FSF chapter 13, complete



Chapter 13: Day 2, night



At Last, a Second, and a Third…





Ten PM. Snowfield Central Church.



Snowfield Central Hospital was on the opposite side of Crystal Hill, the city's largest casino hotel, from the police station. The church stood a short distance from it. Despite the short history of the city, it had a majestic appearance. As a result, the church was usually thronged with devout believers and sightseeing visitors. At present, however, it had become a space that no ordinary person would think of approaching; a ward was set to keep the crowds away.

Inside, a priest who had remained in the church after dark, spoke with a wry smile.

"I don't suppose you've come to seek sanctuary. I have been wanting to needle that chief of yours, though."

A priest distinguished by his eye patch — Hansa Cervantes.

Four nuns were deployed around him. They were not dressed for combat, but they were wary of their visitors and ready to fight in their habits at any time. That was only natural — it was Vera and about twenty-five other members of Clan Calatin who had appeared in the church.

The chief remained with several members at the station, issuing orders, but he proposed to use the church as a part of their operation against the hospital.

"I understand the circumstances, but do you honestly believe I'll give my permission?"

"We are not requesting support," Vera answered the confused-looking Hansa. "As far as our operation is concerned, we would like you to shelter one person here."

"The unconscious Master whose Servant remains active? Naturally, I'm in favor of giving her sanctuary as overseer, as a priest, and as a person, but only if she intends to withdraw from the Grail War. In this case, that depends on whether or not you can negotiate with her Servant. Am I wrong?"

"No. Depending on the circumstances, I believe it may come to eliminating the Servant by force. In that case, we will not seek your assistance, as events will exceed your purview as overseer."

"I see. I've got a feeling I'm being tactfully used, but, well, I suppose that's what being overseer is all about."

Hansa shrugged. Then, he noticed a young man staring intently at him from beside the police officers.

"By the way, who's he? He doesn't look like a cop."

At that, the young man in question — Flat — stepped hurriedly forward.

"Oh, pleasure to meet you! My name's Flat. I'm Berserker's Master and I'm cooperating in this matter. I look forward to working with you, Mr. Overseer!"

"Oh, at last a Master who acknowledges me as overseer. Hansa Cervantes. The pleasure is mine," Hansa laughed self-mockingly.

Flat surveyed him from head to toe and asked:

"Umm… Excuse me if I'm wrong, or if this is rude, but… didn't you have a fight in the police station parking lot the day before yesterday, Mr. Cervantes? You body's about seventy-percent machine, right…?"

"…Oh, you can tell?"

"Yes. The flow of magical energy is geometrically altered here and there, and I don't understand it, so I figured it was probably mechanical! Wow, it's nothing like Rohngall's or Tōko's puppets… Amazing! I've never seen a cyborg before! Can you shoot a rocket punch? Maybe a drill…?"

Hansa shook his head at the young man who had seen through his body's peculiarities.

"My fists don't fly off, and the drill's a secret. One of my arms stretches up to three meters, though, and it can launch grenades too. …And, just between us, I've got a consecrated chainsaw in my leg."

"…I'm deeply impressed. I'd like to shake your hand, if you don't object to a Clock Tower mage!"

"Sure. You've got good taste. If you get tired of magecraft, convert to the Holy Church."

The mage of the Clock Tower and the executor of the Church, who ought to have been bitter enemies, smiled at each other in mutual approval and exchanged a firm handshake.



Ignoring the bewildered police officers, the nuns who stood ready in two man cells whispered to each other.

"Father Hansa is tipping his hand to a mage… Is that alright, do you think?"

"He's always like this, so there's no point worrying. Hansa's like a kid deep down."



X X



Somewhere dark.



Bazdilot, having abandoned his own workshop in the factory district, was standing by in a spare base prepared by the Scradio Family. Before his eyes, the "communicator" in the form of a Ouija board began to move, picking out letters of the alphabet to form sentences. Bazdilot confirmed the message's content, then addressed the darkness without a hint of an expression.

"Alkeides, can you move?"

In the darkness, Alkeides materialized and, rich magical energy coursing through every inch of his frame, spoke.

"Of course."

"…I've gotten word from a 'rat' in the police. We're going to the hospital."

Then, he issued an order to Alkeides in a voice that was, as usual, devoid of emotion.

"…The time has come; I need you to take care of a kid."

"I see."

There was no visible sign of hesitation. Bazdilot was satisfied with Alkeides attitude. For that very reason, however, he voiced a doubt that had occurred to him.

"It may seem a bit late to ask, but you withdrew awfully obediently, even if there was no downside to Caster's deal. I thought you'd kill that goddess at any cost."

Bazdilot, having used up all his Command Seals, had no way to stop Alkeides. He had been prepared to sacrifice the deal for that reason when, to his surprise, Alkeides had put away his bow.

"…That was no god I know."

"From a different place, you mean? Still, her essence must be about the same."

"No, I don't mean that. That was neither an original nor an avatar… It's probably something like a shout seared into another's personality. An irritating curse that has crossed the ages."

Alkeides began to walk toward the exit of the temporary workshop, coolly adjusting his equipment.

"I despise the gods, but the maledictions they leave behind are secondary. I will deal with them eventually, but not before that demigod who calls himself the King of Heroes. That's all."

