The days had become a blur of smoke, blood, and exhaustion.
Four days. It had been four days since Tiamat first sang, and in that time, Uruk had gone from a besieged city to a slaughterhouse. The walls that once stood proud were now cracked, blackened, covered in scars of magic and Lahmu blood. The streets that once vibrated with the activity of refugees were now silent, save for the groans of the wounded and the orders of soldiers. And the sky... the sky was no longer blue. It was a sickly gray, stained by the corruption emanating from Tiamat.
The Beast was so close I could feel her breath. It wasn't a metaphor. Her presence was a constant pressure in the air, a weight on my chest, a hum in my ears that didn't disappear even when I covered my head with a pillow. Her song resounded day and night, an endless "AAAAAAH" that no longer chilled my blood because I had grown used to it. And that was the worst part. Getting used to the horror.
In those four days, I had summoned countless Servants. I had lost count of how many. Dozens. Perhaps more than a hundred. Mash's shield had shone so many times that its light had become as familiar as the sun. Heroes from all eras had come: warriors, mages, assassins, poets. Some had stayed. Others... others had fallen. The Lahmu gave no respite, and although every Servant I summoned was one more soldier on the walls, they were also one more burden on my Magic Circuits. And that burden was killing me.
I looked at my reflection in an abandoned shield. The face that stared back at me was that of a ghost. My skin, normally tanned by the sun of the Singularities, was pale as wax. My eyes, surrounded by dark circles so deep they looked like bruises, had lost their sparkle. My lips were chapped. My cheeks, sunken. I looked like a walking corpse. And I felt like one.
"You're at sixty percent of your vital capacity," Tezcatlipoca informed me. His voice, normally firm and resonant, was now a weak whisper in my mind. "Your Magic Circuits are overloaded. Maintaining more than thirty Servants simultaneously, even with temporary contracts, is draining your life force. If you continue like this..."
"Will I fall into a magical coma?"
"Yes. And once in a coma, the contracts will break. All the Servants who depend on you will disappear. Uruk will fall. Tiamat will win."
"Then I can't stop."
"You can't stop, but you need to find a solution soon. You cannot maintain this pace indefinitely. Your body won't withstand it."
I knew it. I had known it for days. Each summoning was a hammer blow to my skull. Each Noble Phantasm my Servants used was a stab in my gut. The food they gave me—thanks to Siduri, who had become my personal guardian—kept me on my feet, but it wasn't enough. The rest they forced me to take—thanks to Gilgamesh and Merlin, who treated me like a valuable resource—allowed me to recover a bit of energy, but it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.
And now, Tiamat was at the gates.
I walked out into the courtyard. The air was thick with ash and residual magic. In the distance, atop the walls, I could see the flashes of Noble Phantasms exploding against the mass of Lahmus crowding the defenses. Jeanne Alter's fire. Kintoki's lightning. Arjuna's arrows. Raikou's katana. The Artorias' swords. Scáthach's spear. They were all fighting. They were all giving their best. And yet, the Lahmu kept coming.
And behind them, eclipsing the horizon, Tiamat.
Her size was now overwhelming. She occupied half the visible sky, a mountain of black, gleaming flesh that moved with the slowness of a glacier but with the inevitability of a death sentence. Her horns rose toward the clouds. Her multiple eyes, scattered across her entire body, glowed with a red, sickly light. Her mouth, a vertical slit that opened from what seemed to be her head to what might be her abdomen, emitted that constant song that pierced my eardrums.
And from her body, more Lahmu sprouted. Constantly. Like drops of sweat from a sick god.
"How many Servants have fallen today?" I asked Tezcatlipoca.
"Seven. Three of them temporary, four permanent low-rank. They have returned to the Throne of Heroes."
"Their names."
"It's not necessary to..."
"Their names, Tezcatlipoca."
"Spartacus. Boudica. Shakespeare. Andersen. Cursed Arm. Hundred Faces. And... Serenity."
I closed my eyes. Serenity. The sweet and lethal Serenity. The one who sneaked into my bed at night. The one who kissed me on the cheek before the battle of Camelot. The one who could only touch without killing. She was gone. Like so many others.
"She returned to the Throne of Heroes fighting. She eliminated fifteen Lahmus with her poison before falling. It was a worthy death."
"There are no worthy deaths. Only deaths."
"That's false, and you know it. But I'm not going to argue with you now. You have to keep summoning. Gilgamesh is waiting for you."
I opened my eyes. He was right. I couldn't stop to mourn. Not now. Not when Uruk was still standing. Not when humanity still breathed.
I walked toward the ziggurat. Each step was an effort. My legs felt like they were made of lead. My head was spinning. But I kept walking. Because I couldn't do anything else.
