Silence… is treacherous.
Here, in this vacuum where not even light dares to exist, silence brings no peace. It digs. Digs deep, as if trying to unearth what my conscious mind worked so hard to bury.
But there's nowhere to run now.
And then… I remember.
Not everything. Not in a linear way. The memories come like cuts. Quick. Deep. Impossible to ignore.
The scent of ozone before the fall of the hosts.
The sound of trumpets — not metallic, not physical — but resonating directly in the essence.
The sky, shattering like glass, revealing a second firmament… older… truer.
The Holy War.
Yes… that war.
Not a metaphor. Not a parable.
The war that deformed Creation itself.
I was there.
And I fought.
I wasn't supposed to remember. That part of me… was locked away eons ago, buried beneath layers of logic, science, and reason. But now, in this void where time crumbles like ash in the wind, there are no more walls. No more lies. Just me. And what I am.
Angels… not as described in holy books.
Not those humanized, tamed to fit children's stories.
The real ones.
Thrones made of spinning spheres and endless eyes.
Seraphim with six wings burning in divine blue, singing truths that shattered identities.
Avatars of Michael, each bearing an aspect of his will — the judge, the reaper, the herald — marching against all who dared resist.
And I… I faced them.
Not as a hero. I was never a hero.
I was an anomaly. A vector. An armed paradox.
I remember the blade in my hands, not forged, but conceived. A weapon made of denial, of defiance against cosmic order. Every strike I delivered against the sons of heaven was a question with no answer. And even they… they bled before doubt.
Michael called me "Abomination."
Gabriel tried to offer me redemption.
I chose the third path: ruin.
But it wasn't just the celestials.
The infernal came too.
Asmodeus…
He didn't come as a demon. He came as pure desire, poured into flesh and symbol. Temptation incarnate. His touch dissolved promises, corrupted even the pacts made in the silence of the soul.
We danced across realities, our battle fought in planes that defied even the concept of up and down. His laughter still echoes within me, wherever my essence may reside.
I defeated him. Not with strength. But with memory.
The memory of what he was before the fall.
That destroyed him more than any blade could.
But even the victorious bleed.
After the Promised Day, the war ended.
Not through victory.
Not through agreement.
But through exhaustion.
Too many realities had been torn.
Too many truths had been spoken.
And I… erased myself. Voluntarily.
Buried myself in a shell named Rodrigo.
Pretended to be just a brilliant man, a scientist.
Created the Telegênio… perhaps out of boredom.
Perhaps by instinct.
But now…
Here…
After that damned entity touched me with its voice…
It's all coming back.
And I feel it.
I feel I wasn't summoned to prevent the end.
I was summoned because the end… remembers me.
Where would they be?
My weapons.
Not those imitations scattered in myths and fables, not those made to be touched by human hands or summoned by makeshift heroes. The true ones. The ones that only answer to me. Created not by forge, but by concept. Tangible representations of denial — of order, of submission, of divine logic. They did not shape to reality; reality had to bow to them.
My fingers move slowly, as if expecting to rediscover their forgotten weight. But there's nothing there. Only the cold touch of darkness. The absolute void, as if the universe around me still struggles to remember how to exist.
Perhaps they were sealed in the gloves. An old seal, personal. A safeguard… or maybe a prison. I don't remember. It's been so long even the marks engraved on them have become more symbol than memory. But if they're still with me, no one else could activate them. These weapons couldn't be wielded by ordinary hands. Even if a god touched them… they'd be dead steel. Only I was the key.
I laugh. A dry sound, humorless. Almost a muffled cough in the dark.
Looks like I'll have to fight again.
Not that I care. Fighting, in the end, was always easier than living. At least battle is honest. Conflict doesn't hide what it is. But what annoys me is the other part… the inevitable one. I know the pattern. I've seen it before. Doesn't matter how powerful I am — they'll stick me alongside allies. Useless. Fragile. Emotionally unstable. Full of hope. Full of fear. A burden. Always a burden.
But what can I do?
Life's always been that way. Forced. Irrational. Annoyingly symbolic.
In the end, the one who carries the world on their back never gets to choose the company.
Doesn't matter.
In the end, it never did.
When I arrive in this new world, I'll have to keep the seals intact. Not all, maybe. But most. At most… twenty percent of my original power. Anything beyond that and this reality's structure starts to wear. I've seen it happen before — cracks in the fabric of space, time breaking down, gods going mad from being too close to me.
And the magic of the Externals… that's completely off-limits.
Not even a thought. Not a syllable. Not an intention.
If I touch that force again, even lightly, even by accident… she might feel it. And if she returns — even after all these years, even after the pact — there will be no seal, ritual, or contract that can stop what would come next.
I upheld my end. I buried everything. The debt is paid. But with entities like her, time and words have different value. And I… I'm not ready to look her in the eyes again. Not yet.
That's why: control.
Focus.
Limits.
And maybe… a bit of patience for the useless ones I'll have to drag along.
Damn fate.
But fate doesn't matter.
It never did.
With my weapons — bathed in the blood of the Most High's messengers and forged with the essence of infernal princes — I manage. I always have. Even when limited. Even with the seals burning on my skin, restricting every impulse, every atom of power... I'm still me. And that's enough.
Whatever exists in this new world will likely have its own form of magic. Singular. Arbitrary. A distorted reflection of the will of the masses. It always is. But if I use that ability — the one not even the Archangels could properly understand — I might be able to replicate the passive traits of this new people. Their innate capabilities. Their inherited blessings from birth.
Yes... that would work.
