Dbr
# The Bored God Descends: A Punch, a Plate, and a Panic
## Chapter 1: Divine Ennui
The moon was dying.
Not the natural death of celestial bodies—the slow cooling over billions of years, the gradual dimming of reflected light—but an orchestrated execution. Purple-gold energy rippled across its cratered surface, fracturing millennia-old rock formations into elegant geometric patterns before dissolving them into cosmic dust.
Atop the highest remaining peak, Viyrim reclined on a throne of crystallized stardust. His obsidian-black hair, streaked with cosmic silver, danced in the zero-gravity environment as the moon beneath him continued its elegant disintegration. The God of Infinite Destruction watched the process with hooded eyes—golden irises rimmed with black that seemed to contain universes in their depths.
His tan fingers, impossibly elegant yet radiating latent strength, drummed a slow rhythm against the arm of his improvised throne. Each tap sent miniature shockwaves through the remaining lunar structure, creating ripples of destruction that extended outward like poetry written in annihilation.
"Vados," he called, his voice neither raised nor strained, yet carrying perfectly through the vacuum of space. "I'm bored."
The space beside him wavered, reality bending respectfully to accommodate a new presence. Vados, his angelic attendant, materialized in a column of teal light. Her staff hummed with divine energy as she adjusted her elaborate headdress and regarded her charge with a mixture of fond exasperation and infinite patience.
"My lord," she acknowledged with a slight bow. "Your current entertainment lacks challenge?"
Viyrim gestured languidly toward the crumbling celestial body beneath them. "Moons, planets, stars—they all break the same way. There's no... resistance. No creativity in their structure." He sighed, the exhalation causing a nearby asteroid fragment to pulverize itself. "I want something interesting."
Vados studied him carefully. She had discovered Viyrim as a quiet child in Universe 6, recognizing not raw power but something far more precious—absolute potential unfettered by cosmic law. She had raised him, trained him, crafted him into something beyond even her own angelic comprehension. Where other divine beings plateaued, Viyrim simply continued ascending.
And now he was bored, which was troubling. A bored God of Destruction was a dangerous proposition for the multiverse's continued existence.
"Perhaps a different form of entertainment?" she suggested. "You've been focusing on destruction lately. Maybe creation would provide novel stimulation?"
Viyrim's expression soured slightly. "Creation requires patience I don't possess. Besides, why build something destined to be destroyed?" He stretched, his loose black and gold robes rippling with the movement. "No, I want... conflict. Challenge. Something that pushes back."
"A battle, then?" Vados tapped her staff thoughtfully against the disintegrating lunar surface. "We've visited most universes' strongest warriors. The pride-filled Saiyans of Universe 7, the time-bending chronomancers of Aevum, even those self-important cosmic entities who fancy themselves 'universal constants.'"
"All disappointing," Viyrim muttered, flicking a moon fragment into the void with enough force to send it through three distant planets. "Not even enough for a warm-up. I need something fresh."
Vados' eyes sparkled with sudden inspiration. "What about a different reality altogether? Not just another universe within our multiverse, but a separate plane of existence with its own rules and champions?"
Viyrim's attention sharpened, the casual disinterest in his posture evaporating. When he focused, the effect was immediate—the very air around him seemed to still in anticipation.
"Go on," he encouraged, sitting up properly for the first time in days.
"I've been monitoring dimensional rifts as part of my duties," Vados explained, producing a spectral image from her staff. "I've discovered a particularly interesting realm called the Nasuverse—a complex reality with unique metaphysical laws and beings of considerable power."
The image showed flashes of warriors wielding weapons that glowed with conceptual energy, mages channeling ancient mysteries, and entities that straddled the line between divine and mortal.
"They have an organization called Chaldea," she continued. "They summon historical and mythological heroes from across their timeline—legendary figures who have saved worlds or nearly destroyed them."
Viyrim's expression shifted from interested to genuinely intrigued. "Heroes who saved worlds, you say? How... presumptuous."
"Indeed," Vados agreed with a small smile. "But what makes them particularly interesting is that many possess what they call 'conceptual weapons'—tools designed to kill immortals, sever fate, or rewrite reality."
"Weapons that kill immortals?" Viyrim repeated, amusement dancing in his depthless eyes. "I haven't encountered that particular delusion in some time."
He stood fluidly, the moon trembling beneath his bare feet. His movement was casual, almost lazy, yet possessed a grace that suggested absolute control over every molecule in his being. The loose black robes with gold trim settled around his tall, lean frame as if they, too, feared to displease him.
"And they have kitchens," Vados added with a knowing glance.
Viyrim's ears perked up at this additional detail. If anything rivaled his passion for destruction, it was his sophisticated palate.
"Kitchens, you say?" A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face, revealing teeth sharp enough to sever dimensions. "Well, why didn't you lead with that?"
"Would that have been sufficient motivation on its own?" Vados asked, though she already knew the answer.
"Probably not," Viyrim admitted. "But it adds flavor to the proposition." He looked around at the disintegrating moon with renewed disdain. "This was becoming tedious anyway."
With a casual gesture, he accelerated the moon's destruction, compressing its remaining mass into a dense, beautiful sphere of condensed matter the size of a marble. He plucked it from the air and examined it briefly before flicking it into a distant galaxy, where it would eventually collapse into a black hole.
"Let's see if these 'heroes' offer more resistance than their heavenly bodies," he declared, straightening his robes. "Perhaps they'll provide at least an appetizer's worth of entertainment before the main course."
Vados nodded and raised her staff. With precise, elegant movements, she began tearing open the fabric of reality itself. The dimensional rift formed slowly at first—a hairline fracture in existence that gradually widened into a shimmering corridor of light.
"After you, my lord," she said with a formal bow, gesturing toward the portal that would take them to another reality entirely.
Viyrim approached the rift with measured steps, anticipation radiating from him like heat from a star. As he reached the threshold, he paused, glancing back at the void where the moon had been.
"Perhaps I should bring a gift," he mused. "Isn't that customary when visiting new realms?"
"Indeed, though I believe your presence itself will be... gift enough," Vados replied diplomatically.
Viyrim chuckled, the sound causing ripples in the dimensional doorway. "True. Then let us not keep our hosts waiting."
With that, he stepped through the rift, his form dissolving into particles of light before reforming on the other side. Vados followed closely behind, the portal sealing itself in their wake with a sound like shattering glass echoing across the emptiness where a moon had once orbited.
The multiverse held its breath, unaware that its most dangerous resident had just gone on vacation to another reality entirely.
## Chapter 2: A Divine Intrusion
In Chaldea's Command Room, Director Romani Archaman was midway through his morning briefing when the first tremors began. Coffee mugs vibrated across conference tables, and the holographic displays flickered with interference patterns that shouldn't have been possible given the facility's shielding.
"—and surveillance of the seventh singularity continues to show—" Romani paused, frowning at the shaking coffee in his mug. "Is everyone feeling that?"
Da Vinci, the genius who had chosen to manifest as a woman of Renaissance beauty, glanced up from her complex calculations. "Seismic activity? That's impossible. We're anchored to bedrock specifically chosen for its stability."
The tremors intensified. Warning lights began flashing across monitoring stations as Chaldea's sensors detected something they couldn't properly classify.
