Souta exhaled sharply, forcing his mind to focus through the haze of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. The weight of his impossible situation pressed down like a physical force, but he couldn't afford to drown in uncertainty. The Holy Grail War was coming - a battle royale between monsters and magi where the weak were crushed without mercy. If he wanted to survive - let alone influence its outcome - he needed power, and he needed it now.
His fingers trembled as they traced the spine of the old grimoire he'd pulled from a hidden compartment beneath the floorboards. The discovery had been pure luck - a loose floor tile giving way when he'd paced too vigorously across his room. The book was ancient, its black leather cover cracked with age, the gold-leaf lettering on its front so faded it was nearly illegible. He couldn't read the strange, angular script of the title, but the moment his skin made contact, something deep in his blood hummed in recognition.
This is it. My only lifeline in this nightmare.
He flipped it open with reverent care, half-expecting the brittle pages to crumble to dust in his hands. Instead, the yellowed parchment remained intact - though covered in that same incomprehensible script. Then, as if responding to his growing frustration, the ink shimmered faintly, the strange letters melting and rearranging themselves into modern Japanese before his widening eyes.
Magecraft Fundamentals: A Primer for the Uninitiated.
Souta's breath hitched. It's reacting to me. This is real magic.
He devoured the first few pages, his eyes scanning hungrily over the neatly organized sections:
Magic Circuits: The biological and spiritual pathways through which magical energy flows. Without them, magecraft is impossible. Most magi are born with them active, but in dormant cases, they must be forcibly awakened - an excruciating process compared to tearing open one's own veins.
Od vs. Mana: Internal energy (Od) is drawn from the practitioner's life force, while external energy (Mana) is drawn from the environment. Beginners rely almost entirely on Od, making overuse potentially lethal.
Gradation Air: The projection of temporary magical constructs. While weaker than the original, skilled practitioners can create near-perfect replicas of simple objects. The book warned this was a "dead-end" magecraft that few masters bothered with.
Reinforcement: Strengthening an object's existing properties through magical infusion. Simple in theory, but disastrous if overdone - the text included graphic illustrations of what happened when one reinforced a glass cup beyond its structural limits.
Bounded Fields: Complex spatial magecraft that alters or isolates an area. The diagrams here made his head spin - multi-layered equations combining geometry, alchemical symbols, and what looked like calculus. A footnote stated even basic fields required years of study to implement safely.
His eyes kept returning to the section about Magic Circuits. The passage was underlined in what looked disturbingly like old bloodstains:
"To awaken dormant circuits, one must first understand the pain of their existence. They are not a gift, but a curse - an alien force grafted into the flesh by ancestors long dead. To force them open is to carve into one's own soul. The pain will be exquisite. The risk of death, substantial. But for those of diluted blood with no other path to power, there is no alternative."
Souta swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. That didn't just sound unpleasant - it sounded suicidal.
But what choice did he have? Wait helplessly for the war to begin? Hope none of the murderous magi or their Servant monsters decided to eliminate potential threats preemptively?
No. If this was his only chance, he'd take it.
---
The Ritual
Preparations took most of the afternoon. Following the book's instructions to the letter, Souta cleared a wide space in the center of his room, pushing aside furniture until the worn tatami mats were fully exposed. His hands shook as he measured out precise quantities of purified chalk and crushed gemstones - the latter purchased at ruinous cost from an occult shop downtown.
The magic circle had to be perfect. A single misplaced line could mean death.
Kneeling on the hard floor, Souta began sketching the elaborate design, his tongue poking out in concentration. The central circle was surrounded by three concentric rings, each filled with intricate geometric patterns and unfamiliar runes. Sweat dripped from his brow as he worked, the chalk occasionally slipping in his clammy fingers.
When the last line was complete, he sat back to examine his work. The circle seemed... right somehow. The symbols pulsed faintly in his vision, as if they carried meaning just beyond his understanding.
Now for the dangerous part.
Taking a sterilized needle from his first aid kit, Souta pricked his thumb without hesitation. A single, fat drop of blood welled up and fell onto the circle's exact center.
The effect was immediate.
His blood sizzled as it struck the chalk lines, which began glowing an eerie crimson. The air grew thick with the scent of ozone and something metallic - like the moment before a lightning strike. A strange pressure built in the room, making his ears pop.
Here goes nothing. Maybe everything.
Souta settled into the seiza position at the circle's edge, his hands resting on his knees. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his racing heart as he focused on the book's final instructions:
"Breathe. Empty your mind of all but purpose. The circuits exist between flesh and spirit - you must reach through your own body to grasp them. When the pain comes, do not resist. To fight it is to sever your own connection."
He inhaled deeply through his nose, held it for four counts, then exhaled slowly through pursed lips. Again. Again. His shoulders relaxed slightly as the breathing exercises forced away the worst of his panic.
Now or never.
---
The Chant
"Let the blood of the past answer my call."
His voice started shaky, barely above a whisper. But as the words left his lips, they seemed to gain weight, vibrating in the air with unnatural resonance. The circle's glow intensified in response.
"I am the heir of forgotten names,
The spark in the void,
The unbroken thread."
A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his chest, like a white-hot knife twisting between his ribs. Souta gasped but forced himself to continue, his fingers digging into his thighs hard enough to bruise.
"Awaken, O veins of false divinity,
Cut into my flesh by hands unseen.
I bear the curse willingly—"
The pain exploded outward, becoming a raging inferno in his veins. His back arched violently as every nerve ending lit up with agony. It felt like his blood had been replaced with molten lead, like his bones were being slowly splintered from within.
Yet through the torment, he screamed the final line:
"So grant me the power to defy fate!"
The circle erupted in a pillar of crimson light, blinding in its intensity. The chalk lines burned themselves into the tatami mats as the very air seemed to tear open around him. Souta's vision whited out as the pain reached unimaginable heights -
And then—