Burning.
Everything was on fire.
That was Jack's first impression — a city lit up like kindling, buildings melting, air thick with smoke and ash. He groaned, coughing into the hot, gritty dust as he stirred in the shallow remains of a crater.
He didn't try to stand. Just breathed. Face down, cheek pressed to cracked concrete still warm from whatever had scorched it.
Pain radiated from his back and ribs like he'd been folded and mailed here in a cardboard box marked "fragile".
"…Definitely not home," he rasped. "Not hell, either. Too quiet."
He pushed himself up with one arm, slowly taking stock. His suit was torn, one sleeve burned off completely. His knees ached. His palms were scraped raw. Across the skyline, red light burned behind clouds of smoke. Cars twisted into slag littered the streets. Shadows flickered inside shattered buildings.
And something small hopped onto his back.
"—Ghh!"
He flinched, reaching instinctively—
—but it was just a… creature? A small animal. White fur. Big ears. Long tail. Beady little gremlin eyes.
He remembers that this "thing" was Mash's. So, if it's here... then Mash also survived.
It blinked at him.
He blinked back.
"...You weren't in the manual," Jack muttered.
The creature chirped.
Before he could get another word out, the asphalt to his left exploded — a flash of burning steel screamed through the air and slammed into the ground, sending molten debris in every direction. A second shot whistled through the smoke and struck inches from where he'd stood.
Jack dove, hit the pavement hard, eyes wide.
"What the—!?"
No voice. No footsteps. No enemy in sight — just smoke and ruin and the sudden, very real possibility that something wanted him dead.
And he had just woken up too...
Another whistle.
Too fast.
Too late—
A blur of black and violet dropped from above. A titanic shield slammed into the ground before him with the sound of grinding metal — intercepting the next attack midair. Sparks flared. Something detonated. Jack shielded his face instinctively as the blast knocked them both back several feet.
He coughed.
Looked up.
A silhouette stood there, tall and unmoving, shield raised high. Purple hair bobbing in the wind. Black armor laced with violet circuitry glowed faintly in the smoke.
His eyes narrowed.
She turned.
"Mister Jack! You're awake!"
Mash.
Or… someone who looked like Mash.
Not the awkward intern in a lab coat and clipboard — this one looked like she walked out of an RPG poster and got a patch update from a cyberpunk game. Skin-tight black plating hugged her hips, legs, and arms, glinting in the firelight. The shield she carried was taller than either of them and twice as wide.
Jack blinked slowly.
She rushed over. "Are you hurt? Can you stand?"
"…So. Real quick," he said, still on the ground. "Was this always under the uniform, or did the apocalypse just give you taste?"
Mash froze mid-step. "Eh—? Taste?"
He gestured vaguely at her thighs. "That's a lot of black spandex. Pretty sure I saw something like that on a cosplay site once."
Her cheeks burned pink. "I-It's spiritual equipment! I didn't choose this—!"
He tilted his head, deadpan: "How old were you again?"
"I'm eighteen!"
"Mm." He nodded thoughtfully. "Then this is only borderline illegal."
"W-Why are you like this!?"
"Brain damage, probably."
Mash sputtered, clearly not prepared for that to be the first thing she heard after shielding someone from magical artillery.
Still — she looked alive. Alert. Her stance was solid, eyes sharp behind her glasses.
"You really are okay?" she asked again, inspecting his injuries.
"I'm vertical. Not screaming. So I guess that's a yes."
"Then we need to move. This area isn't safe—"
A new sound cut through the air. Sharp, hollow — bone on concrete.
A faint clatter.
Jack turned his head toward the ruined street behind them.
"…Hold that thought." As they now moved together.
-
Not even two minutes had passed, before they luckily had another encounter.
From the shattered windows of a nearby office building, shapes emerged.
Bone-white limbs dragged themselves into the street. Hollow skulls. Empty sockets. Eight feet tall, unnatural — like mannequins sculpted out of cadavers and then dipped in ash.
Jack stared for a beat.
Then squinted.
"...They're not wearing pants."
A shriek tore through the air.
The skeletons charged — not at him, but across the cracked plaza, toward a single flailing silhouette swatting at them with a broken metal rod.
Olga Marie Animusphere.
Or, as she was introducing herself mid-panic: "I AM THE DIRECTOR OF CHALDEA, DO YOU HEAR ME?! I DEMAND YOU CEASE—KYAAAA!"
Mash bolted.
"Protecting her," she snapped over her shoulder.
Jack stayed put, hands in his pockets.
One skeleton lunged — Mash caught it mid-air with her shield and launched it into a wall. A second came from the side. She pivoted cleanly, bisected its ribcage with a crushing shield bash, then intercepted a third as it tried to flank her. Bones shattered.