Not as a replacement for what I've temporarily lost, but as a tool. Adaptation has always been my greatest weapon. And if this world dares try to mold me, it better be ready to be reshaped in return. Because, with or without seals, with or without forbidden magic... I'm still Rodrigo.
And that alone should be enough to make even gods tremble.
I begin to analyze calmly, letting my thoughts align like puzzle pieces assembled amidst chaos. I need to understand where I am... and what I still am. First of all, the Telegenio — my masterpiece — is out of the question. Far beyond reach, and even if it were here, its gears wouldn't turn properly in this strange plane. That was technology that defied the laws of my world, let alone this one.
Besides... where the hell would the machine be now? Was it sucked in with me? Or did it stay in that damned lab, being dissected by mediocre scientists, or worse, government agents trying to grasp a concept even local physics can't contain?
Doesn't matter. That's someone else's problem now. If the world wants to toy with forces it doesn't understand, let it deal with the consequences. My involvement ended the moment I crossed the vortex.
But the seals... those are still with me. Always have been. Marks engraved not only in flesh, but in the very soul. I know their limits. I know how far I can push them before they begin to scream in silent agony.
Levels 4 and 3 are already unlocked by default — tolerable, even in this unstable plane. Level 2, with some effort, I can open on my own. Nothing my body can't endure... for now. But Level 1 and 0? Out of the question.
Those are chained by more than symbols or commands. There are ancient pacts there. Balances that, if broken, could draw in things I don't even want to face right now. Things that remember me — and probably still wait for the right moment to settle old scores.
Well... what can I do?
I've dealt with less. Survived with almost nothing. And still, I stood at the top.
And even if that entity — that cheap copy of a "generic wish granter" — decides not to keep her end of the bargain... as expected... it doesn't matter. I never trusted her. I didn't need to. I don't plan on relying on anyone but myself.
I have my own legs. My own methods. My own monsters.
And if the game is rigged against me, great. Just gives me more pieces to knock down.
Crk.
A dry snap. Almost imperceptible. Like the sound of an old bone breaking in the distance.
CRK-KRSH.
Again. Louder. Closer. An echo that shouldn't exist in this formless void. My eyes — or whatever I'm using as eyes here — turn toward the nothingness. But the nothing... is no longer still.
KRSSHHH…
Now it comes in waves. Fissures slicing through the darkness, like glass claws scraping against a wall of pitch. The black dimension, once solid, unmoving, eternal, begins to tremble. Thin, glowing lines spread around me like cracks on forgotten porcelain.
Each snap is deeper. More violent. Each fracture pulses with a blinding light, white as the complete absence of impurity, clashing violently with the vast darkness.
I don't move.
I just watch.
The darkness is dying. Or perhaps merely being stripped away.
The cracks spread, multiply, collide. One passes close to my right hand, leaving behind a trail of heat that doesn't burn, but pulses. It's as if space itself is trying to expel my presence. Or... push me out.
And then—
CRRRRAAAACK.
Everything breaks.
The darkness collapses in on itself, shattering like ancient glass crushed under the weight of a truth that can no longer be ignored.
And behind it — behind everything — there is only white. Absolute white, consuming everything, allowing no shadow, no shape, no past.
The vastness surrounds me.
And I fall. Or float. Or am pulled.
I don't know.
But I'm going. Where to, doesn't really matter.
I've been in worse places.
— Hey! You... you're the other chosen one, right?
The voice cut through the silence with a vibration that felt almost alive, as if every syllable was pushed forward by sheer anticipation. It was male, young — but not childish — with a tone full of life, maybe even a bit too optimistic for someone like me. There was something irritatingly cheerful about it. A kind of genuine enthusiasm that only exists in people who haven't yet understood the weight of the world.
The sound didn't echo — not in this place that was too white, too vast, with no walls or floor to reflect it. It was simply... there, vibrating directly in my ears, or maybe inside my head. Hard to tell. This space didn't follow normal rules of reality.
I turned my head slowly, my expression unchanged, but my senses alert. The light around us seemed to bend at certain points — as if this "white world" was trying to mold figures out of nothing. And there, in that fold of brightness, a silhouette began to take shape.
He was there.
Messy hair, clothes that looked like a mix of modern style with magical influences, maybe even something resembling a worn-out uniform from previous journeys. His eyes sparkled as if he'd finally found what he was looking for. And that bothered me a bit.
Because I'm not something to be found.
His head tilted slightly, and his smile widened like he'd been waiting centuries for this moment.
— Man... finally. I was starting to think I got tossed here alone. So... it's you, right? The second. The other chosen one.
The "second"? How presumptuous.
But I didn't answer right away.
I just stared at him. Analyzing. Measuring. The white still pulsed around us, as if space itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what I would do.
My fingers moved subtly. Instinct. His presence wasn't hostile… but that didn't mean anything. Too much enthusiasm is often a useful disguise.
If he was expecting a savior or a cheerful companion for wild adventures, he was in for a disappointment.
Because I had seen too much to care about expectations.
"Hm…" he mumbled, more to himself than to me. "So you're the quiet type, huh?"
He crossed his arms for a second, as if evaluating his own observation, then shrugged and smiled again — like nothing could really shake that annoyingly light mood of his.
"Alright, alright… I'll start then," he said, stepping forward with the ease of someone who had already decided we were going to get along, regardless of my will.
The white light of the place seemed to react to his movement, subtly shaping around his figure as he approached. It was clear now: this boy wasn't ordinary. Even here, in this ruleless space, he had a presence that could be felt. Not threatening… but firm. And absurdly alive.
He extended his right hand toward me, fingers open, a confident gesture.
