(Hey there!
Did y'all think I was gonna drop this fanfic?
Well… I was planning to, but turns out I just couldn't bring myself to do it —
So here we are, with a new chapter! sigh
Anyway, update: I'm changing the schedule to 2 chapters per week!
I can't keep doing daily uploads like before.
So yeah...
Let's keep going with this trash-tier fanfic of mine!!!)
—————
Fuyuki – Miyama Town, Emiya Residence.
The night in Fuyuki was peaceful to the point of being unnerving.
The silence was broken only by the stubborn buzzing of late-summer cicadas, as if they refused to accept their final curtain call.
Dim light spilled out from the traditional manor, quietly casting its glow over three figures sitting in a tatami room—like a scene torn from another world.
Zoth: Not much needs to be said. He was sprawled out on the tatami like he owned the place since three generations ago. TV blaring with anime opening music, soda glass in hand—like a man who'd transcended all worldly concern.
Arthur: The King of Knights. Arms crossed, leaning against the wall, eyes locked on Zoth without blinking. He looked like he was one breath away from drawing his sword if Zoth so much as twitched... at anything.
Shirou: Sitting at the table doing homework, still not quite understanding why a complete weirdo had appeared in his home. But he shrugged, let it go, and returned to his assignment like it was just another Tuesday.
"Hey, my dear disciple! Be a pal and fetch me some ice!"
Zoth raised his hand lazily, tone completely carefree, eyes still glued to the TV where giant robots were busy blowing each other up.
Shirou sighed lightly, face clearly saying "I give up."
But he got up anyway, quietly walked to the fridge, took out a cup of ice, and handed it to Zoth like the world's most unwilling filial son.
"Arigato~"
Zoth flashed a grin, poured soda into the cup, and kept watching anime like the Grand Order wasn't currently hunting him down outside.
Shirou returned to his seat and was about to resume writing when—
"Young one," Arthur suddenly spoke, voice heavy and steady like a blade being drawn,
"Tell me… that Zoth fellow—is he always like this?"
Shirou looked up. Nodded vigorously like a pecking bird.
"Yeah, always. Master's either lying down or rolling around in an arcade. One time, he played rhythm games for three hours straight."
Arthur: speechless.
He slowly turned to look back at Zoth, who was lounging with one leg over the other, casually digging in his ear and staring at the screen without a care in the world.
What… even is this creature?
One side, you had Storious—a great heretic who could wipe out civilizations, rewrite history, and alter the Root with his Grimoire.
And this guy…
An otaku who lived like the world could explode and he'd just ask for five more minutes to finish his episode.
Arthur began to doubt himself.
Was he guarding the wrong person...?
Suddenly—Zoth stopped digging his ear.
His eyes narrowed slightly, gaze drifting beyond the closed door.
"Shirou," he said without turning his head,
"take care of the magus outside for me, yeah?"
Shirou set down his pen. Closed his workbook.
Expression blank as ice, he nodded once:
"Understood, Master."
At some point, a deep brown Wonder Ride Book had appeared in Shirou's hand:
[Book Gates]
He opened it—and a dark green portal tore through the room like the air itself was being sliced.
Without another word, Shirou stepped through.
The gate sealed behind him, vanishing as if it had never existed.
Arthur: frozen stiff.
Zoth: still lying there watching anime, reaching for a snack chip while mumbling:
"…The art in this episode's actually not bad."
---
Fuyuki – Shinto, Train Station.
The air here was thick—so heavy it strangled the lungs, as if an unseen force was pressing down on the entire space.
Bright red blood stained the floor in messy trails and pools, turning the ground into a grotesque painting of death. The walls fared no better—splattered with dry, crusted blotches that looked more like remnants of a savage ritual than mere bloodstains.
One could not say for sure… if it was only blood. Or something far worse.
The station's fluorescent lights flickered erratically, blinking in and out like a machine on its deathbed.
Amid the bone-chilling silence, the high-pitched buzzing of flies pierced the air—an eerie orchestra heralding some creature crawling its way out of the shadows, hungry to devour everything.
At the center of the station, a massive book lay open, its pages spinning in a slow, unnatural spiral, stirring the air with an ominous pull.
From its depths emerged a figure: fiery red hair, dressed in pristine white—a simple yet crisp outfit, prepared like some ceremonial garb.
—It was Shirou.
He stepped forward slowly, each movement measured as if weighing the crushing atmosphere.