In the throne room, Gilgamesh was waiting for me. His appearance was as haggard as mine. His red eyes, once bright and full of pride, were now dull. His skin was pale. Even his posture, normally as straight as a god's, had stooped slightly. But when he saw me enter, a spark of recognition shone in his gaze.
"Master of Chaldea. You're still standing."
"Barely."
"Barely is enough." He pointed to the summoning circle. "Today is the day. I know it. My visions have shown me."
"What have they shown you?"
"Death. And hope. Both at once." He paused. "Tiamat is too close. If we don't stop her today, tomorrow her Lahmu will have overrun the walls. And the day after, Uruk will be a memory."
"What do you need me to do?"
"Summon. One more time. But this time... don't summon the weak. Don't summon the poets, or the writers, or the rank-and-file soldiers. We no longer have time for them. We need the strongest. Those who can make a difference. Those who can face a Beast and survive."
"That's asking a lot."
"I know. But I trust you. My visions show me that today, those who can turn the tide of this war will answer." His eyes locked onto mine. "I just need you to summon them."
I extended my hand. The circle glowed. And I began.
The first to respond was not just any Servant. He was a legend among legends. A myth among myths. Death itself.
The summoning circle turned black. It wasn't the blackness of shadow, nor the blackness of night. It was the blackness of the void. The absolute absence of light. A sepulchral cold invaded the throne room, and the torches on the walls flickered as if about to go out. Mash, at my side, shuddered. Gilgamesh stepped back, his expression for the first time showing surprise. Even Merlin, who always smiled, stopped doing so.
And then, from the circle, a figure emerged.
He was tall. Enormous. His body was clad in black armor that seemed to absorb the light around him. His cloak, tattered, fluttered in a wind that did not exist. In his hands, he held a sword as large as a man, a jagged blade that shone with a dim blue gleam. And his face... his face was a skull. A mask of white bone that stared at me with empty eyes, dark sockets where pupils should have been but where only an infinite abyss lay.
The First Hassan. The Old Man of the Mountain. The founder of the order of the Hassan-i-Sabbah. He who commanded death in its entirety.
His presence was overwhelming. Not because of his power, though his power was immense. But because of what he represented. He was not an assassin. He was death. The very concept of the end. The scythe that reaps all lives equally. Standing before him was like standing before a cliff and looking into the void. My heart raced. My hands trembled. But I stood firm.
"You called," he said, his voice a deep whisper that resonated in my bones. "And I answered."
"First Hassan," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. "Thank you for coming."
"Do not thank me, Master of Chaldea. I did not come out of courtesy. I came because my children have died." His empty sockets turned towards the window, towards Tiamat. "Serenity. Cursed Arm. Hundred Faces. All of them returned to the Throne of Heroes fighting against that abomination. And I, as their father, must honor their sacrifice."
"Are you going to fight Tiamat?"
"I am going to do more than that." He raised his sword. "Tiamat is a Beast. A primordial goddess. The mother of creation. As long as life exists, she cannot die. That is her authority. That is her power. But I... I do not bring life. I bring death."
"Can you kill her?"
"I can impose the concept of death upon her." His voice grew even deeper. "In the beginning, when creation was new, death did not exist. Everything was life. Everything was eternal. But then, death was created. And with it, the end. I am the manifestation of that end. I can make even a Beast know mortality."
"What do you need to do it?"
"Time. And protection." His empty sockets met mine. "Imposing death upon Tiamat will not be quick. I will need to concentrate. I will need no one to interrupt me. And I will need someone to keep her occupied while I do my work."
"You will have it," I replied. "I promise you."
The First Hassan nodded. Then, he turned towards the window and stood motionless, observing Tiamat like a predator observes its prey.
But the summoning was not over.
The summoning circle glowed again. This time, the light was golden, warm, like the sunset. And when it dissipated, a second figure appeared in the center.
She was a woman. Young. Beautiful. Her golden hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves, and her eyes, the color of molten gold, shone with a mix of surprise and confusion. She wore an outfit that was a blend of Mesopotamian royalty and divinity: a black and gold dress that bared her shoulders and arms, adorned with jewels and chains that jingled as she moved. In her hand, she held a scepter that glowed with a warm light, and on her head, a crown of ram's horns gave her a regal air.
But what caught my attention most was her expression. She looked lost. As if she didn't know why she was there.
"Where... where am I?" she asked, her voice soft and melodious. "This is not the underworld. This is... the surface? Uruk?"
"Ereshkigal," I said, unable to hide my surprise. "Are you Ereshkigal?"
The goddess looked at me. Her golden eyes blinked, as if processing my presence.
"You know me?" she asked. "You are... a human? A mage? Why am I here? I shouldn't be here. I was in the underworld. Ruling. Alone. As always. And suddenly... I felt a call. A call I could not ignore. And now I am... here. On the surface. Where I shouldn't be."