Olga screamed again, ducking behind a slab of concrete.
"Why is this happening to me?! Of all the timelines, of all the people—! Ugh, what did I do to deserve this?!"
Another skeleton tried to close in. Mash surged forward and crushed it underfoot, swinging in a tight arc that caught two more and smashed them into dust.
Jack watched from a safe distance, mildly impressed.
"…If I saw this on the street last week," he muttered, "I'd have assumed it was a cosplay shoot. One of those overproduced ones where everyone's way too into it."
Olga glared at him from behind her cover. "You—! Don't just stand there! Help or get out of the way!"
"I'm not in the way," Jack replied calmly, watching Mash cave in a skull. "And I am helping. Morally."
Mash finished the last skeleton with a clean upward smash — bones exploded in a cloud of gray ash. Silence settled. She exhaled hard, wiping sweat from her brow.
Jack gave a lazy thumbs-up.
"You done?"
Mash straightened, shield still raised.
Then:
*beep*
"Target lifeforms confirmed. We've reestablished comms!"
Romani's voice crackled to life in Jack's ear, high-strung as ever.
"Thank goodness — we have visual! I'm picking up three signatures: 471 (Jack), Mash… and—"
His voice faltered.
"—is that the Director?!"
Olga stood up stiffly, brushing ash from her coat like it had personally insulted her. "Of course it's me! Who else would it be?!"
Jack raised a brow, deadpan. "She's fine, by the way. In case anyone was wondering."
Olga bristled. "This situation is completely unacceptable—!"
"Yeah," Jack nodded. "Tell that to the skeletons."
He blinked.
"...Sorry, who's bleeding into my ear right now?"
"Roman!" Mash said quickly. "Dr. Roman! We're alive!"
"Oh thank god." Roman's voice practically sagged in relief. "You're both in one piece? No major injuries? No spirit decay?"
"Define 'major,'" Jack muttered. "My everything hurts and I'm down a few IQ points. That normal?"
"Perfectly normal," another voice chimed in, smoother and more amused. "Still making jokes — I'd say his brain's intact."
"Da Vinci?" Mash blinked. "You're there too?"
"Front row," Da Vinci said cheerfully. "Got popcorn and everything. I watched you crash into the past like a sack of potatoes."
"Fantastic," Jack said. "Can't wait for the replay."
"Can someone explain what's going on?" Olga snapped, suddenly visible again behind Mash's shoulder — scuffed, frazzled, but still trying very hard to sound like someone in charge. "Is this a rescue operation, or a radio drama?"
Fou made a curious kyuuu? noise from behind her leg, ears twitching.
Roman's voice cracked mid-sentence. "—wait, is that the Director?!". He said it again.
"Of course it's me!" Olga huffed. "Do you know how many classified operations protocols you've just broken by leaving me out of this conversation?!"
Jack glanced sidelong at Mash. "She's been like this the whole time?"
Mash nodded helplessly. "Yes, Senpai."
"I can hear you," Olga snapped.
"Anyway!" Roman said, a bit too loudly. "Let's get a headcount. Mash — are you really— I mean, that armor— Did the experiment…?"
Mash hesitated. "Yes. The experiment... it worked. Not like we intended, but—"
"Oh my god," Roman whispered. "She's a Demi-Servant."
"A what?!" Olga looked like someone had just told her the building was held together with duct tape. "That's not even an approved project yet! The simulation matrix wasn't finished—!"
Jack raised a brow. "Wait. Back up. 'Demi' as in half, or as in 'we didn't think this through'?"
"It's… a long story," Da Vinci said.
"Good," Jack replied. "Because I've got a lot of questions."
He turned slightly, hands still in his pockets, gaze sharp despite his tone."First: what the hell happened to Chaldea?"
There was a pause. Static hummed.
"…We were attacked," Roman said, voice tight. "Right before the Rayshift. Everything—blew up. We lost almost everyone."
Mash looked down.
"You shouldn't even be alive," Da Vinci admitted. "None of you should. The Rayshift wasn't calibrated. Jack, your body should've disintegrated mid-transfer. Olga wasn't even listed in the transfer path. This shouldn't be possible."
"I beg your pardon?" Olga stiffened. "I'm not supposed to be here?!"
Jack stared. "…I see. So the lab's a crater and I'm the lucky bastard who got the golden ticket."
"You shouldn't even be alive," Da Vinci admitted. "Frankly, none of you should. The Rayshift wasn't calibrated. Your body… it should've disintegrated mid-transfer."
Jack shrugged faintly. "Guess I missed the memo."
Mash's hands balled at her sides. "We couldn't predict the explosion. I didn't want this—any of this."
