Jin-woo turned his gaze back to Morgan, whose eyes were wide—caught between awe, fear, and… admiration.
"I told you I'd walk with you," he said, stepping fully into the real world beside her.
Jin-Woo stood calmly beside Morgan, hands in his coat pockets, glancing at the frozen sky and twitching mana lines across the earth like it was a slow morning stroll.
"How about you reveal yourselves, yeah?" he said with that same amused tone.
The moment he spoke, shadows flickered and dissolved around them—revealing figures who had been watching from afar, hidden behind ancient magecraft and divine permission.
From the edges of the real world, Grand Hassan, the First Hassan—the Grand Assassin—stepped forward, followed by several other hassan servants, each veiled in silence and tradition.
Then came Emiya, the red-clad Archer, arms crossed, gaze sharp, his eyes scanning Jin-Woo with skepticism.
Cú Chulainn, spear in hand, rested its weight on his shoulder, wolfish grin twitching but his stance already half-primed to fight.
Medusa, Rider class, stood in stillness, chains coiled loosely in one hand, silent but ready.
Jin-Woo tilted his head, unimpressed. "I expected a much louder welcome party."
He let his shadow flicker just enough to reveal a hundred thousand silhouettes forming behind him—but didn't command them forward.
"Where's Gilgamesh?" he added with a smirk. "Would've loved to pit my ten million soldiers against his Gate of Babylon."
As if summoned by the taunt, a golden spear screamed through the sky.
Jin-Woo caught it mid-air with two fingers
And from the skies, descending aboard the Vimana, surrounded by the glow of countless Gate of Babylon portals, was King Gilgamesh himself.
His eyes narrowed in disgust. "Mongrel...No. Not a mongrel. An abomination of death. You should not exist. You will be terminated."
Every portal flared—an arsenal of divine weapons aimed directly at Jin-Woo.
The tension thickened.
But then— Grand Hassan raised his hand. A simple gesture. Yet the pressure dropped instantly.
Even the Gates of Babylon—one by one—flickered out, closing silently.
Gilgamesh sneered but obeyed. His Vimana hovered lower.
"Mark my words," he growled, "abomination… I will kill you. Eventually."
Jin-Woo just grinned slightly. "…Get in line."
The tension hadn't faded when a cloaked figure stepped forward—his presence like stillness before death. Grand Hassan, the Grand Assassin, stood calmly as the crowd parted for him.
"I greet you, Second Shadow Monarch… Sung Jin-Woo."
Jin-Woo's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your world knows me?"
Grand Hassan nodded. "The Counter Force has only heard whispers. Legends. Of Ashborn, the king of death—the Shadow Monarch. We thought it myth. But myths, as always, tend to be truths long buried."
He lifted his gaze slightly beneath the shadow of his hood. "And for you, Sung Jin-Woo… to rise as the second… My contractor always believed in your tale."
Jin-Woo's brows twitched. Contractor? "Your contractor told you about me?"
Grand Hassan said nothing else. Only nodded once.
But Jin-Woo—he now felt it.
Before he could press further, a pull struck him. A heavy, unmistakable presence. It wasn't magical—it was personal.
His gaze snapped away, far beyond the assembled crowd. Past the broken skyline of Camelot. Beyond the edge of the corrupted ley lines—until it landed on the highest balcony of Chaldea.
Standing there, still as a statue, was Ritsuka Fujimaru.
Far away… but not unreachable.
His left eye glowed faintly with the Ewigkeit Formula, the curse of timeless continuity. His right eye shimmered with the Vonu Manah's blessing, a trace of the same power that once belonged to Jin-Woo's first life under Shinga, the First Hadou God—Mitra.
They didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't blink.
Just watched. For two full minutes.
A quiet clash in presence. The weight of unresolved history pressed between them.
Jin-Woo's eyes remained locked on the distant figure. His thoughts stirred darkly.
Varhram… my brother. So, you reincarnated as well... inside the body of Gudao.
His fingers clenched faintly.
Beside him, Morgan turned, sensing the shift in his aura—so subtle, yet thunderous beneath the surface. "Jin-Woo… you're tense. Like you want to kill someone so badly, you can't breathe."