"Unknown energy signature," called out a technician, fingers flying across her keyboard. "It's... it's not matching any recorded magical circuits or known conceptual frameworks."
"Defensive protocols," Mash Kyrielight suggested, already moving to stand protectively before her Master. The normally reserved demi-Servant's instincts were screaming danger in a way she'd never experienced before. "This feels wrong."
Before Romani could give the order, reality itself seemed to object to whatever was happening. The air in the center of the Command Room began to distort, light bending around a point that shouldn't exist. The space folded inward, then outward, creating a wound in existence that pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Rayshift malfunction?" Romani gasped, dropping his clipboard with a clatter.
Da Vinci's eyes narrowed as she studied the phenomenon. "Negative. This isn't coming from our systems. It's... external. Something is breaking through from outside."
"Outside what?" someone whispered.
"Everything," Da Vinci answered, her genius mind struggling to process what her instruments were telling her.
The rift expanded with a sound like breaking glass, causing coffee mugs to shatter and computer screens to crack in sympathetic resonance. Da Vinci fumbled the coffee pot she was holding, hot liquid splashing across complex machinery that immediately began sparking in protest.
Through the widening tear stepped a figure that seemed to command the attention of the room simply by existing. Tall and elegantly proportioned, dressed in flowing black robes trimmed with gold, he surveyed the room with casual disinterest. His obsidian hair, streaked with silver that caught the light in impossible ways, framed a face of such perfect symmetry it almost hurt to look at directly.
But it was his eyes that caused several people to step back involuntarily—gold-rimmed obsidian pools that seemed to contain entire galaxies in their depths, observing everything with the detached curiosity of a being who had seen the birth and death of universes.
Behind him followed a tall, blue-skinned woman of ethereal beauty, carrying a staff that hummed with energy beyond mortal comprehension. Where the man radiated barely restrained destructive potential, she exuded serene control and ancient wisdom.
For three heartbeats, complete silence reigned in the Command Room as humans and Servants alike tried to process what they were seeing. The air around the newcomers seemed heavier somehow, as if reality itself was bending in deference to their presence.
The man—though that word seemed woefully inadequate—spoke first, his voice carrying tones that shouldn't have been possible for human vocal cords to produce.
"So this is Chaldea," he remarked, his gaze sweeping across the assembled personnel with casual disdain. "Guardians of human history? You look more like bureaucrats with a costume budget."
The tension that had been building snapped. Romani's eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed in a dramatic faint, crumpling to the floor with a thud that echoed in the unnatural silence.
Da Vinci, whose genius apparently extended to crisis management, recovered first. She stepped forward with a smile that betrayed none of the calculations undoubtedly racing through her mind.
"Welcome to Chaldea," she said with remarkable composure. "I am Leonardo da Vinci, though not quite as history remembers me." She performed a small, graceful curtsy. "And you are...?"
The man raised an elegant eyebrow, genuine surprise flickering briefly across his perfect features. "You address a god without prostrating yourself? Interesting."
Da Vinci's smile never wavered, though her eyes registered the word 'god' with appropriate gravity. "We encounter divinity with some regularity here, though I suspect not of your... particular caliber."
The blue woman stepped forward, her movement so graceful she seemed to float rather than walk. "Allow me to introduce Lord Viyrim, God of Infinite Destruction," she said, her voice melodious and refined. "I am Vados, his attendant and guide. We've come to assess your... defensive capabilities."
As if on cue, alarms began blaring throughout the facility. Red emergency lights pulsed in rhythmic warning as Chaldea's threat detection systems finally categorized the intruders—not as invaders, but as existential threats.
Da Vinci's expression remained pleasant, though her eyes flickered briefly toward the emergency protocols being initiated around them. "How fortuitous. We excel at unexpected encounters." She gestured with elegant nonchalance toward the door, where the sound of running footsteps could already be heard. "Would you care for a demonstration?"
Viyrim's lips curved in the ghost of a smile. "By all means."
The Command Room doors burst open, and Servants began pouring in—summoned by Chaldea's automated threat response protocols. The first wave arrived with weapons drawn and powers manifesting, creating a tableau of legendary might that would have intimidated any normal threat.
Artoria Pendragon led the charge, resplendent in her blue and silver armor, Excalibur glowing with divine light in her grip. Her expression was stern, every inch the Once and Future King facing a threat to her realm.
"Unknown entities," she declared, her voice carrying the authority that had once united a kingdom. "State your purpose or face the judgment of the King of Knights."
Behind her strode Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, his golden armor gleaming under the emergency lights. Portals opened around him like blossoming flowers of weaponry, each containing a treasure that could level mountains.
"Trespassers in my garden," he remarked with aristocratic disdain, red eyes narrowing as he assessed the newcomers. "Identify yourselves before I separate your presumption from your flesh."
More Servants materialized in tactical formation—Scathach, the immortal warrior-queen, her crimson spear Gáe Bolg radiating death; Nero Claudius with her flaming crimson sword and imperial confidence; Arjuna Alter glowing with divine energy that crackled around his perfect form; Karna with his golden armor and impassive expression; and Enkidu, the Chain of Heaven, whose green hair flowed like living vines as they assessed the threat with inhuman precision.
The temperature in the room dropped precipitously as shadows deepened in the corners. From them emerged the towering figure of Hassan-i-Sabbah, the First Hassan, Grand Assassin whose skull mask concealed an executioner of the divine. His massive blade hummed with conceptual energy designed to impose death upon immortality itself.
The gathering Servants formed an impressive array of humanity's greatest champions, representing power that had saved reality multiple times from gods and demons alike. Their combined presence would have made even Divine Spirits hesitate.
Viyrim didn't even bother to turn fully, observing the gathering warriors from over his shoulder with profound disinterest.
"Is this the welcoming committee?" he asked, suppressing a yawn. "Or are these your actual champions?"
His casual dismissal sent a ripple of unease through the assembled Servants. They were accustomed to being underestimated—not dismissed entirely.
Vados smiled serenely. "I believe, my lord, they intend to intimidate us."
"How quaint." Viyrim stretched his neck, causing small fractures in reality around him that manifested as tiny shimmers in the air. "Well then, shall we see what they can do? I'd hate to have crossed dimensions for nothing more than posturing."
The tension in the room coiled like a spring. Da Vinci stepped backward, recognizing a catalyst event when she saw one. Mash moved protectively in front of her Master, shield raised, though her hands trembled slightly—not from cowardice, but from the overwhelming pressure Viyrim's mere presence exerted on reality.
The God of Destruction stood relaxed, making no move toward weaponry or battle stance. His posture remained casual, almost bored, as he regarded the legendary heroes surrounding him. The contrast between his apparent indifference and the combat-ready Servants created a dissonance that everyone in the room could feel—like standing before an ocean and threatening it with a bucket.
Karna was the first to break the standoff.
The Hero of Charity had assessed their visitor with his divine insight and reached a conclusion that compelled him to act. He moved with lightning speed, a golden blur across the Command Room, his divine spear aimed directly at Viyrim's heart—a killing blow that had felled gods in his own world.
The attack was perfect—speed, angle, power, and divine conceptual weight all harmonized into a singular strike that represented the peak of heroic combat capability.
Viyrim didn't even look at him. He simply raised two fingers without turning, catching the spear between them midway through its thrust. The impact created a shockwave that shattered every screen in the Command Room and sent lesser objects flying, but the God of Destruction didn't move an inch from where he stood.