"I don't blame you," Jack said. "I blame whoever built a billion-dollar time machine out of wet glue and wishful thinking."
Fou barked a soft phuuu in agreement.
Roman sighed. "Look, we can unpack the trauma later. What matters now is that you're alive, and we need to secure your survival."
Jack squinted. "Which brings me to question two: the skeletons. What the hell were those?"
"Manifestations of corrupted spirit matter," Da Vinci said. "They're shadow-class phantoms — lingering entities twisted by the singularity. Think of them as magical cancer."
"Awesome. Good to know the afterlife runs on nightmare fuel."
"And this place," Mash added softly, "is a singularity — a distortion in time and history. We Rayshifted into it… to investigate."
Jack looked around at the burning skyline.
"Yeah, no shit. I thought Tokyo was expensive, not on fire."
"Technically," Da Vinci said, "this is Fuyuki. 2004. A warped version, anyway."
"Wait," Olga snapped. "You said singularity?! This isn't some backwater—this is a critical temporal fault!"
"Yes, Director," Roman said carefully.
She fumed. "I should've been briefed!"
"You were supposed to be back in your office!" Roman hissed.
"Of course it's Fuyuki," Jack muttered to himself, meanwhile. "Gotta love traditional settings. So. Final question — what's this about a Demi-Servant?"
Mash looked visibly nervous."I… wasn't supposed to fight. I was a backup — a test subject. But when the Rayshift failed, I fused with a Servant's spirit origin. I don't know how."
"You just 'fused'?" Jack repeated. "No warning? No consent forms? Just pop — magic girl transformation?"
Mash flinched. "I didn't mean to!"
"Relax," Jack said, waving a hand. "You're pulling it off better than I would."
Da Vinci chuckled. "You're taking this all surprisingly well."
"I'm not," Jack said. "I've just accepted that reality is a poorly written gacha game and I'm stuck on the wrong banner."
Roman coughed. "Okay, jokes aside — Jack, we're out of options. The singularity is active, hostile entities are everywhere, and Mash's powers aren't stable without a proper contract. You need to—"
"Oh god," Olga muttered. "You're seriously proposing that he of all people become a Master?!"
Fou made a small mrrrp, which might have been a laugh.
"Whoa." Jack held up a hand. "Contract? What kind of contract? What's the fine print?"
"Yes," Da Vinci said. "Because Jack is, unfortunately, the only viable candidate."
"I feel so wanted," Jack muttered. "Now, can you actually answer my question?"
Roman cleared his throat again, trying to regain control of the conversation. "Alright, Jack, I need to clarify something important. This isn't the official Chaldea contract you might be thinking of — that one binds you to the organization itself. This is the master-servant contract between you and Mash. It's a magical pact that links your mana with hers, allowing her to stabilize her powers as a demi-servant."
Jack raised a skeptical brow, clearly chewing on the information."So this is like... us signing a contract to be dance partners in a warzone?"
Da Vinci's voice came through the comm, light and teasing."More like a magical ménage à trois, if you ask me."
"This isn't a Chaldea contract," Roman emphasized carefully. "This is a master-servant pact. A temporary magical link, meant to channel energy between you and Mash."
"Energy, huh," Jack mused. "Let's see. Crash course said that's called 'prana.' Which comes from… let me remember… atmosphere and people. Mana and od, right?"
"Correct," Da Vinci chimed in, half-impressed. "Mana is the magical energy in the environment, drawn from the planet through leylines — that's the greater source. Od is what people and living beings produce. It's much smaller in scale, but still usable. Prana's just a practical catch-all term we use for both, once it's processed through Magic Circuits."
Jack tilted his head. "Right, right. Mana's the gasoline you siphon from the world. Od's the juice you squeeze from people. And when you run out, you top it up the old-fashioned way."
He gave Mash a deadpan look. "So this contract—does it involve any, uh… 'fluid exchange'? Because I do remember a footnote about 'bodily fluids' being prana-efficient, and let me tell you, that's not how I imagined dying in my first field op."
Mash went beet red.
Olga recoiled. "Disgusting!"
"Oh, technically that is a viable method," Da Vinci chimed in cheerfully, and Roman groaned. "Bodily fluids do carry prana-rich od. Semen, blood, saliva... very conductive! Especially if you warm it up first."
Roman slammed his clipboard into something off-screen. "Da Vinci!"
She sighed, suddenly serious. "But no. That won't be necessary here. This pact's spiritual, not physical. Just a transfer of od and basic link establishment. Very above-the-table."
Jack rubbed his chin. "Damn. I was hoping to finally earn my keep as a gigolo. Guess I'll stick to the sidekick gig."
Mash gave an embarrassed noise somewhere between a laugh and a choke.