Bazdilot fixed his piercing stare on Alkeides' back and presented the job's merits for his Servant.

"If things go well, there will be far fewer uncertain elements when you face the King of Heroes. You'll also be able to defame the gods who took everything from you all you want."

With his back still turned, the bowman expressed dispassionate agreement with his Master's words.



"That goes without saying. I exist only to drag their names through the mud."



X X



The church. Rooftop.



Part of the Central Church's roof was a level rooftop. It formed a space where one could view the stars, part of the night skyline, and the beautifully ornamented bell tower.

There, Flat, awaiting his orders, let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness… Things worked out somehow."

"We have your teacher to thank for that," Jack, in the form of a wristwatch, responded. "The conclusions he stated to the chief of police and his skill in the negotiations afterward can only be called magnificent."

Jack had only watched from the sidelines while Lord El-Melloi II had, like an armchair detective, made sense of the situation in the city without actually being there.

The girl was likely being possessed by her Servant, with which she had possibly formed a contract in her deep psyche or in a dream. From the fact that she was afflicted with bacteria created by the Kuruokas, El-Melloi II conjectured that the Heroic Spirit she had summoned was related to pathogens, or possibly a being that had been treated as symbolic of sickness itself in an era that lacked the concepts of bacteria or viruses — that the abnormalities breaking out in the city might be brought about by the highly unique action of bacterial magecraft capable of deliberately selecting targets to infect.

After that, he had conducted various negotiations with the chief. It could be said that he, while remaining in England, had penetrated behind the masterminds of the Snowfield Holy Grail War.

"No one in the Clock Tower can beat the professor at investigation and negotiation without using magecraft… although it seems tough when the other side mixes in threats…"

A lot must have happened in the past. Flat rested his elbows on the edge of the rooftop and began to talk nostalgically.

"The Clock Tower is such a pain with factions and things. That sort of thing looks inefficient to me, so I don't really understand it... but the professor handles himself well and makes his opponents look good, too, all while saying how ridiculous it is. Apparently he even had a lot to deal with when he took charge of me."

Having said that, Flat paused briefly before addressing Jack.

"I hope the girl in the hospital survives."

"So do I," Jack agreed, then suddenly asked a question.

"…Something's been worrying me."

"What is it?"

"Why are you trying to save that girl?"

"Why…?" Flat hesitated, unable to immediately answer to the fundamental question.

"You certainly have an un-mage-like, gentle nature. I can understand you hating to kill a girl for the sake of the Grail War. Still, when you go so far as to expose yourself to another Master — your natural enemy — I wonder if you might be a little detached from the feelings of an ordinary person as well."

"…If someone's in trouble, helping them is only—"

"Not natural. To some extent, maybe, but that certainly isn't natural, Master. People aren't that strong. If they become strong, they must have a reason for it."

At that, Flat nodded his understanding, then continued to ponder for a while, staring up at the night sky. Then, he gave one big nod, as if he had reached a conclusion, and opened his mouth.

"It's simple. It's because of the professor."

"Ah. So it is his influence."

"I thought that, if the professor was in my place, he'd help that girl, even if he didn't get anything in return. …You're right, Jack. I don't know why, but the professor is a really strong person, to make up for his low skill with magecraft. It's not just me; everyone in the school, and even some people who hate the professor, recognize that."

Flat gave a wry smile, as if ashamed of himself, and then began to speak to the Heroic Spirit watch wrapped around his left wrist.

"A long time ago… I made a big mistake and caused the professor a lot of trouble."

"You're constantly causing him trouble, from what I hear…"

"Yes, but that time was on a different level… My friend Le Chien and I got caught by a mage called Atrum. I was pretty sure we were going to die."

Flat, who casually discussed his own death, continued with a self-mocking grin.

"But the professor took a big risk and saved us. He even put an important tool for seeing his precious friend — someone he wants to see even if it takes him his whole life — on the betting table."

A tool for meeting someone. An idea struck Jack at that odd phrase.

A catalyst for summoning…?

The friend this professor wanted to see was probably the same as Jack himself now was — a Heroic Spirit he had encountered in a Holy Grail War. In which case, that catalyst had a value that no one else could hope to measure. If he had put that on the betting table for the sake of his students, then he really must have enough of a screw loose to be Flat's professor.

While Jack thought, Flat, who had come to a conclusion after his own fashion, went on while flashing the occasional lonely smile.

"If this ended up just my problem, I'd abandon the girl for my goal. I might even take the initiative and kill her like an ordinary mage."

"…"

"But before I'm a mage of the Escardos family, I'm Flat Escardos of the El-Melloi School."

The El-Melloi School.

The instant Flat spoke that name, the tinge of loneliness vanished from his face and he blurted out in a voice bursting with confidence:

"Since I've been in that school, my life has stopped being just my problem. Abandoning that girl now would mean betraying the professor and everyone at school. To me, that's… as scary as losing my goal as a mage."

"I see. If you say it's because you're afraid, I've got no choice but to accept it."

Next, Flat asked Jack a question of his own.

"Why don't you object, Jack?"

"Hmm…"

"As far as winning the Grail War goes, there's no need to go out of our way to save a girl, is there? If you'd been dead set against it, I'd have had to use a Command Seal, but you seemed to agree pretty quickly."

