Esg2
## Chapter 5: Baptism in Blood (Continued)
Despite their diminished powers, the Servants proved why they were legendary heroes. Artoria's corrupted Excalibur carved through the faithful with ruthless efficiency, each swing leaving a trail of dark energy that seemed to momentarily disrupt the cathedral's pulsing rhythm. Karna fought with elegant precision, his divine spear finding vital points that shattered the crystalline structures within the transformed worshippers.
Scathach moved like a crimson shadow, Gáe Bolg striking with lethal accuracy as she systematically cleared a path forward. Jeanne Alter's flames, while not at full strength, were still more than capable of incinerating the faithful that came too close, her sadistic laughter echoing through the cathedral as she fought.
Void Shiki, typically the most reserved in combat, displayed frightening efficiency with her knife, each cut severing not just physical forms but the conceptual connections that bound the faithful to the parasite's network.
And Quetzalcoatl—the bright sun goddess fought with the joyous ferocity that characterized her divine nature, her physical strength still formidable as she shattered crystalline bodies with powerful blows, occasionally punctuating her attacks with Spanish exclamations.
"¡Olé! That's another one for the sunshine team!" she called out, dropkicking a particularly large faithful into a group of its brethren.
Yet for all their legendary prowess, the Servants found themselves gradually surrounded as more and more faithful detached from the walls and floor. The creatures weren't particularly strong individually, but their numbers seemed endless, and the confined space of the cathedral made maintaining formation difficult.
"There are too many!" Jeanne Alter snarled, her flames noticeably dimming as she continued to expend her limited energy.
It was Caelan who turned the tide. Moving to the center of their embattled formation, he planted his greatsword in the pulsing floor and began another silent casting. Unlike his previous spells, this one caused the air around him to grow noticeably colder, frost forming on his Maliketh armor as power gathered.
"Stay within five paces of me," he commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos of battle.
The Servants instinctively complied, tightening their formation around him as the faithful pressed closer from all sides.
"Black Flame Ritual," Caelan intoned, and the world exploded in darkness.
Black flames with red cores erupted from the floor in a perfect circle around their group, expanding outward in waves that consumed everything they touched. Unlike normal fire, these flames didn't simply burn—they erased, removing the very concept of existence from whatever they encountered.
The faithful caught in the conflagration didn't scream or struggle. They simply ceased to be, their crystalline bodies crumbling into dust that was itself consumed by the implacable flames.
In seconds, a clearing thirty feet in diameter had been created around them, the pulsing floor temporarily stilled as if stunned by the sudden amputation of so many connected parts.
"Move!" Caelan ordered, retrieving his greatsword with a single fluid motion. "The parasite will redirect its resources. We have moments at most."
They ran then, no longer fighting individual faithful but simply rushing toward the heart of the cathedral where the parasite's core awaited. The Black Flame Ritual had bought them precious time, but already they could see new faithful emerging from the walls ahead, their partially formed bodies stretching like taffy as they pulled themselves free.
"Almost there," Caelan assured them as they approached a massive door of crystallized blood that pulsed with inner light. "Beyond this lies the heart chamber."
But as they reached the door, disaster struck. The blood seal protecting Jeanne Alter flickered and faded, the temporary ward dissolving from her chest in flakes of dying light.
"Alter!" Artoria cried in warning, but it was too late.
The cathedral reacted instantly to the unprotected divine essence. The floor beneath Jeanne Alter liquefied, becoming a pool of living blood that surged upward, engulfing her legs before she could leap away. She screamed—not in pain but in rage—as tendrils of blood began to climb her body, seeking entry through her mouth, nose, eyes.
"DELICIOUS," the cathedral's voice crooned. "YOUR HATRED BURNS SO BRIGHT, LITTLE EMBER. JOIN US. BECOME WRATH INCARNATE."
"Get away from her!" Caelan roared, abandoning his usual stoicism in a moment of unexpected passion. He moved with blinding speed, greatsword already wreathed in black flame as he cleaved through the blood tendrils attempting to consume Jeanne Alter.
Where the black flame touched, the blood recoiled, hissing and steaming. Caelan didn't stop there—dropping his sword, he physically lifted Jeanne Alter from the pool that still clutched at her lower body, his enhanced strength allowing him to tear her free with a sound like ripping cloth.
The moment her feet left the liquid blood, he spun and tossed her toward the other Servants with surprising gentleness despite the urgent situation. Karna caught her easily, supporting her as she gasped and coughed, her body trembling with the after-effects of the parasite's attempted possession.
Caelan didn't hesitate to retrieve his weapon and continue his attack. With methodical precision, he traced a complex pattern of runes in the air, each glowing with that distinctive black-red flame.
"Flame of the Fell God," he intoned, and the runes coalesced into a massive, burning skull that hung in the air for a moment before launching itself at the crystallized blood door.
The impact was cataclysmic. The door didn't merely break—it shattered at a fundamental level, fragments turning to ash before they could hit the ground. Beyond lay the heart chamber, finally exposed to their view.
The central chamber defied conventional dimensions, appearing both larger than the cathedral should allow and somehow intimate, as if designed specifically for them. At its center floated what could only be described as a heart—not a human organ but something grander and more alien, a crystalline structure the size of a small house that pulsed with hypnotic rhythm. Rivers of blood flowed in and out of it, circulating throughout the cathedral's entire structure.
But it was what surrounded the heart that gave even Caelan pause. Hundreds of faithful, more fully transformed than any they had encountered before, stood in concentric circles around the pulsing heart. Unlike the others, these weren't attached to the floor or walls—they were complete, mobile, and clearly more intelligent. Their bodies had been reshaped into weapons—arms ending in blade-like growths, torsos opened to reveal reservoirs of weaponized blood, heads crowned with crystalline horns that glowed with inner light.
"The Communion," Caelan identified them, his voice grim. "The parasite's elite guardians. Faithful who willingly surrendered their humanity for transformation."
As one, the Communion turned to face the intruders, their crystalline eyes focusing with predatory intensity.
"WELCOME," they spoke in perfect unison, their voices harmonizing into something both beautiful and horrifying. "THE MOTHER AWAITS NEW CHILDREN. WILL YOU COME WILLINGLY TO HER EMBRACE? OR MUST WE PREPARE YOU FIRST?"
"I've seen enough preparation for one day," Jeanne Alter snarled, having recovered somewhat from her ordeal. Her golden eyes burned with renewed hatred, flames springing back to life around her hands. "Let's burn this oversized circulatory system to ash."
Before anyone could respond, she lunged forward, launching a wave of black fire toward the nearest rank of Communion. But instead of incinerating them as expected, something shocking happened—they welcomed the flames, arms spread wide as Jeanne's fire washed over them.
And then they absorbed it, their crystalline bodies glowing brighter as they consumed her divine fire.
"HATRED IS JUST ANOTHER FORM OF PASSION," the Communion intoned, their voices now carrying echoes of Jeanne's own. "AND PASSION IS THE MOTHER'S DOMAIN."
"Fall back, Alter!" Caelan commanded, but it was too late. The Communion surged forward, moving with frightening coordination as they surrounded Jeanne, cutting her off from the others.