Roman composed himself. "The contract allows you to serve as her Master in the magical sense. It gives you a command link, lets you share energy, and enables her to access her full combat parameters."
"And this requires me to say... what, exactly?"
"Just agree, and give her consent to form the pact," Roman said. "The system will handle the rest."
Jack didn't respond.
Instead, he looked down at his hand like it had just been asked to sign away a piece of his soul.
Then he sat back down. Cross-legged, casual. Concrete still warm from a recent fire.
Mash looked baffled. Roman winced. Da Vinci let out a low, delighted hum.
"Sorry, just to clarify," Jack said, propping his chin up on one hand, "you said 'Servant.' That wasn't just a dramatic title, was it?"
"No," Roman said. "Servants are—how do I put this quickly?—heroic spirits. Summoned into temporary bodies via the FATE system. Weapons forged from legends. We use them to correct singularities like this."
"Correct singularities," Jack repeated flatly.
"Yes."
"By killing skeletons."
"In this case, yes," Da Vinci added, chipper as ever. "Very bony ones."
Jack squinted. "And the Master?"
"You," Roman said. "In theory. A Master provides the magical energy for their Servant and commands them in battle. Command Spells are part of it — we'll explain those later — but the most important part is the bond. And your compatibility."
"And if we're not compatible?" Jack asked, eyes narrowing slightly. "Do we get counseling? A timeout corner?"
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Roman said under his breath.
Jack let the silence settle, slowly picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.
"Alright. Sounds fun. But I've got a question — administrative, really."
He looked up at the glowing comms feed, locking eyes with Roman — and then, with a subtle flick of his gaze, shifted to the other face that had remained silent until now.
Olga Marie Animusphere. Director. Stern expression, arms crossed, barely-contained exasperation wafting from her like expensive perfume.
"You," Jack said. "Boss lady. I distinctly remember being told my Chaldea contract only activates if I survive the first mission. Which I have not yet done. So... is this all pro bono? Or are we negotiating?"
Olga blinked, as if surprised to be addressed directly — not because she wasn't used to being obeyed, but because few had the nerve to casually call her boss lady mid-crisis.
"I am still the Director of this operation, you know," she said crisply, stepping into frame more fully. "Even if our HQ is in ruins and the Rayshift nearly atomized all of us. You want to talk contracts now?"
"I want to know if I'm doing unpaid overtime in hellfire," Jack said evenly. "It seems relevant."
She scoffed, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve. "Your contract is suspended, obviously. The terms are under Chaldea jurisdiction, and Chaldea is currently — for lack of a better term — on fire. So no, there's no HR process right now. But if we survive this, I'll personally validate your performance for accelerated review. Assuming you don't get us all killed."
"Ah. So we're back to 'do it now, sort it later,'" Jack mused.
"Welcome to fieldwork," Olga snapped.
Da Vinci snorted softly over comms. "You have to admit, Director, he's not wrong to ask. We did drop him into a cursed timeline with minimal prep."
"And yet he's still alive," Olga said sharply. "He's breathing. He's upright. He's already doing better than most of our staff."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "High praise. Do I get a sticker?"
"No. You get five minutes to stop grandstanding and form a pact with the only operative keeping us alive."
He stared at her a moment, then tilted his head toward Roman.
"Director's made her position clear. So—your turn, Doc. You want this to work, give me a reason."
Roman hesitated. "Jack, we don't have time—"
"Don't dodge the question."
That landed. Roman exchanged a glance with Da Vinci. Then, quietly:
"You're right. You're not obligated. You haven't officially signed on yet. But if you don't form this pact, Mash will be operating at half her strength. You'll both be overwhelmed, and we'll lose this singularity. And with it, the last chance Chaldea has to stabilize human history."
Jack gave a low whistle. "Man. That escalated fast."
"Because it has escalated," Olga said, voice rising. "We don't have a chain of command anymore. We have survivors. And unless you plan to spontaneously develop high-output Mystic Codes, she's the only weapon we've got. And you're the only one she's compatible with."
"Romantic," Jack muttered. "Just how I imagined my first real job interview — flames, ghosts, and an impromptu soul link."
He gestured vaguely at the skyline.
"Because right now I'm standing in what looks like a Blade Runner cosplay meetup gone nuclear, talking to a swimsuit-model genius, a glorified therapist, and a tiny war goddess with separation anxiety."
"Jack—" Mash started, but he wasn't finished.
"And now you want me to sign a magical contract that turns me into her battery pack. Without pay, without warning, and — I assume — without dental coverage."
Da Vinci chuckled. "We do cover dental. Just not existential crises."
He gave a dry grin.