"My name's David. And I'm apparently one of the three chosen for this crazy mission. Nice to meet you… even though you're looking at me like I'm a problem waiting to happen."
His smile didn't fade. It didn't waver. It was almost provocative, but not in the usual way — it was like he really wanted to see how long my silence would hold before he could pull a reaction from me. Or maybe he was just genuinely stubborn.
His hand lingered there, waiting. Steady. As if, in this place where there was no ground, no time, no air, that simple gesture was a challenge. An invitation. Or a trap.
I wondered, for a moment, if shaking it would change anything.
But I didn't move a muscle. Not yet.
David sighed audibly, lowering his hand in a resigned, but not truly frustrated motion. It was as if he was already used to the kind of silence I offered — or maybe he was just good at ignoring subtle rejections.
"You're really not gonna make this easy, huh?" he muttered, still with that annoying smile.
He brought his hands to the back of his neck, stretching as if to shake off any tension, and then let out a soft, almost carefree laugh.
"Alright, fine… I'll keep the monologue going." His eyes turned to me again, but this time there was a faint glimmer of curiosity there. "I noticed... that body of yours. Kishou Arima, right?"
There was a subtle pause. A kind of silent reverence in the name, as if he recognized more than just the appearance.
"Great body for combat, seriously. Fast, precise… lethal. The 'Reaper', if I remember correctly." He furrowed his brow, but kept his tone light. "Not sure it'll be enough for where we're going, but with that look, no one's gonna underestimate you."
David shrugged, like this was just some bar conversation, not two strangers exchanging words in a freshly-lit existential void.
"But I can't judge — not really," he said, raising his gloved hand and glancing briefly at himself, as if looking at a reflection. "I went with Jason Todd. The Red Hood. Instinct, strength, training… and well, I like traveling in style, you know?"
He laughed again, this time with a slightly more personal touch.
"There's something comforting about taking on a body that already carries the anger and weight for you. Makes things easier when the world throws you into yet another suicide mission."
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at me again.
"But tell me… or think it, whatever, if you're really not gonna talk. Did you choose Arima for strategy? Or was it something more? Because of that coldness? Or because deep down, you already knew this new world would demand that you be someone almost… inhuman?"
He waited. Not for the answer itself, maybe — but for the way my gaze might shift, even by a fraction. Because David was the kind who read details.
And me… I didn't offer many.
But then, David stopped. His eyes widened for a moment, as if something had finally dawned on him — as if, by following his own stream of words, he'd gone too far without realizing.
"Ah… shit," he muttered, raising both hands in an almost automatic gesture of appeasement, like someone trying to disarm a bomb that might already be blinking.
He stepped back, his shoulders tense now, a stark contrast to the relaxed tone from before.
"Sorry… really. I didn't mean to be invasive or disrespectful or anything like that." His voice had changed. Still young, but now carrying a more sober, even sincere tone. "I just… got curious. The way you're quiet, the body you chose… the aura you carry. It all seemed so calculated, you know?"
He hesitated, eyes briefly scanning the white floor that had begun forming beneath our feet, as if searching for an escape route — or maybe just a space to reorganize his thoughts.
"I'm not trying to analyze your soul or anything like that. I just… we got thrown into this together. Two chosen ones, picked by who knows what, who knows why. And… I just wanted to understand who I'm dealing with."
He ran a hand through his dark hair, messing it up a little, and forced a smile that no longer carried the same confidence as before.
"But if I touched a nerve… I'm really sorry. That wasn't my intention."
I ignored him. His words were swallowed by the void around us, as if the very dimension rejected them. Kishou Arima? That was the name? The owner of this body? It sounded vaguely familiar, but it didn't matter now.
My eyes turned downward, and for the first time, I saw my reflection clearly. The surface beneath my feet acted like a vitreous, crystalline mirror, revealing me with unsettling precision.
White hair, short, straight, parted in the middle — an almost clinical, cold geometry, as if each strand had been placed with an intention that wasn't mine. The contrast between the almost ethereal white of the hair and my stern expression created a disturbing effect. There was coldness in my gaze, a seriousness that didn't demand expression… it was simply there, etched like an invisible scar.
Thin-rimmed glasses rested on my face with cruel lightness, as if trying to soften the weight of what I was — or hide something. I saw a reflection that wasn't unfamiliar, yet not entirely mine. It was like looking at a memory someone had forcibly implanted.
The white overcoat I wore was tight around the upper body, with angular details that intersected like circuits, like grids. It looked like a uniform — not just for war, but for someone who commands, who observes, who analyzes and decides the fate of others without hesitation.
The lower part of the outfit opened into two long flaps, a kind of split skirt that moved with controlled lightness. Underneath, a black suit clung to my body up to the neck, flowing down my legs — practical, functional, like a second skin molded for combat.
A scientist. An executioner. A strategist.
A ghost from another world.
I stared at myself there, and for the first time in a long while, I couldn't decide whether what I saw was a new armor… or just another mask.
I made a mental note — an old habit that helped me organize internal chaos when the outside world threatened to collapse. If this body had inherited my original biology… then appearance was irrelevant. Skin, features, height — all surface-level. What truly mattered was what was etched in the invisible flesh within: the structure of what I was. The source code of my existence.
My gaze swept once more across the face reflected below. Subtle bone structure, slightly narrow eyes, a straight, fine nose, a firm chin… distinctly Asian features. Kishou Arima — the name made sense now, aligning perfectly with the physique of the body I inhabited. A Japanese name, belonging to someone who undoubtedly carried a past that wasn't mine. But now, this body was mine. That was all that mattered.
