The street opened before them like a wound.
Shattered asphalt stretched in both directions, split by fissures that glowed with residual magical energy. Overturned cars formed makeshift barricades along the sidewalks. And in the center of it all—
Olga Marie Animusphere stood surrounded by death.
Skeletons. Dozens of them. Bone-white figures lurching toward her from every direction, their movements jerky and wrong. Empty eye sockets burned with pale blue fire. Rusted weapons clutched in fleshless hands. The clatter of their advance filled the air like rain on a tin roof.
Olga's arm snapped up. Her index finger extended, pointer aimed at the nearest skeleton's skull.
"Gandr!"
A bolt of black energy erupted from her fingertip. The curse struck true, punching through bone and sending the skeleton's head spinning into the rubble. Its body collapsed in a heap of disconnected joints.
Another skeleton lunged from her left. Olga pivoted. Fired again.
"Gandr!"
The shot caught it in the ribcage. Not a kill—the thing staggered but kept coming. She fired twice more in rapid succession before it finally went down.
Too many. There were too many of them.
Griswald watched the Director spin and shoot, spin and shoot. Her form was perfect. Textbook stance, proper mana channeling, efficient curse construction. Everything the Animusphere family must have had drilled into her since childhood. But the skeletons kept coming. For every one she dropped, two more shambled forward to take its place.
Her breathing had grown ragged. Sweat plastered silver-white hair to her forehead. The intervals between shots stretched longer as her mana reserves depleted.
"Mash—"
She was already moving.
The Demi-Servant launched herself into the horde without hesitation. Her shield swung in a brutal horizontal arc that caught three skeletons simultaneously. Bone shattered. Bodies flew. The impact rang out like a gong struck by a mad god.
Mash didn't stop. She planted her feet and pivoted, bringing the massive cross-shaped barrier around in a devastating backswing. A skeleton's torso disintegrated against the shield's edge. Another lost its legs at the knee and crumpled.
"Director!" Mash's voice cut through the chaos. "Fall back! I'll hold them!"
Griswald ran.
He sprinted across the broken street, dodging skeletal hands that grasped at empty air where he'd been a heartbeat before. One of the creatures turned toward him—eye sockets flaring brighter—but Mash's shield crushed its spine before it could attack.
Olga saw him coming. Her finger tracked his movement automatically, curse already forming at the tip.
"Wait!" He threw up his hands. "Director, it's me!"
The Gandr spell died uncast. Olga's golden eyes narrowed. Confusion flickered across her aristocratic features. Then recognition.
Then fury.
"You?"
Griswald skidded to a halt beside her. His hands were already moving, running along her arms and shoulders in quick diagnostic touches. Checking for wounds. Breaks. Bleeding. The medical training kicked in before conscious thought could intervene.
"Are you hurt? Any injuries? Did any of them—"
"Get your hands off me!"
She shoved him back. Hard. Griswald stumbled but kept his feet.
"I'm trying to help—"
"I don't need help from a third-rate medical assistant." Olga's voice dripped contempt. Another skeleton lurched toward them from the left. She dispatched it with a Gandr shot without breaking eye contact. "What are you even doing here? You weren't authorized for rayshift operations!"
Behind them, Mash's shield connected with another wave of attackers. The crack of splintering bone punctuated Olga's words.
"Director, we need to move—"
"Don't tell me what we need to do!" The aristocratic mask slammed back into place. Golden eyes blazed with something between rage and terror. "I am the Director of Chaldea. I give the orders here. Not some nobody healer who couldn't even pass the basic Master aptitude tests."
A skeleton broke through Mash's defensive line. It rushed toward them with rusted blade raised high.
Griswald grabbed Olga's arm and yanked her sideways. The sword whistled past her ear. Before the creature could recover, Mash was there—shield driving down like a hammer, crushing the skeleton into the pavement.