"Look, I could sit here. Let Mash play knight, see how it shakes out. Worst case? I die. Not my fault. Medium case? She dies. Again — not technically my fault."
"You're wasting time," Olga said tightly. "Every second—"
Jack raised a finger.
"You're not hearing me. I'm not saying I won't do it. I'm asking why I should. Aside from the noble sacrifice bit."
Silence fell.
He glanced at the comms, watching Roman, Da Vinci, and Olga in turn. Then back to Mash, who looked somewhere between flustered and embarrassed.
Behind his eyes, the mental notes kept filing in:Heroic Spirits. Demi-Servants. Time ruptures. Ghosts with command codes.Chaldea was a smoldering wreck. The suits were ghosts on the screen. The battlefield was real. And the only person standing next to him was apparently fused with a dead legend.
"…Still not hearing a 'thank you' or a 'please help us,' by the way," he added lightly.
"We need you," Olga said at last, flat and direct. "There. Happy?"
Jack smiled faintly. "Getting there."
Roman took a breath. "Jack. You're the only viable Master in the field. We need you. Not because it's convenient — because there is no one else."
Da Vinci added, voice softer now, "And if you pull this off, I'll make sure you get a real office. With a coffee machine."
"Tempting," Jack muttered. "Still not a gigolo gig, though."
"You want a signing bonus?" Olga growled. "Fine. Survive this, and I'll give you anything within reason. But you have to move. Now."
He rubbed his face. Then nodded.
"Alright. One pact. No fluids. No contracts yet. Just vibes."
Mash blinked, but offered her hand.
He looked at it.
Then shot her a flat, half-lidded stare. "If I start glowing or speaking Latin, I reserve the right to panic."
He took her hand.
A pulse of light surged between them — sharp, clean, geometric. Like threads sewing together two separate blueprints.
"Spiritual link confirmed," Da Vinci said, now fully serious. "Mana flow stabilized. Pact integrity is solid."
Roman let out a long breath.
Jack glanced down at the new sigil on the back of his hand.
"...Great," he muttered. "I've officially become magical girl support staff. Should've just become a gigolo."
Mash blinked. "A what?"
"Nothing. Let's go."
He rose, brushed ash off his pants, and gave her a nod.
From the comms, Olga crossed her arms again, voice sharp but edged with relief.
"Don't die, Jack. That's an order."
He gave her a salute with two fingers.
"No promises, ma'am. But I'll try not to embarrass the brand."
-
Mash led the way through a cracked avenue, shield raised, boots splashing through shallow water pooled in cratered asphalt. The firelight off ruined buildings cast long shadows ahead of them.
Roman's voice crackled back in on the comms. "Alright, I've pinpointed a convergence of magical signatures. Strongest leyline crossflow in the area is northeast. Head that way and try to avoid—well, everything."
"Copy that," Mash said, voice firm.
Jack didn't answer. He just followed.
They moved in silence. That suited Jack just fine.
He wasn't particularly interested in dodging more skeletons.
He was interested in why they could exist in the first place.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and let his eyes drift over the bones that littered the sidewalks — some cracked, some burned, others still smoldering. No flesh, no tendons, nothing but clean bone wrapped in magecraft and bad intentions. Yet they'd moved. Fought. Coordinated.
Skeletons shouldn't be able to move.
Even Jack knew that. He wasn't a doctor, wasn't a physicist, but… joints didn't work without cartilage. Movement required tension, push and pull, muscle and tendon. You couldn't just slap bones together like action figures and expect them to walk upright. Yet these things had no connective tissue, no visible force holding them together — and they moved like puppets without strings.
Which meant...
Something was replacing physics.
He looked at his feet as he walked, watching the cracks in the pavement, absently cataloging their spread patterns — from blast points, maybe. Could've been high-energy bursts. Or just age.
He wasn't sure. But the logic bugged him.
Friction should matter. Weight distribution should matter. Bone on stone should clatter and fall apart with every step. Yet these constructs had coordination. Speed. Reaction time. Their joints weren't even grinding. Something was filling the gap — supplying cohesion, motion, inertia. Possibly overriding it altogether.
Magecraft, he thought. Of course.
His crash course had mentioned that — magecraft could do just about anything so long as you justified it. But this? This didn't feel like illusion. This felt like a direct override of physical law.
Like someone had looked at Newton, shrugged, and said "nah."
That was worrying.
And useful.
If you could animate bones with zero infrastructure? You could animate anything.
Jack narrowed his eyes.
So the point isn't the bones. The point is the system that's telling the bones what to do.
Which meant…
Shortcuts exist.
Maybe he didn't have to be strong. Maybe he didn't need to master martial arts or train for years. Maybe he just needed the right rules, the right leverage, the right myth.
And maybe he could get a Servant to do the rest for him.