My attention shifted to the right arm. I slowly rolled up the sleeve of the overcoat, like someone uncovering an ancient secret. The fabric slid with a faint rustle, revealing the pale skin beneath. I extended my fingers and examined the lines on the hand — long, precise, almost artificial in their symmetry.
And then I felt it.
The vibration.
A soft, yet dense pulsing from within — like a drum beating beneath the skin, buried deep in flesh and bone. It wasn't just energy. It was #### — that primordial, hidden, unnamable presence. A force no common language could describe. The same one that once reacted to my thoughts, my intentions. Now, it responded again. Weak… but alive.
It was enough.
If it was here, then I was here.
The true me.
On the forearm, dark markings had begun to form — almost imperceptible at first glance. Subtle lines, like organic circuits, glowing and fading in a slow cycle, like a sleeping breath. One of the old seals. Not all of them were active, but the first levels were there, still present, though weakened. I could release up to the second level. Maybe. If pushed.
Yes, this body — strange as it was — accepted the essence it carried. Perhaps even better than the previous one. Not for its strength, but for its stability.
I inhale slowly. The air here is dense, but not hostile. There's a strange harmony in this new shell, as if it wasn't just shaped for me… but had been waiting for me.
I smirk to the side. There was no reason for satisfaction, of course.
But there was… functionality.
And in the end, that was all I needed.
With a slow, calculated gesture, I pull the sleeve of the overcoat back down, covering the arm with almost surgical precision. The fabric slides over the skin like heavy silk, concealing the seal's traces, the black lines now sleeping silently beneath the surface. I adjust the collar, square my shoulders. A sense of completeness settles over me like an invisible armor. That would do.
I raise my gaze.
David is still in front of me, his hand still partially extended, hesitant. He's watching me like something in me has changed. Maybe it had — or maybe he was just starting to grasp what exactly stood before him.
His eyes, once lively and curious, now tremble for a moment. An instinctive reflex, like a wild animal sensing something beyond comprehension. He takes half a step back. Almost imperceptible. But I see it.
It's always like this.
I step forward — not threatening, but firm. My eyes lock onto his — cold, calculated, without any mask of friendliness or courtesy. He swallows hard. His extended hand starts to lower, slowly.
"Rodrigo." I say, low and direct, like a code being entered into a terminal.
That's it. No surname. No explanation. He didn't need to know more.
Rodrigo was enough.
David smiles, a bit awkwardly, trying to maintain the upbeat tone that seemed to be his natural defense against discomfort. But now, there's a subtle tension in the air.
He understood. Or began to understand.
This wasn't someone to mess with.
And I understood something about him too.
He's talkative, impulsive, maybe powerful.
But he's not ready.
Not yet.
David, still wearing that awkward smile, seems to relax a bit when our hands finally meet in a formal handshake. His palm is warm, alive — unlike mine, whose temperature bordered on indifferent. I apply no force in the gesture, no emotion. I just let it happen.
He lets go quickly after, maybe by instinct, maybe out of caution. He takes a small step to the side and then, as if reclaiming his lighter, more animated persona, snaps his fingers.
"All right… now that we've broken the ice — or at least cracked it a little — tell me," he says, placing his hands behind his head, relaxing his shoulders, "do you have any idea what universe we're going to?"
Silence. My gaze stays fixed on him, analyzing. He notices. Scratches the back of his neck, chuckling to himself, as if he expected that.
"No, huh? Of course you don't. You totally have that vibe of someone who just got thrown into all this outta nowhere…" he turns his body to the side and starts walking slowly in a relaxed stride, gesturing as if telling a story to an invisible audience.
"We're going to Fate/Grand Order, man." He glances back at me over his shoulder, eyes sparkling with excitement. "You know, Servants, Mages, battles across timelines… legendary heroes being summoned with absurd powers and all that Grail stuff."
He spins his finger in the air like he's drawing the franchise logo.
"And guess what? We're not just gonna watch. We're getting dropped straight into the middle of the Singularities. Direct intervention. Fights. Blood. Tragedy. And, of course, the fate of the world at stake. The usual stuff."
He stopped walking, spun on his heels, and opened his arms as if waiting for my reaction. The smile widened again.
— So, ready to play god among myths and legends, Rodrigo?
He stared at me like he could squeeze some excitement out of my expression.
But excitement… wasn't exactly something I had left.
I crossed my arms, watching that almost childlike enthusiasm vibrate through David's gestures. He looked like he was ready to throw an entire encyclopedia at me, but before he could start another one of his explanations filled with silly metaphors, I cut in.
— Is there some kind of magic system in this so-called Fate/Grand Order?
My voice came out low, dry, but enough to grab his attention. David's eyes lit up again. He raised a finger like I'd just asked exactly the question he'd been waiting for.
— Ahh, good one! I knew you'd ask that at some point!
He turned completely around, walking back toward me with a springy, almost theatrical step.
— Yes, there is. It's actually pretty well-structured. They call it "Modern Magecraft," or just "Thaumaturgy," but there are different levels. Like… some mages only know the basics — throwing fireballs, healing wounds, that kind of thing. But then there are the Lords and Grand Magi… and the "True Magicians," the ones who control the Foundations. Those guys manipulate the Laws of the World.
He made a wide gesture in the air with open arms, as if trying to encompass the whole concept.
— There are also "Mystic Codes," relics that amplify magical power — like grimoires or enchanted weapons. Not to mention the Servants, of course. They channel magical energy directly from their Masters. The more mana the Master has, the stronger the Servant becomes. It's kind of symbiotic.
He paused dramatically, as if restraining himself from dumping even more information.