Complete silence fell as everyone processed what they had just witnessed.
"Interesting weapon," Viyrim commented, examining the spear with mild curiosity as Karna struggled to either withdraw it or continue his attack—neither of which was possible against Viyrim's casual grip. "Divine craftsmanship, infused with solar essence... but fragile."
He squeezed his fingers slightly, and the legendary spear—which had pierced the seemingly invincible Siegfried and channeled the power of the sun itself—dissolved into mist between his fingers.
Karna's usually impassive face registered genuine shock as he leapt backward, golden flames erupting around him as he prepared his ultimate attack.
"Vasavi Shakti!" he called, summoning the power that could kill even gods—the ultimate weapon granted by the thunder deity Indra himself.
Viyrim tilted his head slightly, showing the first signs of actual interest. "Oh? A god-slaying weapon? Now that's slightly more promising."
The devastating beam of energy—which represented the concentrated essence of lightning itself—shot toward him with blinding intensity. The command room staff dove for cover, and even some Servants shielded their eyes from the divine radiance.
Viyrim simply inhaled deeply, sucking the attack into his mouth like a noodle. The god-killing energy disappeared completely, absorbed without resistance. He patted his stomach contentedly.
"Spicy," he commented, licking his lips thoughtfully. "But lacks depth of flavor. Too much initial heat, not enough complexity in the aftertaste."
Karna stared in disbelief, his ultimate attack—the trump card that had required him to sacrifice his divine armor—consumed as casually as a snack.
Before anyone could process this impossibility, Enkidu launched forward, green chains shooting from their body to entangle the destruction god. The chains—designed specifically to bind divine beings—wrapped around Viyrim, tightening with supernatural force.
"Got you," Enkidu said calmly, though their eyes betrayed uncertainty at how easily their target had allowed the binding.
Viyrim looked down at the chains with detached interest, like a scientist examining an unusual but ultimately trivial specimen. "Hmm. Actually impressive craftsmanship." He ran a finger along one of the links, nodding appreciatively. "Divine conceptual weight, reinforced by belief structures, with adaptive constraint properties. Clever."
Then he flexed casually, and the unbreakable chains—which had once restrained the Bull of Heaven itself—shattered like glass, fragments dissipating into particles of light that slowly faded from existence.
"But not impressive enough," he added, brushing nonexistent dust from his robes.
The systematic dismantling of their strongest attacks sent a wave of unease through the assembled Servants. They were warriors who had faced impossible odds repeatedly, beings who had defied fate and gods alike—yet something in their deepest instincts recognized that this was different. This wasn't merely a stronger opponent. This was something fundamentally beyond their entire conceptual framework.
Artoria and Gilgamesh, two monarchs who rarely agreed on anything, exchanged a brief glance of mutual understanding. Without words, they coordinated a simultaneous attack—Excalibur's golden beam meeting a barrage of Noble Phantasms from the Gates of Babylon. The combined assault would have obliterated continents in their world.
Viyrim flicked his wrist dismissively. Both attacks curved around him as if repelled by an invisible force field, tearing through the far wall of the Command Room and continuing into the distance, where distant explosions could be heard seconds later.
"Enthusiastic, but unrefined," he critiqued, as if providing feedback to students rather than responding to an attempted deicide. "Power without precision is just wasteful."
The God of Destruction glanced at Vados, who had been observing the proceedings with quiet amusement. "Is this really the best this reality has to offer? I've had more resistance from planetary atmospheres."
Vados nodded sympathetically. "Perhaps they're still warming up, my lord."
In desperation, Chaldea's Master activated Solomon's Noble Phantasm through their command seals. Reality shifted as Solomon, the King of Magic, manifested his full power—rings glowing with primordial energy as he began the incantation that had once rewritten the rules of magic itself.
"Ars Nova," Solomon declared, initiating magic that rewrote the laws of reality.
Viyrim yawned. The sound somehow cut through Solomon's incantation, creating a dissonance in the magical formula. Reality fractured behind the Servant, cosmic cracks spreading through the fabric of space-time itself.
"Is that it?" Viyrim muttered, visibly annoyed and disappointed. "You call that Grand?"
The First Hassan, Grand Assassin, materialized directly behind Viyrim, having used the distraction of Solomon's spell to approach. His massive sword descended in a strike meant to impose the concept of death upon immortality itself—the ultimate expression of his title as Old Man of the Mountain.
Without looking, Viyrim caught the sword with one finger, the conceptual edge that could sever immortality stopping dead against his casual defense.
"Death incarnate?" he mused, turning slightly to regard the skull-masked Assassin. "No... you're merely its messenger boy. A shadow that tells stories about the dark, not darkness itself."
With a gentle tap—so light it wouldn't have disturbed a sleeping kitten—he sent the Grand Assassin flying through multiple walls, leaving a Hassan-shaped hole in Chaldea's reinforced structure.
Arjuna Alter and Scathach combined their attacks next—divine lightning and piercing death-spears flying from all directions in a cage of conceptual destruction that would have unmade lesser gods atom by atom.
Viyrim sighed deeply. The sound created a pressure wave that neutralized every attack simultaneously and knocked several Servants off their feet with its backlash.
"I had hoped for more," he complained to Vados, who stood calmly observing the chaos, not a hair out of place despite the destruction surrounding them. "These so-called heroes are barely an aperitif."
Around them, Chaldea's Command Room lay in ruins. Servants who had saved human history multiple times were scattered like toys, dazed and disbelieving. Some were trying to stand again, their pride not allowing surrender, while others reassessed with tactical minds, recognizing power beyond their comprehension.
Viyrim raised a finger, and an orb of destructive energy began to form at its tip. It pulsed with malevolent purpose, growing from marble-sized to basketball-sized in seconds.
"Perhaps I should just erase this entire plane of existence," he mused, the orb continuing to expand. "Clear the canvas, so to speak. Start fresh somewhere more... challenging."
The orb now contained swirling galaxies in miniature, each representing enough destructive potential to unmake stars. Its purple-gold light cast eerie shadows across the faces of Chaldea's personnel, who watched in horror as what appeared to be the end of their reality formed before their eyes.
Da Vinci, disheveled but determined, stepped forward. Her genius mind had been calculating possibilities throughout the one-sided demonstration, and she had arrived at the only conclusion with non-zero survival probability.
"Wait!" she called, holding up a hand. "Perhaps we could interest you in... lunch?"
Viyrim paused, the destructive orb hovering ominously at his fingertip. "Lunch?"
"Yes, lunch," Da Vinci continued quickly, seizing the momentary hesitation. "You mentioned earlier that we looked like bureaucrats with a costume budget, but I assure you, Chaldea is much more than that."
The God of Destruction tilted his head, curiosity momentarily overriding his boredom. "You face oblivion," he said slowly, "and you counter with... catering?"
"Not just any catering," Da Vinci replied, her genius mind working overtime to formulate a survival strategy. "Chaldea houses Heroic Spirits from every era of human history. Including those renowned for their culinary skills."
Vados glided forward, her staff tapping rhythmically against the floor. "My lord, if I may?" She gestured elegantly toward the Servants who were regrouping, many nursing injuries from their brief and one-sided encounter. "Before you erase another tier of existence... might I propose an entertainment detour?"
