Scorching heat. Tremors.
"Huff... cough, pfft—!"
Rider Achilles gasped for breath, struggling to push aside the rubble burying him. Leaning on his cross-shaped spear, he slowly rose to his feet. His once-bright silver armor was now cracked and bloodstained.
"My ankle... still intact."
His entire body was covered in lacerations and burns, mixed with soot and soil. Though battered, Achilles solemnly inspected his heel and finally sighed in relief.
Even though his Noble Phantasm, "Andreias Amarantos," couldn't nullify Selene's divine attacks, its divine nature granted him a ticket to remain in the fight.
As long as his Achilles heel remained unscathed, the regenerative properties, boosted physical performance, and passive resistance to shockwaves granted by his immortality would persist.
Without divinity, one couldn't even qualify to hurt Selene.
"That monstrous physical strength... Thank you, 'The Miniature World Enclosed by the Azure Sky.'"
The green glow on his shield faintly shimmered. Having dispelled his trump card's reality manifestation, Achilles looked up and muttered with a wry smile:
"Fighting this exaggerated war god... it might be as hard as big brother Heracles' Twelve Labors."
Scanning his surroundings, Achilles realized that in the time he'd been slapped into the depths of the earth, the entire landscape had turned to scorched wasteland. Every building had been obliterated.
The old Fuyuki City center around Miyama Town had become a ring-shaped crater dozens of meters deep.
The ruins of Homurahara Academy, shopping streets, residential areas, Ryuudou Temple, and the Emiya, Tohsaka, and Matou estates had all been leveled within a 7–8 km radius. It looked like a nuclear blast zone.
The storm's serpentine core had expelled a shockwave that flung debris outward, forming mountainous ridges around the blast zone.
Achilles had been buried in one of those man-made ridges. Surveying the area, he saw the Mion River was now gone—completely filled in.
Creak~
"Achilles! Huff, huff—what's the situation?!"
Amidst the crunching rubble, Achilles turned to see Ritsuka Fujimaru climbing up, panting heavily. Behind him, Mash followed with her shield at the ready, eyes alert.
"As you can see—not good."
"Even I can barely scratch her. I have to constantly dodge her Mystic Eyes and attacks... and always be careful to guard my heel. Ugh, fame really is a double-edged sword."
He threw up his hands, half-grinning.
Seriously, Selene's Mystic Eyes were a nightmare. With his divine blessing, he could take hits to most parts of his body—but if she focused on his heel?
"Kid, gang-up tactics won't work on her. Even if you brought an army of ordinary Servants, she'd just stand still and they still couldn't touch her."
"Only demigods or divine beings with immortality, or those with feats of slaying beasts, killing gods, or wielding divine/star-forged weapons, can do real damage."
"This world is being transformed into a pseudo-Age of Gods. It benefits us somewhat too, but clearly it's giving her a much bigger boost!"
"That woman grows stronger every second... no, she's recovering—regaining the full divine authority of her true form."
"If Chaldea still has any trump cards left, you'd better play them soon... or there won't be another chance."
With those words, Rider Achilles rested his cross spear on his shoulder. His muscles flexed, body leaning forward. With a loud bang, he vanished from sight.
In that instant, the value of immortality was made clear. Achilles, who moments ago had been scorched with the stench of metal and charred flesh, now surged forth with a body nearly healed.
"Oh, praise the Lord! Once again, Rider was born into the world with such a ferocious 'beast' form. It's truly marvelous! We can't help but be poetic and inspired!"
With exaggerated, theatrical gestures, a middle-aged man with straw-colored hair and beard, donned in a moss-green robe and clutching a scroll, delivered his rapturous monologue.
World-famous English playwright Caster William Shakespeare had made his grand entrance.
"Caster, didn't I assign you to stay behind at the summoning circle and assist Lord Waver? What are you doing here?"
Fujimaru Ritsuka facepalmed.
"Ahh—I am wounded, Master! Please allow me, William Shakespeare, to offer my sincerest apologies for defying your command..."
"But, Master! Amidst this thunderous storm and clash of gods and mortals, such a heroic stage cries out for song! Poetry is the vessel of human civilization!"
Clutching his chest dramatically, Caster William Shakespeare first feigned sorrow, then swiftly pivoted to a passionate declaration.
As a man driven by inspiration (and a penchant for mischief), Shakespeare embodied his homeland's talent for theatrical chaos.
Sure, the battle back near the summoning circle had excellent material—goddesses of Mesopotamia, Uruk's king of heroes, Britain's King Arthur, Ireland's child of light...
But compared to the battlefield across the river?
Shakespeare chose this side without hesitation.
Suddenly struck by inspiration, he whipped out his quill and began scribbling furiously on a parchment scroll.
"Oh, look at those pitiful foreign creatures—no appreciation for the arts..."
Watching the Caster dive into his writing, Ritsuka blinked. Then Roman's old words echoed in his mind:
"Ritsuka, William Shakespeare is the world's greatest tragic playwright."
"Caster."
"Hm?" Shakespeare looked up, puzzled.
"Sir Shakespeare. I hold you in the highest regard. Your four great tragedies are legendary. But it's because I admire you that I understand something very important: if left unchecked, you will turn our story into a tragedy. So..."
