As the forced teleportation faded and his feet touched the cold, familiar steps, Fujimaru Ritsuka gasped for breath.
The crimson cosmos, the layered halos, the forest-like rows of endless Demon Pillars—all perfectly matched the nightmare buried in the deepest part of his memory.
He didn't even have to think—his body reacted. A violent, uncontrollable shudder raced up his spine, his teeth chattered, his face turned white as chalk.
Fragments of memory he'd buried deep now surged up in a flood—the smiles Mash gave as she vanished to shield him, Dr. Roman's final farewell, the wretched sight of countless Servants burning away their spirit cores right before his eyes...
The overwhelming weight and hopelessness he bore as humanity's last Master again seized at his throat.
He was no longer the adult savior forged through a thousand hardships—just a boy, rapidly forced to grow through Steve's appearance at this juncture. Understandably, his temperament was more fragile, unable to make the clear and resolute choices like his future adult self; he was that much more susceptible to PTSD.
At this moment, he had only three Servants by his side.
But the enemy numbered all the Demon Pillars infesting the Temple, and the King of Magecraft who governed all the world's magecraft.
"What's wrong, Ritsuka-kun?"
A gentle yet firm voice rang in his ears.
Steve had appeared at his side unnoticed, his own warm hand firmly grasping Ritsuka's icy, trembling one.
"Is this scene... bringing back unwanted memories?"
The warmth and strength from Steve's palm flowed into Fujimaru's frozen heart.
He looked up, meeting Steve's calm, star-dark eyes.
"But Ritsuka-kun, you've already defeated that Demon King, haven't you?"
Steve's voice was full of assurance.
"Since you've already won once, you don't have to let fear control you on this battlefield again."
"Once, you overcame Fate. Now, you only need overcome the enemy."
"Raise your head, Master—let them see the bearing of their victor."
His words sliced through the fog of terror like thunder;
Yes... I've already won.
It was I who emerged, in desperation, as the final victor of that bitter struggle.
These enemies are nothing more than the remnants of the past.
With a deep breath, Fujimaru forced himself to quell the trembling, meeting the enemy's gaze directly.
"Right!"
He nodded firmly.
Seeing him regaining his vigor, Steve smiled in satisfaction. With a flourish, as if conjuring magic, he handed Fujimaru a gleaming silver briefcase.
"This is a gift I prepared for you—a specially equipped item for today's final battle."
The suitcase was intimately familiar to Fujimaru—it was the same design as the case he would later use to store all of Chaldea's support tools across countless journeys.
"It should be the same Saint Graph briefcase that you'll use in the future."
"In theory, it can summon all the Servants with whom you forged bonds on your journey— from the incineration of humanity to its freezing."
"All... the Servants?"
Fujimaru's eyes widened in astonishment.
"Yes, 450. Not one missing," Steve replied confidently.
"However, there are limitations. Without Chaldea's massive magical support system, each summon will only last until the Servant unleashes their Noble Phantasm once and then disappears. You have a total of 450 uses."
How best to use this was up to Fujimaru's own tactical judgment as the last Master of humanity.
He grasped the heavy suitcase, feeling the weight of every bond imbued within it. He almost heard the voices of all 450 comrades echoing in his ear.
There was no more room for fear—only boundless courage and confidence.
At that moment, the Demon Pillar army, far in the distance, finally received their orders.
With a suffocating sense of oppression, the black wave surged toward their platform.
Steve pulled Fujimaru behind him, keeping a calm composure even before such hopeless odds.
"That said, I still have no intention of going all-out in this fight.
But as your Servant, I will at least create an independent space—so you and the comrades who followed you to the end can face the enemy in your most complete states."
With those words, Steve snapped his fingers. No ritual, no chant—his cosmic magecraft acted at his will.
From him, a region of darkness deep enough to swallow the starry sky quickly expanded. Rather than eroding the Temple's physical structure, it overlaid and rewrote it at the level of concept itself.
The laws of the Temple of Time groaned in anguish as its reality marble, built by King Solomon, was enveloped by a still greater one.
"Impossible...!"
Marisbury, standing a short distance away, blanched in shock.
In an instant, the Demon Pillar army—and Steve himself—vanished into that profound darkness. The grand stage of the Temple was left vacant, with only two factions facing one another.
Steve Weis had dragged everyone else into his own independent battlefield, outside of any time or space.
"...Caster..."
Fujimaru gazed into the unfathomable darkness, heart swelling with gratitude and awe.
But the enemy would give him no time to reflect.
The moment Steve cleared the field, King Solomon activated magic again—a more refined spatial transfer technique modeled after Steve's, hoping to separate and dispatch the remaining enemies in small groups.
Golden transfer circles shimmered under Lev, Mash, and Olga Marie.
"Don't even think about succeeding!"
Lev roared, invoking his only ring with all his might.
A spell of darkness to negate the transfer activated instantly, fiercely clashing with Solomon's magic.
But... a fake is still a fake.
With only a single ring, he was powerless against the real thing, who had unleashed all ten. At full power, all he could do was barely neutralize the circles under himself and Fujimaru.
"Senpai!"
"Fujimaru!"
Mash and Olga Marie's shapes disappeared into the golden light before a single resentful cry could escape.
And so, a dramatic scene unfolded.
Within the grand Temple of Time, after several convoluted moves and choices—at last,
the purest, most fateful duel was upon them.
On one side, the last human Master bearing every bond of the future—Fujimaru Ritsuka.
He stood with a silver briefcase gripped in his left hand, his right arm fully outstretched, three vivid Command Spells gleaming, directly aiming at the enemy ahead.
Beside him stood the false Demon King, Lev Goetia—face solemn, eyes ablaze with hatred and obsession directed at the genuine artifact and the nature of man and machine.
On the opposing side stood Marisbury Animusphere—the mastermind.
He stood beside the throne, once again composed and calm, holding his right hand high—the hand marked with Chaldea's Command Spells, as if declaring its ownership.
Beside him, King Solomon—still serene, almost divine, his ten rings radiating with absolute power.
Truth and falsehood, creator and inheritor, past and future.
At the end of time, the final duel between these two sets of Master and Servant had begun!