He Who Cuts Fate

Chapter 3: A New Thread in an Unfamiliar Weave

The void no longer held him.

Severence drifted through the fabric of existence, the lingering remnants of his previous world fading behind him. The Holy Grail War was nothing more than a severed thread, another reality adjusted, another fate unwound. He had left that world behind, just as he had countless others before it.

But as he stepped forward—expecting the familiar echoes of his omniverse—he felt something wrong.

A ripple in the currents of existence. A shift so subtle that most beings would dismiss it as nothing.

This is not my omniverse.

That realization was not alarming, nor was it unexpected. He had crossed countless worlds, but they had all been threads within the same grand tapestry—different, yet still part of the same fate-woven cycle. This? This was something else entirely.

The moment he stepped through, he could feel the difference.

Severence was untethered.

The laws of this reality did not recognize him, nor did the forces that governed it attempt to push him out. There was no celestial rejection, no divine wrath seeking to purge his presence. Yet, this silence was almost more telling.

They do not know me.

No whispers of his name in the fabric of fate. No dread in the cosmic threads that sought to bind all things. Here, he was a blank slate—a being that should not exist, standing in a world that had never anticipated him.

And yet, he did not panic. He did not rage.

Severence had stood at the edge of oblivion before. He had faced down pantheons that sought to erase him, had walked through realities that bled under his presence. A new world, even one outside his omniverse, was nothing to fear.

Calm. Observe. Understand.

---

The sky above was vast and dark, the stars faint against the distant glow of city lights. The air was thick with urban life—concrete, metal, the ever-present hum of technology. Beneath him, a sprawling city stretched outward, a maze of skyscrapers and neon reflections on glass. The distant echoes of sirens, the murmurs of nightlife, the hum of electricity—familiar, yet different in its rhythm.

Severence landed silently on a rooftop, his feet touching the surface without sound. The chill of the night air brushed against him, but he barely noticed. Instead, his crimson eyes scanned the horizon, pulling in every detail.

New York City.

The name surfaced in his mind, pulled from fractured knowledge and echoes of a world once observed from afar. This place was no stranger to conflict. It was a nexus of events, a focal point for something vast. Even without reaching outward, he could sense the threads of fate converging here.

A world of men who wore iron and wielded thunder.

A world where soldiers never aged and monsters walked among humans.

A world where gods were not myths, but visitors.

A world on the brink of something monumental.

Severence exhaled slowly.

For now, he would wait.

There was no immediate need to act, no hand forcing him toward conflict. Unlike the Holy Grail War, where his arrival had been akin to a stone shattering the surface of a still lake, here he was nothing more than a phantom. Unseen. Unknown.

He could use that to his advantage.

But there was a question that still lingered, an itch at the back of his mind that no amount of analysis could answer.

Why was I woken here?

He remembered everything—his battles, his purpose, the war that should have ended his existence. He had not willed himself back. Nothing in his design allowed for resurrection.

Something brought me here.

And that, more than anything, was what he needed to understand.

He turned his gaze skyward, toward the vast expanse of stars above. Somewhere beyond them, forces he did not yet comprehend were shifting.

He had time. But not forever.

---

The city pulsed beneath him, but Severence did not move. He remained on that rooftop, watching. Waiting.

And then, finally, something shifted.

A flicker at the edge of his perception—a tremor in the unseen web of fate. It was small, nearly imperceptible, but to him, it was a flare in the dark.

A severed fate.

His fingers twitched.

It was not just tragedy that called to him—it was those bound by cruel threads. Those fated to suffer, to be crushed under the weight of destiny. Severence did not claim to be a savior, nor did he believe in mercy. But he had always despised fate's cruelty.

And right now, in this unfamiliar world, something cruel was about to happen.

Severence moved.

A single step, and he was gone.