What followed was chaos. The Servants fought desperately to reach their isolated companion, but the Communion proved far more formidable than the lesser faithful. These weren't mindless drones but specialized warriors, each seemingly designed to counter specific threats.
Those who engaged Artoria wielded weapons that negated her corrupted energy. Those facing Karna focused on speed rather than strength, avoiding his powerful but increasingly sluggish attacks as his divine energy continued to wane in this hostile environment. Scathach found her runic magic partially nullified by the crystalline structures of her opponents, while Void Shiki's conceptual cutting met resistance from beings whose very existence had been fundamentally altered.
Only Quetzalcoatl, with her emphasis on physical combat rather than divine abilities, maintained some advantage, her powerful strikes still capable of shattering the Communion's crystalline forms. But even she was gradually overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
At the center of it all, Jeanne Alter fought with desperate fury, her flames increasingly ineffective as the Communion adapted to her power. Blood tendrils rose from the floor, wrapping around her legs, her torso, her throat, gradually immobilizing her despite her struggles.
"SUBMIT," the collective voice urged. "BECOME PERFECTION THROUGH TRANSFORMATION."
"Jeanne!" Artoria cried out, fighting to reach her with increasing desperation.
It was Caelan who finally broke through. His fighting style changed abruptly, becoming something primal and terrible to behold. Gone was the methodical precision, replaced by a berserker's fury that seemed to bend reality around him.
"Bloodflame Talons," he growled, and his free hand transformed, becoming wreathed in flame that was neither the black fire of his usual attacks nor the red lightning of his divine judgments, but something new—blood-red flames that left trails in the air like claws.
He tore through the Communion as if they were paper, each strike severing connections that should have been impossible to cut. The crystalline warriors shattered beneath his assault, their unified voice fragmenting into individual screams as he carved a path straight to Jeanne Alter.
"Hold on," he commanded as he reached her, his taloned hand slashing through the blood tendrils that bound her. With his other hand, he thrust his greatsword into the pulsing floor and began yet another casting—this one causing the air around them to crackle with energy.
"Terra Magica," he intoned, and a circle of arcane power formed beneath their feet, glowing with blue-white light that seemed to repel the blood attempting to rise from the floor.
"What are you doing?" Jeanne Alter gasped, her body still trembling from the parasite's attempted possession.
"Saving you," Caelan replied simply. "And ending this."
He raised his head, and even through his helm, the intensity of his glowing eyes was apparent. "EVERYONE DOWN!" he roared to the other Servants, his voice carrying an authority that brooked no argument.
As the Servants took cover, Caelan positioned himself protectively over Jeanne Alter, his armored body forming a shield above her smaller frame. In that moment of proximity, she noticed details she had overlooked before—the faint scars visible at the edges of his helm, the way his armor seemed to move with him like a second skin rather than an encumbrance, the subtle smell of ash and ozone that surrounded him.
"Why?" she found herself asking despite the chaos around them. "Why risk yourself for me?"
Caelan's glowing eyes met hers for a brief moment. "Because no one should be consumed against their will," he answered, his voice carrying a weight of personal history that raised more questions than it answered. "Not even an Avenger."
Before she could respond, he raised his taloned hand toward the crystalline heart at the chamber's center.
"Comet Azur," he intoned.
The spell that erupted from his hand defied description. It wasn't a projectile or a beam, but rather an entire cosmos concentrated into a stream of pure magic—stars and galaxies and void compressed into a weapon of absolute destruction. Where it touched the Communion, they didn't merely die; they unraveled, their very atoms scattered across dimensions.
The beam struck the crystalline heart directly, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then cracks began to spread across its surface, light spilling from within as the parasite's core destabilized.
"NONONONONO," the fragmented voice of the cathedral wailed. "WE WERE SO CLOSE. THE REFORMATION. THE ASCENSION. YOU DESTROY WHAT YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND, ASHBRAND."
"I understand perfectly," Caelan replied, his voice cold once more. "That's why you burn."
With his final word, the heart shattered completely, releasing a shockwave of power that rippled through the entire cathedral. The walls began to collapse, the ceiling tore open, and the blood that had flowed through every surface suddenly crystallized, freezing in place like a macabre sculpture.
"Time to leave," Caelan announced, helping Jeanne Alter to her feet with surprising gentleness. "The entire structure is collapsing."
Indeed, the cathedral was coming apart around them, reality itself seeming to reject the parasite's alterations now that the controlling intelligence was gone. What had been organic became stone once more, but stone that crumbled without the magic that had sustained it for so long.
"How do we get out?" Quetzalcoatl asked, rejoining them with the others as the Communion forces collapsed into inert crystal.
In answer, Caelan raised his greatsword overhead, channeling power once more. "Ancient Dragon Lightning Strike," he called, and a massive bolt of red-tinged lightning crashed down from above, blasting a hole through the cathedral's collapsing dome.
"Up," he directed, already gathering Jeanne Alter into his arms despite her halfhearted protests. "The lightning will clear a path."
More bolts rained down as the Servants navigated the falling debris, Caelan leading them with unerring precision through the destruction. His lightning didn't simply destroy—it created a stable pathway amid the chaos, temporary platforms of solidified energy that allowed them to ascend through the collapsing structure.
They emerged onto a ridge overlooking the valley just as the Blood Cathedral imploded, collapsing in on itself with a sound like a dying god's final breath. A shockwave of crystallized blood erupted outward, stopped short of reaching them by a barrier Caelan hastily erected—another silent casting that resulted in a shield of translucent energy.
As the dust settled, they stood in stunned silence, watching the destruction of what had once been a temple to a blood god and later the nest of a divine parasite.
"One down," Caelan said finally, breaking the silence. "Eleven more to go."
"You make it sound so simple," Artoria observed, though there was a new respect in her voice.
"Not simple," he corrected. "Necessary."
It was only then that the others noticed he still carried Jeanne Alter in his arms, and she had made no further move to extricate herself from his hold. The Avenger caught their looks and immediately scowled.
"What? I'm conserving energy," she snapped defensively. "That parasite drained more than you know."
"Of course," Karna agreed with perfect seriousness, though there might have been the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes.
Quetzalcoatl was less subtle. "Oh? Is that why you're still clinging to his chest plate like it's the last lifeboat on the Titanic?"
Jeanne Alter's face flushed with a combination of rage and something less easily identified. "Put me down this instant, God-Slayer," she demanded, finally beginning to struggle.
Caelan complied without comment, setting her gently on her feet. If he was aware of the sudden tension in the group, he gave no sign, already turning his attention to their next move.
"The parasite's destruction will alert the others," he explained, all business once more. "We need to return to the cathedral and prepare for the next target."
"Which is?" Scathach inquired, ever focused on the mission.
"The Academy of Raya Lucaria," Caelan replied, pointing toward a distant mountain peak visible through the crimson haze. "Once a center of cosmic learning, now a nest for a parasite that feeds on knowledge and memory."
"Knowledge parasites?" Quetzalcoatl grinned, bouncing on her toes with renewed energy despite the recent battle. "Sounds like we're going back to school! I call dibs on sitting next to the handsome brooding one."