She turned to the assembled Servants with a pleasant smile that somehow conveyed more threat than Viyrim's casual violence.
"Your combat abilities are..." she paused delicately, "...developing. But perhaps you have other talents worth exploring."
Romani, who had regained consciousness and was hiding behind an overturned console, peeked out cautiously. "We do have an excellent cafeteria," he offered, voice cracking slightly.
Vados nodded approvingly. "They have chefs. Recipes. Spices." She turned back to Viyrim. "Perhaps you let me train them—to be better warriors—while you explore their food. After all... this world's best flavors come with a side of desperation."
Viyrim contemplated the proposition, absently rolling the destruction orb between his fingers like a stress ball. The Servants tensed each time it passed from digit to digit, creating a silent orchestra of collective anxiety.
"I do enjoy novel gastronomy," he admitted after a moment of consideration. "And watching Vados train mortals can be... amusing."
He snapped his fingers, and the destruction orb compressed to nothingness with a small *pop* that nevertheless made everyone flinch.
"Very well," he declared, as if he were granting an immense favor. "I will sample your cuisine while Vados educates your warriors on the true meaning of combat."
The relief in the room was palpable, though short-lived.
"However," Viyrim continued, a dangerous glint in his obsidian-gold eyes, "should your food fail to interest me... well, I can always resume my entertainment elsewhere."
He gestured vaguely at the horizon visible through the gaping hole in Chaldea's wall, where the curvature of Earth could be seen. His meaning was unmistakable—failure would mean planetary annihilation, at minimum.
Da Vinci bowed deeply, buying time with ceremony. "We are honored by your forbearance, Lord Viyrim. Perhaps we could establish a... structure for this arrangement? A framework that would maximize your enjoyment."
Vados smiled approvingly. "How diplomatic. Yes, parameters would be beneficial for all parties."
She tapped her staff, and a glowing magical contract appeared in the air, text scrolling faster than human eyes could follow.
"The terms are simple," she explained to the assembled personnel of Chaldea. "Each day, a different Servant will prepare a meal for Lord Viyrim. Following the meal, the chef will participate in a... demonstration with my lord."
"A demonstration?" Mash asked hesitantly, clutching her shield tighter though it had proven useless just moments before.
"A mock battle," Vados clarified, though her tone suggested 'mock' was a generous description. "It will end in one of two ways: destruction, or..." she glanced at her master, "...continued interest."
"And my role?" asked Gilgamesh, who had recovered enough of his dignity to speak, though golden dust still clung to his armor where Viyrim's casual dismissal had sent his Noble Phantasms scattering.
"I shall establish a training dojo," Vados said, her refined voice carrying an edge of steel beneath its melodious surface. "Where I will retrain top-tier Servants to withstand at least one strike from my master without being erased from existence."
She smiled brilliantly. "Doesn't that sound educational?"
The Servants exchanged glances ranging from defiant to terrified. None had ever faced such a comprehensive defeat, let alone at the hands of a being who hadn't even deemed them worthy of his full attention.
Artoria Pendragon stepped forward, her regal bearing intact despite her earlier humiliation. Blood trickled from a small cut on her cheek—the only mark left by the backwash of her own redirected attack—but her eyes burned with the same determination that had once held together a kingdom.
"For the protection of humanity and all that we have sworn to preserve," she declared, "we accept your challenge."
Several Servants nodded in solemn agreement, though others looked less convinced. Gilgamesh's expression was unreadable, but his typically imperious posture had subtly shifted to something more cautious. Enkidu stood beside their friend, green hair still undulating as they processed this new threat model with inhuman calculation. Karna's eyes never left Viyrim, studying him with the detached analysis of a warrior who had accepted his current limitations but was already planning how to transcend them.
Viyrim yawned again. "Yes, yes, very heroic. Now, about that lunch? I'm partial to exotic meats and anything spicy enough to distress lesser beings."
Da Vinci clapped her hands with forced cheerfulness. "Yes! Lunch! Right away! Mash, please escort our distinguished guests to the dining hall while we... prepare."
As Mash nervously guided the divine visitors from the ruined Command Room, Da Vinci grabbed Romani's sleeve and pulled him close.
"Assemble every Servant with any cooking experience whatsoever," she hissed urgently. "Our survival depends on it. And someone find me the blueprints for the emergency food storage—we're going to need everything we've got."
Romani nodded frantically, already tapping commands into a partially functioning console. "What about the damage reports? The injured Servants? The structural integrity warnings?"
Da Vinci's expression was grimly determined as she watched Viyrim's retreating back. "None of that will matter if we can't keep him entertained. For now, we cook... or we die."
And so began Chaldea's most unusual singularity—one not recorded in any of their official files, but whispered about in the nightmares of Servants for years to come: The Divine Culinary Judgment.
## Chapter 3: The King's Offering
The Chaldea cafeteria had been hastily transformed in the three hours since Viyrim's arrival. Where once stood standard-issue metal tables and practical chairs, now gleamed a single massive dining platform, elevated on an improvised dais and draped with fabrics commandeered from various Noble Phantasms.
Edison's engineering team had worked miracles with limited time and resources, reinforcing the floor to accommodate the weight of divinity and installing emergency supportive columns disguised as decorative pillars. Medea had enchanted the lighting to create an atmosphere of ethereal elegance, while Mozart conducted a small ensemble of musically-inclined Servants who played softly in the corner, their nervousness only occasionally manifesting in missed notes.
Servants not directly involved in the day's "entertainment" lined the walls, a captive audience to what might be their collective salvation or doom. Some maintained stoic expressions, others whispered nervously among themselves, and a few simply looked shell-shocked, still processing the morning's demonstration of power beyond their comprehension.
In the kitchen, barely controlled chaos reigned. Artoria Pendragon, King of Knights, had volunteered to be the first chef—her pride would accept nothing less, despite warnings from those familiar with her notorious relationship with culinary arts.
"Are you absolutely certain this is wise, Your Majesty?" Bedivere asked as they hurried through Chaldea's kitchen, ducking under hanging pots and around frantic staff. "Your skills with a sword are unmatched, but your experience with a spatula is..."
He trailed off diplomatically, unable to directly criticize his king but deeply concerned about the fate of reality resting on her cooking abilities.
"A king must lead by example," Artoria replied firmly, though sweat beaded on her brow as she donned an apron over her royal blue dress. "Besides, I have observed many meals in my time. How difficult can it be?"
The question hung in the air, answered only by Bedivere's concerned expression and the sound of Emiya sighing deeply from across the kitchen, where he was arranging emergency ingredients.
"Allow me to assist, at least," the Archer offered, rolling up his sleeves with the resignation of a man who had seen culinary disasters unfold too many times. "I can guide you through the basic—"
"No," Artoria cut him off, her voice gentle but firm. "I appreciate your concern, Sir Emiya, but I must do this myself. He defeated me in combat without effort—my pride as king demands I face this challenge alone."
Emiya exchanged glances with Bedivere, both recognizing the stubborn determination that had defined the King of Knights in life. There would be no dissuading her.
"As you wish, my king," Bedivere conceded with a bow. "But perhaps some advice would not be amiss?"
Artoria nodded regally, already examining the array of ingredients with the same intensity she once applied to battlefield maps.