In response to Flat's words, Jack shook his watch hands in a manner that seemed to say, "Oh, that's all."

"It's simple. I've simply been influenced by your teacher, Lord El-Melloi II, myself."



When Flat had phoned El-Melloi II and received a two-hour lecture, Jack had had an opportunity for a brief conversation with the lord. When Jack had explained his own nature as a Heroic Spirit and that his wish for the Grail was to learn the true identity of Jack the Ripper, El-Melloi II had easily slipped into Jack's mind in a flowing voice — almost like he was giving a lecture on magecraft.

"I believe that a person's essence is formed through their encounters with others.

"Who or what actually committed those murders in 1800s London is a black box. Even within the Clock Tower, opinions are greatly divided.

"Still, I am frankly grateful that it was a level-headed being like yourself who appeared to Flat. If that foolish apprentice of mine has had any influence on you, for better or for worse, then I believe it would be right to say that a new facet of Jack the Ripper has undoubtedly been born.

"I promise to remember 'you,' not an urban legend or a Heroic Spirit, regardless of what you were in life. I promise to remember the you I am speaking with now as Flat's Servant, the being who showed him the way, if only for a short time.

"So, please… take care of my foolish apprentice — of Flat. I don't have Command Seals or anything like that; this is just my selfish request. But please… keep him safe for me."



"Honestly, I know I told you this before, but if we'd spoken any longer… he really would have had me wrapped around his finger. He might be some kind of incubus in human form."

Jack, still in watch form, gave a wry smile at the memory.

"His words touched my heartstrings. I had my life slightly touched by him as well. That's all."

At that, Flat flashed an innocent grin.

"That means you're a student of the El-Melloi School, too, Jack."

"…I'm sure having a serial killer would be just cause trouble."

Flat shook his head at Jack's obvious statement of fact.

"We've got an alumnus who's kind of similar, so I don't think it will be a problem."

"…I have a feeling that it definitely will…"

At that point, the watch, still shaking its hands in a wry smile, suddenly began to speak seriously.

"You're still missing something big… No, not missing… You probably haven't realized it yourself, but there's a big gap between you and the world. It's actually frightened me at times."

"…"

"However," Jack continued to an uneasy-looking Flat, "I've been reassured. Not because a mage like that is your teacher; because you feel respect for the way your teacher lives. As long as you have that feeling, you should be able to overcome your gap."

"…I guess you're right. I don't really get it. I do sort of understand that parts of me are out of sync with mages… and with regular people."

"Don't worry. All people live with the feeling that something about them is out of sync with the world. I don't know if I ought to say so in this form, but there's no such thing as a clock that keeps perfect time without ever being off for an instant. There are only people trying to make their clocks match."

Flat giggled when he heard that.

"Your true identity might turn out to be a poet, Jack."

"…Did I say something that flippant?"

"You did. I mean, you're supposed to have signed a letter to the police 'from Hell.'"

"…You had to bring that up."

They did not burst out laughing out of consideration for the victims, but Jack and Flat did grin at each other before turning their attention toward the hospital.

"…It should start any time now."

"Yes. We can't clear out the hospitalized patients, after all. They'll use wide-area magecraft to put the patients to sleep and block the doctors' perceptions so that they can't see the police unit storm in… Wait. Something's wrong."

"?"

Jack's voice drew Flat's eyes to the street in front of the hospital. He could see police officers in the street pointing at something and panicking. Flat turned his gaze in the direction they were pointing while using magecraft to enhance his sight… and saw "it."



A three-headed dog the size of a full-grown elephant, pale breath roiling in its mouths, and, standing calmly on its back, a man wearing a strange cloth and readying a bow.



X X



Central Hospital rooftop. On top of a water tank.



"…Kerberos now? Who is that bowman?"

Surveying the enormous beast from above was Jester Karture, back in the form of the young vampire man. It appeared that the wounds he had received from Hansa had yet to recover — the holy water burns were still fresh on the skin that peeked out through his clothes.

"Interesting. What other heroes and monsters are there in this Grail War? Who should I make that beautiful Assassin dance with? I must focus and take my time choosing."



X X



In front of the hospital. Main Street.



Due to wide-area wards set to keep out people, Main Street seemed strangely deserted to the police officers on their beats. Farther down the street, however, something appeared to shatter the lonely atmosphere.

It was a gigantic dog exhaling poisonous breaths through the razor-sharp fangs of its three heads. It took the officers a short while to recognize it as Kerberos, a creature they had seen in myths and movies often enough to lose interest in it. That was the extent to which the awe and fear it inspired surpassed the Kerberos of their imaginations.

The air was thick with magical energy. The bowman standing on the creature's back, however, showed no sign that it fazed him. If he had held a great scythe instead of a bow, anyone would have screamed, taking him for Death.



The gargantuan guard dog of Hades walked up to the police officers and then stopped. It lowered its heads and glared at everyone around. Then, the bowman on its back put a question to the speechless officers in a solemn voice.

"…Where is the child who harbors a Heroic Spirit?"

The bowman was already turning to face the hospital as he spoke. He must have been asking in what part of which floor the girl was to be found.

"If we tell you," one of the police officers screwed up their courage and asked the bowman, "what are you… going to do to her?"

"Naturally, I shall slay her in a frontal assault, in accordance with the rules of the Holy Grail War."