— Oh, and there's something called "Command Seals," mystical tattoos that give absolute orders to Servants. You can, like, force a Legendary Hero to do whatever you want… but only three times. After that, you're on your own.
I closed my eyes for a moment. Foundations, mana channels, seals, forced servitude… Interesting, albeit rudimentary. Enough to be manipulated, absorbed, twisted.
When I opened my eyes again, David was still there, his gaze practically dripping with anticipation.
He didn't need to know what I really thought about all of this. Not yet.
I tilted my head slightly, frowning.
— You mentioned Servants… what exactly are they? — I asked, my voice heavy with suspicion. — And you said they can be ordered around with Command Seals?
David flashed a nearly textbook-perfect smile, like he was about to give a lecture he'd rehearsed dozens of times.
— Yep! Servants are basically… legendary heroes summoned as combat entities. They can come from any era — past, present, even future. Kings, assassins, mythological warriors, immortal mages… even religious figures, depending on the situation.
He began gesturing with his hands, drawing invisible images in the air.
— They're divided into classes: Saber, Archer, Lancer, Rider, Assassin, Caster, and Berserker. Each class has its strengths and weaknesses. Like, Sabers are great at close combat, Casters specialize in magic. And Berserkers… well, they lose their reason, but gain absurd strength in return.
David stepped closer, as if to make sure I caught every detail.
— When a "Master" enters a Holy Grail War, they summon a Servant and get three Command Seals — mystical marks that allow them to force the Servant to obey absolute orders. Like: "Teleport now," or "Defeat that enemy at all costs." Even if the Servant doesn't want to, the order is carried out. But they're limited. Only three. After that, it all depends on the bond between them.
I stayed silent for a few seconds, letting it all sink in.
Forced summoning. Heroes turned into disposable weapons. A bond based on power and absolute control, sealed by marks that barely scratch the surface of what a real bond means.
Typical.
— So... basically, it's like turning a living legend into a warhound. — I muttered, mostly to myself.
David scratched his neck, a little uncomfortable.
— That's… a pretty intense way to put it, but yeah. In practice, that's what it is.
Interesting. A lot to explore… and maybe corrupt.
I crossed my arms and looked at David more firmly.
— One last thing… — I said, my voice lower — these Servants. Can they betray their Masters?
David hesitated for a moment. His usual smile faltered slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful look, like he was weighing the reason behind the question.
— Well… technically, yes. — he answered, more serious this time. — It depends on the Servant's nature, the bond with the Master… and especially whether the Command Seals have been used. If the Master loses all their seals or shows weakness, the Servant can rebel. Some even kill their Masters if they feel mistreated or believe they have a greater purpose.
He crossed his arms too, maybe unconsciously mirroring my stance.
— Some Servants are extremely loyal. Others are just there out of convenience. It all comes down to their personality in life and the magical contract made at the time of summoning.
The thought amused me.
— So even these glorified ghosts have wills of their own… interesting. — I murmured, more to myself than to him. — That could be useful… or a burden.
David didn't respond immediately, just watched me. I could see it in his eyes: he still didn't know what to make of me. And that gave me an edge.
— I don't need one of those Servants — I muttered to myself, eyes fixed on the white void still surrounding us, now slowly filling with distant shapes and ripples of energy. — I'm already going to have to carry you… and the other one. I don't need another dead weight on my back.
David raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Fighting alone had always been simpler. No room for someone else's mistakes, no need to hold back to protect fragile allies. If something spiraled out of control, the blame was mine alone — and that, I could bear.
With a Servant at my side, I'd have to measure force, control area impact, monitor external movement… no. It would be a chain disguised as an advantage. I'd rather have the freedom to move however I want — no interruptions, no restrictions.
"When it comes time to fight, I'll fight as I always have: with precision, with calculated cruelty… and alone."
David let out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms and leaning slightly to the side, as if dealing with someone stubborn for the thousandth time.
"Man… maybe you're taking this to an unnecessary extreme," he said, his tone somewhere between tired and forcibly patient. "I get the whole thing about not wanting to rely on anyone, but Servants aren't just pretty decorations or walking obstacles. Some of them are literally entities that can wipe out entire armies on their own. Kings, gods, monsters, heroes… that kind of thing."
He shrugged and gave a half-smile, as if trying to soften the impact of his words.
"If you have a good relationship with yours, you don't even have to worry about betrayal or weakness. Some Servants die for their Masters without hesitation. The connection between them can be insane if done right. Mutual trust, you know?"
He shot me a more direct look, trying to gauge if his words were getting through.
"Sometimes… it's just a matter of letting someone help. You don't have to carry everything on your own, Rodrigo. Even if you think you can."
"I learned to survive on my own," I cut him off, my voice firm and dry, like the snap of a wire stretched too far. "Long before you ever thought about opening your mouth to talk about trust or teamwork. Humans… alone, they're fragile. Breakable. They need crutches, help, prayers, heroes."
My eyes narrowed as I looked at him. Not out of anger, but conviction. The kind of look from someone who's seen too much.
"But I broke out of that chain a long time ago."
I let the words hang in the air, raw, like a freshly-sharpened blade. David hesitated, silent.
"I don't need Servants. Not anymore. Doesn't matter what they are… ancient gods, bloodthirsty demons, fallen angels, or the most beautiful woman this or any other world could offer. Doesn't matter what they promise, or how they appear."
I tilted my head slightly, as if stating the obvious.
"I don't care. And I don't need them. I just need to keep standing. On my own two feet. Like I always have."