"Thank you for your assistance." Olga pulled free of his grip as though his touch burned. "But I had the situation under control."
She hadn't. They both knew it.
Mash rejoined them, breathing hard. Harder than before. The pallor in her cheeks had deepened to something approaching grey. Her shield arm trembled with exhaustion.
"The horde is thinning." Each word cost her visible effort. "But more are coming from the east. We need to find shelter."
Olga's attention finally shifted to the armored girl. Her eyes traveled over Mash's transformed appearance—the sleek bodysuit, the massive shield, the power that radiated from her despite her obvious fatigue.
"You're..."
Olga's voice trailed off. Her golden eyes swept over Mash's armored form—the sleek bodysuit, the impossible shield, the faint shimmer of magical energy that clung to her like a second skin. The Director's expression shifted through confusion, recognition, and something darker. Something that looked almost like betrayal.
"Mash… You actually were able to manifested it."
Mash's grip tightened on her shield. Her violet eyes dropped to the ground.
"The Heroic Spirit fused with me..." She paused. Swallowed. "When the explosion happened, when Senpai was in danger, they chose to help. They allowed me to access their power."
Griswald watched the exchange without comprehension. Manifested? The words circled each other in his mind, refusing to form a coherent picture. He guessed it must be something about her statice as a demi-servant.
Olga let out a bitter laugh. It scraped against the ruined air like broken glass.
"So that's how it is." Her voice dropped to a murmur. Almost too quiet to hear. "After all these years of failures. All those resources. All that waiting…" She trailed off.
The Director's hands curled into fists at her sides. Her aristocratic composure cracked for just a moment—revealing something raw underneath. Frustration. Exhaustion. The weight of inherited expectations crushing down on narrow shoulders.
Mash flinched as though struck.
Griswald didn't understand what they were talking about. The history between them clearly ran deep. Painful. Full of implications he couldn't begin to parse. But the red sky above them hadn't stopped burning. The distant sounds of skeletal movement still echoed through the ruined streets. And Mash's trembling had grown worse with each passing second.
"Director." He stepped forward. "Whatever happened before—we can discuss it later. Right now we need to—"
The blade came from nowhere.
A skeleton had crawled up from a storm drain behind them. Silent. Patient. Its rusted sword arced toward Griswald's exposed back with killing intent.
He didn't see it. Didn't hear it. The first warning was Mash's scream.
"SENPAI!"
Time slowed.
Griswald turned. Too slow. Far too slow. The corroded edge filled his vision. He could see every nick and pit in the ancient metal. Could smell the rust and something older underneath. Death. The blade smelled like death.
Black light erupted across his field of view.
"Gandr!"
The curse struck the skeleton's skull dead center. Bone exploded. The sword dropped from nerveless fingers, clattering harmlessly against the pavement inches from Griswald's foot. The creature's body collapsed into a pile of disconnected joints.
But the shot hadn't come from Olga.
They all turned.
Ritsuka Fujimaru limped toward them through the rubble.
Her Chaldea uniform was torn. Blood ran from a gash above her left eye, painting half her face in crimson streaks. Her right leg dragged behind her at an angle that suggested something was badly wrong with the ankle. Burns marked her exposed arms—the kind of burns that came from proximity to magical explosions.
But she was smiling.
That bright, impossible smile that Griswald remembered from the corridor. From the moment she'd punched him in the face and immediately apologized. From before everything had gone wrong.
"Hey."
The word came out hoarse. Ragged. Like she'd been screaming recently and hadn't stopped until her voice gave out.
She raised her hand in a weak wave. Her index finger still smoked faintly from the Gandr shot.
"Fujimaru?" Olga's voice pitched upward with disbelief. "You're alive?"
"Apparently." Ritsuka's smile flickered. Her next step faltered. "Found that out about ten minutes ago. Still processing."
Griswald moved without thinking. His medical training seized control of his body before conscious thought could intervene. He crossed the distance between them in three quick strides and caught her arm just as her injured leg buckled.
