Fate Grand Order: Broadcasting Master Love — Chapter 92

Chapter 92: The Vengeful Demon’s Wail at the Prison Tower

The mysterious light screen flickered violently above the viewers. A single line of crimson text slowly bled into existence across the dark surface: ‘The Vengeful Demon’s Wail at the Prison Tower’. The letters looked as though they had been painted in fresh, dripping blood, radiating a bone-chilling cold that seemed to lower the temperature in every timeline watching.

On the screen, the image suddenly fractured like a shattered mirror. Boundless, suffocating darkness swallowed Fujimaru Ritsuka whole. Out of that lightless abyss, a low, raspy voice scraped against his eardrums.

“Have you ever envied others?” the voice whispered. “Have you ever known the bitter taste of helplessly bowing your head, utterly crushed because you lacked the talent, the luck, or the wealth?”

The voice dripped with a theatrical mockery that seemed to peel back the layers of the human heart. “Have you ever stared at a world overflowing with inequality, gritted your teeth until your gums bled, and wept at the sheer, cruel rarity of fairness?”

Ritsuka could not speak. The heavy atmosphere pressed down on his lungs.

“There is no need to answer.” The voice paused. A faint, phantom sigh brushed against Ritsuka’s ear. “Peer into your own heart. Do not look away. It is precisely because every human harbors this ugly obsession that no one can ever truly escape.”

The darkness seemed to writhe. “Envy and jealousy of your fellow man, which in turn give birth to pathetic tears of regret. This is the Sin of Envy.”

Pierced by those venomous words, Ritsuka forced his heavy eyelids open. The abyss faded, replaced by a dim, damp prison corridor. Rusted iron bars glinted with a dull, cold malice in the gloom. The air was incredibly heavy, thick with the suffocating stench of black mold and the sharp, metallic tang of old blood and rust.

But the nightmare lasted only a fraction of a second. In the blink of an eye, the prison shattered. The suffocating dampness vanished, replaced by the sterile, climate-controlled air of Chaldea. The familiar silver-white corridors stretched out around him, the polished floor tiles reflecting the steady glow of the overhead lights.

“…Senpai?”

Mash’s worried voice anchored him back to reality. She reached out, her gloved fingers lightly brushing against Ritsuka’s sleeve. “Um… what is wrong? You do not look very well.”

Ritsuka’s mind spun, his vision still swimming with the afterimages of rusted iron. He blinked, subconsciously blurting out the first thing that came to his disoriented mind. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. No, wait—” Mash was almost derailed by the sheer absurdity of the greeting. She knit her brows, her amethyst eyes filled with deep concern. “Senpai, could this be your usual REM sleep daze… did you perhaps fall asleep while standing up again?”

Inside the Emiya Residence of the Fifth Holy Grail War timeline.

Hearing Mash’s diagnosis through the broadcast, Emiya Shirou paused his chores and tilted his head in genuine confusion. “REM sleep daze? What is that supposed to mean? Is that a medical condition? It sounds a bit different from when a Master accidentally catches a glimpse of their Servant’s past in a dream.”

Inside the Einzbern Castle of the Fourth Holy Grail War timeline.

Emiya Kiritsugu leaned his back against the freezing stone wall of the fortress, an unlit cigarette resting casually between his fingers. His dead, black eyes narrowed slightly at the screen. He mused in a low, gravelly voice. “Entering a comatose, dream-like state right in the middle of a waking conversation… and judging by the girl’s reaction, this has happened multiple times before. Just what kind of special magecraft or psychic mutation is this?”

On the screen, Mash leaned closer to Ritsuka, her tone growing more certain. “Because you suddenly stopped right in the middle of your sentence, Senpai. You were just staring blankly at the wall. I suspected it might be that bad habit of yours acting up…”

Taking a active step forward, Mash raised her bare hand and pressed her palm flat against Ritsuka’s forehead. His skin felt warm, but not feverish. Still, she could not hide the anxiety etching her features. “It might just be my imagination, but your expression looked completely vacant just now. Do you feel unwell anywhere? Are you experiencing a headache, or perhaps vertigo?”