The police officers murmured. This being, whose appearance made them feel a strength unlike that of an ordinary Heroic Spirit, this being cloaked in such an air of intimidation that it made the Assassin they had fought the other day seem sweet, was declaring his intention to murder an unconscious little girl "fairly, in a frontal assault."

"…Bullshi—"

One of the officers shouted, realizing what the words meant. His angry voice was drowned out by the roar of an explosion.

The shaft the bowman had loosed by way of a threat pierced the asphalt, blasting a circumference of ten meters to smithereens and creating a small crater. A number nearby officers were caught in the blast. Several lost consciousness on the spot.

"You need not answer; just don't interfere."

Then, the bowman pulled his bow taut.

The police officers soon realized what he was planning to do. This bowman intended to completely destroy the large, ten-story hospital with nothing but his bow. After seeing the crater he had left in the asphalt with a warning shot, no one found the idea absurd.

Then, before the police could move to stop him, he unleashed a strike from his fully drawn bow.



X X



"So, that's his game!"



Jester Karture immediately realized the bowman's intention and destroyed the water tower beneath him with a stamp of his foot. Some power allowed him to freely control the water that gushed out and made it leap at the oncoming arrow.

There was a watery explosion. Droplets scattered like fireworks under the city lights. The arrow missed by a fraction, scraping off part of the hospital roof and then vanishing into the sky.

"Good grief. What's wrong, police? I'll be in trouble if you don't work harder."

Jester flashed a sarcastic grin and sighed as he cheered on the police force he had nearly destroyed with his own hands a few days earlier.

"Kuruoka Tsubaki will be safe for now if I make her one of my kind… The problem is, if I do that, Assassin won't hesitate to kill her. That wouldn't be any fun."

When Jester was done muttering to himself, he realized a vital fact and shook his head.



"No, with her strength, the girl's body might not be able to stand it. She'd die before she changed…"



X X



"…Some species of demon?"

Alkeides, atop Kerberos' back, turned his attention to the being that had erected the thick shield of water. Seeing a man shrouded in the aura of neither a Heroic nor a Divine Spirit, he warily descended to the ground.

"Kill all who stand in your way."

Kerberos, the guard dog of Hades he had once captured, summoned through the Noble Phantasm King's Order. Alkeides issued instructions to the gargantuan beast not of this world and carefully surveyed his "enemy" on the roof of the hospital. He readied his bow to seriously destroy the building himself.

His presence is not that of a Servant. It's not that of the woman who calls herself a goddess, either. He's most likely some beast birthed by the planet… a man-shaped Nemean lion.

Remembering the lion to which the hide that covered his own face had belonged, Alkeides further heightened his vigilance. He was wondering if he should materialize anything else with King's Order… when a light impact ran across his back. Of course, it only felt light to Alkeides — properly speaking, the impact had enough force to pierce through the body of an armored car.

The thing that the Nemean lion's skin deflected was a spear hurled by one one of the police officers.

"…Damn it… Shrugging it off's not fair… This again?! Why? Why the hell? Are you another one of those Dead Apostles or whatever, you bastard…?!"

As if in answer to the officer's scream, the rest of the nearby force poured out what seemed to be ranged Noble Phantasms one after another.

"…Dull."

Alkeides swatted them aside with his bow. The shot he fired through the gaps between them produced another crater in the road.

What is Kerberos doing?

Despite the fact that he had just given the order to kill, the police force's numbers showed no sign of decreasing. In fact, they seemed to be growing.

"…What?"

Alkeides realized that there were indeed more police officers than there had been. Moreover, Kerberos was indeed doing as Alkeides had ordered it. There were several human bodies in each of its three mouths. More than a dozen officers were pinned beneath its feet. And yet, they still resisted.

It appeared that the officers had also noticed something unusual about the scene.

"H-hey…"

"…Who are those guys getting eaten?"

Alkeides heard the confused murmurs and furrowed his brows. Then…

Another dozen or so officers appeared before his eyes and immediately leapt at Kerberos. They did not appear to have any weapons that could be Noble Phantasms. They rushed to challenge Kerberos with nothing but pistols and batons. It was almost as if they wanted to be the first to be eaten.

"Absurd…"

There's nothing absurd about it."

Alkeides turned at a voice from behind him. There stood a perfectly ordinary police officer, watching countless identical authors be devoured. He spoke with a grin heavy with madness.

"I am originally a criminal who claimed to come from Hell, a murderous fiend whose sins are beyond redemption.



"Being continually gnawed on by the hound of Hades suits me perfectly."



The officer squared off against Alkeides as he spoke. Armed with nothing but an ordinary pistol and baton, against a fiend more vicious than Kerberos.

"I doubt it, but, seeing as you're accompanied by that devil-dog of the underworld, I don't suppose that Hades himself can have manifested?"

In an instant, dark fury shrouded Alkeides. He addressed the officer in a voice thick with hate.

"Weakling… No matter how much mightier than yourself I appear, do not group me with those fools, the gods. If you commit the same mistake again, your reward shall be more profound than death."

"I hoped to sound you out," the officer replied with a fearless grin. "I apologize if I have committed an indiscretion. I see. It appears that you are indeed no god. If you were a relation of a god, I might have been able to force cause and effect together and become you…"

"…?"