He glanced ahead, at Mash, quietly bulldozing forward with her shield and glowing sigils underfoot.
Not a bad partner.
Not ideal, either.
But this whole thing?
Very hackable.
-
It had been over ten minutes of boring walking — Jack was sure of it, internally, despite having no watch.
Roman had been talking more. A lot more. Rambling over comms about how this place had once been the site of a "Grail War." Not exactly the kind of historical footnote that inspired confidence.
Especially since it came with phrases like "one of the most volatile ritual conflagrations in human thaumaturgical history."
Yeah. That didn't sound like the kind of tourist trap you survive. He can't believe that he's chasing the holy grail - that's real now. Like he's in some kind of Monty Python movie.
Now that he knew what Servants were… well. He knew stories. A lot of them. Mythical warriors and nightmare spirits with mountain-breaking swings and spells that could boil oceans. If they were all real — if they could be summoned like trading cards — then theoretically, Heracles was out there. The same guy who once fired an arrow into the sun because someone annoyed him.
That was not encouraging.
The city around them felt less like a ruin and more like a pressure cooker. Buildings half-collapsed, streetlights twisted like broken limbs. The firelight from nearby ruins was dimming now, swallowed by creeping fog — thick enough to blur edges, but thin enough to make Jack's skin itch. Too quiet. Way too quiet.
Roman crackled in again through the comms. "You're getting close to the leyline hotspot. Energy readings are fluctuating — be careful. Something's disrupting it."
Jack sighed and finally slid off Mash's back with theatrical reluctance, arms unhooking from around her shoulders as he landed on the wet asphalt with a squish and a wince.
He'd been riding her like a particularly stoic backpack for the better part of several blocks. He could walk. He just didn't want to. Walking was slow, exposed, and gave him too much time to think.
Thinking was where the danger started.
Because that attack — the one that hit him immediately after Rayshift — that hadn't just been bad luck. It had been targeted. Fast, precise. No time to react. Someone or something had been waiting for him to arrive. That implied foreknowledge. Or prediction. Or maybe both.
And if that someone was still out there?
Then this leyline hotspot they were approaching might be bait.
Maybe a trap.
And maybe that was exactly what they needed to spring next.
But for now, he dusted off his coat and looked up at Mash, who stood there with her usual worried-resolute mix and said nothing about the fact that he'd been piggybacking her like a lazy child on a theme park tour.
Yes. Her back. He wasn't ashamed of it.
He was hurt. Sort of.
But mostly pragmatic. That was the word he preferred.
-
[Flashback: Ten Minutes Earlier]
They'd stopped in a half-collapsed alleyway after the last minor skirmish — a skeletal ambush that had barely lasted a minute once Mash's tempo picked up. Her shield had bisected one, and the rest scattered like bowling pins in a wind tunnel.
Jack had slumped down dramatically onto a blackened chunk of concrete, holding his ribs like a tragic widow.
"You're not walking?" Mash had asked, halfway between concern and confusion.
"Broken ribs. Cracked pelvis. Loss of will to engage," Jack muttered, eyes closed. "Also, I'm delicate."
"You walked earlier."
"That was before I knew I didn't have to."
Mash blinked, head slightly tilted. "You… don't have to, but—"
"Look," Jack interrupted, lifting one finger like a student about to quote a loophole from a textbook. "You're a magical construct in a schoolgirl skin suit. You don't eat. You don't sweat. You've got the torque of a midsize truck and the endurance of a Soviet-era reactor. I, on the other hand, am soft, squishy, and frankly too handsome to die."
Mash's expression stalled. Somewhere between buffering and slight judgment.
"Also," Jack added, "this is technically efficient. I'm your Master. Conserving energy is synergy. You like synergy."
"I like teamwork," Mash replied flatly.
"Exactly. I'm outsourcing the walking. It's what a good manager does."
Fou, still curled atop Mash's shoulder like a fluffy little war gremlin, let out a low growl and narrowed its too-intelligent eyes at him.
Jack stared back. "Say it. I dare you, fluffball."
Olga's voice had snapped over the comms almost immediately after: "Jack! Get off her."
He'd ignored it at first.
"She's structurally optimized for this kind of load-bearing—"
"She's a demi-Servant, not a rickshaw! Have you no shame?!"
"Very little. But I'm trying."
"You'll try harder," Olga hissed. "If I see you riding my personnel again like some street magician's assistant, I will personally reassign you to Fou-latrine detail."
Roman had tried to calm her. "Director, he might actually have bruised ribs—"
"Then he can limp. Like a normal adult."
Jack, to his credit, had slowly raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll walk. But if I die because I tripped on a bone, that's on you."
Olga's sigh over the comms was louder than the skeleton fight.
