The drone hovered lower, rotors humming softly. Its camera adjusted, scanning the shelter with cool precision. "This is Dragon, remote-access drone unit five. Situation report requested."
EMIYA instinctively stepped in front of Isshiki, just slightly. Habit. Ralts stirred on Isshiki's lap, her horn twitching faintly as the drone's presence registered.
He didn't trust it. The clean design, synthetic voice and the well-hidden weapons tucked into the frame was too dangerous to ignore.
But before he could speak, Isshiki gently touched his arm.
"She's on our side," he said quietly. "Dragon's a Tinker. Hero-aligned. Works with the PRT, but she's one of the good ones."
EMIYA glanced at him. Cautious. Irritated. But he nodded once and stepped aside.
Isshiki approached the drone, stopping a respectful distance away to be heard without the injured hearing. "We live nearby," he said, gesturing to EMIYA and Ralts. "Saw the alert on PHO and… couldn't ignore it. We decided to help."
He looked back at EMIYA, who crossed his arms and sighed.
"I scouted the town first," EMIYA said. "Found survivors scattered. I moved the ones with a chance to live to this location. The others…" He didn't finish the sentence.
The drone's camera flicked to the unconscious girl laid gently against a broken crate and EMIYA followed its gaze.
"When I engaged one of the Nine—striped creature, fast, invulnerable—I was mid-fight when I heard a screech from the shelter. Returned immediately. Found her," he said coldly, signaling to Bonesaw. "Approaching and knocked her out before she noticed me."
There was a pause. The drone didn't move.
"Yes, the subject matches the appearance of a new Nine member: Bonesaw."
Then its lens swiveled slightly, back toward Isshiki and Ralts. "How did you stabilize the wounded?"
Isshiki smiled gently, tiredly. "Ralts can heal," he said, running a hand over her head. "And I know first aid. That's all."
There was a long silence from Dragon. "Help is en route. ETA: eighteen minutes. But we must assume Jack Slash will notice Bonesaw's absence. He may already be moving."
EMIYA tensed.
Of course. They weren't done yet.
Isshiki's jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch.
"I won't give her up," he said quietly. "She's just a child."
The drone's voice lowered slightly. "She's also a killer."
Isshiki didn't look away. "She doesn't even look ten. Who knows what Jack Slash has done to her?" His voice shook. "She didn't choose this. She was made into it, I'm sure."
Ralts leaned her head against his arm, eyes sad and shimmering. EMIYA closed his eyes for a brief second.
Isshiki didn't have to say it out loud, but the meaning was clear.
"So I'll save her. Even if no one else will."
The drone's lens flicked from Isshiki to EMIYA, then to Bonesaw again—still unconscious, still dangerous. "What are your long-term intentions regarding the captive?"
Before either could answer, a voice rang out from the ruined streets beyond the trench. Loud and mocking.
"Booonesaaaw! C'mon, brat! I know you like to hide but you better not be chewing up any meat without me!"
A pause.
Then a laugh. Sharp. Clipped. Drunk on the hunt. "You got dibs on the lungs last time. Let me have the next toy, yeah?!"
The survivors froze. Ralts immediately climbed into Isshiki's lap, clutching his shirt tight while the man himself sat straighter, reaching toward Bonesaw, worry flashing across his face. But EMIYA extended a hand—firm, stopping him.
"No," he said lowly. "We don't know her powers. Waking her now could make this worse."
Isshiki hesitated. His hand trembled slightly… but he nodded. "Okay."
EMIYA turned to the drone, eyes flat. "I'll engage whoever it is. Hold the line until backup arrives."
Dragon didn't interrupt. Her lens whirred softly as EMIYA turned to Isshiki, leaned in—low, close, as he gave his back to the drone deliberately. He moved his lips near Isshiki's ear, voice a breath. "Check the tablet. See if we've been given legal identities. If we haven't… we need a story."
Isshiki blinked, startled. He flushed slightly at the closeness but nodded, eyes serious.
"…Be safe," he whispered.
EMIYA stepped back, his face unreadable. But the faintest ghost of a nod passed between them.
He turned to Dragon again. "Authorization to kill the intruder?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Calculating. "The Slaughterhouse Nine are considered Class-S threats. All official members are under kill orders."
A quiet breath left him. "Good."
Then he turned and climbed out of the trench, blades forming in both hands as he rose to meet the next monster. The snow crunched beneath his boots. The clouds above had shifted again, letting slivers of moonlight through—just enough.
The one waiting for him stood near a mangled light post. He was taller than EMIYA and only wearing pants as he let his hulking red muscles visible for everyone to see. He grinned wide, teeth sharpened into points, eyes gleaming with a haze of narcotic pleasure.
The moment their eyes met, EMIYA knew that he was not someone to play with.
The hulking man moved first—fast, like a missile. His blade met his fist—once, twice. On the third clash, EMIYA's arms shuddered from the force. He barely sidestepped the fourth blow, which carved a groove into a parked car behind him.
Too strong. Too close.
But the monster kept coming. No flair, no showmanship—just raw, brutal aggression. EMIYA ducked another strike, rolled, and retreated ten paces in a blink. "Trace—on."
The blade vanished and a longbow shimmered into his hand instead—deep red wood, taut with energy.
A trio of glowing arrows appeared between his fingers as the other charged again.
EMIYA fired.
The arrow hit its mark and the man staggered, but he didn't fall. He straightened—body trembling, one leg dragging—and grinned. "That all you got, pretty boy?"