"That call was mine," I replied. "I am Leonel Herrera, the last Master of humanity. And I need your help."
"Your help?" Ereshkigal blinked. "For what?"
"To stop Tiamat."
The Beast's name provoked an immediate reaction from the goddess. Her eyes widened in surprise. Her face paled. And her scepter trembled slightly in her hand.
"Tiamat?" she repeated. "The primordial mother? She is here? On the surface?"
"She is at the gates of Uruk," I replied, pointing toward the window. "See for yourself."
Ereshkigal turned towards the window. And when she saw Tiamat's colossal silhouette, her breath caught.
"She is... enormous," she whispered. "Larger than I imagined. Larger than anything I have ever seen in the underworld." She paused. "And you want me to fight that?"
"Not alone. With me. With all of us."
"But how? I am not a goddess of war. I am not Ishtar. I am the queen of the underworld. My power is death, not battle."
"That is precisely why I need you." I stepped forward. "Ereshkigal, Tiamat is immortal as long as life exists. Her authority over creation makes her invincible. But if we could surround her with your realm, with the underworld, with a territory of pure death... her authority over life would be nullified. She would become vulnerable."
Ereshkigal stared at me. Her golden eyes glowed with an emotion I couldn't identify.
"You want me to invoke my realm around Tiamat," she said slowly. "You want me to turn the battlefield into an extension of the underworld. You want me to use my authority over death to counter her authority over life."
"Exactly."
"That is... madness. Absolute madness. I have never done anything like that. My realm is the underworld. Not the surface. Extending it this far would require an amount of energy..."
"I will provide you with that energy," I interrupted. "I am your Master now. Your mana comes from me. And although I am at my limit, I can give you what you need."
Ereshkigal fell silent. Then, slowly, a smile curved her lips. It wasn't a joyful smile. It was a melancholic smile, laden with centuries of solitude.
"You know..." she said. "I have ruled the underworld for millennia. Millennia without seeing the sun. Millennia without anyone visiting me. Millennia without anyone needing me. And suddenly, you appear. A human. A mortal. And you ask me to do the impossible."
"Will you do it?"
"Yes." Her smile widened. "I will do it. Because for the first time in a long time, someone has called me. Someone has needed me. And I... I don't want to be alone again."
I felt a wave of relief. Ereshkigal was one of the goddesses who, in the original canon, became an ally. But in this timeline, she shouldn't have been summoned. Her presence here was an anomaly. An anomaly that could change everything.
"Thank you, Ereshkigal."
"Don't thank me yet. First, let's survive."
The First Hassan, who had been observing the conversation in silence, spoke for the first time since Ereshkigal appeared.
"Goddess of the underworld."
Ereshkigal turned to him. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of the Old Man of the Mountain's imposing figure.
"You are... the First Hassan."
"Yes. And you are Ereshkigal, the queen of death." He paused. "Our powers are complementary. You create the territory of death. I impose the concept of death. Together, we can do what neither could do alone: kill Tiamat."
"Kill Tiamat?" repeated Ereshkigal, her voice trembling slightly. "Is that possible?"
"Everything that lives can die. Even a Beast. Even a goddess." The First Hassan raised his sword. "We just need the right moment. And the Master of Chaldea will provide it for us."
They both looked at me. And I, despite my exhaustion, despite my weakness, felt a spark of hope.
The plan was simple, but its execution was anything but.
Gilgamesh, upon hearing the strategy, had nodded with an expression that mixed satisfaction and determination.
"It's risky," he said. "But it's the only option we have. Ereshkigal will use her authority to create a territory of death around Tiamat. That will nullify her immortality temporarily. The First Hassan will use his sword to impose the concept of death upon her. That will make her vulnerable. And then..." He looked at me. "You, Master of Chaldea, will be the one to deliver the final blow."
"Me?"
"You." Gilgamesh's eyes gleamed. "You have come this far. You have summoned over a hundred heroes. You have endured the impossible. You have kept Uruk standing when anyone else would have fallen. You are the only one worthy of this honor. The only one who can end Tiamat."
"But... I can barely stand. How am I supposed to fight a Beast?"
"You won't go alone. Merlin will accompany you. And when the time comes, your Servants will be with you." He paused. "But the final blow must be yours. It is your destiny, Master of Chaldea. It always has been."
I wanted to protest. I wanted to say I wasn't a hero, that I wasn't a warrior, that I was just an exhausted strategist on the verge of collapse. But then I looked around. I saw Mash, shield in hand, her eyes full of confidence. I saw Tamamo, who had temporarily returned from the front to recharge, her tails wilted but her gaze firm. I saw Kiyohime, Jeanne Alter, the Artorias, Morgan, Scáthach, all my girlfriends fighting tirelessly. And I knew I couldn't let them down.