He didn't answer. Not yet.
In the sky above, words formed. Not written in magecraft nor light, but in a language older than the Age of Man. The language of the Divine Thrones.
A message—direct from Gudao, or rather, from the soul within.
"Take what you need and leave. This is my story. My territory."
Jin-Woo's response was silent but absolute. A single stroke of darkness swept the air, and symbols from another forgotten tongue emerged beside the first—equally divine in origin, but sharpened by vengeance and clarity.
"No. I'm walking with Morgan now."
"Unless you want me here right now—to finish this and kill each other, let's test whose story deserves to remain."
With that, his hand extended behind him, and from the shadow rose his sword.
Ahura Mazda.
Forged in the first cycles. The same blade that had once brought silence to the gods of the First Throne. A sword that had ended an era with one swing.
At the same time, from the balcony of Chaldea, Gudao's figure moved.
The air around him twisted with crushing authority. Behind his back, a massive guillotine construct shimmered into being—ornate, terrible, righteous in form.
Yetzirah: Margueritte Bois de Justice.
A Conceptual Guillotine that judged not the guilty—but the unforgettable.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ritsuka Fujimaru / Gudao stood atop the distant balcony of Chaldea, his eyes sharp—calculating, cold. His hand, still half-lowered from summoning Yetzirah, now moved toward his coat. From within, he drew a badge, smooth and black—engraved with an emblem far removed from magecraft or fantasy.
SECURE. CONTAIN. PROTECT.
SCP FOUNDATION – O5 COMMAND.
And beneath it—etched in deep white:
O5-1: THE FOUNDER.
( my next main character Fanfic )
A title that signified far more than just rank. A statement. A warning. A reminder that Gudao… no, Varhram, had long since surpassed being just a Chaldean Master. He had become the Architect of another system. A multiversal safeguard and spear—designed to counter anomalies, eldritch threats, and even beings like Jin-Woo.
It meant one thing:
With a single command, the full weight of SCP containment, research, and warfare divisions—and its legion of reality-defying anomalies—could be unleashed.
And yet… His fingers hovered, not pressing the activation.
He remembered. The pain. The death.
The way his soul had been split—scarred—by Jin-Woo in another era, another throne .
That wound had never healed. But then—
"Senpai! Senpaiii~!"
The harsh tension dissolved in an instant.
Mashu Kyrielight's voice echoed from the corridor behind him, followed by the familiar pitter-patter of light steps.
He turned just in time to see her jog toward him, Fou bouncing beside her. The creature chirped with joy as Mashu clumsily punched the air near him.
"Mash mash mash mash!"
"Fou fou fou fou fou!" the little creature responded, mimicking her playful rhythm.
Gudao blinked. The shift was jarring. Surreal. The boyish grin returned to his face like a mask worn with care.
He pocketed the SCP badge without a word and his yetzirah retracted , his posture relaxing, eyes no longer locked on the distant battlefield where Jin-Woo and Morgan walked.
He laughed softly, turning back to them. "you should've said muda muda or ora ora. If you're going full JoJo, do it right."
Mashu blinked in confusion, then smiled. "Ehh? Senpai, you do read manga between missions?"
Fou squeaked again, hopping onto Gudao's shoulder.
"Fou fou."
The Founder of the SCP Foundation. The one bearing the implanted part soul of Mercurius, the Fourth Hadou God. The soul-scarred former hero of the First Throne… just chuckled with his old self again. He said nothing as he walked with Mashu back toward Chaldea.
But before entering, Gudao raised one hand.
With a casual, almost lazy flick of his fingers—
A silent order. Directed at the will of the planet itself.
Shut the fuck up.
And fuck off from Jin-Woo's way.
Before I turn this entire planet into a multiversal war ground.
.---------------------------------------------------------------
Back at Jin-Woo's location, a glow of ethereal writing bloomed across the sky. Formed from the magic veins of Gaia itself. Submissive.
"He is not a threat."
"He will not harm the planet."
"He does not defy the Counter Force."
With those words, the entire world relaxed.