David just sighed, as if he'd expected that answer from the start. His shoulders relaxed a bit, and he forced a smile — not mocking or ironic, but the kind someone gives when they understand, even if they don't fully agree.
"Right…" he murmured, a resigned tone still carrying that glint of positivity in his eyes. "You're one of those tough nuts to crack, huh?"
He chuckled softly, tired but undeterred. Just shook his head slightly, as if accepting that I was the kind of person who didn't change easily.
"Well… then let's see where this takes us. Together or not."
Something began to glow — faint at first, like a single point of light in the middle of a white void. But within seconds, that glow grew, pulsing in a deep, ethereal blue. Then translucent halos started forming around it, spiraling in slow, rhythmic movements, like rings orbiting a celestial core. They danced through the air with elegance, carrying a sense of restrained, almost divine power. The space around us vibrated gently, as if reality itself was adjusting to the presence of whatever this was.
"She's finally here…" I heard David say beside me, his voice full of anticipation.
I raised an eyebrow, eyes still fixed on the almost hypnotic light.
"She?"
David nodded, a faint smile on his lips, like he was witnessing something he'd waited a long time to see.
"The Counter Force."
The name echoed in my mind, heavy with meaning. I had never seen her before, but just being in the presence of this… this entity, this energy — you could feel it was something beyond any ordinary structure. Something outside the laws of logic or conventional magic. It was like the world was about to make a choice — and she was the hand that turned the dial of fate.
The blue aura grew stronger by the second. And I felt… something watching me from within that light. As if the very force behind the world's balance was preparing to judge me.
The halos suddenly stopped spinning, halting like gears that had completed their function. The space grew quiet — too quiet. The blue glow then began to condense, softly imploding inward, becoming a perfectly sculpted sphere of energy. A bluish orb, so pure it seemed made from the very essence of the world, floated before us. Its glow wasn't just light — it was a presence. A consciousness.
And then… it spoke.
But not with a single voice.
There were many.
The sound didn't just come from the air — it vibrated in the chest, deep in the mind, in the soul. Deep male voices mixed with soft or glass-sharp female tones. There were childish voices, full of innocence, and others drenched in pain, as if every syllable was soaked in suffering.
Some voices laughed — a joyful, childlike laugh… or a hysterical, insane one. Others whispered like mourning, or growled with quiet hatred. Some spoke solemnly, like priests in prayer; others roared with rage, like soldiers marching to death.
It felt like all of humanity's emotions were speaking at once — compassion, despair, hope, betrayal, love, jealousy, courage, fear, faith, and doubt. Every phrase, even incomprehensible, overflowed with a unique, raw, primal emotion. The orb pulsed with these emotions, beating slowly like the heart of an entire world.
For a moment, my body froze. My instincts screamed that this wasn't a common entity. This was a force created by humans… and yet beyond their control.
And then, in unison, as if all the voices had aligned in a single moment of purpose, the orb truly spoke.
Not with common words.
But with meaning so clear it burned directly into the mind:
"You have been called."
In that moment, I understood: it wasn't an entity with its own identity. It was the sum. The union of all that had ever been, of everything humanity had felt, feared, and desired.
The Counter Force.
And now, it was looking directly at me.
David was silent—more than usual. His eyes trembled slightly, following the glow of the orb like someone watching a storm on the verge of breaking. His nervousness was visible in the subtlest details: the way he kept his fists clenched at his sides, his breathing slightly fast, almost restrained. That optimistic little smile he usually wore had vanished, replaced by a tense expression, like he wanted to seem prepared... but wasn't.
I observed all of it calmly. Not because I cared about him. The truth is, in that moment, David was just another element in the scene—a secondary variable. My focus was locked on the orb.
That thing.
The Counter Force.
Yes, it might bear the pompous name of "counter force," a kind of self-regulating system of humanity… But none of that made me let my guard down. In fact, the very fact that it contained human emotions was reason enough for me to keep all my senses on high alert.
Anger, pain, hope, fear, despair, sacrifice… emotions are unstable fuel. Explosive. Uncontrollable. Humanity has been brought to the brink of extinction more than once because of them—because of love, because of hate, because of blind faith. And now this thing before me, this pulsating orb of light and interwoven feelings, wanted to present itself as a "guardian"? A kind of collective voice of humanity?
No. I wouldn't trust it.
Even sensing that it wasn't showing hostility in that moment, letting my guard down would be a mistake. Doing that with an entity that is, at once, everything and nothing, was asking to be erased from the board before the first move was even made.
I slowly crossed my arms. My body stayed upright, feet firm on the floor as white as ethereal marble. My eyes didn't stray from the orb for even a second.
The blue light still pulsed, more softly now, but I wasn't fooled by its serene glow. A wolf can smile… before it bites.
"You can speak with as many voices as you want," I thought. "But I'll only listen to what's necessary. Nothing more."
My guard would remain firm. That entity was powerful, yes—but not infallible. And deep down, it carried the same curse we all carry since the first spark of consciousness appeared in a fragile body of flesh:
To be human.
The light of the orb stopped pulsing—as if, for a moment, time itself had held its breath. The bluish halos around it stretched, converging into calm, almost hypnotic spirals, then drew back into its core. Then, the orb shone more intensely, but not aggressively—it was a dense, profound light… like the calm before a hurricane.
And then it spoke.
Not a voice. All of them.
And yet… just one.
Masculine, feminine, childish, elderly, soft, piercing, sweet, bitter—all possible and impossible voices aligned in perfect cadence, as if an invisible conductor were guiding a choir formed by humanity's very emotions.