Then he sprinted. His speed was worse now—faster. More fluid. More feral. Like blood had oiled his joints and set fire to his nerves.
EMIYA narrowed his eyes, stepped back, fired two more arrows—Crimson dodged one and let the other skim his ribs without pause, but his intention was not to hit him, but his shadow.
He shot it low, precise, and pinned Crimson's form with an echoing chime of steel into frost-bitten asphalt. The man staggered, then gasped—the tether catching something vital beneath the skin. Their body jerked, unable to move forward.
"Wha—what the hell is—"
A second blade followed, not a Key this time, but a longsword of EMIYA's own make—pure killing intent shaped into steel.
The blade swung and in one clean stroke, Crimson's head hit the ground before he could finish his sentence.
However, before he could relax, EMIYA felt it—a ripple in the air like taut string plucked by unseen hands. Too quiet. Too still.
Then the snow stopped falling and the world turned gray. No sound. No movement. Just a muted stillness so absolute it turned breath to ice in his lungs. He felt it at once. The power was subtle but precise. Targeted. Not brute force—but control. Spatial. Temporal.
A loop.
His fists clenched as realization bloomed, cold and sharp.
"EMIYA!" Isshiki's voice rang from behind—muffled and distorted, like yelling through glass—but it was too late. Everything was already repeating. The wind re-caught in his hair, the blood on his gloves evaporated, only to reappear. Ralts twitched faintly, her form slightly off, like a puppet tugged by delay.
He turned—and there he was. Gray Boy wearing the same winter coat. Same blank stare as he stood just outside the trench now, pale face angled toward EMIYA in open, cold curiosity.
"Is that all you can do?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "Slice. Pierce. Kill." He blinked. "It's not very creative, is it?"
EMIYA didn't respond. He already knew what came next.
Another loop. The world snapped—light distorting, sound crackling like broken vinyl. Then silence again.
"Over and over, you'll move, and I'll rewind. I want to see what you do when you're stuck." His tone was mild, almost thoughtful. "What happens if I cut that blonde's arm off? Or just the small-creature's voicebox?"
Another flicker and EMIYA didn't speak. He didn't shout or ask. He just reached for his bow, the air cracking with purpose. His hand moved in practiced calm as mana shaped itself into a spiral of cursed crimson and divine fate. Gáe Bolg. It shimmered with lethal certainty, humming softly in the colorless air—an impossible lance destined to pierce the heart before the weapon even moved.
He aimed. Drew. Gray Boy blinked. "Oh, you're—"
He fired and the loop broke.
Reality shattered like glass under the weight of certainty. The lance hit center mass before Gray Boy could even move, skewering his chest in an explosion of red and golden light. For one agonizing second, the boy's expression flickered—not pain. Not fear. Just confusion.
Then it was over. The color snapped back into the world like breath into lungs. Snow fell again. The blood on EMIYA's gloves reappeared and stayed. Ralts gasped awake in Isshiki's arms. The wounded groaned, stirred, blinked in confusion.
The drone spun violently in place as its systems caught up with the time skip, sensors flashing red.
EMIYA didn't move.
He stood in the snow, eyes locked on the boy's falling body, now impaled to the ground by fate and divinity and resolve shaped through killing.
EMIYA didn't regret it.
Because this time, the child hadn't screamed. He hadn't even begged. He had just asked a question.
And EMIYA had answered the only way monsters understand.
The wind picked up again, swirling the snow in lazy spirals around the trench and Gray Boy's body lay still. Pierced. Silent. No final breath. No theatrics. Just absence. EMIYA stared at the boy's corpse, his stance still tight, bow still in hand. Gáe Bolg had vanished in the aftermath, scattered back into conceptual dust, but the weight of it still pressed against his spine. Heavy. Familiar.
Behind him, there was motion. Footsteps.
Isshiki approached quickly at first, boots crunching sharp and fast through the snow, posture tense. Angry, surely. EMIYA didn't turn. He didn't need to. He could feel the heat rolling off him.
"You didn't even try to talk to him," Isshiki said. Not shouting. But there was strain in his voice. Strain and disbelief as he walked until he could see him. "He looked like a kid, EMIYA—"
He stopped and EMIYA finally looked at him and away from the corpse. Isshiki's expression shifted. The anger… fell away. Slowly. Not all at once. But something in EMIYA's face—he didn't know what—had broken whatever fury Isshiki had started to build. Then he took another step forward. Then another. His hand reached out gently, fingers wrapping around EMIYA's wrist—not to pull or restrain. Just… to anchor.
His grip was warm. Unshaking. There was no judgment in his eyes now. Just something softer. Something worse.
Pity?
No. Not pity.
Sympathy .
And EMIYA didn't deserve that, not after what he'd just done. Not when his hands were still metaphorically bloody, not when he hadn't even hesitated. Not when he'd killed a child without flinching. Again.
"I—" Isshiki started, but stopped. His throat worked as if he couldn't decide what he wanted to say. Then, quietly: "It's going to be okay."
EMIYA said nothing. His jaw locked. His shoulders stiffened. He didn't pull away, but he didn't lean in either as Isshiki stepped closer, arms rising gently until they rested around EMIYA's back in a loose hug—not tight, not insistent. Just present. Soft. Grounding.
"I'm sorry you had to do it," he said, so quiet it barely registered.
EMIYA didn't answer. He couldn't. He just stood still, unmoving, his arms at his sides like carved stone. The wind brushed through his coat. The world went on.
But inside, something whispered: Me too.
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Also, if you want to support me and read chapters ahead, go to my p@treon: JorieDS