She winked at Caelan, who merely stared back in apparent confusion, seemingly unable to process her flirtation. This only made her grin widen.
"Oh, this is going to be fun," she declared, slinging an arm around his armored shoulders. "Teaching the God-Slayer how to lighten up while we save multiple realities from divine parasites. Just another Tuesday, right?"
"It's not Tuesday," Caelan replied with perfect seriousness. "Time doesn't function that way here."
Quetzalcoatl's laughter echoed across the blighted landscape as they began their journey back to their sanctuary, the first small victory against the parasites secured, but the greater battle only just beginning.
---
## Chapter 6: Sanctuary and Recovery
The return journey to the Cathedral of Manus Celes was mercifully uneventful, though tension remained high as they traversed the blighted landscape. The destruction of the blood parasite had sent ripples through the realm—subtle shifts in the quality of light, momentary distortions in gravity, and most concerning of all, distant howls that seemed to be converging from multiple directions.
"The other parasites are agitated," Caelan explained as they hurried across a field of crystallized ash. "They felt their sibling die. They'll be more cautious now, more defensive."
"Good," Jeanne Alter declared, her usual fire somewhat diminished after her ordeal but her spirit unbroken. "I prefer enemies that know to fear me."
"Fear makes some enemies more dangerous, not less," Artoria observed. The corrupted king had been silently assessing Caelan throughout their return journey, her golden eyes missing nothing about his movements, his decisions, the subtle ways he positioned himself to guard their flanks despite ostensibly leading from the front.
By the time they reached the protective boundary of the cathedral, evening had fallen—or what passed for evening in this twisted realm. The false stars had returned, their configurations even more disturbing than before, as if they too had been affected by the death of the blood parasite.
Inside their sanctuary, the atmosphere shifted from tense vigilance to exhausted relief. The Servants, drained from combat and the continued strain of existing in a reality hostile to their very essence, found places to rest throughout the cathedral's vast interior.
Caelan moved immediately to his workbench, setting about repairing and maintaining his equipment with the same methodical precision they had observed before. The Godslayer's Greatsword was carefully examined, its edge honed with specialized tools, the black flame that seemed to permanently reside within its metal fed with small offerings of what looked like crushed crystal mixed with ash.
"You should rest too," came Void Shiki's serene voice as she approached him silently. Of all the Servants, she alone seemed physically unaffected by their ordeal, though even her usual detachment had given way to a more present awareness.
"I don't require much rest," Caelan replied without looking up from his work.
"Perhaps not physically," she acknowledged. "But even god-slayers have minds that need respite."
This caused him to pause, his hands stilling over the half-disassembled greatsword. "You see too much."
"It's both my blessing and my curse," she agreed, a small smile playing at her lips. "Just as your burden is both your strength and your prison."
Before he could respond, Quetzalcoatl bounded over, her inexhaustible energy apparently refreshed by their return to safety.
"Dinner time!" she announced cheerfully. "I've worked wonders with those strange preserved provisions again. Come eat while it's hot!"
"I don't—" Caelan began.
"—need to eat. Yes, yes, we've heard that before," Quetzalcoatl interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "But you will anyway, because we're a team now, and teams eat together. Right, Void-chan?"
"Indeed," Void Shiki agreed with enigmatic amusement. "The sharing of meals has symbolic significance in unifying disparate elements."
Outmaneuvered, Caelan reluctantly set aside his tools and joined the others at the makeshift dining area. The scene was almost domestic—if one could ignore that they were divine heroic spirits and a god-slayer gathered in the husk of a dead goddess's cathedral in a reality where divinity had been hunted to extinction.
The meal itself was surprisingly appetizing given the limited ingredients available. Quetzalcoatl had discovered additional stores in a previously unexplored side chamber, including preserved meats and roots that, when properly prepared, yielded a hearty stew.
"I must say," Karna commented as he sampled the food, "your culinary skills are impressive, Rider."
"Gracias!" Quetzalcoatl beamed. "A goddess of the sun must know how to nurture as well as burn, yes? Besides, good food makes for good morale, and we could all use some of that right now."
Indeed, the simple act of sharing a meal had lightened the atmosphere considerably. Even Jeanne Alter, still somewhat subdued after her close call with the blood parasite, managed to eat with something approaching appetite.
Caelan ate mechanically, his helm removed to reveal the full impact of his striking features—the sharp jawline, the high cheekbones, the penetrating steel-gray eyes with their unsettling red-orange irises. His raven-black hair, freed from the confines of the helm, fell to his shoulders with those distinctive streaks of ash-silver at the edges.
"So," Artoria began, her royal bearing giving her natural authority as she addressed Caelan, "tell us more about this Academy of Raya Lucaria. What can we expect from a parasite that feeds on knowledge?"
Caelan set down his spoon, his expression returning to its usual serious focus. "The Academy was once the premier center of learning in these lands—a place where scholars studied the cosmos, the fundamental laws of reality, and the nature of magic itself. When the Shattering came, when gods turned on each other, the Academy tried to remain neutral."
"Let me guess," Jeanne Alter interjected. "Neutrality didn't work out for them."
"No," Caelan confirmed. "They were forced to choose sides, and they chose poorly. Their patron deity, a moon god called Rennala, was defeated but not killed. Instead, she was... broken. Her mind shattered, her divinity fragmented. The Academy fell into decline, its scholars turning to increasingly desperate research to restore what was lost."
"And the parasite?" Scathach prompted.
"It formed from the remnants of Rennala's broken mind," Caelan explained. "A thing that remembers being wisdom but now only consumes it. It feeds on knowledge, memories, experiences—incorporating them into its structure but perverting them in the process."
"How do we fight something that attacks the mind?" Karna asked, ever the tactician.
"Very carefully," Caelan replied with grim humor. "The parasite's influence manifests primarily through illusion and memory manipulation. It will try to trap you in false realities crafted from your own memories and knowledge. The deeper you go into the Academy, the more powerful these illusions become."
"Is that why you chose this target next?" Void Shiki inquired. "Because of Alter's experience with the blood parasite?"
Caelan nodded. "The blood parasite was direct—it attempted physical corruption through contact. The knowledge parasite is more subtle, more insidious. It tries to make you surrender willingly by offering what you most desire."
"And what would it offer you, God-Slayer?" Jeanne Alter asked suddenly, her golden eyes fixed on his face with unusual intensity.
The question seemed to catch him off guard. For a moment, something haunted flickered behind his stoic expression—a glimpse of old pain usually kept carefully hidden.
"Restoration," he answered finally, the single word carrying the weight of countless losses. "A world where gods remained true to their original purpose. Where divinity meant protection, not predation."
The admission hung in the air between them, revealing more about Caelan in that single moment than all his previous explanations combined. It wasn't just that he had hunted gods who had become corrupt—he mourned what they should have been, what they had failed to become.
"You're not what I expected," Artoria observed, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "When you first called yourself a god-slayer, I assumed simple hatred drove you. But it's more complex than that, isn't it?"
"Few things worth doing are simple," Caelan replied, recovering his composure. "Least of all ending a divine reign."
"Well, I think it's beautiful," Quetzalcoatl declared, reaching across the table to place her hand over his in a gesture of spontaneous comfort. "To fight so hard for what should be, rather than just against what is."