"Simplicity is key," Emiya suggested, carefully moving sharp implements ## Chapter 3: The King's Offering (Continued)
"Simplicity is key," Emiya suggested, carefully moving sharp implements out of Artoria's immediate reach. "Focus on quality ingredients prepared well, rather than complex techniques."
Artoria nodded, her expression serious as a coronation. "I shall hunt the finest beast in the simulation chamber and roast it over an open flame. Traditional fare befitting a king."
Emiya winced. "Perhaps something more... controlled? The kitchen is already equipped with—"
"The decision is made," Artoria declared, already striding toward the door. "Bedivere, secure me hunting gear. And find Merlin—I require his advice on which simulated beasts might offer the most impressive flavor profile."
As the King of Knights departed on her culinary quest, Emiya rubbed his temples. "Someone should monitor the fire suppression systems," he murmured to no one in particular.
---
Three hours later, Viyrim reclined on a floating cushion he had conjured from seemingly nowhere, examining the plate before him with obvious skepticism. Artoria stood rigidly at attention beside her creation: a charred lump that vaguely resembled roast boar, surrounded by blackened root vegetables and an unidentified sauce that occasionally bubbled despite having been removed from heat twenty minutes prior.
The God of Destruction prodded the meat with a single elegant claw. "You've presented me with... carbonized protein?"
Artoria's regal posture remained unwavering, though a bead of sweat traced a path down her temple. "This is traditional British cuisine, my lord. Wild boar hunted in the simulated Caledonian forests, seasoned with herbs from my personal garden at Camelot."
Viyrim's expression didn't change, but something like amusement flickered in the depths of his obsidian eyes. "The creature appears to have died twice—once at your sword, and again at your flame."
Nervous laughter rippled through the watching Servants, quickly silenced by Vados's serene yet threatening smile. The angelic attendant stood a respectful distance behind her charge, staff held vertically at her side, her teal skin luminous under the enchanted lighting.
"I believe," she offered diplomatically, "that char is considered a flavor profile in some culinary traditions."
Artoria's face flushed slightly. "I assure you, while the exterior may be well-done, the interior is—"
"Completely raw," Viyrim finished, having sliced into the meat to reveal flesh that practically mooed in protest. "You've created a temperature gradient that defies conventional thermodynamics."
The King of Knights maintained her dignity despite the culinary failure laid bare before her. "In Britain, we appreciate contrasts in our cuisine," she improvised. "The duality represents the balance of power and restraint that a monarch must—"
"Spare me the philosophical garnish," Viyrim interrupted, though without malice. He took a tentative bite and chewed thoughtfully.
The room held its collective breath. Romani, watching from a reinforced observation window, looked as though he might faint again. Da Vinci clutched a tablet that monitored Chaldea's structural integrity, ready for emergency protocols should the meal prove displeasing.
"The char actually provides an interesting smoky counterpoint," Viyrim said finally, tilting his head as he analyzed the flavors. "And there's a mineral quality to the rawness that isn't entirely unpleasant. Like consuming a living creature's fear in solid form."
He paused, taking another contemplative bite. "The sauce, however, is an abomination against culinary arts across all realities I've visited. What is this... viscous aggression?"
Artoria stood straighter. "A traditional recipe involving berries, honey, and... improvisation."
"Improvisation being code for 'whatever fell into the pot while you weren't looking,'" Viyrim surmised. He set down his utensils with careful precision. "Not the worst first attempt I've encountered when visiting new dimensions. I'll give it a C-minus."
Relief washed over Artoria's face—quickly replaced by determination as Viyrim stood, stretching languorously. His robes rippled with the movement, the gold trim catching the light in ways that suggested it wasn't entirely physical material.
"Now then," he said, purple-gold energy beginning to coalesce around him like an aurora. "The second part of our arrangement."
The cafeteria had been cleared of most furniture in anticipation. Staff and observing Servants retreated to the reinforced walls, some activating personal shields while others simply closed their eyes, unwilling to witness what might follow.
Artoria's armor materialized over her apron in a flash of blue light, Excalibur glowing golden in her grip. The transformation from chef to warrior was seamless, a reminder of why she stood among the greatest of heroes.
"I shall fight with honor," she declared, dropping into a perfect combat stance.
Viyrim yawned, covering his mouth politely with one hand. "Yes, I'm sure you will."
What followed could only generously be called a "fight." Artoria charged with all her legendary speed—a blur of blue and silver crossing the cafeteria floor in a heartbeat, Excalibur tracing a perfect arc of golden light toward Viyrim's midsection.
The God of Destruction didn't appear to move. One moment Artoria was mid-strike, the next she was flying backward through the cafeteria wall, her trajectory continuing through three more walls, a training room, and finally ending when she impacted the outer shield of Chaldea with a flash of energy dispersion.
Viyrim stood exactly where he had been, his posture unchanged, not a single hair out of place. He hadn't even uncrossed his arms.
"Enthusiasm," he commented to the stunned audience, "is not a substitute for ability."
Bedivere was already rushing toward the Artoria-shaped hole in the wall, concern etched across his noble features. "Your Majesty!"
By the time a dazed Artoria was retrieved from the impact crater, Viyrim was already back on his cushion, sipping a wine that Vados had somehow procured despite Chaldea having no vineyard.
"Next," he called casually, as if he hadn't just batted away King Arthur like a bothersome insect.
Da Vinci stepped forward, tablet clutched to her chest. "We'll need some time to prepare the next culinary presentation, my lord. Perhaps you would enjoy a tour of our facilities in the meantime?"
Viyrim's expression suggested he would rather watch paint dry. "A tour of ant farms holds limited appeal."
Vados glided forward smoothly. "Perhaps, my lord, you might observe today's training session? I've prepared a special demonstration on 'Energy Suppression for Survival' that the Servants might find... illuminating."
The God of Destruction's ears perked up with mild interest. "Will there be screaming?"
"Almost certainly," Vados assured him with a serene smile.
---
Meanwhile, in a hastily repurposed simulator room, Vados had assembled her first "class" of Servants. Gilgamesh, still nursing both wounds and wounded pride, stood with arms crossed beside Cu Chulainn, Scathach, and Heracles. The diverse group represented some of Chaldea's most physically capable warriors—and all showed signs of trepidation they would normally never display.
"Today's lesson," Vados announced cheerfully, tapping her staff against the floor with a sound like crystalline bells, "will address a fundamental misconception you all seem to share."
She gestured elegantly, and an image of the universe appeared, swirling galaxies and cosmic nebulae rotating gently in the projected space between her and the assembled warriors.
"You believe power exists on a continuum," she continued, her melodious voice carrying perfectly despite her soft tone. "That with enough effort, training, or magical enhancement, you might eventually ascend to challenge beings like Lord Viyrim."
She walked around the projection, the tip of her staff occasionally touching a galaxy, causing it to flare brilliantly before settling. The Servants followed her movement with wary eyes.
"This is adorably incorrect," she said, her smile brightening in a way that somehow made the assembled Servants more nervous. "The gap between you and my lord isn't quantitative. It's qualitative."
To demonstrate, she pointed her staff at Heracles, and the Berserker—who had once held up the sky itself—froze in place, unable to move despite his tremendous strength and multiple lives. The giant's eyes widened in shock, the only part of him still capable of movement.