His eyes, sharp as blades, swept across the walls, blood trails, and every ripple in the distorted air—mentally mapping the scene with unerring precision.
There was no doubt about it now.
A magus had acted here.
Ritual abuse… or worse—ritual slaughter.
As Shirou was still analyzing the scene, a second book appeared nearby—just as massive, just as suffocating in presence.
From it stepped a teenager, around Shirou's age, tousled blue hair and a modest western suit that somehow still radiated refined charm.
—Shinji.
Shirou tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
He gave a casual wave, as if he'd already predicted this encounter:
"Shinji, you're late."
Shinji let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his head with a resigned expression:
"Not my fault...
Uncle Kariya dragged me off to help catch some mangaka trying to dodge deadlines.
One of them… hadn't drawn a single page in six months."
Shirou nodded in sympathy, not even the slightest bit surprised.
He, too, was familiar with the darker side of the manga world.
And even more familiar with how terrifying Kariya could become when faced with a delinquent artist bold enough to miss a manuscript deadline.
Once you're caught by Kariya's editorial squad, there's only one path:
Straight to the basement of the publishing house... for 'ideological re-education'.
Without wasting another thought on the tragic fate of their fellow creators, or the poor mangaka now sobbing in some editorial dungeon, the two turned their attention back to the scene—
and began their investigation.
---
Train Station – Minutes Later
The echo of their footsteps rang through the long, frigid corridor.
The station was drowned in a murky haze of dim lights—every so often, one would explode with a dry crack, sending shivers through the air like the place itself was flinching.
Shirou knelt beside a large bloodstain near the yellow safety line.
His finger skimmed the surface. Cold. Dry. But… something was off.
"Not human blood," he muttered, voice thin and sharp—like a blade slicing through the silence.
Shinji squinted and stepped closer.
"Familiar blood?"
Shirou nodded.
"Diluted composition, lower mana density than human standard… Likely a second-grade type. Used for scouting or baiting."
His eyes darted toward Train Car No. 3.
The door was slightly ajar, and from within the tunnel, a cold wind howled through—like the breath of some dormant beast.
"Claw marks here," Shinji called out, pointing to the wall on the right.
A deep gouge had ripped through the ceramic tiles, tearing all the way into the concrete beneath. Under the flickering lights, the scratches shimmered with an eerie black-purple hue.
"Corrosive trace…" Shirou said grimly. "Definitely not a standard Familiar. Must've been enhanced with mana-etched runes."
From within his sleeve, he pulled out a crimson thread.
He wound it around his index finger and whispered an incantation in an ancient tongue. The thread came alive—floating through the air as if searching for something—before spinning midair and plunging straight into the floor.
BOOM.
A subtle tremor shook the station.
A magic circle appeared—faint silver lines forming a complex array layered atop the old tiled ground.
Not one. Three, interlocking — layered tightly in a spiral pattern.
Shinji let out a low whistle.
"Damn. A triple-layered ritual... This isn't some amateur crap."
Shirou's expression darkened.
"And it's forcibly activated. That means someone… was used as a living catalyst."
The air dropped a few degrees.
Outside, a sharp gust of wind whistled through the cracks in a shattered window, carrying with it a bloodstained page that fluttered between them like a cursed leaf.
Shinji stepped forward, letting his shoe rest on the edge of the magic array. His brows furrowed.
"The question is… why perform a ritual of this scale in a crowded station like this? Ignoring Fuyuki's bounded field system or…"
He trailed off, eyes narrowing as threads of logic snapped into place.
Shirou answered for him:
"It's not a summoning. It's a relay."
"…You mean—?"
"This place is a temporary anchor. Someone turned the station into a transit node… storing the 'cargo' here before sending it elsewhere."
Shinji fell silent.
A beat later, the usual smug smirk vanished from his face.
"Shit… That means there's another site."
Shirou nodded, fingers tightening around a small ward talisman.
His gaze locked onto the far end of the corridor—where an old auxiliary station had long been sealed, its entrance buried under cracked concrete.
"…And if we don't get there in time—"
"…The first corpse will show up by dawn."
No more words.
They walked forward, deeper into the dark.
The abandoned rail tunnel was about to open again—along with the horrors buried beneath Fuyuki's underground.
---
Auxiliary Platform – Old Underground Tunnel, Beneath Fuyuki
As they descended the final step, the air shifted.
Damp.
Still.
Saturated with a metallic stench so thick it clung to their tongues.