Mash had finally, reluctantly crouched down, muttering, "Just... don't make it weird."
Jack was already climbing aboard. "I never do."
-
[Back to Present]
Fou had not stopped glaring at him since.
He wasn't sure if it was territorial instinct, moral outrage, or general mammalian contempt. But the furball had vibrated with judgment the whole way.
He didn't care.
Walking gave him time to think in straight lines. Straight lines led to spirals. And spirals led to panic. Riding, on the other hand? Riding let him study.
Mash's gait. Vibration resonance on impact. Micro-shifts in terrain feedback. Magical density fluctuations under her step. The way her movements subtly adjusted when they passed over leyline currents — her speed twitching upward, the heel lift a fraction sooner, even when she didn't register it herself.
That was data.
And data was power.
So yes. He'd piggybacked a half-divine spirit through a cursed urban warzone while being judged by a psychic rabbit-cat hybrid and reprimanded by his technically-not-yet-boss.
He preferred to call it field analysis.
And if he was going to survive a potential rerun of the Fuyuki Grail War — with unknown Servants on the loose, a magical death cup potentially in play, and someone already trying to kill him before he got his shoes tied — then dammit, he'd ride the tank girl.
He might even do it again.
But for now, he walked. Almost.
Sort of.
Reluctantly.
-
Right as Roman's warning cuts out — "Energy readings are fluctuating — be careful. Something's disrupting it" — the ground stirs again.
Another wave. More skeletal infantry, clawing their way out from beneath scorched asphalt and the crumbling guts of what used to be a bus stop. About a dozen this time. Same brittle limbs, same rusted weapons, patchwork armor fused to bone like someone played Frankenstein with medieval scrapyard junk.
But this time, the way they rise — it's different.
Sluggish. Less like soldiers and more like debris magnetized by presence. They aren't charging out with purpose. They're waking up. As if just being near the convergence point is enough to trigger their summoning.
Proximity activation.
Jack makes a mental note.
Mash moves automatically. A flash of motion — shield sweeping into her grasp as she steps forward and places herself between Jack and the threat without a word.
Jack doesn't flinch.
He doesn't move at all.
He watches.
And measures.
The feedback from their link is clean now. No jitter. No resistance. Mana flow is stable, efficient, and tuned. The contract has settled — not just formally, but emotionally. She trusts that he'll support her. He trusts that she won't need instruction.
It's subtle, but there: a shift in posture. A cleaner step pivot. The telltale pulse of reinforcement flowing up from her boots into her calves, stabilizing stance. Her shield glows — not faintly, but like a live conduit. There's power in it now. His, hers, combined and cycling like a looped charge across a magnetic rail.
And when she hits the first skeleton?
It doesn't get up.
None of them do.
Not because of sheer blunt force — though there's plenty of that — but because wherever her shield touches, something unravels. Not just bones snapping. Spells dissolving. Jack can see it now — the magical signatures unraveling, spellcraft losing structure, skeletal constructs losing cohesion not physically but conceptually. Like software running out of logic mid-loop.
Her blows don't destroy the undead.
They cancel them.
He tracks it with narrowed eyes.
Disruption > destruction.
He files it away. That matters. That might be key.
Another swing — three skeletons scatter like sandbags through a jet engine. The last two get pinned against the broken husk of a billboard and shatter on impact.
Then silence.
Mash exhales through her teeth. Her stance eases slightly, but she doesn't drop her guard.
"I think they're thinning out," she says.
"They're definitely dumber," Jack replies, eyes still scanning the fog-thick skyline. "Earlier ones responded to positioning. These just charged. No testing, no range control."
"You think the summoner's getting sloppy?" she asks.
Jack tilts his head. "Or just distracted."
Or dead. But he doesn't say that.
A beat passes. Then Olga's voice comes through sharp on comms, irritation covering concern like a too-thin coat of varnish. "If you two are done critiquing enemy behavior like you're on a date at the opera — eyes forward. You're thirty meters from the hotspot."
"Copy," Jack says, dryly.
"Don't get cute."
He doesn't respond. Just adjusts his coat slightly and keeps walking, slower now, more alert.
Because if what Roman said was right — if this zone really is a leyline convergence node — then something's here. Something important. The energy signature is fluctuating, but that doesn't mean the enemy's failing.
It might mean they're finishing something.
Or waiting.
And if they were already watching when he arrived?
Then odds are, they still are.
And the coincidences don't stop coming, as they're forced to move forward into all the smoke - effectively fog.
Going there, when there's, clearly, an enemy who can attack them via range? Jack thinks this is all stupid. But he's decided to, indirectly, trust the competence of Chaldea. Surely they should be able to sense enemies, right...?
