Danmachi: The Multiverse Portal

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"YOU BASTARD..."

The Zealot moved to unleash her Noble Phantasm, determined to tear Jester Karture apart before the Command Spell took hold.

She was too late. The spell seized her and dragged her away from the intersection, leaving her helpless to watch as the Dead Apostle remained behind.

As she passed the Artemis Familia, she noticed something odd. The anger slowly left her face as the truth sank in. "Hah... Hahaha!"

"..." Jester frowned at the sound of her laugh.

"Then allow me to wish you a swift death, Master."

"What did you say?"

The Zealot disappeared into the night.

She was never as clueless as Jester thought. Since she arrived, she had watched every presence around the police station. There were always more than three factions fighting here.

Someone else was still watching.

A gunshot cracked through the street.

"BANG!"

Jester's head burst apart. Blood and bone sprayed across the pavement as his body collapsed. The Snowfield police, the hidden magi observing through their familiars—and Father Hansa all witnessed the bullet punch straight through the Dead Apostle's skull.

For one stunned heartbeat, no one moved.

Then Jester's corpse twitched.

He used one of the spare hearts he had just collected. His ruined head healed, flesh and bone coming back together as he pushed himself up and turned toward the sound of the shot.

A man stood atop a nearby streetlamp with his arms folded, looking down over the intersection. Hestia sat comfortably on his shoulder, her legs dangling as though she were watching a street performance rather than a supernatural battle.

August had been there the entire time—yet until he chose to reveal himself, nearly everyone had simply overlooked him.

Orlando Reeve looked up at them. The US government, the magi behind the ritual, and the Dead Apostle had all fought for control of Snowfield, but August's arrival made them feel like actors who just noticed someone standing behind the curtain.

"You..." Jester's rebuilt face tightened.

That one bullet had taken away a life he'd spent all day replacing. Even worse, the attack felt familiar. These people had already shot through several of his hearts, destroyed one of his bodies, and forced him into the sewers. August had even fought Assassin directly with just a heavy sword and brute strength.

Jester had every reason to fear him!!

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Orlando recognized August too. Since the Artemis Familia was here, he had guessed their odd companion would be close by.

Then he noticed the crimson marks on August's hand.

"Command Spells?" They had been hidden before, but now there was no doubt.

August was a Master.

That potentially made him Orlando's enemy as well.

Only Hansa Cervantes remained silent. As the Church's mediator, he knew the identities tied to Snowfield's Holy Grail War. Seven True Servants. Six False Servants. Every faction had a place within the ritual.

So where had August come from?

His summoning seemed linked to the False Servants, but Hansa had never heard anything about him.

'Better to keep watching. This isn't the time to step forward.' Hansa quietly hid himself. Showing up now would just make him another target for this unknown Master.

August ignored the wary gazes directed at him and looked down at Jester.

"Jester Karture, I want to know how your body works." August didn't sound angry. If anything, he just seemed curious.

"How my body works?" Jester felt his unease grow.

"Yes... so why don't you hand over those lives?" August held out one hand.

Two more gunshots rang out.

Jester's legs disappeared below the knees. He crashed onto the road and stared at the bloody stumps in disbelief. The pressure August gave off was bad enough, but being crippled before he could finish speaking made it far worse.

"Firearms...?" Jester looked up at him.

"WHY DO YOUR GUNS WORK ON ME?"

The bullets had no mana. No Mystery. Nothing that should have affected a Dead Apostle. They were just normal products of modern technology—yet they had torn through him with ease.

Jester forced his body to start healing. Bone grew from his ruined limbs, then muscle and skin, but August had already stepped down from the streetlamp. As soon as he moved, Hestia floated off his shoulder and drifted to Artemis, leaving the area clear for a fight.

"Damn it!"

Jester used almost eighty percent of his magical energy to strike back—invisible blades of wind shot at August, followed by a wave of fire that swept across the street.

August pulled his clothes into the [Spatial Backpack] before the fire could consume them, then raised one arm to shield himself.

The wind blades tore through flesh and bone.

His hand dropped onto the pavement.

August looked at the bleeding stump, then glanced down at the severed limb.

"Not bad..." He thought Jester would be weaker after losing so many lives. But the Dead Apostle had recovered more than he expected—or maybe this World had made him stronger too.

August walked over, picked up his hand, and pressed it against his wrist.

"Sacred flame, hear the suffering of the wounded—[Healing Fire]!" Warm fire flowed across the injury. Bone reconnected, blood vessels joined, and torn flesh sealed until not even a scar remained. August flexed his fingers as though his hand had never been severed.

"That spell..." Jester stared at him.

The police and hidden magi were just as shocked. They knew the limits of healing Magecraft. Reattaching a hand in seconds, with no preparation or cost, was almost a miracle.

"Your healing is ridiculous," Orlando muttered.

August rotated his restored wrist.

"It's normal." He said it so matter-of-factly that it sounded less like boasting and more like an insult.

Then he looked back at Jester. "You're stronger than I thought. Guess you're not just any Dead Apostle."

"MY TURN!" August loosened his shoulders and raised one hand.

WOOSH!

A ripple opened in the air beside him.

Then another...

More distortions spread across the street until the space behind August looked like water hit by dozens of stones. Dark gun barrels came out of the ripples, all pointed at Jester.

"..." Every magus watching froze.

They had seen something like this before. The King of Heroes opened his treasury in a similar way, pulling weapons from another space and firing them at his enemies. But August wasn't a Heroic Spirit, and the things behind him weren't ancient Noble Phantasms.

They were modern firearms.

"What the hell?" Jester's face twisted.

The answer was obvious. Someone had taken an ability similar to the King of Heroes' treasury and stocked it with modern weapons.

August answered with a casual wave of his hand.

"BANG!" The guns fired.

At this range, Jester didn't stand a chance. Bullets ripped through his chest, shoulders, stomach, and newly healed legs before he could react.

He tried to move.

"My speed..." A second volley ripped through Jester.

"Too slow," August looked almost disappointed. "...Your speed doesn't seem very impressive."

Jester had always trusted in his inhuman body. He could move faster than ordinary eyes could follow, recover from wounds that would kill any mortal, and replace his life whenever his flesh gave out.

None of that made him faster than a bullet.

At this range, the difference was brutal. His newly formed legs were shredded before he could take a single step, and every attempt to regenerate only gave the gunfire fresh flesh to tear apart.

August's earlier words kept ringing in his head.

Too slow...

Not impressive...

Nothing special...

Did this man have any idea what stood before him?

Jester was a Dead Apostle, a predator who had watched generations of humans grow old and die—yet August studied his struggle with the detached curiosity of someone examining a disappointing specimen.

"You bastard!" Jester roared through a mouthful of blood and broken teeth.

"DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT A DEAD APOSTLE IS??"

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