The space before them opened into an abandoned train concourse—sealed off for years. Peeling walls, cracked arches, rows of broken benches scattered like remnants of a bygone era buried in dust.
Shinji grimaced.
"Didn't think the entrance was still accessible. Security here's basically getting paid to nap."
Shirou didn't respond.
He pressed a hand to the wall, tracing a faint etching — ancient runes, carved in blood and dense mana, potent enough for even a non-magus to feel the distortion in the air.
"Activation marks. Fresh. Just carved within the last few hours."
Suddenly—
BOOM!
A thunderous sound roared from deep within the sealed tracks. The ground quivered slightly.
Shinji narrowed his eyes, muttering:
"…Someone's stabilizing the spatial layer. This isn't concealment—it's containment."
A rhythmic clack clack clack echoed — footsteps, hard and dry against cold stone.
From the darkness beyond the rails, a silhouette emerged.
The dim light offered little clarity, but the figure was clearly a grown man. A long ash-gray cloak draped over his frame, its lower half torn and frayed like he'd crawled out of a ruin.
He moved slowly, unhurriedly.
In his left hand — a thick tome.
In his right — something limp, dripping blood onto the floor with every step.
Shirou stepped forward half a pace, voice low and steady:
"Are you the one who performed the ritual above the station?"
The man halted.
The faint light caught half his face—the other half remained in shadow, deliberately obscured. One eye had been sewn shut with coarse black thread.
"I am."
His voice was gravelly, like stone grinding at the bottom of a well.
"And you two… are the Clock Tower's little trash sent to stop me?"
Shinji muttered with a sigh:
"ai yo~, guess he's not the friendly type, huh…"
Shirou frowned. His right hand grazed the handle of a hidden mageblade beneath his coat.
"Name."
"Not needed."
"Motive."
"Not your concern."
Shirou tilted his head slightly.
"…Then I suppose we'll just extract it by force."
In a flash—he drew his dagger. Ting!
A sharp pulse of violet light flickered as the enchanted blade sliced through the air like a bolt of lightning.
The man didn't dodge.
He simply lifted his hand.
A magic array flared beside him, and more circles lit up in front — blocking Shirou's strike with calculated precision, as though he already knew both angle and timing.
"Projection magic, huh? Hmph… And you think such a pitiful trick can stand against me?"
He scoffed, then flicked his wrist —
BOOM!
A shockwave of compressed mana burst from the runes — sharp, precise, and forceful — forcing Shirou to leap back.
Shinji reacted instantly. With a sweep of his hand, a swarm of spectral butterflies surged forward:
"Backpressure."
The butterflies detonated midair, slicing into the mana blast and disrupting it — clearing a gap.
Shirou shot him a glance, subtle and sharp:
"He's not just a summoner. He can fight head-on."
Shinji nodded, then smirked sideways:
"So… time to run the combo?"
Shirou didn't reply.
But his left hand rose, fingers slowly gathering a pale light.
The man laughed. Cold. Empty.
"You think you can stop me here? This transit node is just the beginning. What's coming next… will be far worse."
And behind him — a new magic array ignited.
Space twisted. Thick with death.
Something was slithering out from the tear — not human, and not quite a Familiar either.
The tension spiked.
Something grotesque emerged through the rift — a warped serpentine creature, skin blistered and peeling, chunks of flesh evaporating in clouds of cursed mist.
—A high-tier summoned Familiar.
—Not something they could underestimate.
Shirou let out a low hum and straightened up.
He turned to Shinji, voice calm but resolute:
"Shinji… you take the magus. I'll handle the Familiar."
Without waiting for a reply, Shirou twisted his wrist and locked the Seiken Swordriver onto his waist —
[Seiken Swordriver!]
The sound of heavy machinery echoed like a war drum.
From beneath his coat, he pulled out a crimson Wonder Ride Book and snapped it open.
A mechanical voice rang out, sharp and commanding, like the first horn of battle:
[Brave Dragon!]
[Long ago, there existed a Divine Beast with power so great, it could reduce the world to ashes…]
Shirou closed the book with a snap and slammed it into the first slot of the Driver.
The standby loop began — deep, ominous, pulsing with killing intent.
He stepped back once, gripped the Kaenken Rekka, and unsheathed it in one swift motion —
[Rekka Battou!]
"Henshin."
[Brave Dragon~!]
[Rekka Issatsu! When the Dragon of Courage unites with Kaenken Rekka, the crimson blade shall pierce through evil!]