"But it seems that I can't. Still… I've grasped your essence. Factoring in Kerberos and your hatred of the gods, I can make a rough guess at your identity. A great hero who has denied the gods, although I suspect their blood once ran in your veins."

It seemed that the officer had, by some means, probed into Alkeides Saint Graph. And despite knowing Alkeides' strength, the thing in the form of a police officer still leapt at him, weapons ready.

"Then I shall treat you as a human… and kill you as a human!"



X X



"It's not an illusion. What is it…? Solid bodies are actually appearing and being eaten by Kerberos."

Watching the scene unfolding on the street below, Jester furrowed his brows.

The mystery police officers had appeared just when he was wondering whether to mount a serious counter attack or to abduct Tsubaki and make his escape. At first, they had made for Kerberos, identical officers appearing one after another and keeping Kerberos' claws and mouths in a state of saturation. Now they were attack the unnatural bowman as well, swelling their numbers as they continued the fight.

"Is there a Heroic Spirit like that…? What country's hero could it be…?"



X X



What am I looking at?

John Wingard, member of Clan Calatin, had only just obtained his new prosthetic hand. What he saw was a police officer who looked identical to him.

But that officer wasn't one of his comrades. He was appearing around the bowman, being struck down, disappearing, and then appearing again unscathed and unnoticed. No matter how many times his body was twisted apart or pierced with arrows, the same officer continued to challenge the Heroic Spirit.

Watching him, John returned to his senses.

What am I spacing out for? I've got to hurry and back him…

He was about to run in when someone laid a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. When he turned to look, he found a man with the same face as the officer who was fighting the bowman.

"That's my 'prey'; hands off. Fall back to somewhere safe."

"B-but…"

"Your job is protecting Kuruoka Tsubaki. Don't waste my Master's resolve."

Hearing that, John understood. This man was that young man called Flat's Servant. John did not know what kind of being he was, but perhaps he should leave this place to him.

Just as John and the other officers were starting to think that, the bowman opening his mouth.



"Weakling… tell me your name."



At that, the officer took a step back and replied with a broad grin.

"I have no name."

Before they knew it, there were two of the officer. Both spoke with the same voice.

"Great hero, being who lives on in myths of the Age of the Gods, changing your form and refining you great deeds with the ages, I, who am but an insignificant criminal, have but one thing I can say to you."

The officers multiplied again. Four of them now declared to the bowman from four sides.

"I suppose you have fitting reasons for your resolve… However, if you say that you will deny the power of the gods with it! If you try to deny and abandon all the gods' deeds, evil and good alike!"

The eight "somethings" had taken a variety of forms besides police officers. Their shouts echoed on the city street.

"…However mighty you are, you are now, as you wished, a 'human.'"

Sixteen bellows addressed the bowman's soul.

"Hero who has fallen to become a rogue, to become human! No matter how great a hero you are! Even if you have the power to destroy the world!"

Just when it seemed that thirty-two fearless grins ringed in the bowman… all the figures vanished, as if they had been absorbed back into the first one.

"As long as your essence is human… you will fall victim to a mere powerless 'killer.'"



Then, before the eyes of the police and the reddish-brown bowman… the nameless Berserker — the murderous fiend Jack the Ripper — shouted the name of the Noble Phantasm whose release should lay bare his own essence and end the life of a great hero.



"From Hell!"



Then, in the gap between the hospital and the church, hell on earth was made manifest.



X X



"It can't be… It can't be, can it?! Is that what it is?!"

On the roof, Jester's eyes sparkled as he flashed a pleasantly surprised smile.

"Jack… Jack, Jack, Jack! Jack the Ripper!"

Jester had drawn that conclusion from the fact that the Servant had called himself a "killer" and the name of the Noble Phantasm he had shouted.

Looking at the "world" that had just begun to unfold before his eyes, Jester shouted in frustration with an ecstatic grin on his face.

"Oh! Oh! Beautiful Assassin, why aren't you here?! Why aren't you seeing this with me?!"

He almost used a Command Seal in spite of himself, but the desire deep in his guts allowed him to barely hold onto his reason.

"N-no, I can't waste any more Command Seals. No matter what, I have to save two to make her fall into despair and finally commit double suicide with me…"

When he was done moaning in apparently heartfelt regret, he turned defiant and shouted:

"Then I'll burn this scene into my eyes! I'll tell her later!"

He went on to make the praises of Jack the Ripper resound across the hospital roof.

"Oh, Jack! Jack! Jack! The world's most impure thrill seeker! Pure demon raised by human delusions!"

Jester, a hematophage, went on extolling a worn out urban legend, spreading his arms and spinning with supreme delight on his face.

"You scrap of folklore that filled the night with terror despite being a powerless anti-hero! You personification of viciousness spread fear through the world at speeds that even that Wallachian Night can't match! No, show me! Will you crumble pitifully in the face of a true legend, or will you score a blow as the new darkness?



"This is what makes the world so fun! O beautiful Assassin, I dedicate this comical hell to you!"



X X



As the hematophage had shouted, a hell had manifested between the hospital and the church.

A thick fog enveloped the area. The roadside trees morphed into bluish-black plants no one had ever seen before. The craters Alkeides had made filled with red magma and gave off poisonous steam. Human-faced bats flew through the air. Imp-shaped flames surrounded the traffic lights. Countless illusory, sooty buildings, suggestive of London back allies, appeared. But…

There was not a person to be seen.