-
10 minutes of walking, now on foot. The smoke is clearer, now at least.
The air tightens. Maybe he was hopeful too early.
Olga attempts to sound confident, but her fragility is clear to all "We're almost there, nearly reaching the Grail. Hmph." No one acknowledges it.
Jack eyes the shadow ahead. A veiled figure steps forward, deliberately slow, as if savoring the moment.
The faint gleam of a scythe at her side catches the dim light — curved, cruel, and ominous.
Jack instinctively edges closer to Mash. Servants weren't just strong. They were deadly fast. Separating was suicide.
The figure pauses.
Then, with a slow, almost languid movement, she pulls back her hood.
Long purple hair tumbles free — but it's not just hair. The strands twist and writhe like serpents, slithering and shimmering unnaturally.
Jack's breath catches. Medusa.
His voice breaks the stillness, cold and measured."She's Medusa."
"Ah," she purrs, voice dripping with venomous amusement, "so this is the infamous Master. The one causing such a stir in my garden."
She takes a while, before acknowledging his affirmation.
A dark laugh spills from her lips, low and dripping with cruelty."Medusa, yes. The name that chills the blood, the beauty who kills with a glance." She pauses, eyes glittering with madness."But names… names are for friends and lovers. You, little man, are neither."
She tilts her head, a twisted smile curling on her lips."You come into my domain — the garden of stone, the dance of death — you should know what means, shouldn't you? I am the predator, and you, the prey."
"I'll enjoy savoring all of your deaths..."
He notices just now, what she means by that. Statues. Petrified people, all around.
She steps forward, eyes glinting with cruel delight. "Fragile humans playing at gods. Pathetic."
Her gaze locks on Mash, but Jack feels the weight of her attention even as she ignores him."You wear your defenses like a shroud, shield maiden. How fragile, how deliciously... futile."
Jack steps closer, unflinching, voice smooth, almost amused."Your hair… it does you justice. Mythic and fierce. I could admire a beauty like that."He tilts his head, eyes sharp. "Maybe we could even talk. Play a game, see if you want to fight or simply amuse yourself with us."
She scoffs, eyes narrowing."Talk? I don't talk with prey."
Without warning, the scythe lashes out — fast, brutal — aimed at Mash. The latter reacts immediately, barely being able to defend herself in time.
Medusa's gaze snaps to Mash, lips curling in a cruel smile, calmly teasing the girl, as she ravenously attacks her shield. "But you… your shield is pretty. I wonder how long it will hold before I tear through it and spill your guts."
And again, the sound of striking metal.
Mash tightens her stance, shield glowing faintly as she moves to intercept yet another attack.
Medusa's scythe flashes in a brutal arc.
Metal clashes on magical steel.
For several moments, the fight is a violent ballet — Medusa's strikes relentless, precise, a vicious beast tearing at its prey. She taunts between blows, voice full of cruel poetry.
"Such a heavy shield, yet you hide behind it. Cowardly."
"Your master hides too, I suppose?" she sneers, glancing toward Jack.
Jack shrugs, face calm.
"I stay close. Servants don't give second chances."
Medusa's eyes flick toward him briefly, sharp, assessing, as she suddenly decides to jump back.
Then, without warning, her hair explodes outward — strands transforming midair into gleaming chains.
They lash toward the group with terrifying speed, coiling like living metal serpents.
Mash's shield slams up, catching some, but others wrap around her limbs and torso, pinning her tight.
Jack's eyes narrow. Now wondering about what happened at first - that Medusa decided to attack Mash, instead of going for him. Now she wants to use chains against them? Is she incompetent, or did she never truly intend to kill them?
Nevertheless, he stays where he was - it's not like he could react in time to save himself anyways. Plus, death's just a disappointment to him.
But it seems that, nearby, his "boss" isn't feeling the same. She had tried separating, but as he predicted... it would never be in time.
Olga screams out "Why me?! Again? No! I can't die like this! I've just inherited Chaldea!"
Personally? He understands that this is all scary. But he thinks it's kind of pathetic. Shouldn't she be the master magus here? At least try to do something.
Her despair did serve a purpose. Causing the evil servant, who was attacking them, to hesitate on using her ability for a second. She probably enjoyed to hear that cry.
And she'd get to hear more too. Sadly for her, it's not the type of thing she'd want to hear.
A presence blazing with fierce authority.
"Enough of your games, snake."
This new entrance, "Probably a servant" — Jack thought to himself, immediately attacked their enemy. Using that single second of time to make her completely abandon the idea of using her chains.
He was... colorful, that's for sure. Covered in a soft-blue robe. Tall. With blue hair and red eye.
*sigh*
"Let's just hope this time, it's actually a good thing."