BOOM!!
A pillar of fire exploded around Shirou like a volcanic eruption.
Flames engulfed his form, incinerating the darkness, blazing like a sun born in the depths of the earth.
From within the inferno, a warrior emerged —
His armor was a symphony of three colors:
– the right side, blazing red, with a shoulder guard shaped like a roaring dragon's head;
– the center, pure silver, sharp and noble;
– the left, jet black, radiating a cryptic aura.
His helmet was sleek, with twin compound eyes burning gold like living blades. A single sword-horn jutted skyward from the top — sharp enough to cleave the sky.
Kamen Rider Saber — had entered the battlefield.
Shinji grinned at the sight, a corner of his lip curling upward.
No words needed — he stepped forward and locked his own Seiken Swordriver into place.
From his coat pocket, he withdrew a dark violet Wonder Ride Book, flipping open its cover.
[Gaikotsu Ninjaden!]
[Enemies of the past become allies today! Commanding the spirits of the underworld with forbidden ninja arts!]
He closed the book and slid it into the Driver's slot.
A standby loop followed — chilling, like a death bell echoing through the void.
Shinji placed one hand on the hilt of the Shikkoku, the other cracked his neck lazily —
Then drew the blade with a snap.
[Shikkoku Battou!]
"Henshin."
[The howl of the corpse! The strike of the shadow! A hundred spirits surge in a dark parade!]
[Gaikotsu Ninjaden!]
BOOM!!
A storm of cursed wind erupted around him.
Spectral skulls and demonic spirits swirled in the air, shrieking as they danced through the purple mist of the underworld.
They screamed, twisted, and finally dove into Shinji's body — merging with him.
His form became clad in a sleek ninja armor: dark violet with white accents running along the joints, radiating an eerie, malevolent pressure.
Twin red compound eyes gleamed like hellfire in the dark —
And from the crown of his head, a single blade-horn jutted forward, ready to impale anything that stood in his path.
Kamen Rider Desast — had entered the fight.
The air shattered.
From the clash of two Riders, heat and death surged—one side blazing, the other freezing—warping the very space around them with raw, volatile pressure.
The mage let out a quiet chuckle, murmuring in an ancient tongue.
Behind him, a massive Familiar slithered forth from the summoning circle, its dull green eyes locking onto Shirou with eerie intelligence.
The battle had begun.
The two Riders shifted stances.
Energy flared beneath their armored boots, pressure surging like twin shockwaves.
BOOM!
The ground cracked from the force as they launched forward—two arrows: one wreathed in flame, the other in cursed mist.
Desast — Shinji — beelined straight for the mage.
Saber — Shirou — dashed wordlessly toward the serpent-like Familiar screeching at the edge of the spatial gate.
The creature loomed—tens of meters long, scales black as forged steel, jaws packed with daggered teeth.
It hissed, exhaling plumes of deep green poison, and lunged like a living missile, maw wide open to devour Shirou in a single bite.
Shirou swerved left — grazing the edge of death with hairline precision.
Without missing a beat, he swung Kaenken Rekka, slicing through as the beast shot past.
SLASH!!
The flaming blade tore through a layer of scales, carving a long gash that spilled thick black blood.
The monster roared, snapping its head back with a violent tremor.
Its body twisted, writhing in rage, before it lunged again, faster this time.
But Shirou's eyes — beneath the helmet — were calm.
He switched Rekka to his left hand, blade reversed, while his right hand slammed down on the cover of the [Brave Dragon] Ride Book.
[Brave Dragon!]
His right arm burst into flame — orange and crimson, spiraling like a dragon's burning fang.
He leapt.
Straight into the Familiar's charge, refusing to back down.
It spat a thick jet of venom —
Shirou twisted mid-air, threading the line between death and survival.
BOOM!
His flaming fist smashed into the creature's skull, igniting steel-hard scales, leaving behind a scorched crater.
The Familiar shrieked in agony, recoiling violently —
Its massive tail whipped forward like a battering ram—
CRASH!!
Shirou was hurled to the ground. The impact shattered the station floor.
But he didn't fall.
As the dust cleared, he stood — tall and still — red-black armor scorched but unyielding, twin golden eyes glowing like twin blades.
His voice echoed—low and sharp, like a final slash that closed the curtain on a tragedy:
"Sate… It's time to end your tale."
He slid Kaenken Rekka back into the Driver.
Pulled the trigger.
