The Fake Player

Chapter 12 - The 9th World Champion Tournament II

October 20, 2136. World: Midgard. Location: Unknown

Shirou's eyes glazed over, and the memory of that day rushed back into him.

He was lying on his bed; the Jeweled Sword plunged deep into his chest and heart, and bright light filled the room.

Zelretch's last word to him echoed.

"Take care, Shirou."

The kaleidoscope of colors grew brighter before darkness approached and swallowed him. And then he awoke to a brand new word.

An image of Zelretch way back then appeared before him, superimposing itself onto the man in front of him as Shirou was taken back to the present.

The Wizard Marshall, he hadn't aged a single day since Shirou last saw him.

Zelretch casually strode around his desk, making his way towards the center where his guest stood.

He raised his hand, a sphere of magic circles appearing and whirling within his palm. Shirou tensed up, fingers flexing instinctively to call upon the married blades, despite knowing the futility of such an action.

The magic circles spun faster and faster before light expanded forth from them. He braced himself as a close-to-indescribable sensation washed over him. It felt as if he was submerged in a lukewarm lake and dragged deeper into the depths.

He gasped, breathless, at the sensation.

"What did you—" He never completed his sentence, as his hand immediately shot up to his jaws, feeling movement. The projection user's eyes widened further as his senses rushed back to him.

Touch, taste, smell - all his senses, no longer were they muted or hindered.

He breathed in, feeling the fresh air fill his lungs, and then he breathed out, relishing the sensation.

He was human again, with flesh and blood rather than polygons and lines of code — as far as he could tell anyway. More than that, he felt better than he ever did before.

He felt alive.

Stunned heterochromatic eyes sought the Dead Apostle out, finding him reclined in one of the chairs with a golden chalice of wine in hand.

"H-how?"

"Oh, you know. Second Magic, full VR integration, technomagic... Take your pick." His hand waved off breezily, dismissing the question as he took a sip.

"It ain't the Moon Cell, but then again, what is, am I right? But it'll do the job."

Zelretch watched as Shirou inspected himself, his mouth opening and closing several times, but never a word left him.

"Well, are you going to stand there all day or are you going to sit?" He prompted.

Shirou snapped out of it. "B-but the tournament..."

"Is not going to go anywhere." The old man waved away. "A delay isn't going to harm anyone. Besides, how long has it been since we've last seen one another? Please, take a seat. I won't have it said that I'm a poor host, especially to an old friend."