No children stealing bread out of starvation. No one beating those children to death to take the bread. No dealers peddling spreading narcotics. No constables taking their money. Only the figures of gremlins playing at mimicking their actions with puppets loomed up through the fog.

In other words… that hell was no more than a comical puppet show. Pumpkin lanterns straight out of a fairy tale grinned under the street lights without a shred of reality.

At the same time, however, it was an embodiment of the desires harbored by people of Jack the Ripper's day. If it had been a different aspect of Jack, the scene might have been an irredeemable hell built of raw human evil. The hell Jack had made manifest on earth in this instance, however, was the corruption of humans by the absolute evil called demons. It could be called a manmade hell, the product of a twisted wish to foist all tragedies, all human evil, on the products of imagination.

Mixed in with that distorted, immature hell was a single genuine article.



"…"

Alkeides faced "it" head on.

It must have been about five meters tall.

A raw sensuality accompanied the thing that stood atop the puppet show "hell."

Its skin was a toxic blue-purple, like a cross between a blueberry and a poisonous insect.

Its long, unusually developed arms ended in glittering, saber-like claws.

Long, twisted horns and sharp fangs protruded from its face, like a skull transformed into a demonic beast.

The wings that spread from its back cast deep shadows all around it, fluttering like black cremation smoke.

"______________________"

At the sight of it, Kerberos pounced.

At that, the thin skin of the thing's chest swelled and the beating of a heart that gave off a barbaric gleam resounded through the surroundings. As the beat sped up, its eyes shone red.

Two rays of heat from its eyes pierced through Kerberos' body in an instant.

"________________"

A scream that genuinely seemed to echo from the bowels of hell escaped the three heads and shook the eardrums of every member of Clan Calatin on the street.

That, however, was not the end of Hades' guard dog. The demonic hound only bared more of its fighting spirit and propelled its massive frame in an effort to rend the thing with its three sets of fangs. An instant before those fangs connected, however…

The claws that the thing swung down from above cut diagonally into Kerberos' body at the shoulder, biting into entrails and spine as they bloodily shredded fur.

Kerberos' massive body crumpled to the ground with a low rumble.

Clan Calatin stared wide-eyed. Hansa Cervantes, watching from a window of the church, scowled and murmured:

"…It doesn't seem like a genuine demon. A temporary existence as a phantasmal species…? Still, to become something that fiendish, even temporarily…"

Hansa pressed a hand to his eye patch and muttered to himself about the thing Flat's Heroic Spirit had become — that is, about the entity that most ordinary people would call a "demon."

"If I didn't know it was a Heroic Spirit… I'd be calling on the Burial Agency right about now."



"…So, it can't achieve divine-beasthood without that cursed Hades' blessing," Alkeides spat, glancing at the fallen Kerberos, then turned his attention back to the gigantic shadow in front of him.

"You said that I would die because I am human, didn't you, weakling? But does not the sort of monster you are reducing yourself to fall at human hands?"

Alkeides spoke challengingly. Jack's pure-white eyes, now far from human, crinkled, and he laughed. He just laughed.

"…No, you've got that wrong, slave of the gods reduced to humanity."

Seeing the demon's eyes gleam again, Alkeides assumed a defensive posture. When the attack came, however, it came from a total blind spot — out of the sky behind him.

"Nngh?!"

He turned as a ray of heat pierced the top of his shoulder and saw… a demon, identical to the one in front of him, flying through the air.

"Humans do not slay us. Humans are the fools, the sages, who create us — no more than cannibal prey."

At the same time, the swooping claw strike of yet another demon drove Alkeides' body deep into the street that had become the paving stones of hell.



Then, the true hell began.

What Alkeides, driven into the ground, saw when he raised his eyes to the sky… was a great army — tens, hundreds strong — of the enemy Heroic Spirit that had become a demon looking down on him.



Jack the Ripper's Noble Phantasm, Evil fog Perishes With the London Dawn: From Hell, materialized rumors that Jack's true identity was a demon from hell as an ability. The theory had grown from the phrase "From hell" in a letter said to have been written by Jack himself. When it spread to the countryside, where superstitions were more deeply held than in urban areas, anecdotes that "Jack the Ripper was a demon, or possessed, or a devil worshipper" put down deep roots.

Having used its power to become a demon… Jack had added the other Noble Phantasm he possessed.



That Is Not Worth the End of Tragedy: Natural Born Killers.



"Jack the Ripper was not a single person, but a group."

It was a Noble Phantasm built of such anecdotes. It incorporated a wide variety of elements, from idle speculation that "Jack's crimes were all committed by unconnected people; no one in the world can be Jack the Ripper," to the theory that it was a ritual performed by a religious cult, which had gained force at the time.

The maximum number of people varied based on the strength of the Master's magical energy. Paired with Flat Escardos, it was confirmed capable of "dispersing" into a maximum of five hundred and twenty at one time.

Such numbers were of course impossible with both Noble Phantasms deployed simultaneously… but it easily reached over two hundred demons, all attacking the "human" Alkeides.