Caelan looked down at her hand on his with that same confused expression he'd shown earlier when faced with her friendliness—as if positive human contact was a language he had forgotten how to speak.
"Thank you," he said stiffly, clearly uncomfortable but making no move to withdraw his hand.
The moment was interrupted by a tremor that shook the cathedral, causing dust to drift down from the high ceiling. Unlike the violent shaking that had presaged the Hunter's attack, this was a single, subtle shift—like reality itself adjusting to the removal of the blood parasite.
"What was that?" Jeanne Alter demanded, instantly alert.
"Equilibrium seeking new balance," Caelan explained, rising from the table. "When a parasite of significant power is destroyed, it leaves a void in the conceptual fabric of this realm. That void must be filled."
"Filled with what?" Karna asked, his expression concerned.
"Ideally, with nothing," Caelan replied. "A return to natural laws. But sometimes..." He moved to the cathedral's entrance, opening the massive doors to reveal the landscape outside.
The Servants gathered behind him, and together they witnessed a disturbing sight: in the direction where the Blood Cathedral had stood, a pillar of crimson light now rose into the sky, piercing the false stars overhead. As they watched, the light began to take shape, forming what appeared to be a massive tree composed entirely of crystallized blood.
"Sometimes the void is filled with something else," Caelan finished grimly. "A new growth from old corruption."
"Is it another parasite?" Artoria asked, hand instinctively going to Excalibur's hilt.
"No," Caelan assured her. "Just an echo. A memory of what was, attempting to perpetuate itself. It has no intelligence, no hunger. It will fade in time."
"How much time?" Scathach inquired, her tactical mind already calculating potential threats.
"Days. Weeks perhaps." Caelan closed the doors, sealing them once more within the cathedral's protective embrace. "Long enough that we need to accelerate our plans. The parasites will be studying that echo, learning from it, adapting their defenses."
"Then we should strike quickly," Karna suggested. "Before they can prepare."
"No." Caelan's response was immediate and firm. "You need rest. Especially you, Avenger," he added, glancing at Jeanne Alter, who looked ready to protest. "The blood parasite took more from you than you realize. Your connection to your Saint Graph was compromised. It needs time to stabilize."
"I'm fine," she insisted, though the uncharacteristic pallor of her face suggested otherwise.
"You're not," Caelan contradicted her bluntly. "And I won't risk losing any of you to overconfidence."
The possessive phrasing—"losing any of you"—didn't go unnoticed by the Servants. Quetzalcoatl's eyes brightened with interest, while Artoria and Karna exchanged meaningful glances. Even Jeanne Alter seemed momentarily taken aback before recovering her customary scowl.
"Fine," she conceded with ill grace. "But only because fighting at less than full strength would be beneath my dignity."
"Of course," Caelan agreed, the faintest hint of what might have been amusement coloring his tone.
"So what's the plan?" Quetzalcoatl asked, bouncing slightly on her toes despite the serious situation. "Sleepover party in the dead goddess's cathedral while we recover our strength?"
"Essentially, yes," Caelan confirmed, missing or ignoring her playful tone. "I'll maintain watches throughout the night. The rest of you should sleep as much as possible. Tomorrow I'll begin preparing specialized protections for the Academy—mental wards rather than blood seals."
"And I will help," Void Shiki offered. "My connection to the Root provides some resistance to conceptual manipulation."
Caelan nodded in acceptance of her offer. "The rest of you should focus on recovery. Especially—"
"Yes, yes, especially me," Jeanne Alter cut him off irritably. "I heard you the first time, God-Slayer."
As the group dispersed to their respective resting areas within the cathedral, Quetzalcoatl lingered behind, watching Caelan with undisguised curiosity.
"You don't sleep much, do you?" she observed.
"No," he confirmed, already moving back toward his workbench. "Not anymore."
"Is it because you don't need to? Or because you're afraid of what you'll see when you close your eyes?"
The question stopped him mid-stride. He turned to face her, and for a brief moment, genuine surprise showed in his expression—as if she had struck closer to truth than he'd expected.
"Both," he admitted after a pause. "My body requires little rest. And when I do sleep... I remember too much."
Quetzalcoatl's usual exuberance softened into something gentler, more understanding. "You know, in my culture, we believed that dreams were journeys the soul took while the body rested. Sometimes to places of joy, sometimes to places of shadow. But always with purpose."
"What purpose could there be in reliving failure?" Caelan asked, the question seemingly forced from him against his will.
"To remind us why we keep fighting," she answered simply. "To keep the flame of purpose burning even when the path grows dark."
Caelan regarded her with renewed interest, as if seeing beyond the cheerful exterior to the ancient wisdom that lay beneath. "You're older than you appear, Sun Goddess."
"Aren't we all?" she replied with a wink, her smile returning. "Some of us just wear it better than others."
This actually prompted what might have been the ghost of a smile from Caelan—a slight softening of his severe features that transformed him momentarily from intimidating to merely handsome.
"Rest well, Quetzalcoatl," he said, turning once more toward his work.
"You too, Caelan," she replied, using his given name for the first time without any titles or honorifics. "Even flames need to breathe sometimes."
As she walked away, Caelan found himself watching her departure with an unfamiliar sensation in his chest—something that might, in another life, have been recognized as the first stirring of connection after an eternity of isolation.
Shaking off the feeling, he returned to his work, preparations for the coming battle against the knowledge parasite already forming in his mind. Yet something had changed, subtle but undeniable—a crack in the armored solitude he had maintained for so long.
The night deepened around the cathedral, the false stars shifting in their disquieting patterns overhead, while inside, six divine Servants and one god-slayer began to forge bonds that none of them had anticipated when this strange journey began.
---
## Chapter 7: Dreams and Preparations
Night in the cathedral brought an unexpected peace. Outside, the twisted landscape continued its alien existence—false stars pulsing with unknowable rhythms, distant howls echoing across blighted plains, the newly formed blood tree casting its crimson glow over the horizon. But within the protective walls of their sanctuary, exhaustion finally claimed even the most resilient of the Servants.
Caelan maintained his vigil as promised, moving silently through the cathedral's vast interior, checking wards and reinforcing weakened sections of the ancient structure. Occasionally his circuit would take him past the sleeping forms of his temporary allies, and despite himself, he found his pace slowing, his attention caught by these legendary heroes now rendered vulnerable by slumber.
Artoria slept as she did everything—with regal composure, her back straight even in repose, one hand never far from Excalibur's hilt. Karna rested in a meditative posture, barely seeming to breathe, his divine essence glimmering faintly beneath his skin like banked coals. Scathach had positioned herself strategically near an entrance, ready to awaken at the slightest disturbance, her crimson spear within easy reach.
Quetzalcoatl, in characteristic contrast to the others, slept with abandoned comfort, her limbs splayed in a position that should have been uncomfortable but somehow suited her boundless nature. Occasionally she would murmur in her sleep, fragments of ancient Nahuatl that spoke of sun and sacrifice and joyous battle.