[Hissatsu Dokuha!]
The sword hummed, fire roaring around its blade in a spiraling vortex.
Shirou unsheathed it once more—
[Rekka Battou!]
[Brave Dragon! Issatsu Giri! Fire!]
KRA-KOOM!!
A massive fire dragon erupted from the void — howling like thunder, circling Shirou in a spiral of flame.
He charged.
Each step spat fire beneath his boots, blade drawn in a deadly arc.
The Familiar screamed, coiling up in defense—
But too late.
The dragon's jaws snapped shut, binding the beast like flaming chains.
Shirou poured every last ounce of magic into his final strike—
SLASH!!
A cross-shaped cut lit the battlefield.
Fire exploded outward like divine punishment —
A pillar of flame descended from above, engulfing the Familiar in a blazing execution.
Its death cry vanished in the inferno.
One heartbeat later — silence.
Ash drifted on poisoned wind.
The Familiar was no more.
Shirou stood amidst the crimson rain of embers.
Rekka lowered, its blade still glowing faintly.
A clean execution. Swift. Absolute.
Just as Shirou finished off the Familiar, a familiar voice echoed behind him:
"Oh? You're done already?"
Shinji strode over, boots crunching over the smoldering ash.
Each step echoed sharp and dry in the aftermath of battle.
He slung Shikkoku lazily over one shoulder, smirking with a teasing edge:
"Tch, and here I thought you'd need some backup~."
Shirou turned his head slightly, replying with a calm voice:
"Yeah… What about your side, Shinji?"
Shinji gave a low whistle, then shrugged, as if brushing off dust from his armor.
"That guy was a pain in the ass.
Kept hiding and spamming spells non-stop.
Took me a while to break through the barrier and drag him out...
But it's handled. Clean and neat."
Silence returned.
The kind of quiet that only settles in after a fight.
The two Riders moved without further words —
methodical, focused — scanning the area, erasing all residual magical traces, disrupting any lingering summoning circles, ensuring no threats remained.
Once everything was confirmed secure, both nodded silently.
Their hands reached for their Drivers.
In a flash of fading light, the transformation dissolved —
armor vanishing like mist, revealing their real selves once again.
They approached the [Book Gates], the shimmering doorway glowing softly in the ruined station.
With one final glance behind, the two stepped through the portal —
—leaving the wreckage behind,
as if nothing had ever happened.
---
From afar, on a high ledge overlooking the battlefield...
Two silhouettes had been watching the whole time — Zoth and Arthur.
Why were they here?
Simple.
Arthur was worried. That kid, Shirou — talented as he might be — was still just a "child" going up against a real Magus.
So Arthur couldn't wait any longer — he grabbed Zoth, still wrapped in a blanket in his room, and dragged him to observe the battle firsthand.
But then…
Shirou transformed. Fought. Defeated a giant Familiar cleanly — without even falling into a disadvantage.
Arthur stood frozen.
That sight — that performance — was like a punch straight to his core.
Every strike, every movement… exceeded even that of a high-tier Servant.
And Arthur… didn't know whether to be proud — or terrified.
Zoth, meanwhile… still wrapped in a blanket, munching on snacks, let out a long sigh.
"Oi, are we done watching yet? Can I go back to my anime now?"
Arthur didn't answer.
He stood rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on the Book Gates that had just closed.
"Unbelievable… Those two. They've already reached the level of top Servants."
Zoth puffed out his chest smugly, hands on his hips, proud as a damn peacock.
"Of course! Who else trained those kids?
If they weren't that strong, I'd be ashamed of myself."
Arthur was about to reply — but then—
His whole body tensed.
In a blink, he leapt backward. Excalibur materialized in his hand on instinct.
CLANG––!!
His blade clashed with something — cold, sharp, from out of nowhere.
A white sword.
Cutting through the veil of space.
From the swirling black mist, a red-black armored arm pierced out — slashing straight at Arthur.
Then stepped out the figure —
A familiar silhouette, clad in black and crimson.
Familiar enough to haunt.
A voice rang out — soft as wind, yet laced with mockery and death:
"Well well~ we meet again, dear Arthur."
Arthur gritted his teeth.
"Storious!! What are you doing here?!"
Storious didn't reply immediately.
He just shrugged —
And waved his fingers like he was playing with children.
"Oh, nothing serious~
Just wanted to have a little chat with another version of myself."
He chuckled softly — then snapped shut the Grimoire attached to his Driver.