"Alright," I said. "I'll do it."
Gilgamesh nodded. Then, he raised his hand.
"Then, let the final battle begin."
The execution of the plan began immediately.
Ereshkigal positioned herself atop the ziggurat. From there, with her arms outstretched and her scepter glowing, she began to channel her power. The air around her turned cold. The sky darkened. And from the ground, shadows began to emerge slowly. They weren't normal shadows. They were cages. Cages made of pure darkness, of concentrated death, rising toward the sky like the bars of an infernal prison.
"By my authority as queen of the underworld!" Ereshkigal shouted, her voice resonating with a power that was not human. "By my right as goddess of death! By the pact I have sealed with the Master of Chaldea! I summon the realm of death upon the earth! LET THE UNDERWORLD RISE!"
The shadow cages multiplied. Hundreds. Thousands. They covered the horizon, surrounding Tiamat on all flanks. The Beast roared, a sound that made the walls of Uruk tremble. But for the first time, her roar was not one of determination. It was one of pain. Death was touching her. And it hurt.
The First Hassan sprang into action. He advanced toward Tiamat with slow but steady steps, his sword gleaming with a dim blue glow. The Lahmu that tried to stop him were mowed down like grass. His presence was so overwhelming that even the fiercest beasts hesitated before attacking him.
"Tiamat," he said, his voice resonating despite the distance. "Beast of Creation. Mother of all monsters. Your existence is an affront to the natural cycle. Life without death is stagnation. Creation without destruction is chaos. You have existed for too long. It is time for you to know the end."
And he raised his sword. Not to strike. To concentrate. To impose the concept of death upon the Beast.
Tiamat roared again. Her body convulsed. From her mouth, a torrent of black energy burst forth, sweeping away everything in its path. But Ereshkigal's cages held. The territory of death nullified her authority over life. And the First Hassan, unmoved, continued to concentrate.
Gilgamesh, from the ziggurat, gave the order.
"Now! All treasures! All weapons! Fire!"
The treasures of the King of Heroes deployed. Hundreds. Thousands. Swords, spears, axes, hammers, bows, arrows, magical staves, all emerging from golden portals that covered the sky. And all aimed at Tiamat.
"FIRE!"
The barrage was apocalyptic. The treasures impacted Tiamat like a rain of meteorites. Each explosion illuminated the sky. Each impact shook the earth. Tiamat roared in pain, and for the first time, I saw her body stagger.
"She's not retreating!" shouted Merlin. "But she's being slowed down! Ereshkigal's cages are keeping her in place!"
"Keep firing!" ordered Gilgamesh. "Don't let her breathe!"
And so, for what seemed like an eternity, the battle continued.
The remaining standing Servants joined the attack. Karna unleashed his solar rays. Arjuna shot his divine arrows. Kintoki hurled his golden axe. Raikou wielded her katana. The Artorias used their Excaliburs and Rhongomyniads. Tamamo cast containment spells. Jeanne Alter burned Lahmus with her black fire. Morgan and Scáthach, who had held back until now, unleashed all their power. Scáthach herself launched her Gae Bolg at the largest Lahmus, while Morgan invoked her fairy queen magic.
And while all this was happening, I prepared myself.
Merlin had given me a staff. It wasn't a powerful weapon; it was a support staff, designed to channel my mana. But it was enough. Mash would accompany me. Nero too. Jeanne Ruler too. They would be my escort, my protection, as I advanced toward Tiamat.
"Senpai," said Mash, her voice trembling. "Are you sure about this?"
"No," I replied, with a tired smile. "But we have no other choice."
"I will go with you," said Nero. "To the end of the world if necessary."
"And I," added Jeanne. "My banner will protect you."
"And I," said a voice behind me.
I turned. All my girlfriends were there. Tamamo, Kiyohime, Jeanne Alter, the Artorias, Morgan, Scáthach. They had left their posts in the battle to gather with me.
"You won't go alone, Goshujin-sama," said Tamamo, her tails glowing faintly. "We're going too."
"Always," added Kiyohime.
"You have no escape, idiot," said Jeanne Alter.
"It is our duty," said the Artorias in unison.
"I will not allow my husband to die without me," said Morgan.
"You are mine," concluded Scáthach. "And I don't share you with death."
I looked at them. One by one. All of them. The women who loved me. The women who had fought by my side. The women who had made me what I was.
"Thank you," I said. "All of you. Thank you."
And then, with my Servants around me, I advanced toward Tiamat.
The plan was in motion. Ereshkigal maintained the territory of death. The First Hassan imposed the concept of death. Gilgamesh bombarded the Beast with his treasures. And I, with what little strength I had left, headed toward the heart of the storm.
The final battle was about to begin.