"Easy. I've got you."
"My hero." The words were light. Joking. But her weight against his shoulder told a different story. She was barely standing. "You're the medical guy, right? From the hallway?"
"Griswald Von Garmisch."
"Right. The one I punched." Her amber eyes crinkled with exhausted amusement. "Sorry about that again."
"You saved my life just now. I think we're even."
Mash appeared at Ritsuka's other side. Together, they supported her weight between them. The Demi-Servant's face had gone tight with concern.
"You're injured. Multiple lacerations. Possible fracture in the right ankle. Burns on—"
"I'm aware." Ritsuka's smile didn't waver. "Believe me. Very aware."
Olga pushed past Griswald as though he didn't exist.
"The other Master candidates." Her voice had gone sharp. Brittle. "Where are they? Wodime? Kadoc? The rest of Team A?"
Ritsuka's smile finally cracked.
The change was subtle. A tightening around the eyes. A slight downturn at the corners of her mouth. But Griswald saw it. Felt the way her body tensed against his supporting arm.
"Director, I..." She trailed off. Swallowed hard. "When I woke up, I was alone. The coffins—the rayshift coffins—they were all damaged. Crushed. Some of them were still burning."
Olga's face drained of color.
"That's impossible. The coffins are designed to withstand—"
"I know what they're designed to withstand." Ritsuka's voice dropped. Lost its warmth. "I saw Peperoncino's. Or what was left of them. The explosion... whatever caused it... it came from inside the staging area. Not outside."
Silence fell between them. Heavy. Suffocating.
Griswald watched Olga's hands begin to shake. The tremor started in her fingers and worked its way up her wrists. Her golden eyes had gone distant. Unfocused. Staring at something none of them could see.
"All of them?" The words came out barely above a whisper. "Every single one?"
"I don't know." Ritsuka's honesty was gentle. Careful. "I couldn't check them all. The fire was spreading too fast. I found a working coffin—barely working—and activated it before the whole room went up." She paused. Drew a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, Director. I wish I had better news."
Olga's composure shattered.
"This can't be happening." Her voice pitched higher. Cracked at the edges. "They were supposed to be the best. The absolute best mages we could find. Wodime alone was worth more than half the Association's resources. And now you're telling me they're all just—just—"
A distant screech cut through her spiraling words.
Griswald's head snapped toward the sound. More skeletons. Somewhere to the north. The noise of bone scraping against pavement carried clearly through the dead city's silence.
"Director." He kept his voice calm. Steady. The way Roman had taught him to speak during medical emergencies. "We need to move. Now."
Olga rounded on him. Her eyes blazed with something that might have been rage or grief or both twisted together into something unrecognizable.
"Don't presume to give me orders, Von Garmisch. In case you've forgotten, I am still—"
"You're still the Director. Yes." Griswald didn't flinch from her glare. "And as Chaldea's medical officer, I'm telling you that Fujimaru has multiple injuries requiring immediate treatment. We're exposed here. No cover. No defensible positions. If another wave of those things finds us before I can stabilize her—"
"I can fight." Ritsuka tried to straighten. Failed. Her injured leg buckled, and only Griswald's grip kept her upright. "Just give me a minute to—"
"You can barely stand." His tone brooked no argument. "That ankle needs to be immobilized. The head wound needs cleaning before infection sets in. And I haven't even assessed the burns yet." He turned back to Olga. "Director. Please. I can't treat her properly out in the open like this."
The screeching grew louder. Closer.
Mash shifted her shield into a defensive position. The movement was slower than before. More labored. Whatever reserves she'd been drawing on were nearly spent.
"Senpai is right." Her voice came out strained. Tired. "I can hold them off, but not indefinitely. Not in my current state. We need shelter."
Olga's jaw clenched. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. For a long moment, she simply stood there—caught between her pride and the undeniable reality of their situation.