The next series of blows assailed Alkeides, standing on the ground, before he could even begin to act. They hit hard, most importantly because, as they were not delivered with weapons, the power of the Nemean lion's hide had no effect on them. Its inherent toughness prevented it from being torn to shreds, but a portion of the attacks still pierced it, so that the claws and heat reached even Alkeides' guts.

The ceaseless rain of blows no longer permitted him to so much as stand. If there was such a thing as the pains of hell, it was certainly his current predicament.

The police officers looking on thought so. They held their breaths, even forgetting to be afraid. To the audience, the sight of the absolute strength wheeling through the air overwhelming a different strength even seemed to have a kind of beauty.



"Hey, did… did they get him?"

"Actually… is it really OK to have those… things on our side?"

Some of the officers muttered, wiping cold sweat.

Could it really be controlled? Where was its Master, Flat?

Having grown uneasy, they looked to the roof of the church, but there was no sign of Flat Escardos there. That further excited their terror. None of them could speak.

Would that bowman even be recognizable by this time?

No sooner had someone thought that… than a change appeared in the situation.



"...Impressive."



As his low, but carrying voice reverberated in the surroundings, Alkeides exposed himself to the claws of the airborn demons in the center of the pulverized asphalt.

The claws bit into Alkeides' shoulder with a dull thud. It seemed to the onlookers that it could easily have been a mortal wound.

Alkeides, however, pinned the arm of the gigantic demon whose claws were eating into him and seized one of its fangs with his free hand as it tried to bite him. The other demons launched a simultaneous heat ray attack, but Alkeides did not release his grip.

Then, he commended the hero he had deemed worthless. He spoke words of heartfelt praise, acknowledging that the modern serial killer without so much as a scrap of divinity was indeed a worthy foe.



"…Impressive, weakling. You've done well to corner me. You've done well to climb this high."

"…? What are you…?"

The demon-Jack spoke, perhaps in response to an unpleasant premonition. Alkeides, however, ignored him and continued.

"What you have built does indeed have value. I could counter with Nine Lives… but your power is too valuable to merely defeat."

"…?"

"Unknown killer, I will usurp you with respect.



"You are worth stealing."



Then, the avenger activated his own Noble Phantasm. Neither Nine Lives nor King's Order. His hidden, third Noble Phantasm, activated by his being warped into the Avenger Class.



"Regeneration Pandora."



That instant, fate, hope and despair all changed places.



In an instant, the swarm of demons flitting through the air transformed into a crowd of powerless humans. The innumerable Jacks, having lost the power of flight, plummeted to earth.

"You… Impossible…"

The Jack whose claws had been buried in Alkeides' shoulder had reverted to the form of an ordinary police officer. The sight that met his widened eyes… was Alkeides with the same horns that Jack had sported until moment before poking from under his cloth, wings like black smoke sprouting from his back, and, most importantly, shrouded in magical energy several times stronger than his had been thus far.



X X



Jester Karture, having witnessed the events from beginning to end, wiped any trace of a smile from his face. Wearing a look of deep wariness that he had not shown even when he had seen the clash between the King of Heroes and Enkidu, he muttered:



"A Noble Phantasm… that steals another's Noble Phantasm…"



X X



Despair ruled Main Street.



The scene that met Hansa's eyes as he peered out from the church was the reverse of what it had been moments before. Standing before Jack, who had gone back to being human, was a fiend who had abandoned divine power and had now even ceased to be human. Although, to borrow Jack's words, it was certainly something humans had created. Probably, simply taking warped human despair into himself made him nothing but "human," no matter how his shape changed.

Hansa pondered such questions while sipping the canned coffee that had appeared unnoticed in his hand. Because the area around the hospital's water tower was in a blind spot from his window, he had yet to realize that the hematophage he was pursuing was in the hospital. Even so, he was on the highest possible alert.

"I see," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. "So, this is the Holy Grail War — a battle between Heroic Spirits.



"No wonder Father Kotomine is with God now. I'd better prepare myself for a lot, too."



X X



"You stole… my… power…?"

Berserker's faint voice echoed futilely down the street. His hell had vanished before anyone knew what was happening. It's presence now surrounded Alkeides.

"…Hate me if you like," Alkeides answered, looking down at Berserker, who lay on the ground, his power spent. "I am used to being cursed as a usurper."

"Haha… Perish the thought. Isn't usurpation by a hero called a legend?"

"…Scathing, but there are no heroes. The only one here is a detestable fiend who's about to strangle child."

When he had finished his forceful declaration, Alkeides picked up the unscathed bow that had fallen beside him. He spoke reluctantly as he nocked an arrow.

"Farewell, great killer. It was a good contest. I never imagined I would bring so much power to bear against a human opponent."

"I don't know if you can call me human in that form."

"Appearances are trivial. I don't even know your name, but I promise to engrave at least our battle into my memory."



"…"

Jack lay silently on the ground and awaited his end.

It's ironic. I never dreamed that my current self would be acknowledged by friend and foe alike.

Oh, come to think of it, Master was the first to acknowledge me. Something about mysterious entities being cool. Honestly, that Master of mine…

Alkeides loosed his taut bow at Jack, whose face was covered in a wry smile. An instant before the arrowhead reached Jack's heart, he vanished without a trace.



"…I see. I suppose my Master is the only one foolish enough to have used up his Command Seals at this point."

