Everyone will die eventually. No matter how great or how insignificant, no matter what kind of life they lived, the end comes for all. And when death finally takes you, where you end up afterward is unknown… yet, at the same time, predictable. Especially in the world of Fate.
For most souls, it's either returning back to the Root, the eternal source, or being snatched up by Alaya—the so-called will of humanity that pretends to be a God. Souls with weight, with history, with resonance—like Heroes, Saints, or those who carved their names deep into human history—are the tastiest prey. Alaya devours them, chains them, and uses them.
But the afterlife is no paradise, no glory. It's slavery. Eternal slavery. The sole purpose of these heroic souls becomes nothing more than serving humanity's continued existence—or more precisely, serving Alaya's warped definition of "good and evil." Those who fall outside that definition, or worse, harm Alaya's interests, are punished without mercy. Unless, of course, someone strong enough manages to hijack a soul right out of Alaya's hands.
That was exactly what happened to Saint Martha. She had been utterly defeated by Camelot's overwhelming forces when they marched against the Pict separatists she led under the command of the false god, Alaya. She fought for what she thought was divine will, only to be shattered, her cause ruined. And now, she stood—no, she knelt—before the one who had torn that illusion apart.
Artoria.
Her twelve brilliant white wings spread wide behind her, each feather shimmering with blinding radiance as she floated in the void. To mortal eyes, she looked every inch the Archangel, holy and terrible, a messenger of divinity itself. But it wasn't an illusion—she truly carried the blood of an Archangel within her veins. A gift. A legacy. From her other self, Gabriel.
The sight was enough to humble even a Saint. The endless expanse of the void where Artoria and her other selves usually gathered was not Heaven, but it might as well have been. Martha trembled, awe-struck, convinced down to her core that the being before her was the real deal.
"Saint Martha," Artoria's voice echoed, sharp and commanding, reverberating in the emptiness, "you have worshipped a false God for far too long. But no more. I will not allow your soul to rot in her chains. I will send you to another universe to repent for your mistakes. Tell me—do you choose damnation, or salvation?"
Her golden eyes blazed with holy light as she gazed down at the kneeling Saint, eyes so piercing that Martha felt her very soul laid bare, stripped naked under the Archangel's judgment.
Martha lowered her head even further, bowing until her forehead nearly touched the unseen ground beneath them. Shame and repentance weighed heavy in her voice as she spoke:
"I… I choose salvation and submission, Archangel. I will devote myself to fixing my past mistakes. I will repent for forsaking the true God, for kneeling before a false pretender."
Her eyes burned with hatred, as if a sudden enlightenment had struck her, the realization that Alaya was no God at all, but a pretender borrowing His name.
No wonder someone as holy and powerful as Saint Jeanne had been forced to endure such a cruel death and a betrayal so idiotic it stank of mockery. It had never been a test from God at all. It was the devil, masquerading as Him, spitting in the faces of the faithful.
When she recalled the endless torment of the so-called "heroes" forced into eternal servitude as Heroic Spirits — champions who bled, killed, and died for humanity again and again, yet were never granted true salvation — the truth became undeniable. This was not a trial from the Almighty. It was someone exploiting His name, twisting it, to chain Earth into a cycle of misery and despair.
Artoria's lips curled into a satisfied smile as she watched realization dawn. "You should first adapt to the culture and the people of that world before your mission begins, Saint Martha. When the time comes, your task will be delivered to you — and Heaven does not abandon its faithful without reward."
"Yes, Archangel," Saint Martha answered, bowing low with reverence.
With that, she was dispatched into the Seraph of the End world, sent there by Artoria, who had already unraveled how this empty space functioned. Artoria understood she could pull others from her own world, bind them to her service, and send them on missions to harvest loosh.
Loosh, the raw energy of human experience, forged from powerful emotions like suffering, belief, love, rage, despair, and devotion. If Artoria could establish a divine kingdom within Seraph of the End, converting the masses into loyal believers, that emotional energy would become food for this realm. With enough of it, any wish could be granted, as long as she had the points and karma to pay the price.
And so she named this realm Main God Space, claiming it as her dominion. Then, disappearing alongside Saint Martha, she entered Seraph of the End with a very particular desire in mind to meet her adorable, legal loli self, Krul Tepes.