The screeching came again. Multiple sources now. Converging.
"Fine." The word scraped out of her like a confession extracted under torture. "There." She pointed toward a partially collapsed building on the corner. A convenience store, Griswald realized. Its front windows had been blown out, but the walls still stood. The interior offered at least some concealment. "We'll regroup there. Assess our options."
She didn't wait for acknowledgment. Just turned and stalked toward the building, her silver-white hair streaming behind her like a war banner.
Griswald adjusted his grip on Ritsuka. "Can you walk? Or should I—"
"I can walk." Her jaw set with stubborn determination. "Just... slowly."
They moved together. Griswald on one side, Mash on the other, Ritsuka supported between them. Each step sent visible pain flickering across the injured girl's face, but she didn't complain. Didn't slow them down more than necessary.
Mash kept her shield raised. Watching their backs. Her breathing had gone shallow. Labored.
Griswald felt the strain through their contract. The thinning thread of mana that connected them. His circuits burned with the effort of sustaining her, but it wasn't enough. Would never be enough. Every minute she spent in combat form pushed them both closer to collapse.
They reached the convenience store just as the first skeleton crested the rubble pile to the north.
Inside, the air smelled of dust and something burnt. Shelves lay toppled across the floor, their contents scattered and crushed. Emergency lighting flickered weakly from a dying battery backup, casting everything in sickly green shadows.
Olga had already positioned herself near the back wall. Away from the shattered windows. Away from them. Her arms were crossed tight across her chest. Her face had gone blank. Controlled. The aristocratic mask firmly back in place.
But her hands still trembled.
Griswald lowered Ritsuka onto a cleared section of floor, sweeping aside broken glass and scattered packaging with his forearm. The convenience store's emergency lighting painted everything in that sickly green glow, but he'd worked in worse conditions. Much worse.
"Hold still." He knelt beside her, fingers already probing the swollen tissue around her ankle. "This is going to hurt."
"Story of my day." Ritsuka's voice stayed light, but her jaw clenched when he applied pressure to the joint. "So. Scale of one to ten. How bad?"
"Not broken. Probably." He manipulated the foot gently, feeling for the telltale grinding of displaced bone. Nothing. Just significant soft tissue damage. "Severe sprain. You won't be running any marathons, but you'll keep the leg."
"Small victories."
Griswald reached into himself. Found the familiar pathways of his magical circuits. The channels were already strained from sustaining Mash, but healing magic was different. Healing magic was his. The one discipline where his modest abilities actually meant something.
Warmth gathered in his palms.
"What are you—" Ritsuka started.
"Just breathe."
He pressed his hands against her ankle. The magic flowed out of him in a controlled pulse. Not dramatic. Not flashy. Just a steady stream of restorative energy that seeped into damaged tissue and encouraged it to mend. Swelling began to recede. Torn ligaments started knitting back together. The process would take time—true healing always did—but the immediate crisis passed.
Ritsuka let out a shaky breath. "That's... actually really nice."
"Hold that thought." Griswald moved to her head wound. The gash above her eye had clotted, but dried blood caked half her face. He tore a strip from his own sleeve—the cleanest fabric available—and began carefully cleaning the area. "This needs proper treatment. Things I don't have."
"Make do with what you've got." She managed a weak grin. "I trust you."
Strange thing to say. They'd known each other for maybe fifteen minutes total. Half of that time had been spent with her fist connecting to his face.
But he appreciated the sentiment.
Griswald channeled another pulse of his spell into the wound. The cut wasn't deep enough to require stitches, thank god. He sealed the edges as best he could and moved on to cataloging her burns. Second-degree. Painful but not immediately life-threatening. He treated each one in turn, his circuits protesting the continued expenditure.
His wrist communicator chirped.
The sound was so unexpected that Griswald nearly fumbled the healing spell. He stared at the device—standard Chaldea issue, meant for internal facility communications—as though it had grown teeth.