A mechanical chime rang out, like some heretical ritual igniting.
[Grimoire Reading…]
Black wind howled.
Storious pressed down on the Driver —
The Grimoire burst open like a cursed holy text.
Red and black light erupted like a living nightmare.
[The Story Of Despair!!]
BOOM––!!
Dark crimson energy surged around him like a tidal wave of annihilation.
The blade Bilgamed glowed, its surface etched with despair-filled runes.
Storious laughed.
A crooked, twisted laugh that didn't belong to anything human.
Then swung.
A Rider Slash burst forth —
Like the wrath of a thousand fallen kings, splitting the earth, tearing the sky.
Arthur cried out, raising Excalibur to block, but—
Too late.
The slash swallowed him whole —
Like a black hole devouring all light.
His spirit form shattered.
His body of mana unraveled.
Arthur was thrown into the void beyond space — vanishing without a trace.
Only two remained.
Zoth and Storious.
The black mist pulled back.
Storious turned — slowly — toward him.
"Now~ with no one left to interrupt…
Shall we begin our little conversation, my counterpart from another world?"
His twin green eyes on the helmet glowed —
Like two blades dissecting reality.
Zoth narrowed his eyes.
He dropped the blanket.
And in one motion, drew Caladbolg, gleaming golden, tip pointed at the figure.
"What the hell are you here for?"
Storious chuckled lightly.
He brushed a twisted, root-like horn on his helmet — a motion that sent chills down the spine.
His distorted voice rang from behind the armor:
"Oh… just got bored playing tag with the other Servants…
Figured I'd drop by for a little chitchat with you, my alternate self."
Zoth locked his gaze on the crimson-black form.
"You… what the hell did you do to become like this?
Wait—should I even call you Zoth anymore?
Or just Storious, like the others do?"
Storious shrugged.
"Call me whatever. I don't really care."
He squatted down — one arm on his knee, the other cradling his chin —
A soulless, hollow posture behind that death-mask armor.
Zoth didn't lower his sword.
His voice cut like ice:
"Fine. The Grimoire.
How did you get it?
And… where's Omni Force?"
Storious laughed.
A sound like nails tapping a coffin lid.
"Omni Force?"
He laughed harder.
"I destroyed it."
Zoth flinched.
Took half a step back instinctively.
"You what?!"
Storious nodded — his voice unraveling with madness.
"Yep.
Tore it apart to extract fragments of the [Almighty Book] within.
Then I used Spellbooks as cores, performed the Sacred Sword Rite,
and forged a half-complete Grimoire.
I even created the Megid Charybdis — set it loose to devour human souls.
Once it reached a thousand souls,
I fed it another thousand Alter Ride Books — each holding a soul.
And finally…
I had it devour the Representative of Wonder World —
a girl I found in Lisieux."
Storious rose.
Hands lifted skyward.
Smile stretched like a living nightmare uncoiling:
"And boom!
Just like the Storious in Kamen Rider Saber, I let Charybdis absorb me —
so I could become the supreme being…
the Lord of Storytelling itself!!"
Zoth swallowed hard.
His body trembled — not from fear… but rage.
"…F#ck me.
You're even more insane than I am."
He paused — narrowed his gaze.
"…But why?
Why come find me?"
Storious lowered his head… then slowly looked up —
The twin green lenses locking directly onto Zoth's heart.
"Because this world… is ending.
And if you don't act soon—
then during the upcoming Fifth Holy Grail War…?
Bang.
That'll be the end of everything."
Zoth froze.
He said nothing.
But his fists clenched.
And he activated the [Omni Visions].
What he saw—
Was a shattered reflection.
A broken mirror of reality.
"Tch… f@ck… This is bad."
Zoth scratched his head, kicked a stone nearby —
Face twisting like he just swallowed an expired soul.
Storious chuckled again —
A breeze of mockery carried on the wind:
"Aiya~
I just came to give you a friendly heads-up and have a little talk~
Good thing I lost the other pursuers, so…"
Black mist coiled around him.
He was withdrawing.
But he turned his head one last time — his voice echoing:
"I'm off to visit my Jeannette in my own world~
Ciao, me from another timeline~!"
Puff––!!
Storious vanished.
The mist faded like spilled ink.
Zoth stood still.
A twitch at the corner of his eye.
He sighed, rubbed his forehead… and muttered like cursing fate itself:
"…Dammit.
No matter the world, I'm always the simp, huh?!"