The vibration ran through my bones. That wasn't sound. It was meaning. Each word seemed to reverberate inside my mind, my chest—as if every cell was being forced to listen.
"We are offering a deal..."
The voice—or voices—didn't sound like a plea. Nor a command. It was neutral, objective, clean, but so laden with meaning that it almost felt like an ancient spell carved into the fabric of reality.
"You have been chosen. Existence has marked you as exceptions. Through action, knowledge, creation, or potential, you have ceased to be mere spectators."
David swallowed hard beside me. I didn't look at him.
> "What we offer… is the chance to act as Counter Guardians. A reactive force, a balancing one… intervening when even the agents of preservation stray from the path."
Counter Guardians.
The word echoed in my mind with the weight of a gear turning in reverse. Like a deliberate flaw in the system, a necessary error to keep the machine from collapsing under too much correction.
> "Humanity is not made only of light. It is ambiguous. Contradictory. Strong because it is imperfect. The Guardians seek to preserve order. You, Counter Guardians… must ensure that this order does not consume the essence of what it means to live."
It was almost poetic. Almost beautiful. Almost convincing.
But I didn't trust it. This was still humanity talking to itself. A reflection trying to judge its own cracked mirror.
My sharp gaze didn't falter. My stance remained firm, arms crossed, eyes locked on the orb.
It ended its speech with something that felt more intimate… and more severe.
> "Accept… and you will walk between the limits of chaos and control. Refuse… and you will vanish from this cycle, without memory, without form, like dust between realities."
The threat was there—subtle, wrapped like a knife in silk. But clear.
Accept or be forgotten.
My fingers twitched slightly, almost by instinct, feeling the energy pulsing beneath my skin. The old power was still there. Weakened, yes—but present. Alive.
I didn't fear the offer.
But I wouldn't forget where it came from.
From an entity made of everything I once swore never to depend on again: humanity.
Before I could respond—with words already sharp in my throat—David, beside me, stepped forward. He looked hesitant but determined, like someone finally deciding to challenge an authority they once thought unquestionable.
He raised his chin and questioned aloud:
— "But… why us?" — his voice trembled slightly, but there was sincerity in it. — "This humanity… it's not even from our universe. We're not part of this cycle. Don't you already have Contra Guardians? Wouldn't it be easier to just hunt us down?"
A silence filled the space for a moment — not an ordinary silence, but something thick, almost tangible, as if even the air was waiting for the answer with hesitation.
Then, the orb began to shine brightly again.
The voices spoke once more as one — with a serenity as cruel as it was inevitable.
> "That is a fair question, David."
> "And for that, you will receive a true answer."
> "You are not the first to attempt to restore the fractures in this timeline. Not the first to fight for the broken eras, for the humanities lost between the cracks of time. Before you, there were others. Humans. Heroes. Spirits. All courageous… and all dead."
The final words fell like hammers. Direct. Ruthless.
David was visibly shaken. I saw the tension in his shoulders, his hands clenched into fists. He hadn't expected that. I had.
But the entity was not finished.
> "You two… and especially you, Rodrigo…"
At that moment, the orb seemed to rotate toward me. I felt it — not saw it, but felt it — an absolute focus directed at me. As if a million invisible eyes were scanning me from within, with the coldness of a scalpel.
> "…you are aberrations."
> "Outliers. Beyond the limits of human logic, of statistics, of normality."
> "If you truly wished to destroy this world, there would be no force in our reality capable of stopping you before irreversible damage was done."
David seemed to shrink a little at that — not out of fear of me, but because of the brutal honesty in the statement. I didn't react. Hearing something I already knew didn't shake me. It was a fact. Cold. Clear. Necessary.
> "We could hunt you, yes. Forever. We are the Counter Force — the collective will of humanity's survival. And yet, even we know when the cost of the hunt becomes too high."
> "That is why we offer the deal."
> "Not as a gift. Not out of kindness. But as… containment. A chance to redirect the danger. To control chaos, through chaos itself."
The orb went silent, and the last pulses of blue light radiated softly, as if it had just revealed something sacred — or damning.
I looked at David. He was silent, eyes fixed on the orb, as if digesting every word, every syllable, as if he still didn't know whether this was a blessing or a curse.
But me? I had understood perfectly.
This wasn't a choice.
It was a bargain.
A desperate bet by a humanity that, despite all its collective strength, had recognized it had created a monster… and now, its only chance was to let it run free on a golden leash.
The question was no longer "why us?"
It was: "will we accept the role… or continue as the uncontrollable variable?"
I stared directly at that blue orb, wrapped in its halos like a sacred symbol — but to me, it was just a simulation of divinity trying to mask the stench of desperation.
I took a step forward. The air vibrated, pulsed as if trying to push me back, but I ignored it. My eyes locked on the entity. My words came out dry, firm, sharp like the blade of a scalpel.
— "Then tell me…" — my voice cut through the silence like a restrained thunder — "…what exactly do I gain from this? What's the reward for accepting to be your dog, even if the leash is golden?"
David's eyes widened slightly, surprised by my choice of words. But I didn't care. I had only spoken the truth it had admitted itself.
— "You said it yourself — this is for containment. That we're a risk. That we're too dangerous to be ignored. So tell me, Counter Force…"
I leaned forward slightly, as if challenging the bluish light directly. My hands were in my pockets, but my posture said everything: I did not bow.
— "…what do you have to offer that makes me accept this role? What stops me from simply doing things my way, ignoring your rules, and fixing this mess of a world myself — or letting it rot?"
For a moment, the silence was thick enough to hear David's heartbeat. He didn't dare speak — maybe not even breathe. Deep down, he knew I wasn't bluffing.