Void Shiki had chosen a secluded alcove near the altar, her serene repose making it difficult to tell if she was truly sleeping or simply communing with the Root in stillness. The boundary between her consciousness and unconsciousness seemed as permeable as the boundary between her existence and non-existence
## Chapter 7: Dreams and Preparations (Continued)
Void Shiki had chosen a secluded alcove near the altar, her serene repose making it difficult to tell if she was truly sleeping or simply communing with the Root in stillness. The boundary between her consciousness and unconsciousness seemed as permeable as the boundary between her existence and non-existence.
It was Jeanne Alter who drew Caelan's attention longest. The Avenger slept fitfully, her brow furrowed even in slumber, occasional tremors running through her body as if fighting battles even in her dreams. Her encounter with the blood parasite had clearly affected her more deeply than she would admit.
As Caelan watched, her trembling intensified, soft sounds of distress escaping her lips. Without conscious decision, he found himself kneeling beside her, one gauntleted hand hovering uncertainly over her shoulder.
"No... get out..." she muttered, her body tensing as if preparing to fight. "Not yours... never yours..."
Making his decision, Caelan gently placed his hand on her shoulder. "Jeanne," he said quietly, using her given name for the first time. "You're safe. The parasite is gone."
Her eyes flew open, golden irises blazing with instinctive flame as she lashed out, a dagger materializing in her hand from pure reflex. Caelan caught her wrist easily, his enhanced strength allowing him to arrest the blade mere inches from his throat.
For a moment, confusion clouded her features before recognition dawned. "Ashbrand," she acknowledged, her voice rough with sleep and lingering fear. "I was..."
"Dreaming," he supplied when she faltered. "The parasite left echoes in your mind. They'll fade with time."
She withdrew her dagger, which dissolved into motes of dark light. "I don't need your comfort," she said, but the usual bite was missing from her tone.
"I know," Caelan replied simply, releasing her wrist and starting to rise.
To his surprise, her hand shot out, catching his arm. "Wait," she said, then seemed immediately uncomfortable with her own request. "I mean... tell me about the blood parasite. What it was before. I want to know what tried to take me."
Caelan settled back beside her, recognizing the request for what it was—not comfort, but knowledge as armor against fear.
"The Formless Mother was once a deity of blood and accouchement," he explained, his voice low to avoid disturbing the others. "She governed birth, particularly difficult births where blood was shed to bring new life. In the beginning, she was... not kind, exactly, but purposeful. Her faithful would offer blood willingly, and she would grant blessings in return—strength, vitality, insight."
"What changed her?" Jeanne asked, her eyes fixed on his face with unusual intensity.
"The same thing that corrupted all the gods here—ambition." Caelan's expression darkened. "When the Erdtree appeared, when the Greater Will established dominance, the lesser gods were forced to choose: submit or fight. The Formless Mother chose a third path—evolution through consumption. She began to devour her own faithful, incorporating their essence into hers. Birth became rebirth became... transformation."
"And you killed her," Jeanne stated rather than asked.
"Yes." The simple word carried weight, memory. "It was... difficult. Gods of concept are harder to extinguish than gods of form. They exist as much in idea as in flesh."
"Is that why the parasite formed? Because you couldn't completely destroy the idea of her?"
Caelan nodded, impressed by her perception. "Precisely. The concept survived, found new vessels, rebuilt itself in twisted imitation of what it once was."
Jeanne was silent for a moment, processing this information. "So what I felt trying to consume me..."
"Was the memory of divinity, seeking to become whole again through you," Caelan confirmed. "Your nature as an Avenger, powered by hatred and vengeance, made you particularly compatible with what the Formless Mother had become."
"Great," she muttered sarcastically. "I'm parasite bait."
"You're powerful," Caelan corrected her. "Power always attracts those who would consume it."
Something in his tone made her look at him more carefully. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."
For a moment, it seemed he wouldn't answer. Then, "Yes. Before I became what I am now, I was... sought after. For what I could offer. What I could become."
The admission surprised her—this was the most personal information he had volunteered since their arrival. "And what was that?" she pressed, curiosity overriding her usual defensive sarcasm.
"A vessel," he replied, the word carrying echoes of old pain. "A container for power greater than myself. A path to someone else's ascension."
Before she could question him further, he rose smoothly to his feet. "You should rest more. Tomorrow will test different strengths."
As he turned to leave, Jeanne found herself calling after him: "Ashbrand." When he paused, looking back, she struggled to find words that weren't tainted with her usual hostility. Finally, she simply said, "Thanks. For earlier. With the parasite."
He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "We all deserve the right to choose our own fate, Avenger. Even those born of hatred."
As he continued his rounds, Jeanne watched him go, a confused mix of emotions churning beneath her usual anger—curiosity, reluctant respect, and something less easily identified that she wasn't ready to examine too closely.
---
Dawn arrived with the same abrupt transition that characterized all changes in this broken realm. One moment the false stars gleamed in their disquieting patterns; the next, they were gone, replaced by the crimson sun that bathed everything in its bloodred light.
The Servants awakened to find Caelan and Void Shiki already deep in preparation for their expedition to the Academy. At the central table, they had created an array of what appeared to be circlets made from twisted silver wire inlaid with small, glowing crystals.
"Mental wards," Caelan explained as the others gathered around, curiosity evident on their faces. "Protection against the knowledge parasite's primary method of attack. Void Shiki's connection to the Root proved invaluable in their creation."
The serene Servant offered a small, enigmatic smile. "The boundary between mind and reality is more permeable than most realize. These will help maintain the distinction when the parasite attempts to blur it."
"They look like fancy headbands," Quetzalcoatl observed, picking one up to examine it more closely. "Quite stylish, actually!"
"Function over form," Caelan replied, though there might have been the faintest hint of amusement in his tone. "But yes, they must be worn on the head, specifically across the temples where the barrier between thought and perception is thinnest."
Jeanne Alter eyed the circlets suspiciously. "And we're just supposed to trust that these won't fry our brains or something equally pleasant?"
"I wore mine all night during their creation," Void Shiki assured her. "They're quite safe."
"More importantly, they're necessary," Caelan added. "The Academy parasite doesn't attack the body first—it attacks the mind. It creates illusions so perfect you won't know they're false until it's too late."
"What kind of illusions?" Karna inquired, ever the tactician seeking to understand potential threats.
"Personal ones," Caelan replied grimly. "Drawn from your own memories, desires, fears. The parasite reads your mind and reshapes reality around you into whatever will make you most vulnerable—a moment of past glory, a longed-for future, a haunting regret."
"And these will prevent that?" Artoria asked, examining one of the circlets with regal scrutiny.
"Not entirely," Caelan admitted. "The parasite is too powerful for complete immunity. But they will create... a discordance. A sense that something is wrong with the illusion. Enough to maintain awareness of your true purpose."
"Then we should depart as soon as possible," Scathach suggested, practical as always. "Before the parasites can further adapt their defenses after yesterday's battle."
Caelan nodded in agreement. "The Academy is farther than the Blood Cathedral was—nearly a full day's journey across territories more actively hostile than those we've traversed so far."
"What's the route?" Artoria asked, moving to the map table which Caelan activated with a gesture.