"Consider the relationship between a drawing of a human and an actual human," Vados explained, her tone that of a patient teacher addressing particularly slow students. "The drawing cannot comprehend what it means to exist in three dimensions, no matter how skillfully it's sketched."
She released Heracles from whatever force had held him, and the Berserker stumbled forward with a growl, muscles tensing as he fought the instinct to attack what his primal brain recognized as an existential threat.
"Peace, great hero," Vados said softly, and somehow the gentleness carried more menace than any shout. "I mean you no harm... unless necessary."
She turned her attention back to the group. "But," she added, tapping her staff thoughtfully against her palm, "we can teach you to survive longer than three seconds in Lord Viyrim's presence, which would be a marked improvement."
Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed, the red irises burning with barely contained indignation. "And why should the King of Heroes submit to such instruction?" he demanded, though his voice lacked its usual imperious volume. "I am no one's student. I am the original king, the rightful owner of all treasures."
Vados moved—or seemed to, though none of them saw her actual movement. One moment she stood before them, the next she was behind Gilgamesh, one delicate finger pressed to a specific point on his neck. The King of Heroes froze, then slowly collapsed to his knees, his nervous system temporarily recalibrated without his consent.
"Because," Vados said pleasantly, leaning down to speak directly into Gilgamesh's ear, "even kings must learn new skills occasionally. And you, I think, will make an excellent appetizer challenge for tomorrow's meal."
She released the pressure point and stepped back, allowing Gilgamesh to regain control of his body. To his credit, he rose with as much dignity as possible, adjusting his golden armor with practiced nonchalance.
"What would you have us learn, then?" Scathach asked, breaking her silence. The immortal warrior-queen's eyes were calculating, already analyzing Vados's movements for patterns or weaknesses—and finding none. "If the gap is truly as you describe, what purpose does training serve?"
Vados smiled approvingly at the question. "Intelligence. I appreciate that." She circled the group slowly. "You cannot defeat Lord Viyrim—let us be clear on that point. However, you can learn to survive him. To entertain him. And entertainment... is currently your only valuable currency."
Cu Chulainn twirled his crimson spear restlessly. "So we're to be court jesters with weapons?"
"Better a living jester than cosmic dust," Vados replied with a light shrug. "Now, let us begin with the basics of divine energy perception. Close your eyes."
The door to the training room slid open, and Viyrim entered, trailed by a nervous-looking Romani and Da Vinci. The God of Destruction surveyed the scene with mild curiosity.
"Already breaking them to the saddle, Vados?" he inquired, floating rather than walking to a comfortable vantage point where he could observe.
"Merely establishing fundamentals, my lord," she replied with a slight bow. "Would you care to demonstrate the concept of divine pressure for our students?"
A slow, predatory smile spread across Viyrim's perfect features. "It would be my pleasure."
He raised a single finger, and the atmosphere in the room suddenly transformed. The air became thick, almost liquid, pressing down on the Servants with the weight of oceans. Gilgamesh dropped to one knee immediately, sweat beading on his forehead as he struggled to remain even partially upright. Cu Chulainn sank to all fours, gasping for breath. Even Heracles, with his godly strength, was forced to brace himself, muscles straining visibly against the invisible force.
Only Scathach remained standing, though her legs trembled with effort and her skin had gone pale. "This... isn't... physical," she managed to gasp out, her analytical mind working even under extreme duress.
"Correct," Vados confirmed, completely unaffected by the pressure that was crushing the legendary heroes. "Divine pressure operates on the conceptual level, affecting your very existence rather than merely your physical form."
Viyrim lowered his finger after ten seconds, though it felt like hours to the Servants. They collapsed, drawing in desperate breaths as the pressure vanished.
"That," Vados explained, "was approximately one percent of Lord Viyrim's casual pressure. Our goal is to have you withstand five percent by the end of the week."
Cu Chulainn laughed breathlessly from his position on the floor. "We'll be dead by Wednesday."
"Only if you're careless," Vados corrected. "Now, stand. We begin with proper breathing techniques."
As the training session continued, Romani whispered urgently to Da Vinci. "This is unsustainable. We need a better plan than having our strongest Servants systematically humiliated while serving bad food."
Da Vinci's eyes never left Viyrim, who was watching the training with the detached interest of someone observing insects in a terrarium. "We need to call in our secret weapon," she murmured back.
"We have a secret weapon?" Romani asked, hope flickering briefly in his eyes.
"We do now," she replied, pulling up a file on her tablet labeled 'TAMAMO-NO-MAE' with several priority indicators. "If anyone can distract a god with both food and... entertainment, it's her."
## Chapter 4: The Fox's Gambit
Tamamo-no-Mae arrived at Chaldea six hours later in a swirl of cherry blossoms and magical energy, nine fluffy tails waving behind her with barely contained excitement. The fox-eared Servant's grand entrance into the briefing room was clearly calculated for maximum impact, complete with a shower of ethereal petals that somehow managed to form a perfect heart pattern before dissolving.
"A real god to entertain? How nostalgic!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together with girlish enthusiasm that belied her ancient power. "It's been too long since I've had a proper divine audience!"
Da Vinci briefed her quickly on the situation while Emiya, sporting several new bandages from his attempt to assist recovering Servants, showed her to the kitchen. The fox spirit listened with uncharacteristic seriousness, nodding occasionally as she absorbed the dire nature of their predicament.
"So our continued existence depends on keeping this Destruction God fed and entertained?" she clarified, examining the ingredients available in Chaldea's pantry with a professional eye that surprised Emiya. "And the King of Knights nearly got herself erased from the Throne of Heroes with both her cooking and her combat?"
"Precisely," Emiya confirmed grimly. "Gilgamesh only survived by appealing to the god's curiosity rather than challenging him directly."
Tamamo tapped a lacquered fingernail against her cheek thoughtfully. "Interesting. And this god—Viyrim—he has a fondness for food?"
"It seems to be one of the few things that genuinely interests him," Da Vinci confirmed. "His attendant mentioned that experiencing new flavors is something he actively enjoys."
A sly smile spread across Tamamo's beautiful face. "Leave it to me, then. I was a court lady before I was a divine spirit, you know. I understand the politics of divine appeasement better than anyone here."
She shooed everyone from the kitchen with imperial authority, tails swishing with determination. "No peeking! A woman's culinary magic requires privacy and concentration!"
"Can she actually cook?" Romani whispered to Emiya as they reluctantly departed.
The Archer shrugged. "She was a devoted wife in one aspect of her legend. That usually comes with some culinary skill."
"Usually isn't reassuring when reality is at stake," Romani muttered, casting one last worried glance at the kitchen doors as they swung shut.
Through the night, tantalizing aromas wafted from the kitchen—sweet, savory, spicy, and some that defied conventional description. Several Servants reported hearing Tamamo chanting ancient Japanese incantations between bursts of cheerful humming and occasional crashes that everyone tactfully chose to ignore.
The next morning, Chaldea's cafeteria had been transformed yet again. Tamamo had somehow procured traditional Japanese sitting cushions, low tables, and decorative screens painted with scenes of celestial foxes cavorting among the stars. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, intimate glow that softened the institutional harshness of Chaldea's architecture.
