A blinding white stretched out before him—not the cold whiteness of frost, but something far more ominous. It was a pale light saturated with dread, icy and filled with the stillness of death.
Archer stood there blankly, glancing around. He had no idea what kind of situation this was, nor did he know where he had ended up.
"You damned mongrel! Get out here! Come out now!"
He roared, but it was useless. The only response was a deathlike silence.
His throat was dry and hoarse. Archer forced himself to calm down and looked into the distance once more.
An indistinct, pale mist slowly spread across his vision—its source unknown. But what appeared before Archer remained that towering, frozen throne.
"Hah… Hahaha… Hahahahaha! Interesting—truly interesting! You've made me a little excited now, mongrel."
Gripping his twin swords, Ea, tightly, Archer took one step forward after another. With each step, cracks began to spread out beneath his feet.
This was still within a Reality Marble—no mistake about that—but clearly, after receiving a strike from Archer, this world was now teetering on the verge of collapse.
Upon the throne, a figure could be vaguely seen, clad head to toe in armor. Their head hung low, unmoving, like a lifeless corpse in eternal slumber.
"Tch… Did maintaining this Reality Marble cost you that much energy from just one strike? Do you still have the strength to fight back?"
"Stand up. Tell me. Answer me. Answer your king!"
Still no response. But the sword beside the armored figure trembled slightly. A long, pitch-black sword emanating an eerie presence—like a black hole devouring all light—captured Archer's gaze.
It's just… a sword. So why…?
Confusion and a hint of unease flickered through Archer's eyes. He shook his head and pressed forward, stepping onto the frozen throne to stand before the slumbering king.
"I don't know what kind of king you are… but this ends here."
With one final show of respect toward the pitch-black armored figure before him, Archer thrust Ea downward without hesitation.
But the expected sound of flesh being pierced never came.
Archer's eyes widened in disbelief. That sleeping, armored figure… had somehow caught the blow. The eerie, magical sword was now in his hand, effortlessly blocking Ea.
"Impossible! What kind of weapon is that?! How can it stop Ea, the sword of this king?!"
Archer shouted in disbelief. And then—
An icy pain shot through half his body.
The ancient king stared blankly as that monstrous black blade carved an arc through the air—faster than thought itself. Dark blood burst forth from half his body, but the pain only lasted a moment before it was consumed by numbing frost. In its place was a void of sensation, of emptiness.
He had lost something important—crucial.
The hand that held Ea, along with half his body, was flung away like discarded royalty, crashing to the base of the throne like worthless garbage. Blood that spurted from the severed torso froze instantly in the freezing air, forming a grotesque, flower-like sculpture of frozen flesh.
"You… how dare you… YOU DARE—!"
Rage and agony overtook him. The ancient king spiraled into madness. But before his curses could even be spoken, the black blade struck again—cleanly severing his head.
And with that—the seven Servants of the Holy Grail War had all fallen.
——
Fuyuki City Civic Hall. Beneath the starlit stage, where the motionless body of Irisviel had once lain, now stood a golden, shimmering chalice.
With all the Servants dead, the Holy Grail, having absorbed sufficient power, had fully manifested. It now awaited a victor to come forth and make a wish.
The slaughter continued.
Bullets. Daggers. Poison. Bombs.
Piercing. Ripping. Burning. Drowning. Crushing.
Never once was the purpose in question. After weighing their worth with due care, one side of the scale was chosen. The other was left to fall empty. Thus, the killing. Endless, continuous killing.
Yes—this was correct. If many were to be saved, some had to be sacrificed. If more could be made happy than unhappy, then the world would be closer to salvation.
Even if one had to tread upon a mountain of corpses.
If lives could be saved by doing so, then those lives were what mattered most.
"…Has the Grail… descended?"
Emiya Kiritsugu muttered to himself.
He had been locked in a life-or-death battle with Kotomine Kirei in the underground chambers. But suddenly, a vision appeared before his eyes—a glimpse into the very depths of his soul.
He knew it. This was the omen of the Holy Grail's descent. Apparently, the victor of the Holy Grail War had not come to make a wish. The Grail was now unclaimed.
"Could it be… they destroyed each other?"
Kiritsugu murmured. It wasn't impossible, but the thought left him shaken and unable to process the truth.
"Then… come make your wish. I've been waiting for you. You are the one most suited to carry this burden."
A faint voice drifted into his ear—illusory, unreal. But the moment of fulfillment had finally arrived. Kiritsugu's heart pounded with excitement. He took a step forward.
And entered the world of the Holy Grail.
——
Black mud churned like a sea of shadows.
Mountains of shriveled corpses surrounded him, slowly sinking into the dark ocean.
The sky was blood-red—like spilled lifeblood. Beneath a rain of black sludge, a pitch-black sun reigned in the heavens.
The wind carried curses and lamentations.
If any word could describe this place…
If this wasn't hell, then what was?
"So this… is the Grail?"
Kiritsugu looked up at the oppressive, crimson sky. At the center of this world, in the heavens, was a gaping void. A black hole of immeasurable depth—a singularity so dense it could crush all things.
The all-powerful wish-granting machine… the omnipotent Holy Grail… This—this—was its true form?
Kiritsugu stood stunned, unable to accept it.
"Yes… this is the Holy Grail. The very thing you desired…"
Then—within the wind—came a voice. A slow, eerie voice laced with bone-chilling, sinister laughter.
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