The three-dimensional projection flickered to life, revealing a path that wound through several distinct regions—each more unsettling than the last. First came what appeared to be a forest of crystallized hands reaching from the ground, followed by a lake of liquid that moved against gravity, culminating in a sheer mountain face topped by a massive structure that seemed to float partially disconnected from the peak itself.
"We'll pass through the Consecrated Snowfields again, but by a different path to avoid the risen faithful," Caelan explained, tracing the route with his finger. "Then through Caria Manor—a place once home to a family of scholars who became something... less than human in their pursuit of knowledge. After that, across the Liurnia lakebed, which has become unstable since the Moon presence was shattered. Finally, up the academy plateau itself."
"Sounds like a lovely stroll," Jeanne Alter commented sarcastically. "Any other pleasant surprises we should know about?"
"The hands in Caria Manor are alive and extremely fast," Caelan replied, taking her question at face value. "They attempt to grab and immobilize prey for the manor's true inhabitants. The lake contains parasitic organisms that can enter through any orifice if you're submerged. And the academy itself is defended by scholars who sacrificed their humanity for perfect preservation of their knowledge."
"He really doesn't understand rhetorical questions, does he?" Jeanne muttered to Quetzalcoatl, who giggled in response.
"I understand them," Caelan corrected, his enhanced hearing catching her words easily. "I simply find precise information more useful than sarcasm in survival situations."
Quetzalcoatl's giggle turned into full laughter. "Oh, I like him more by the minute," she declared, slinging an arm around Caelan's armored shoulders. "So literal! So serious! It's adorable!"
"I'm not—" Caelan began, then stopped, clearly at a loss for how to respond to being called 'adorable' by an ancient goddess of war and sunshine.
"Let's focus," Artoria interjected, though a hint of amusement played at the corners of her usually stern mouth. "What specific threats can we expect from the knowledge parasite itself?"
Grateful for the return to tactical matters, Caelan indicated the academy's central structure on the projection. "The parasite has built itself around the shattered mind of Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon. It manifests primarily through her memories and knowledge, creating elaborate illusions drawn from the collective wisdom it has consumed from countless scholars."
"So we'll be fighting illusions?" Karna asked.
"Some illusions, yes," Caelan confirmed. "But the parasite can also give temporary physical form to concepts, especially those with strong emotional resonance. Memories become flesh, ideas become weapons."
"Conceptual manifestation," Void Shiki observed. "Dangerous, but inherently unstable without sufficient belief to sustain it."
"Precisely," Caelan agreed. "The manifestations are powerful but temporary. The real danger is becoming trapped in an illusion so perfect you lose the will to escape it."
"Which is where these come in," Quetzalcoatl added, tapping the circlet she had already placed on her head, the silver contrasting beautifully with her bright hair. "Mental anchors to reality!"
"Yes," Caelan confirmed, beginning to distribute the circlets to the others. "Wear them now and keep them on until we return. They need time to attune to your specific mental patterns."
One by one, the Servants donned the protective devices. Each experienced a momentary disorientation as the circlet activated—a brief sensation of doubled vision, as if seeing both the physical world and some deeper layer of reality simultaneously, before their perception stabilized.
"That was... interesting," Karna commented, adjusting to the subtle change in his awareness.
"You'll grow accustomed to it," Void Shiki assured him. "The sensation fades to background awareness rather quickly."
Indeed, within minutes, the initial discomfort had subsided for most of them, though Jeanne Alter continued to adjust hers with irritable frequency, muttering about "mystical headbands" and "overengineered tiaras."
"If everyone is ready," Caelan said, moving toward his weapon rack to retrieve the Godslayer's Greatsword, "we should depart immediately. The journey will take most of the day, and I'd prefer to reach the Academy before nightfall."
As the Servants gathered their own weapons and made final preparations, Quetzalcoatl approached Caelan with uncharacteristic seriousness.
"I had a dream last night," she said quietly, her usual exuberance tempered. "About the Academy. About what waits for us there."
Caelan turned to her, giving her his full attention. "Dreams have weight in this realm," he replied. "Especially for beings of divine essence. What did you see?"
"A woman surrounded by children who weren't children," she described, her brow furrowed in concentration. "She was singing to them, but the song... it rewrote things. Changed them. And behind her was something else—something watching through her eyes, using her voice."
"Rennala and her sweetings," Caelan confirmed grimly. "The parasite has preserved her delusion that she can rebirth her children, give them new life through her magic. In reality, she creates only hollow shells, puppets animated by fragments of the parasite itself."
"There's more," Quetzalcoatl continued. "In the dream, when she saw us, she... recognized something. Not me specifically, but what I am. What we all are. And she was so hungry, Caelan. So empty and so hungry."
The use of his given name without titles or honorifics didn't escape his notice, nor did the genuine concern in her usually cheerful eyes.
"The parasite recognizes divine essence," he explained. "It's starved for what you represent—conceptual weight, mythic significance. Things this world lost when the gods fell."
"Will the circlets be enough?" she asked, unconsciously touching the silver band across her temples.
"They'll help," Caelan assured her. "But stay close to me regardless. I've faced this parasite before. I know its methods, its weaknesses."
"Planning to protect us all, God-Slayer?" she teased, her smile returning though not quite reaching her eyes. "Even us dangerous divine beings?"
"Yes," he answered simply, the straightforward response catching her off guard. "Whatever you are, whatever power you carry... you didn't choose to come here. You don't deserve to be consumed by the remnants of my world's broken gods."
Quetzalcoatl stared at him for a moment, genuine emotion replacing her usual performative cheer. "You know," she said finally, "for someone who spent lifetimes hunting divinity, you have a surprisingly divine sense of justice."
"Justice has nothing to do with it," Caelan replied, though without heat. "This is about choice. Free will. The right to determine your own fate." He paused, something almost vulnerable flickering behind his usually guarded expression. "No one should be a vessel against their will."
Before Quetzalcoatl could respond to this revealing statement, Artoria called them to attention, the group now fully prepared for departure. The moment of connection broken, Caelan resumed his role as their guide and protector, leading them out into the crimson daylight toward their next target in this strange campaign against divine parasites.
Yet something had shifted, subtle but significant. The barriers Caelan maintained between himself and the Servants had begun to show cracks—small glimpses of the man behind the God-Slayer's mantle, hints of a past and purpose more complex than simple divine execution.
As they set out across the blighted landscape, these cracks would only widen, revealing more of the flame that had outlasted gods themselves.
---
## Chapter 8: Hands and Memories
The journey to the Academy proved every bit as treacherous as Caelan had warned. Their return path through the Consecrated Snowfields was mercifully quicker than before, his intimate knowledge of the territory allowing them to avoid the worst concentrations of risen faithful. Even so, they encountered smaller groups of the skeletal entities, forcing brief but intense skirmishes that left the snow stained with crystalline residue.
"They're more aggressive than yesterday," Scathach observed after they dispatched a particularly determined band of the undead. "More coordinated."
"They're learning," Caelan confirmed, cleaning his greatsword's edge with methodical precision. "Adapting to our presence, our methods. The parasites share information through channels we can't perceive."
"Wonderful," Jeanne Alter muttered, shaking crystalline dust from her banner. "Our enemies get smarter while we're stuck with the same diminished powers."