Ritsuka reached up and rubbed his temples, trying desperately to process the visceral hallucination. “Was I just daydreaming? But that feeling… that realistic sensation of suffocating in the dark…”

“It is certainly possible that it was just a daydream, but we absolutely should not be careless.” Mash’s tone shifted into her professional, protective register. “We need to check your magical circuits and vitals immediately.” She firmly hooked her hands under his arm, supporting his weight. “Regardless of the cause, let us get you back to your room first. I will go call the Doctor—”

Supported by his dependable junior, Ritsuka handled the long corridors back to his personal quarters. The moment they arrived, he let out an exhausted breath and collapsed onto the mattress.

The instant his back touched the bedsheets, reality violently distorted.

The comfortable, familiar walls of his Chaldean bedroom receded like a tide pulled by a dark moon. The sterile lights died. The temperature plummeted. In a heartbeat, he was thrown back into that freezing, damp stone cell from his vision.

“Welcome to the Island of Despair, the Prison Tower, Senpai!”

A wildly theatrical, playful voice echoed off the dripping stone walls, dripping with an indescribable, suffocating malice. “O one of heavy sins, your name is Fujimaru Ritsuka! This is the absolute abyss beyond love and hate. No matter what miserable soul enters these gates, they shall be imprisoned here for all eternity!”

The voice dropped an octave, hammering down like a judge’s gavel. “You are no exception.”

Ritsuka scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribs as he scanned the gloom. The freezing iron bars pressed painfully against his spine, grounding him in this terrifying new reality. He swallowed hard and demanded in a low, steady voice. “…Who are you?”

A dark chuckle drifted from the shadows, sounding genuinely amused by the question. “If I were to borrow the exact phrasing of that incredibly cute junior of yours… I am a Heroic Spirit that should not exist in this world.”

The shadows shifted. “You remember, do you not? Or has your fragile human mind already forgotten?” The playful lilt vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp, freezing mockery. “Fine. Then forget completely. It makes no difference. After all, the only one who can continuously brand every soul with the flames of vengeance is the Avenger.”

Ritsuka had certainly not forgotten. The memories hit him like a physical blow. That terrifying figure who had only appeared as a silhouette of dark flames. The mastermind behind the anomalies in the Garden of Order singularity alongside Ryougi Shiki. The entity who had maliciously imprisoned Chaldea’s Servants within that twisted space, forcefully awakening the deep-seated revenge and hatred buried in their Spirit Origins, leaving them to struggle in endless agony… it all rushed back to the forefront of his mind.

As if plucking the thoughts directly from Ritsuka’s brain, the voice continued. “Yes. Did you enjoy your time in the First Door?”

Before Ritsuka could even open his mouth to respond, the entity waved off the question. “No, do not speak. Say nothing at all. I have absolutely no interest in your mundane impressions. This is an automated service. Humans are drawn to this place by invitations and calls they cannot possibly reject, fluttering blindly into the inferno like moths to a flame.”

“This is the hospitality of the Second Door. Please, enjoy yourself to the absolute fullest.”

The owner of the voice finally stepped forward, revealing his form. Yet, he remained a towering silhouette of dark shadow, devoid of any discernible features, standing dominantly within the confines of the cell.

Suddenly, a series of wet, guttural whimpers echoed from the darkest corner of the stone room. The sound was intermittent, bubbling with raw venom and endless resentment. “Uu… uuuuuuuuuu… uuuuu…”

“Look. One has already appeared to greet you.” The shadow pointed a long, claw-like finger toward the writhing, grotesque spirit manifesting in the corner. The Avenger’s tone swelled with malicious delight. “He seems quite displeased with your warm, pulsing soul. After all, the miserable wretches trapped in this place lost such beautiful things a very, very long time ago.”