It chirped again. An incoming call. The display showed a familiar ID code.
Dr. Romani Archaman.
Griswald accepted the connection before he could think better of it.
Romani's face materialized in the small holographic display. The doctor looked terrible. Hair even more disheveled than usual. A smear of something that might have been blood across one cheek.
But he was alive.
"Griswald?" Romani's voice cracked with disbelief. "Is that—you're alive? You actually made it through the rayshift?"
"Dr. Roman." The name came out rough. Relieved. "I thought—when the explosion—"
"Luckily my habit of being late might have saved my hide for once." Romani's laugh held an edge of hysteria. "Missed the whole thing by about thirty seconds. Ended up just getting thrown back against the wall."
Behind him, Griswald could see the command center. Or what remained of it. Sparking consoles. Shattered screens. Emergency lights casting long shadows across debris-strewn floors. Roman sat in the central chair—the Director's chair—looking profoundly uncomfortable with its implied authority.
"Wait." Romani leaned closer to the camera. His eyes went wide. "Is that—Mash?"
Griswald angled the communicator. Mash stood near the shattered windows, shield raised, violet eyes scanning the street outside for threats. The emergency lighting caught the curves of her armor. The impossible presence of her Noble Phantasm.
"She manifested." Griswald kept his voice steady. Professional. "During the rayshift. When everything went wrong."
"Manifested." Romani repeated the word like he couldn't quite believe it. "After all this time. She actually—the fusion stabilized?"
"Romani, I don't understand half of what's happening. But yes. She's—"
A hand shoved him aside.
Griswald stumbled, barely catching himself on a toppled shelf. Olga Marie had crossed the room in three quick strides, her silver-white hair streaming behind her, and now she stood directly in front of the communicator. Her golden eyes blazed with something between fury and desperate hope.
"Dr. Archaman."
Romani visibly flinched. Actually flinched, like a child caught stealing sweets.
"D-Director Animusphere?" His voice pitched upward. "You're there too? That's—I mean—how did you—"
"Why are you sitting in that chair?"
The question cut through his stammering like a blade.
The good doctor's mouth opened. Closed. His fingers twisted at a ring he wore on his hand—that nervous tic Griswald had noticed before.
"Director, I can explain—"
"That is the command chair." Olga's voice had gone cold. Brittle. Each word precisely articulated. "That chair is reserved for the most senior operational staff during crisis situations. Why are you sitting in their instead of Professor Lainur?"
The silence that followed lasted three heartbeats.
Romani's face changed. The nervous energy drained away, replaced by something heavier. Older. He suddenly looked every one of his years and then some.
"Director." His voice dropped. Gentle now. Careful. "Lev Lainur was in the command center when the it was destroyed."
Olga went still.
Completely still. Like a statue carved from ice.
"He was running final checks on SHEBA." Romani continued, each word obviously costing him. "The explosion originated from the main console. Ground zero was... he was standing right there. We haven't found..."
He trailed off.
The implication hung in the air. Unspoken. Undeniable.
"No."
The word escaped Olga's lips before she could stop it. Small. Fragile. Nothing like the imperious Director who had been barking orders moments ago.
"Director, I'm so sorry—"
"No." Louder now. Her hands clenched at her sides. "That's impossible. Lev is—he wouldn't—he couldn't—"
Her voice broke.
Griswald watched the transformation happen in real-time. The aristocratic mask crumbled. Shattered. Fell away piece by piece until only the raw grief underneath remained. Olga's shoulders curved inward. Her chin dropped toward her chest. For just a moment—just a single, terrible moment—she looked exactly like what she was.
The face of loss.
The expression lasted perhaps two seconds. Then she straightened. Rebuilt the walls. Forced her features back into something resembling composure.
But her eyes stayed wet.
"Report."
The word came out steady. Controlled. Only the faint tremor in Olga's hands betrayed the grief she'd just buried.