She greeted Viyrim with a deep, graceful bow, her elaborate kimono rustling softly as she performed the perfect obeisance of an imperial court lady. "Divine one," she said, her voice modulated to a silken purr, "I have prepared a feast celebrating the harmony of earth and heaven, designed to honor your exalted palate."
Viyrim, who had spent the morning floating cross-legged above Chaldea's observatory while casually rearranging several constellations to "improve their aesthetic balance," raised an eyebrow at the transformation. "Atmospheric, at least," he conceded, descending to settle onto the cushion provided.
Vados took her place nearby, observing with careful attention. "The fox spirit has made an effort with presentation," she noted approvingly. "A promising start."
Tamamo served the meal herself, each dish presented with elegant narration and precise movements that were as much dance as service. Her tails occasionally assisted, holding serving utensils or adjusting table elements with practiced grace.
"First, clear soup with three treasures," she announced, unveiling a container that appeared to be carved from a single massive diamond. The clarity of the broth was absolute, with three distinct elements floating in geometric precision. "The broth contains essences of flowers that bloom once per millennium, mushrooms that grow only in the shadow of divine footsteps, and herbs watered with dew collected from moonbeams."
Viyrim examined the soup with newfound interest, actually leaning forward slightly to inhale its aroma. "Intriguing presentation," he admitted, accepting the jewel-like serving bowl.
He sipped, his expression thoughtful. "Subtle. Almost too subtle."
Tamamo smiled mysteriously, one tail curling in pleasure at having elicited even this mild response. "The subtlety prepares the palate for what follows, exalted one. Like a skilled storyteller, a meal must have proper pacing."
The subsequent dishes increased in complexity and intensity—sashimi cut from fish that had been flash-frozen at the precise moment of perfection, rice grown in fields blessed by forgotten harvest deities, grilled meats seasoned with spices that changed flavor with each bite. Each presentation was accompanied by a story, delivered with just enough deference to avoid being presumptuous, yet engaging enough to maintain interest.
Throughout the meal, Tamamo's service was impeccable, her movements graceful, her conversation witty and engaging. As she served the final course—a dessert that appeared to contain miniature galaxies swirling in sweet crystalline spheres—she allowed her kimono to slip slightly from one shoulder, revealing a hint of pale skin.
"I hope the meal has been to your satisfaction, Divine One," she said, her voice dropping to a silken whisper as she knelt closer to Viyrim than protocol would normally allow.
The assembled observers held their breath. Romani clutched Da Vinci's arm so tightly she would later discover bruises. Even Gilgamesh, still sore from both his encounter with Viyrim and Vados's training session, watched with cynical interest from his position against the far wall.
Viyrim dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, regarding the fox spirit with new assessment. "The progression of flavors was well-conceived, and the narrative elements added context. The third course, in particular, showed innovative use of dimensional ingredients."
"You are too kind, Divine One," Tamamo murmured, her tails waving with pleasure at the relatively high praise. Emboldened by his positive response, she slid slightly closer, allowing another calculated inch of kimono to slip. "Perhaps, instead of combat, I might offer a different form of entertainment?"
She looked up through long lashes, golden eyes glinting suggestively. "I was quite renowned for my... hospitality... in the imperial courts."
A ripple of shock ran through the observing Servants. Mash covered her eyes with both hands, while Emiya groaned softly. Even Vados raised an elegant eyebrow, though whether in amusement or disapproval was impossible to discern.
Viyrim's whiskers twitched with apparent amusement. "Ah, seduction. A classic strategy when dealing with beings of power." He leaned forward slightly, and for a moment, Tamamo's expression turned triumphant—until he tapped her nose lightly with one claw.
"Your seasoning was inconsistent in the third dish," he said matter-of-factly. "Too much ginger, not enough of the dimensional salt you so proudly mentioned in your narration."
Before Tamamo could process this culinary critique in the midst of her seduction attempt, Viyrim had already moved. One moment she was kneeling beside him, the next she was sailing upward through the cafeteria ceiling, propelled by an uppercut of such precise force that it sent her exactly high enough to puncture each level of Chaldea without killing her.
The fox spirit's surprised yelp faded as she disappeared through successive floors, leaving nine perfect Tamamo-shaped holes aligned in diminishing perspective toward Chaldea's roof.
"Next time, focus on your knife skills before attempting distraction techniques," Viyrim called after her disappearing form. Then, to the stunned audience: "Who's tomorrow's entertainment? I'm developing an appetite for variety."
Romani gulped audibly. "That was our best shot at non-combat entertainment," he whispered to Da Vinci. "What do we do now?"
Da Vinci's expression was grim but determined as she consulted her tablet. "We have to escalate. It's time for Plan C."
"We have a Plan C?" Romani asked hopefully.
"We do now," she replied, pulling up a file on her tablet labeled 'KOYANSKAYA' with multiple warning symbols surrounding the name. "Sometimes you need a devil to deal with a god."
## Chapter 5: Divine Chemistry
Koyanskaya—also known as Tamamo Vitch in some circles—was not technically a proper Servant of Chaldea. Her relationship with the organization was complicated at best, antagonistic at worst, and perpetually self-serving at all times.
Which made her perfect for the current crisis.
"Let me understand this correctly," she purred, examining her perfectly manicured nails as she reclined in Da Vinci's office chair, having appropriated it immediately upon arrival. "You want me—NFF Services' CEO and your occasional nemesis—to cook for a god who might destroy reality if displeased?"
Da Vinci nodded tersely. "That's the situation, yes."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Koyanskaya's face. "How... deliciously desperate you must be."
Unlike her counterpart Tamamo-no-Mae, Koyanskaya had no pretensions of servitude or devotion. Where the original fox spirit channeled her divine heritage into nurturing energies, Koyanskaya embodied the predatory aspects of the vulpine divine. Her tailored business suit contrasted sharply with the institutional surroundings of Chaldea, as did her calculating demeanor.
"My services don't come cheap," she continued, crossing her legs elegantly. "What compensation are you offering?"
"Continued existence?" Romani suggested weakly from his position by the door. "That includes yours, by the way."
Koyanskaya laughed, the sound like breaking crystal. "Please. I've survived the pruning of entire timelines. I can always find another reality if this one... disappoints."
"Three unmonitored excursions to singularities of your choice," Da Vinci countered, her tone making it clear this was her final offer. "After this crisis is resolved."
The fox-woman's eyes narrowed with interest. "Make it five, and I'll not only cook for your god, I'll ensure he's thoroughly entertained."
"Four," Da Vinci replied firmly. "And no harming Chaldea personnel during or after this arrangement."
"Such tedious restrictions," Koyanskaya sighed, but extended her hand. "Deal. Now, tell me about this god's preferences."
---
The next morning, Chaldea staff arrived at the dining area to find it transformed yet again—but not in ways anyone had anticipated. Gone were both Artoria's medieval banquet aesthetic and Tamamo's traditional Japanese arrangements. In their place stood something resembling a cross between a high-end molecular gastronomy restaurant and a laboratory from a science fiction film.
Gleaming steel surfaces reflected blue-tinted lighting. Vapor from liquid nitrogen periodically clouded the air in aesthetic patterns. Glass containers of various shapes held ingredients in suspended animation, while sophisticated machinery hummed in harmonious counterpoint.