"Not entirely," Artoria countered thoughtfully. "Have you noticed? Our connection to our Saint Graphs seems marginally stronger today. As if our very presence is causing this reality to... accommodate us, somehow."
The others paused, each taking a moment to assess their divine connections. Indeed, there was a subtle but noticeable improvement—Karna's divine flame burned a fraction brighter, Scathach's runic magic flowed with slightly greater ease, Jeanne's flames showed more of their original intensity, and even Quetzalcoatl's divine strength had increased perceptibly.
"Fascinating," Void Shiki commented, her crimson eyes thoughtful. "This world is adapting to us just as we adapt to it. A mutual transformation."
"Is that good or bad?" Quetzalcoatl asked, directing the question to Caelan.
His expression darkened behind his helm. "Both. Your increasing power makes you more effective against the parasites, but also more tempting as potential hosts. They'll sense the change, focus their efforts more intently on capturing rather than simply killing you."
"Let them try," Jeanne Alter declared with a predatory smile. "After what the blood parasite attempted, I'm more than ready to return the favor."
"Confidence is good," Caelan acknowledged. "Overconfidence is fatal. Remember that the Academy parasite attacks the mind first, not the body. Stay vigilant, especially for things that seem too perfect, too aligned with your desires."
With that sobering reminder, they continued their journey, leaving the snowfields behind and entering the outskirts of Caria Manor. The transition was jarring—from pristine white expanses to a grotesque forest of crystallized hands reaching upward from the ground like macabre flowers seeking toxic light.
"Well, that's disturbing," Quetzalcoatl commented, eyeing the hand-forest with uncharacteristic wariness. "They're not really going to start grabbing at us, are they?"
"They will if we get too close," Caelan confirmed. "Stay on the path. Move quickly but carefully. And if one manages to grab you, don't struggle—that only tightens their grip. Use fire or bladed weapons to sever the fingers."
The path through the hand-forest was unnervingly narrow, forcing them to proceed in single file. Caelan led the way, his greatsword at the ready, while Artoria took the rear guard position, her corrupted Excalibur glowing with restrained power.
For several tense minutes, they navigated the grotesque gauntlet without incident, the hands remaining unnaturally still despite their proximity. Then, without warning, one of the crystalline appendages twitched, fingers flexing experimentally before suddenly lunging toward Quetzalcoatl with shocking speed.
"Watch out!" Karna called in warning, but the goddess was already moving, her divine reflexes allowing her to leap clear of the grasping fingers.
That first movement triggered a cascade effect—like a wave passing through the forest, hands began to animate all around them, reaching, grabbing, fingers clattering against crystal with sounds like breaking glass.
"Run!" Caelan commanded, abandoning stealth for speed. "Stay on the path! Don't stop for anything!"
What followed was a harrowing sprint through an increasingly active nightmare. The hands rose higher from the ground as they ran, some growing to massive proportions, others multiplying into clusters of smaller appendages that scrabbled across the path like pale spiders.
Caelan led them with unerring precision, his greatsword cleaving through any hands that blocked their way, black flame trailing from the blade and preventing the severed appendages from regenerating. The Servants followed closely, each dealing with threats in their own style—Artoria's sword cut with dark precision, Karna's spear pierced with divine fire, Scathach's runes paralyzed and shattered, Jeanne's flames consumed, Quetzalcoatl's physical might crushed, and Void Shiki's knife severed conceptual connections with elegant economy.
Despite their coordinated defense, the sheer number of animated hands eventually overwhelmed their formation. A particularly massive appendage erupted from the ground directly in their path, fingers splayed like the bars of a cage as it sought to trap them.
Caelan reacted instantly, dropping to one knee as he thrust his greatsword into the ground. "Flame of the Fell God!" he invoked, and reality seemed to warp around them as a massive, burning skull materialized above the giant hand, jaws opened wide in a silent roar.
The flaming skull descended, engulfing the obstacle in black-red flame that consumed not just physical form but concept itself. The hand didn't burn so much as unravel, its very idea of existence denied by the fell flame's hunger.
"Keep moving!" Caelan ordered, already back on his feet and pressing forward through the gap he'd created.
They were nearing the edge of the hand-forest when disaster struck. A cluster of hands erupted simultaneously around Jeanne Alter, who had fallen slightly behind due to her still-recovering strength. Before she could react, crystalline fingers wrapped around her legs, torso, and arms, immobilizing her in a grotesque embrace.
"Damn it!" she snarled, flames erupting around her body in instinctive defense. But these hands had adapted since their entry into the forest—the crystal now dampened flame rather than being consumed by it.
Artoria turned back immediately, Excalibur raised to sever the grasping appendages, but more hands erupted between her and Jeanne, cutting off her approach.
"Ashbrand!" she called, but Caelan was already moving.
With a display of raw speed that belied his armored bulk, he charged back through the gauntlet of grasping hands, his greatsword left embedded in the ground as both his hands became wreathed in different energies—his right in the now-familiar black flame, his left in crackling red lightning.
"Cover your eyes!" he commanded as he reached Jeanne, his voice carrying a harmonics that seemed to vibrate the very air.
The Servants obeyed just as Caelan brought his empowered hands together in a thunderous clap directly above Jeanne's head. The resulting explosion of combined energies was both precise and devastating—a perfect sphere of destruction that vaporized the hands holding Jeanne while leaving her completely untouched at its center.
When the light faded, Caelan stood amid a circle of scorched earth, Jeanne Alter held securely in his arms, her expression a complex mix of relief, embarrassment, and lingering fear.
"Put me down," she demanded, though without her usual venom. "I can walk."
"No, you can't," Caelan replied matter-of-factly. "The hands injected crystallizing agents into your legs. You'll need time for your Saint Graph to purge the contamination."
Indeed, looking down, Jeanne could see faint traces of crystal forming across her thighs and calves, the corruption spreading slowly but steadily from where the hands had gripped her.
"Fine," she conceded with poor grace. "But this doesn't mean I owe you again."
"Consider us even for the information about the Formless Mother," Caelan replied as he rejoined the others, still carrying Jeanne with apparent ease despite her not inconsiderable weight in full battle attire.
They retrieved his greatsword, which returned to his back as if summoned despite his occupied arms, and continued their journey with renewed urgency. The edge of the hand-forest came into view minutes later, revealing the next stage of their journey—the dried lakebed of Liurnia, its surface glittering with an unnatural sheen under the crimson sun.
"We'll rest briefly before crossing," Caelan decided, carefully setting Jeanne down on a relatively flat rock formation just beyond the last of the crystal hands. "The lake crossing will require full alertness and energy."
As the others took the opportunity to recover, Caelan knelt beside Jeanne to examine the crystallization spreading across her legs. Without asking permission, he removed one gauntlet, revealing a hand that bore numerous scars—evidence of countless battles etched into his very skin.
"This will hurt," he warned as he placed his bare palm against the advancing crystal edge on her thigh. "But it will slow the spread until your Saint Graph can eliminate it entirely."
Before she could protest, black flame danced across his fingertips—not the consuming inferno he wielded in battle, but a carefully controlled heat that sank into the crystal without burning her skin. Jeanne hissed in pain but remained still, watching with grudging fascination as the crystal receded slightly under his touch.