Romani straightened in the command chair. His fingers stopped twisting at his ring. When he spoke, his voice had shifted into something more professional. More clinical. The voice of a doctor delivering bad news.
"The situation is..." He paused. Swallowed. "It's not good, Director."
"I didn't ask for your assessment. I asked for a report."
"Right. Yes." Romani pulled up something on a secondary display. Numbers scrolled across the holographic projection behind him. Red numbers. Far too many red numbers. "The explosion originated in the command center at approximately 11:47 local time. The blast wave propagated through the primary corridor network and triggered secondary detonations in the power distribution nodes."
He tapped another control. A schematic of Chaldea materialized. Most of it glowed angry crimson.
"Current damage assessment puts facility integrity at roughly twenty percent operational capacity. The rayshift chamber is completely destroyed. SHEBA sustained critical damage but remains partially functional. CHALDEAS itself appears stable, though several of its monitoring systems are offline." He drew a breath. "The medical wing is gone. Research labs A through F—gone. Staff quarters in sections two, four, and seven—gone."
Olga's jaw tightened. "Casualties?"
The question hung in the air.
Romani's eyes dropped to his hands. That ring again. Twisting. Twisting.
"We've confirmed twenty-three survivors so far. Mostly technical staff who were in the auxiliary sections during the blast. A few security personnel. One engineer." His voice went quieter. "Out of a total facility complement of three hundred and forty-seven."
Griswald felt his stomach lurch.
Three hundred people. Gone. Just like that.
"And the Master candidates?" Olga pressed. Her voice had gone flat. Emotionless. The kind of deliberate calm that came from refusing to process what you were hearing. "Team A? The backup teams?"
"Director..."
"Answer the question, Dr. Archaman."
Romani closed his eyes. Just for a moment. When he opened them again, something had dimmed behind them.
"All Master candidates are confirmed deceased. The rayshift coffins—they weren't designed to withstand that kind of explosive force. The ones that survived the initial blast were caught in the secondary detonations when the power grid failed." He shook his head slowly. "Wodime. Kadoc. Hinako. Peperoncino. Beryl. Daybit. All of Team A. The forty-eight backup candidates from teams B though D. Everyone."
Olga made a sound.
Small. Strangled. Like something dying in her throat.
"Those candidates..." Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "Do you have any idea what this means?"
Romani said nothing.
"Those weren't just candidates." Olga's pitch rose. Cracking at the edges. "Those were the heirs of some of the most prominent magical bloodlines in existence. Centuries of accumulated knowledge. Generations of carefully cultivated circuits. The Association entrusted them to my facility. To my care. And now you're telling me they're all just—"
She stopped. Pressed a hand to her mouth.
Griswald watched her struggle. Watched her fight to maintain composure while her world collapsed around her. Part of him wanted to say something. Offer some kind of comfort. But what could he possibly say? What words existed for a loss of this magnitude?
"Who's in charge?" Olga's voice had gone hollow. Empty. "With Lev gone, who's running operations?"
"I am." Romani spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "By default, I'm afraid. I'm the most senior surviving staff member. The security chief died in the blast. The department heads—all of them were in the command center for the rayshift initialization." His shoulders sagged. "There's no one else, Director. Just me and twenty-two others trying to keep what's left of this place from falling apart."
A muscle jumped in Olga's cheek. "That's..."
"Inadequate. I know." Romani's laugh held no humor. "Believe me, I know. I'm a medical officer, not an administrator. Half the systems in this facility, I don't even understand how they work if it wasn't for Da Vinci we wouldn't even be talking. She has been running ragged trying to keep everything from just shutting down. So someone had to take charge, and I was the only one left standing."
Silence stretched between them.
Griswald could see the calculation happening behind Olga's eyes. The weighing of options. The assessment of resources. Despite everything—despite the grief and the shock and the impossible situation they found themselves in—the Director's mind was still working. Still planning.