Fujimaru Ritsuka stared at him seriously, enunciating every word:
"By Command Seal, I order you—Caster William Shakespeare. If you wish to remain in this world, you will not write our tale as a tragedy."
"Uwah... Master! Why must you always do this? Such cruel shackles upon my creative freedom! Too harsh, too heartless—it's simply unbearable!"
With Shakespeare's pitiful magic resistance, even the weakened Command Seals from Chaldea still bound him like chains.
"Alas... the cruelty of reality, like King Lear. Very well, a comedy it shall be. In my youth, I was a good and pure man, too."
Though he melodramatically protested, Shakespeare didn't actually try to resist the spiritual and physical command that now forbade him from writing tragedy. Instead, he wore a mysterious smile, almost as if he were enjoying it.
Seeing this, Ritsuka sighed and lowered the hand that had activated the Command Seal.
Caster William Shakespeare's skill: Named Enchantment – Rank A
By inscribing phrases like "can cut anything" or "blocks all attacks," he enhances weapons dramatically. In other words, if he wrote a tragedy, it might actually cause one.
Kreee!
"Master! Caster! Stay here and don't move. I'll be back!"
From the clear, empty sky, a phantom steed screeched like a storm.
"Astolfo of Charlemagne's Twelve Paladins, ready for battle!"
He shouted his name at top volume. For a fleeting moment, everyone on the battlefield became aware of his presence.
And then... silence.
Not a single soul responded.
"Ahaha..." Rider Astolfo scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin. As long as he wasn't embarrassed, it was everyone else who should be.
RUMBLE!
But no one was paying attention to Astolfo's antics. Because the earth churned, and the sky turned upside down.
Whoosh!
Lancer Karna, transformed into a golden comet by his Mana Burst, streaked forward at supersonic speed.
With pure, overwhelming velocity, he was like a warhead. Most Servants wouldn't even have time to react before being annihilated.
Suddenly, the storm-darkened sky burst with countless violet lights. Massive beams of fire rained down like a meteor shower.
The sea boiled. The ground steamed. Underground springs vaporized. The battlefield turned into a sea of lava, hell on earth.
"Like a mayfly striking a tree."
From within that molten ocean, a towering beast rose—like a dragon or a god. Horns sharp enough to pierce the heavens. Eyes like galaxies, glimmering in the shape of an "X."
The divinity that radiated love for humanity almost seemed to soften her monstrous aura. For a brief moment, every soul who looked upon Selene—man or Servant—felt a strange sense of familiarity.
"A mother's love?!"
Despite her proud, condescending tone, something about her aura had shifted. There was purity, sanctity, maternal grace...
She had changed again. This time, it was the power of the creator goddess Tiamat, Karna noted silently.
"Oooohhhh!!"
Berserker Spartacus ignored everything, roaring even as he was bound by hundreds of serpentine hair-tentacles. Though his mouth was half-swallowed, he flailed desperately, swollen arms straining to reach Selene.
Rejected.
Selene had already tolerated these normal-shaped Servants leaping around on her tail and hair like some sort of 3D maneuver gear stunt show. That was her limit.
But to have a grotesque, skin-splitting, tri-colored (blue-white-pink), seven-or-eight-story-tall lump of muscle like Spartacus try to crawl onto Selene herself?
In a word: Nope.
"Disgusting filth."
Face clearly twisted in disdain, Selene turned. Her sky-shrouding tail slammed down. To her, the resulting boom was just background noise—peace restored.
"Aah! Aaaah! Aaaaaaah!"
From between gnashing serpent jaws, the heavily damaged Berserker Frankenstein sparked wildly, letting out garbled screeches as she stared at Selene.
"This war doesn't suit you. Go to sleep."
Selene glanced dispassionately at her. With a single thought, her gray, stone-like upper body glowed—corrosive violet-red mana surged and dissolved Frankenstein entirely.
"Next."
That cold, mechanical voice rang out again. Lancer Vlad III paled. Without hesitation, thump thump thump, dark blood-drenched thorns surged up from the earth.
As Selene's fully-activated Mystic Eyes swept across him—crack crack crack—even with immediate reaction, half of Vlad's body, along with his blood forest, turned to stone.
"Tch. This isn't Romania. No territorial bonus... lacking. Next."
In the next instant, his entire body was petrified, and a magic cannon rained down to finish the job.
BOOOOOM!
The bombardment did not let up. The remaining Servants with defensive Noble Phantasms were hammered relentlessly.
Wings unfurled. Energy charging.
Vmmm Vmmm Vmmm~!
Just as Selene prepared to unleash another attack, she paused.
"Hm?"
Straightening up, she looked with surprise toward Fuyuki. From the city's edge, she sensed the sudden emergence of tens of thousands of mana sources.
"A legion-summoning Noble Phantasm."
Many of the signatures were comparable to Saber Siegfried. Some even surpassed him!
Selene quickly realized—Kiana and her squad were likely in trouble. Surrounded? Absolutely.
And they were all conventional Servant-class phantasmal entities. No huge power gaps to tank waves unscathed. If the enemy mobbed them...
Someone was bound to fall.
"Huh... Rita again? She's the first one down?"
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