"You've done this before," she observed, studying his face as he worked.
"Many times," he confirmed, his concentration unwavering. "Before I learned to kill gods, I learned to undo their work. Their blessings often manifested as crystallization—the physical embodiment of concept imposing itself on flesh."
"And you just... what? Went around de-crystallizing people as a hobby?"
The question actually prompted what might have been the ghost of a smile beneath his helm. "Something like that. Before I was Ashbrand, I was known as a Tarnished—one who had lost the grace of the gods. We were outcasts, but that gave us perspective the faithful lacked. We could see the corruption for what it was."
This was more personal history than he had shared before, and Jeanne wasn't the only one listening with interest. The other Servants, while pretending to rest or prepare, were clearly attentive to this rare glimpse into their guide's past.
"There," Caelan said after several minutes of careful work. "That should hold until we reach the Academy. Once inside, I can do a more thorough treatment."
He began to withdraw his hand, but to everyone's surprise—including perhaps her own—Jeanne caught his wrist, holding him in place a moment longer.
"Why do you keep doing this?" she asked, her golden eyes searching his with uncharacteristic intensity. "Saving me. Helping me. I'm literally the incarnation of vengeful hatred. Not exactly in line with your noble crusade against corrupt divinity."
Caelan met her gaze directly, neither pulling away nor showing discomfort at the continued contact. "Vengeance isn't corruption," he replied simply. "It's justice without the restraint of mercy. Sometimes necessary. Sometimes even right."
The statement hung in the air between them, revealing yet another complexity to the man they had initially assumed was a straightforward divine executioner. Before Jeanne could formulate a response, Quetzalcoatl bounced over, her curiosity evidently overcoming her attempt to give them privacy.
"Are you two having a moment?" she asked cheerfully. "Because it definitely looks like you're having a moment, and while it's very sweet, we should probably get moving before more crystal hands decide to join the party!"
Jeanne released Caelan's wrist as if burned, her usual scowl returning. "We were not having a 'moment,'" she insisted. "The God-Slayer was just fixing his mess. If he'd warned us properly about those hands, I wouldn't have needed saving in the first place."
"Of course," Quetzalcoatl agreed with a knowing grin that suggested she didn't believe a word of it. "My mistake entirely!"
Caelan, either missing or ignoring the subtext, simply replaced his gauntlet and rose to his feet. "Quetzalcoatl is right about one thing—we should continue. The lakebed is most stable during peak daylight. After that, parts of it begin to flow upward, making crossing treacherous."
With that practical observation, he helped Jeanne to her feet, supporting her weight as they prepared to cross the dried expanse of what had once been a massive lake. Yet the brief connection had revealed something important—beneath the God-Slayer's impassive exterior beat a heart that understood nuance, that saw beyond simplistic divisions of good and evil, divine and mortal.
It was a revelation that would prove increasingly significant as they delved deeper into the mysteries of the Academy and the knowledge parasite waiting at its heart.
---
## Chapter 9: The Academy of Shattered Minds
The crossing of Liurnia's dried lakebed was an exercise in controlled terror. What had once been water had transformed into something between liquid and solid—a viscous, silvery substance that retained memory of its fluid nature. In some places it appeared completely solid, forming paths of hardened silver that stretched across the expanse. In others, it rippled and flowed despite its seemingly solid state, occasionally shooting upward in defiance of gravity to form arches and spirals that hung impossibly in the crimson sky.
"The lake remembers being influenced by the moon," Caelan explained as he guided them along the most stable paths, still supporting Jeanne Alter whose legs continued to fight off the crystallization. "When Rennala's mind shattered, her connection to lunar gravity shattered with it. Now the lake follows rules that change moment by moment."
"Fascinating from a theoretical perspective," Karna observed, watching a tendril of silvery liquid rise beside their path, twisting into complex patterns before freezing in place. "Less so when one is trying to cross it."
"Just keep moving," Caelan advised. "Don't stop to observe anything for too long. The lake is semi-sentient—it remembers being observed by scholars and tries to produce interesting phenomena to capture attention."
"Great," Jeanne muttered. "Even the geography here is attention-seeking."
Despite the danger, they made steady progress across the lakebed, following Caelan's unerring guidance along paths that weren't always visible until they stepped upon them. Occasionally, the silvery substance would reach toward them with pseudopod-like extensions, only to retreat when Caelan swung his greatsword through the air in warning, black flame trailing from its edge.
"It fears your flame," Void Shiki noted. "Interesting. What is the relationship between your black fire and the moon presence that once ruled here?"
"Opposites," Caelan replied without elaboration. Then, perhaps sensing the insufficiency of his answer: "The black flame burns concepts. The moon's power creates and preserves them. Natural enemies."
They were nearing the far side of the lakebed, the Academy's plateau now visible as a looming presence ahead, when the silvery substance beneath their feet suddenly liquefied without warning. Before anyone could react, they were plunging downward into what felt like metallic quicksand.
Caelan reacted with characteristic speed, releasing Jeanne to grab Quetzalcoatl and Void Shiki, who were closest to him, while shouting to the others: "Don't struggle! It pulls harder if you fight it!"
The silvery liquid rose rapidly around them, enveloping their bodies up to their chests before abruptly solidifying again, trapping them in place as effectively as any cement.
"What now, God-Slayer?" Artoria demanded, her regal composure strained as she tested the substance's hold on her body. "This trap seems deliberately set."
"It was," Caelan confirmed grimly. "We've entered the Academy's defensive perimeter. The lake responds to Rennala's will—or what remains of it."
As if summoned by his words, the surface of the lake began to ripple outward from their position, forming concentric circles that glowed with a pale, bluish light. From the center of these circles rose a figure—humanoid but clearly not human, its body composed of the same silvery substance as the lake itself, but shaped into the form of a woman wearing scholarly robes and a distinctive crown-like headdress.
"SEEKERS," the figure spoke, its voice carrying the same liquid quality as the blood parasite's had, though higher in pitch and somehow more coherent. "STUDENTS? NO. TOO BRIGHT. TOO SOLID. DIVINITIES WALKING. HOW CURIOUS."
The figure drifted closer, its featureless face tilting as if examining them. "AND ASHBRAND. ALWAYS ASHBRAND. STILL BURNING WHAT YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND."
"I understand perfectly what you've become," Caelan replied, his voice hard. "A parasite feeding on knowledge you cannot truly comprehend. Release us, or I'll burn you as I did your blood sibling."
The figure made a sound like water laughing. "SUCH CONFIDENCE. SUCH CERTAINTY. BUT HERE, IN MY DOMAIN, KNOWLEDGE IS POWER. AND I KNOW YOU, ASHBRAND. I KNOW WHAT YOU FEAR."
Without warning, the silvery liquid around Caelan began to churn and rise, enveloping him completely despite his struggles. Within seconds, he had vanished from view, encased in a cocoon of the metallic substance.
"Caelan!" Quetzalcoatl cried out in alarm, struggling against her own restraints with renewed vigor.
The figure turned its blank face toward her. "CONCERN? FOR THE GOD-SLAYER? HOW...