"Very well." She straightened. Drew herself up to her full height. "Until I return, you have operational command of Chaldea, Dr. Archaman. Maintain facility integrity. Preserve CHALDEAS at all costs. And start working on a way to retrieve us from this Singularity."
"Understood, Director." Romani's relief was palpable. "I'll do everything I can. Da Vinci is already working on restoring SHEBA's observation capabilities. If we can—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
His eyes had drifted past Olga. Past Griswald. To the figure lying on the convenience store floor behind them.
All color drained from his face.
"Is that..."
Griswald turned. Ritsuka lay where he'd left her, propped against a toppled shelf, her injured ankle elevated on a pile of crushed packaging. The emergency lighting caught the orange-red of her hair. The Chaldea uniform beneath the blood and burns.
"Fujimaru?" Romani's voice pitched upward. Cracked. "That's—how is she—she was in the rayshift chamber how did she—"
"She survived." Griswald kept his tone level. "Found a working coffin. Barely."
"But that's impossible." Romani leaned closer to the camera, as though proximity might change what he was seeing. "The chamber was ground zero. The blast originated from—" He stopped. His brow furrowed. Romani's fingers found his ring again. Twisting. Twisting faster now.
"That shouldn't..." He trailed off. His green eyes had gone distant. Calculating.
"It doesn't matter how she survived." Olga cut through Romani's spiraling thoughts with the sharp edge of command. Her golden eyes had refocused. Sharpened. The Director was back, grief compartmentalized behind walls of duty. "What matters is that we have a Demi-Servant. Mash has finally manifested her powers, which means we have the capability to address this Singularity."
"Director, I really think we should discuss—"
"There's nothing to discuss." Olga turned away from the communicator, her silver-white hair catching the sickly green emergency light. "Fujimaru is injured but alive. She can serve as Mash's Master while we—"
"Actually."
The word left Griswald's mouth before he could stop it.
Olga froze mid-sentence. Her head turned slowly. Those golden eyes fixed on him with an intensity that made his stomach clench.
"I'm sorry?" The temperature in the convenience store seemed to drop several degrees. "Did you just interrupt me?"
Griswald swallowed. His throat had gone dry. Every instinct screamed at him to back down, to apologize, to remember his place in Chaldea's hierarchy. But the Command Seals on his hand burned with a warmth that wouldn't be ignored.
"I'm Mash's Master." He raised his hand. Palm out. The three crimson marks blazed against his skin like fresh brands. "The contract formed during the emergency rayshift. When everything went wrong."
Silence.
Olga stared at his hand. At the unmistakable pattern of Command Seals etched into his flesh. Her expression cycled through disbelief, confusion, and something that looked almost like offense.
"That's..." She stepped closer. Her eyes narrowed, examining the marks with clinical intensity. "Those are genuine. How is that possible? You failed every Master aptitude assessment we administered. Your circuit capacity is barely above civilian baseline."
"I don't know." Griswald lowered his hand. "It just happened. One moment Mash was dying under the rubble, the next—"
"The contract shouldn't have been able to form." Olga's voice had gone sharp. Analytical. The scientist in her overriding the administrator. "Demi-Servant contracts require a minimum threshold of magical capacity to sustain the fusion. You don't have that threshold. You've never had that threshold."
From the holographic display, Romani made a small sound. "Director, the readings I'm getting from the Singularity show an active Master-Servant bond between Griswald and Mash. Whatever happened, the contract is definitely real."
"I can see that it's real." Olga's jaw tightened. "What I'm questioning is how."
"Guess I'm the lucky one today."
Ritsuka's voice cut through the tension. She'd propped herself up higher against the shelf, a crooked grin on her blood-smeared face. Her amber eyes held that same impossible warmth despite everything.
"On one hand I survived an explosion that killed everyone else. Made it through a rayshift that should have torn me apart." She let out a weak laugh. "On the other hand didn't get a contract and am now as useful as sand in a Sahar with these injuries."