Koyanskaya herself had abandoned her business attire for a form-fitting chef's uniform that managed to look both professional and provocative. Her pink hair was pulled back in a severe bun, emphasizing her sharp features and calculating eyes.
"What exactly is your plan?" Emiya asked as he helped arrange the final settings, suspicion evident in his voice. "If Tamamo-no-Mae couldn't seduce him—"
"Please," Koyanskaya cut him off with a dismissive wave. "My vacuous counterpart thinks batting eyelashes and showing shoulder is seduction. Primitive."
She adjusted a complex apparatus that was slowly distilling an iridescent liquid into a crystal vial. "True seduction happens here," she tapped her temple, "not here," she gestured toward her body. "I'm going to fascinate him, not fawn over him."
Before Emiya could respond, the doors slid open, and Viyrim entered, followed by his ever-present attendant. The God of Destruction paused, genuinely surprised by the unexpected aesthetic—the first time anyone at Chaldea had seen him display such a reaction.
"Interesting," he remarked, surveying the clinical elegance of the space. "A departure from traditional presentations."
Koyanskaya approached with confident strides, performing a bow that was technically perfect yet somehow conveyed respect without subservience. "Lord Viyrim. I am Koyanskaya of NFF Services. A pleasure to make your divine acquaintance."
She straightened, meeting his gaze directly—a boldness that caused several observers to inhale sharply. "I understand you've been subjected to attempts at historical cuisine. I offer something different: the future of food."
Viyrim's eyes narrowed slightly, but with interest rather than displeasure. "Presumptuous. But potentially entertaining."
"Precisely my intention," she replied smoothly, gesturing toward a seat that resembled a throne crafted from polished tungsten and cushioned with materials that seemed to shift colors as they interacted with light. "Shall we begin?"
What followed was less a meal and more a performance. Koyanskaya presented each course with scientific precision, explaining molecular structures and chemical reactions rather than traditional ingredients. Dishes arrived smoking with liquid nitrogen, levitating on magnetic fields, or transforming from one state to another before Viyrim's eyes.
"This," she explained, presenting a sphere that glowed with inner bioluminescence, "is what I call Quantum Probability Custard. Each bite has a different flavor profile determined by subatomic interactions at the moment of consumption. Even I cannot predict what you'll taste—the observer effect made edible."
Viyrim studied the creation with genuine curiosity before taking a bite. His eyebrows rose slightly—the most reaction he'd shown to any food yet presented.
"Fascinating," he admitted after savoring the morsel. "It tastes like... the moment before a star's birth."
"A poetic description for a quantum phenomenon," Koyanskaya remarked, clearly pleased with his response. "The next course explores entropy as a flavor profile."
Vados observed the proceedings with careful attention, occasionally exchanging glances with Viyrim that seemed to contain entire conversations. When Koyanskaya presented a palate cleanser that changed colors with each heartbeat of the consumer, the angelic attendant actually nodded in approval.
"The fox beast has a scientific mind," she noted. "Unexpected in a creature of such chaotic heritage."
"Science is merely chaos with documentation," Koyanskaya replied without missing a beat, earning a surprised chuckle from Vados.
As the meal progressed, a strange chemistry developed between server and served. Unlike Tamamo's transparent seduction or Artoria's stiff formality, Koyanskaya maintained an air of intellectual engagement, challenging Viyrim with concepts and flavors rather than flattery.
For the final course, she presented what appeared to be a perfectly normal apple on a simple white plate.
"How disappointingly conventional," Viyrim remarked, though his tone was more curious than critical.
Koyanskaya smiled enigmatically. "Appearances, like realities, can be deceiving."
When Viyrim bit into the fruit, his eyes widened perceptibly. The "apple" contained what seemed to be the essence of destruction itself—a controlled explosion of flavors that cascaded through every possible taste sensation simultaneously.
"What is this?" he demanded, actually sitting forward with interest.
Koyanskaya's smile widened. "I call it 'Apocalypse in Amber.' I synthesized it using traces of energy I collected from the air around you, then stabilized the pattern in a food matrix. You're essentially tasting an echo of your own destructive capability."
A murmur ran through the observing Servants. What she described should have been impossible—and incredibly dangerous.
Viyrim examined the remaining portion of the apple with newfound respect. "Clever," he acknowledged. "Reckless, but clever. You've captured approximately 0.0001% of my casual output, yet managed to contain it in an edible form."
"The perfect dessert for the God of Destruction," Koyanskaya replied with a modest inclination of her head that didn't match the triumph in her eyes. "A taste of yourself, reflected back through mortal interpretation."
Viyrim finished the apple, then sat back, regarding Koyanskaya with new assessment. "A-minus," he declared. "The most interesting meal yet. The presentation occasionally overshadowed substance, but the conceptual framework was... stimulating."
Relief washed through the room—an A-minus was dramatically higher than previous ratings. Romani actually sagged against the wall, while Da Vinci permitted herself a small, tight smile.
"And now," Viyrim continued, rising from his seat with fluid grace, "the second portion of our arrangement."
Koyanskaya didn't flinch. "Combat, I presume? How... physical." She sighed dramatically, removing her chef's jacket to reveal a combat-ready outfit underneath. "If we must."
"Unless you propose an alternative entertainment?" Viyrim suggested, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
The pink-haired fox smiled, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than they had moments before. "As a matter of fact, I do." She reached into what appeared to be thin air, pulling out a small crystal vial filled with luminescent liquid. "A wager, rather than a beating."
Viyrim's interest visibly piqued. "Explain."
"This," Koyanskaya held up the vial, "contains what you might call a consciousness expansion formula. It temporarily enhances sensory perception a thousandfold." Her smile turned predatory. "I propose we both partake, then engage in a battle of perception rather than physics."
Vados stepped forward, her staff tapping against the floor with clear warning. "My lord, I advise caution. This creature has clear duplicitous intent."
"Obviously," Viyrim agreed, sounding more amused than concerned. "That's what makes it interesting." He extended a hand toward Koyanskaya. "Your formula, fox. Let's see if chemistry can entertain where combat has failed."
Koyanskaya's eyes gleamed with victory as she handed over the vial. "One sip each. Shall I go first to demonstrate my good faith?"
"That won't be necessary," Viyrim replied. Before anyone could react, he had downed the entire contents of the vial in one swallow.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then Viyrim's eyes widened fractionally, the gold-rimmed obsidian irises expanding as his pupils dilated. "Interesting," he murmured. "You've included neurotoxins designed to target divine neural pathways. Approximately seventy-three unique compounds, if I'm not mistaken."
Koyanskaya's triumphant expression faltered. "You... can identify the components?"
"Of course," Viyrim replied, his voice unchanged despite consuming enough poison to kill an entire pantheon. "A creative blend. The quantum-suspended nightshade is particularly innovative."
He rolled his shoulders casually, and the air around him shimmered briefly. "Unfortunately for you, poison requires the concept of mortality to function. I transcended that limitation long ago."
Koyanskaya took one step backward, then another, her confidence evaporating like morning dew. "A simple misunderstanding," she began, her voice losing its silken quality. "A test of your divine immunity, which you've passed magnificently—"
Viyrim raised a single finger, and Koyanskaya froze mid-sentence, her entire body suddenly rigid.
"Attempted deicide through molecular manipulation," he mused, circling her paralyzed form. "More ambitious than brute