She wanted to hold that version of herself, kiss her, and make love to her until exhaustion. Her other self would crave it too — they were one and the same, after all. The only reason they hadn't yet was simple: time. Duties and wars had consumed her endlessly. She barely even had the chance to indulge in her forbidden lust with Morgan. Most nights it was only Guinevere who shared her bed, often in the throne room, in secret, when no one dared intrude.
Now, though? With Krul in her grasp, she would indulge. She would make love with her cute self as much as she wanted. She would take her lips, her loli body, and claim her entirely.
Currently, they were sitting together in the park, the bright blue sky stretching endlessly above them.
Krul's loli body leaned against Artoria's side, her petite frame snuggling warmly into her arm.
Artoria gently stroked Krul's soft pink hair while they sat on the bench, ignoring the people walking past.
Passersby couldn't help but glance at them and whisper "cute" under their breath as they watched the two girls together.
Thankfully, Artoria's illusion as a male had already faded away, leaving her back in her natural female form, a breathtakingly beautiful girl.
Because if Merlin's illusion had still been active and she was mistaken for a man holding Krul like this, no one would be calling it "cute."
Instead, every single one of them would be muttering the word "lolicon."
"My other self," Krul teased with a sly grin, her crimson eyes flashing with amusement. "Don't think I don't notice the way you look at me. Whether it's you or me, we both like petite girls. Even if you try to blindside yourself with excuses, your eyes are too intense. Tell me honestly, do you really want to eat me that badly?"
"I do," Artoria answered without hesitation, her gaze boring into Krul's.
Her voice was steady, unapologetic.
Krul's cheeks warmed as she stared drunkenly back at her own reflection, her own other self, who had become her waifu in flesh and blood.
Unlike the cruel and ruthless expression she showed at Altrouge, this time she looked completely like a maiden in love.
Their eyes locked, a shared hunger passing between them, but neither of them moved to start anything more in public.
Instead, Krul leaned in, her voice soft and low, almost seductive. "Let's continue our date somewhere more secluded, Artoria. The apocalypse hasn't come yet, and there are too many pests among our ranks who would love to find fault if they caught me with a human girl."
"Alright. Let's go," Artoria replied simply.
Their hands intertwined tightly, fingers locking together, and then their figures blurred and vanished from the park. The date wasn't ending, only paused. The truth was, both of them were burning with heat that couldn't be contained any longer.
They pitied the fact they couldn't kiss each other in this place, but once they reached their secluded hideaway, there was no more restraint.
There, away from the stares and whispers, they gave in fully, kissing, touching, and finally fucking in the flesh, in the real world, not just in the astral void that could only keep their souls linked but never satisfy the hunger of their bodies.
When they tumbled onto the bed, Artoria wasted no time.
She shoved her own legal loli self down and ravaged her mouth, their tongues colliding in a wet, sloppy kiss that tasted of pure lust.
Krul responded just as fiercely, her hands groping at Artoria's breasts and thighs while Artoria's fingers traced along Krul's curves, both of them stripping each other bare with desperate urgency.
Soon their clothes were scattered across the sheets, leaving only flushed skin, heaving chests, and the sound of ragged breathing.
Krul gasped sharply as her pussy was licked by her other self, slick noises filling the room.
Her voice trembled with giddy excitement as she asked, "Another me… can you use that?"
Artoria lifted her head, lips glistening with Krul's juices, vampire nectar still dripping from her chin.
"I'm not sure if undead can even get pregnant," she said with a faint smirk, "but that thing I have, it carries magic strong enough to impregnate anything it pierces. Even an undead. It's too powerful, too overwhelming… and I can't guarantee I'd be able to pull out in time."
Krul pouted at that, disappointment flickering in her eyes. "Tch… stingy."
But if she couldn't get what she wanted, she'd take something else. Without hesitation, she sank her sharp fangs into Artoria's neck, biting down as a guttural moan tore from Artoria's throat.
Hot, sinful pleasure shot through her body, and Krul hugged her tightly, pinning her beneath her.
This time, Krul took the lead
She straddled her counterpart, and began riding with wild abandon.
Their moans tangled together as they fucked, hands gripping, nails scratching, lips meeting in feverish kisses.
They rolled across the bed, changing positions again and again, refusing to stop.
Their bodies slapped together in an endless rhythm, cunt grinding against cunt, juices smearing across thighs, until the sheets were completely soaked.
The two of them lost themselves in their own little world, making love without restraint, indulging in pure selfcest the entire night.
There was no one to interrupt, nothing to stop them from committing the forbidden act of fucking themselves to the fullest, over and over again.