Then, the orb seemed to expand, its light wavering, as if my question had triggered something. A recognition. Or a threat disguised as a response.
The voices returned, now steadier… more uniform. As if carefully choosing each word.
> "You are right to question."
> "You are not a servant. Not an ordinary master. And never a pawn."
> "That is why your reward will match your worth."
> "Freedom. Resources. Knowledge."
> "Access to ruins, secrets, technologies, and sources of power no living entity has ever seen. You will be allowed to go where even the Guardians do not tread. Not as a prisoner. But as a tool."
> "And more than that: minimal interference. As long as you fulfill your role, the rest… will be yours."
My expression didn't change, but internally, I started analyzing.
Freedom. Power. Knowledge.
Not a bad payment. At the very least, an interesting promise.
But still… it was a bargain.
And every bargain comes with hidden risks.
I stayed silent for a few seconds, eyes still locked on that living orb.
The question now turning inside me: was it better to accept this loose leash… or break my teeth in silence and make the rules on my own terms?
Here's the English translation of your text:
---
But one thing I already knew:
If I accepted, it wouldn't be out of submission.
It would be because even monsters know when it's worth dulling their fangs… until the bite becomes lethal.
That bluish light still hovered in front of me — pulsing, alive, filled with something that defied simple definitions. I stared at it in silence for a few seconds, feeling a restlessness growing inside me. It wasn't because of its presence. It was something deeper… more irritating.
I wasn't feeling anything.
Ever since I was dragged into this world, there hadn't been a trace of the abilities I had chosen — no sign of the Nahobino, nor the King in Black, nor Susano'o, Interfectum Malus, or Understanding. My body, even with visible modifications, didn't resonate with the forces that were supposed to inhabit my soul. As if they were sealed… or absent.
A latent void was consuming me, as if the choice I made before that previous entity had been a hollow promise. And now, before another cosmic force, another "proposal," another attempt at control… I felt anger building up, even though my face revealed nothing but coldness.
I stepped forward, my voice calm but heavy:
— "You want me to be your watchdog. A Counter Guardian. But why should I accept that, if everything I was promised so far has been taken or never given?"
The orb didn't respond immediately. The blue halos continued to spin slowly around it, as if analyzing me, probing every layer of who I am.
I tilted my head slightly and continued:
— "So if you're going to ask me to play your game, at least offer me something worthwhile."
My voice now carried a faint tone of mockery, mixed with boredom and demand.
— "Give me the blood of the strongest beings you know in this universe. I don't want demons, I don't want angels. That's too basic. Offer me something that's actually worth the risk of walking this path."
The orb stopped.
The lights ceased their motion. For the first time, the entity seemed truly silent. As if it weighed the consequences… or was deciding if I was worthy.
And then, all the voices returned. Feminine, masculine, childlike, distorted, calm, furious, kind and cruel — like a chorus of conflicting thoughts speaking in perfect harmony:
> "You demand the extraordinary. Very well…"
> "Three names. Three essences that transcend the human and the divine."
> "Arcueid Brunestud — the incarnated moon. True blood, beyond the logic of common vampires. A primordial force in the form of a woman."
> "Shiki Ryougi — the one who sees death in all things. The eyes of origin, able to sever even fate."
> "Aoko Aozaki — the Blue Magus. The woman who walks at the margins of history, shaping realities like one breathes."
Those names meant nothing to me… yet. But the way Counter Force spoke of them told me there was something there. Something that might fill the void I'd felt since I woke in this broken world.
Still, I kept my expression neutral. Eyes locked on the orb.
— "I've never heard of any of them. I don't know what their blood can do for me. But…"
I clenched my fists lightly.
— "…if it can turn me into something beyond what I was promised and never given… then maybe it's worth considering."
The voices fell silent again, and a final phrase echoed:
> "You will have your chance, Rodrigo. But choose wisely. This kind of power… is never given. It takes."
— "Let it try." — I answered.
If this world wanted to toy with forces beyond comprehension, then I'd make sure I became the greatest anomaly of all.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting my mind carefully filter the three options laid before me like chess pieces in a cosmic game. Arcueid Brunestud… vampire. I frowned at the thought. I already had enough dark abilities, traits dancing on the edge of the monstrous. Her blood might be powerful, sure — but what would it give me? Claws? Regeneration? Beastly instincts? No, thanks. I didn't need more savagery.
Shiki Ryougi… now that name carried something different. An ability that cut through fate, that touched the fundamental concepts of existence with the tip of a blade. Seductive, dangerous… and absurdly broken. But that was exactly why I didn't trust it. Raw power like that is a trap — and I don't fall for the same trick twice. Even though… it was incredibly tempting. As hell.
But then came Aoko.
Aoko Aozaki. The Blue Magus.
Her name echoed a little longer in my mind. And there it was… the flaw. The hole. My deficiency. No matter how much forbidden knowledge I had, no matter how many arcane theories I memorized, I was never truly a mage. I was always science, always engineering, analysis, calculation. Never intuition. Never flow. Like having a complete map but never feeling the wind pointing the right way.
Her blood wasn't just power — it was attunement. A direct connection with this universe's magical logic. The chance to understand and manipulate the world with more than just external tools. Something that would shape itself to me… something that would complete me. Besides, she was human. Or once was. Her blood could anchor me better here… help me understand what this world expects — and fears.
I opened my eyes and looked at the glowing orb, now less dazzled, more resolved.
— Aoko Aozaki. It's her blood I want.
My voice came out firm, direct. No hesitation, no pride. Just a calculated choice… and one more step toward a path only I can see.