the other Zoth — Storious — was hiding.
Zoth stood alone by the riverbank.
He glanced back at Arthur and murmured — to him, or maybe to himself:
"…Now I even need permission just to breathe…
How the hell did my life turn into this?"
Then, curiosity sparked in his eye behind the visor. He hesitated… then asked:
"Arthur, bro…
Can I ask you something?"
Arthur gave a slow nod. His eyes never left Zoth, voice calm — but not relaxed:
"Ask. I will answer."
Zoth immediately canceled his transformation.
The cloak vanished. His true form stood exposed in the breeze.
He flailed his hands, visibly flustered:
"I just wanna know…
What the hell did that bastard do?!
Why is everyone hell-bent on killing him?!"
Arthur paused.
For a moment, his gaze darkened — and then, steel returned.
He clenched his fist, jaw tightening like he was grinding the bastard's name between his teeth:
"He…
He is you, Zoth Vari-El.
But he betrayed the very foundation of humanity.
He turned himself into something called a Megid of Stories."
Arthur's voice grew heavier with every word:
"He unleashed chaos that drowned the world in despair.
He hunted human souls,
Sealed them inside something known as an Alter Ride Book.
Then —
He sacrificed half the planet,
To perform a ritual that birthed the so-called
Grimoire: The Omniscient Book."
Arthur gripped his sword hilt.
His teeth clenched so tightly it seemed they'd shatter:
"But he didn't stop there.
He destroyed the world.
Turned it into fuel to reach the Root.
And there —
He rewrote all of existence, in his own image.
But that new world…
It was no longer the world of mankind."
Arthur raised his gaze, staring Zoth down like a sword piercing through the soul:
"He twisted history.
Bent the course of humanity.
Warped the laws of reality.
And all because—
From what we've gathered—
He once saw a certain girl burned at the stake before his eyes.
He couldn't accept it.
He hated the world for letting it happen.
And so… he decided to burn it all down."
Arthur took a step forward, voice cold as a death sentence:
"That's why…
All of us are hunting him."
Zoth took it all in.
Then he inhaled deep —
Like someone who had just heard the darkest joke in existence.
He slowly raised a thumb toward the sky, voice echoing with mocking disbelief:
"Wow…
Another simp sets the world on fire, huh~?"
Arthur immediately turned, his gaze colder than ever.
His voice was a warning carved in stone:
"You'd better not follow in his footsteps.
Or your fate will be exactly the same."
Zoth swallowed hard, waving his hands like a nervous puppy:
"Relax! Chill!
I'm a strict believer in non-violence, okay?!
Who the hell has time to destroy the world, honestly—"
Arthur didn't let up.
His eyes were steel.
His tone was final:
"You'd better mean that.
If not—
The entire Throne of Heroes will one day come for you."
Zoth nodded so fast it looked like he was glitching.
He threw both hands up like a compulsive gambler swearing on his last coin:
"Swear to God!!
I ain't one of those lovestruck lunatics ready to set the world on fire!"
Arthur finally eased just a little.
He sheathed his sword, but his watchful eyes never left Zoth.
He stepped behind again, now the officially assigned watchdog.
And Zoth?
He just kept walking…
With a painfully forced smile on his face,
While deep inside, he was crying like a man abandoned by fate.
"Goddammit…
Guess there's no coming back clean from this mess…"