The joke landed awkwardly. No one laughed. But it served its purpose—the suffocating tension in the room eased slightly.
Ritsuka's grin faded as her attention shifted. "Speaking of which, is Mash okay? She was helping me while you were all talking, but she's not looking so great."
Griswald spun around.
Mash had moved to the shattered window while he'd been distracted with Olga and the communicator. Her shield remained raised in a defensive posture, violet eyes scanning the ruined street outside. But something was wrong. Her shoulders had slumped. Her breathing came in short, labored gasps that fogged in the cool air. The shield—that massive cross-shaped barrier that had seemed weightless in her grip—now trembled with visible effort.
"I'm fine." The words came out thin. Strained. "Just need a moment to—"
She swayed.
Griswald crossed the distance in three quick strides. His hands caught her shoulders just as her knees buckled. The contact sent a jolt through their contract—and suddenly he could feel it. The emptiness. The desperate hunger gnawing at her from the inside out.
"You're not fine." He guided her down to the floor, ignoring her weak protests. His fingers found her wrist. Her pulse raced beneath the skin. Too fast. Far too fast. "How long have you been like this?"
"It's nothing, Senpai." Mash tried to smile. Failed. Her face had gone grey beneath the emergency lighting. Sweat beaded along her hairline. "I can still fight. I can still protect—"
"Mana deprivation."
Olga's voice cut through Mash's reassurances like a scalpel. The Director had approached without Griswald noticing, her golden eyes fixed on the Demi-Servant with clinical detachment.
"The symptoms are obvious." She continued, circling them slowly. "Rapid heartbeat. Difficulty breathing. Muscle weakness. Her spiritual core is consuming itself trying to maintain the fusion without adequate magical energy to sustain it." Her gaze shifted to Griswald. Cold. Assessing. "This is exactly why you were never selected as a Master candidate, Von Garmisch."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"Your magical circuits are barely functional." Olga pressed on, her tone matter-of-fact. Almost bored. "You lack the capacity to generate sufficient mana for even the most basic Servant contract. Even a Demi-Servant fusion requires constant energy input to maintain stability. Without it..." She gestured at Mash's trembling form. "This happens."
Griswald's hands clenched at his sides. The Command Seals burned against his palm. "There has to be something I can do. Some way to—"
"There isn't." Olga cut him off. "You simply don't have enough. You never have. You never will." Her lip curled slightly. "This is what happens when unqualified personnel find themselves in positions beyond their capabilities. The system fails. People suffer."
The words settled over Griswald like a burial shroud.
Unqualified. Beyond his capabilities. The system fails.
He stared down at Mash's pale face. At the violet eyes that had started to dim. At the trembling hands that had held a shield larger than she was just minutes ago. His Servant. His responsibility. And he couldn't even keep her alive.
The Command Seals on his hand felt like a cruel joke now. Three crimson marks that meant nothing. A Master without the power to sustain his Servant. What good was a contract when the person holding it couldn't fulfill its most basic requirement?
"I'm sorry." The words scraped out of his throat. Hollow. Inadequate. "Mash, I'm so sorry."
"Senpai." Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "It's fine I am going to be fine. Its going to be ok"
But that didn't change anything. Didn't fix anything. She was still fading. Still dying by inches while he knelt beside her with nothing to offer but apologies.
Olga turned away. Dismissed them both with a flick of silver-white hair. "Dr. Archaman, we need to discuss extraction options. If the rayshift system is truly destroyed, then—"
"Actually."
Ritsuka's voice cut through the Director's commands.
Everyone turned.
The injured girl had pulled herself into a sitting position against the toppled shelf. Her ankle was still elevated, her face still smeared with dried blood.
"There is another way." A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Crooked. Almost mischievous. "To get Mash the mana she needs."
Olga's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
"Mana transfer."