Forced transportation by Command Seal.

Alkeides slowly surveyed his surroundings, impressed by the judgment of the Master who had saved his Servant by a hair's breadth. The only ones left were the police officers, each of whom carried a weapon that seemed to be a Noble Phantasm. They had been dazed at first, but they seemed to remember their duty, because one and then another of them readied their weapons and inched toward Alkeides.

"…Humph. Noble Phantasms? I don't know how you assembled so many, but I'll test their worth."

Piercing animosity welled up from every inch of Alkeides' body. Earlier, he had considered the police force trivial. After the battle he had just experienced, however, he could not bring himself to scorn them as mere humans or to ignore them.

It was a fact that the police officers, who were no more than ordinary humans with Noble Phantasms, were standing against him. They were hardly without fear, but they were striving to conquer it and stand firm in the face of the death that Alkeides was.

"Courageous. You have a better look in your eyes than Calaïs and Zetes."

No sooner had he readied his bow with a rare good-spirited grin, intent on slaughtering the offers with his full power… than one who was to return his mood to nothing swooped down from high above.



"Ha… Hahahahahahaha! Mwahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

Ringing peals of laughter resounded along Main Street. The officers and the bowman looked up and saw a golden archer.

The King of Heroes watched the horned and winged Alkeides with an ear-to-ear grin.

"This is a new one… I can hardly describe it. You have grown rather handsome, mongrel! Mongrel or no, to assume so disordered a form…!"

He stood atop the church's belfry and spoke in his usual tones while looking down on the whole road below.

"I came in the hope that some unusual scenery was being created, and you are entertaining me quite ably. You may have the makings of a clown, after your fashion."

It seemed that he had noticed the commotion while on the roof of Crystal Hill and had descended to view the scene on the ground. The police for had learned that he was on the top floor of Crystal Hill, but because they had planned to operate in secret not only from the King of Heroes, but from everyone, he had apparently been entirely out of their minds.



"So you've come, mighty king."

Alkeides grinned broadly and drew his bow, heedless of his opponent's provocation.

Then, just as he was about to activate King's Order afresh… a new intruder appeared on Main Street.



"Halloo! What's going on here?"

A carefree voice came from the shadow of the church. When they turned their eyes in its direction, the police saw a familiar face.

They had not exactly made a flashy entrance. In fact, they had arrived too normally.

One of them was Saber, his red-streaked blond hair fluttering in the wind.

Alkeides froze warily. The King of Heroes glanced in their direction but presumably took no particular interest, because he said nothing.

At the sight of the Heroic Spirits, the craters in the ground, and the fallen police officers, Saber addressed the baby-faced soldier beside him.

"This doesn't look like what you told us. Wasn't it supposed to be a covert operation?"

The soldier — Sigma — remained expressionless and responded dispassionately.

"The situation changed while we were en route. That's all."

"I see. Nothing we can do about that."

As the Heroic Spirit and the soldier carried on such mundane conversation, the hooded woman Assassin appeared unostentatiously behind them. The police frowned at that, but someone on the roof of the hospital had a different reaction.



X X



"…Hey, who're they?"

Sensing destiny in Assassin's appearance in this place, Jester Karture was on the verge of shouting for joy… when his eyes fell on the two men close at her side. He erased all trace of expression from his face as he glared at the pair.

"Why are they with my Assassin…?"

Pure rage filled the hematophage's icy glare as he continued.



"And… why is my beautiful Assassin's body not tainted by my magical energy?"



X X



"Are you alright, Jack? I'll perform a healing spell right away!"

In the square behind the church… Jack chuckled, sensing the gathering heroes and ignoring the flustered Flat. It was not only that bowman; Heroic Spirits he had yet to see were strutting the stage of this city, each struggling for a legend. While finding humor in the fact that an urban legend such as himself was among their number, he muttered self-deprecatingly.

With one last gleam of hope still deep in his eyes.

"I see… I did indeed come from hell. Still, this place might be a mild hell itself."



X X



And, a little behind them, yet one more Heroic Spirit made for Main Street in front of the hospital. Despite the fact that it was his first time going outside since his summoning, he swaggered down the center of the road with an air of total familiarity.

"For God's sake, don't make an author do manual labor," Alexandre Dumas grumbled as he drew steadily nearer to the hospital.

Naturally, the chief of police was unaware of the fact. If he had known, he would certainly have recalled Dumas by Command Seal. The chief, however, had his hands full with his subordinates' dangerous situation and had not gotten around to considering Dumas' activities.

It was precisely because Dumas knew that that he was heading to the scene on his own feet. He halted at a distance from which he could observe the whole situation from afar, however, and did not advance farther.

Instead, with his usual fearless grin on his face… he spread open a scroll that had appeared, unnoticed, in his hand.

"If I want my actors to show courage, I guess I should revise the plot a bit."

Then, spotting the officer with the prosthetic hand — John — in the distance, he grinned from ear to ear.

"I'm not gonna let you end up as bit parts. …It's guys like you who ought to be heroes."

Muttering to himself, he began to write a "story" on the scroll. A present to his favorite actors in place of a modest bouquet.



"…Musketeers, Masquerade."



While even the actors themselves remained ignorant of what that story meant… the curtain was quietly but surely rising on the next act of the tragicomic play.