One by one, the Servants dispersed. Some faded back into the Throne of Heroes. Others returned to Chaldea under Gudao's command.
Gilgamesh remained last.
He stood atop his floating Vimana, arms crossed, a glare carved in golden arrogance.
"Tch. Next encounter, abomination…"
"I will await your death resignation."
With that, the King of Heroes vanished—his golden portals closing like steel eyes.
Grand Hassan, silent as ever, gave one respectful nod.
"Until next time, Shadow Monarch."
He too faded into mist.
Morgan stood beside him quietly, her eyes scanning his expression. The wind tugged at the edge of her cloak, but Jin-Woo didn't move.
"You look… intense," she finally said, voice soft. "Is something wrong, Jin-Woo?"
Jin-Woo didn't look at her. His gaze stayed locked on the distant balcony where Gudao had stood just moments ago.
"That direction I stared," he said flatly, "is by far the most powerful opponent I've ever had. If we got even one step closer… just one look closer…"
He exhaled slowly.
"We would've killed each other. And nothing in existence would've remained."
Morgan's breath hitched slightly. She glanced toward where he had been staring but saw only wind and sky now. Her lips parted—then closed. She nodded once and stepped beside him, not touching, just near.
"…I won't pry," she said softly. "That's your privacy. I respect that."
Jin-Woo looked around at the empty, snow-covered expanse—nothing but frost and wind whipping around them.
"Still sucks we're out in the middle of nowhere," he muttered. "No city. No refugees. And suddenly, the queen of the Lostbelt herself throws her shoes and socks like a beggar."
Morgan gave him a dry look, standing barefoot in the snow with her heels and socks tossed behind her. "Sorry. I got excited." She crossed her arms, then added with a smirk, "And then you went all gloomy. Is this what your AI does? Did Offensive Bias blackmail Gaia too?"
Jin-Woo shrugged. "Normally, yeah. That's what Bias does. But…"
He paused, his voice lowering. "My nemesis already took care of that."
Morgan's eyes narrowed slightly. She turned her head toward the direction he'd been staring earlier.
"That direction… the enemy is there, isn't he?"
"Personal problem," Jin-Woo muttered. "Though I never expected he'd make a territory here of all places."
Then, quieter—barely a breath—he whispered, "Even if there were a thousand Lostbelts active at once… it wouldn't be enough to make that person show his strongest ability."
Morgan had already slipped her socks and heels back on, brushing snow from her long skirt with a practiced flick of her hand. She looked at him, hands on her hips, and pouted ever so slightly.
"Jin-Woo. I'm the queen here, remember? Don't stay gloomy too long—I'm hungry."
Jin-Woo exhaled through a smile, head tilting slightly. Just like Artoria… Once she's excited, food becomes priority one.
Without a word, he raised his hand—subtle and deliberate—and made a single gesture into the air. The signal traveled instantly.
In the next breath, a soft blue shimmer curved around them, and the ground beneath their feet fractured like glass—before folding space inward.
A slipspace window expanded just wide enough for the two of them, and within moments, they stepped through—
—and reappeared in the heart of London, 2017, just as the holiday markets had begun flooding the streets.
The air was warmer, laced with the scent of roasted chestnuts, baked pastries, and simmering mulled wine. Neon lights glittered across vendor stalls in the crowded Camden Market, where food carts from every corner of the world lined cobbled pathways. LED signs buzzed with colors, advertising Thai skewers, Japanese takoyaki, Turkish delight, and Brazilian steak wraps. Christmas lights dangled overhead, weaving across buildings, and a carousel spun nearby—children's laughter mixing with the sound of street musicians and chatter from excited tourists.
Cars honked, steam rose from coffee stalls, and holographic advertisements shimmered in the dusk sky, adding a faint sci-fi edge to the rustic beauty of old London brickwork.
Morgan's eyes went wide.
Her mouth parted in stunned disbelief. Her eyes darted left and right like a child dropped into a dream.
"I… I want to buy them all," she said in a daze, eyes already locked on a kebab grill spinning behind glass.
Jin-Woo grinned, hands in his coat pockets.
"Go ahead, Queen Morgan. I'm pretty sure you've got the presence for it."