Suddenly, a deafening roar shattered the battlefield. "Arthur!!!" the pitch-black knight bellowed, his voice trembling with an ungodly, maddened rage.
Moving with blinding speed, Lancelot lunged forward and thrust his hand straight into the raging draconic lightning. Enveloped in the dark, shifting mist of his constantly active Someone's Glory: Not For One's Own Glory (Anti-Unit B), his true form remained a terrifying, distorted blur.
The moment his gauntlet made contact, the sheer corrupting force of his Knight of Owner: A Knight Does Not Die with Empty Hands (Anti-Unit A+) seized total control of the spell. The brilliant lightning instantly turned pitch-black, twisting violently before reversing its trajectory and rocketing straight back toward Fujimaru with even greater lethal force.
"So he capable to hijack magic!" Fujimaru interested, immediately raising his hand to cast another spell.
"[Summon Mid-Tier Demon: Supplicant]!"
"[Summon Mid-Tier Angel: Principality Observation]!"
Two distinct figures instantly materialized to intercept the deadly attack. The first was the Supplicant, a ghastly demon taking the form of a woman with a brutally stitched-together body. She radiated an aura of profound, agonizing pain, making the very wind around her feel heavy with an endless, suffocating sorrow.
Beside her manifested the second entity: Principality Observation. The Mid-Tier Angel was clad in gleaming, heavy armor, draped in a flowing celestial robe that obscured its lower half. Four resplendent wings stretched from its back, radiating a pure, otherworldly light that violently clashed with the aura of the Servants. Fastened to its left arm was a round shield emblazoned with the crest of the sun, and in its right hand, it hefted a massive mace forged entirely of concentrated divine power.
"Keep that black knight busy!" Fujimaru commanded, his voice echoing with absolute authority.
Without hesitation, the Supplicant activated her ability, "Sigh!" releasing a suffocating aura of enervation that instantly sapped the dark knight's monstrous strength. Seizing the opening, Principality Observation swung its massive mace with devastating force.
The brutal impact triggered a violent shockwave of holy power, delivering a massive knockback that sent the pitch-black knight hurtling violently across the battlefield, seemingly helpless against the combined assault.
"RRRRAAAAAAGHHH!!!"
A terrifying explosion of black aura erupted from Lancelot's body, violently quaking the entire battlefield. The sheer, overwhelming surge of Mad Enhancement: EX completely obliterated whatever fragile shreds of rationality he had left, reducing his mind to pure, unadulterated instincts of slaughter. The narrow slit of his visor burned with a mad, mindless rage, and the deafening roar that tore from his throat belonged not to a human, but to a rabid, bloodthirsty beast.
The two summoned entities launched their synchronized assault. Standing at the epicenter of a vortex of misery, the Supplicant chanted a vile curse; the surrounding air instantly grew thick and unbearably heavy, as if the entire world had begun to weep in agony alongside her. High above, the Principality raised its holy weapon toward the heavens. Radiant light rapidly gathered above its head, condensing into a massive spear of light that fiercely pulsed with raw, divine power.
From the earth, he tore loose a massive bone that jutted out like a jagged ruin of hell. The moment his gauntlet closed around it, the colossal bone violently vibrated, instantly transmuting into a glowing, pitch-black blade Knight of Owner: A Knight Does Not Die with Empty Hands (Anti-Unit A+) had awakened a lethal weapon from the debris.
From high above, the Principality unleashed a torrential rain of glowing, holy arrows. But Lancelot launched himself upward, his massive armored frame twisting through the air with terrifying, logic-defying agility. Every fluid swing of his corrupted blade cleaved the divine arrows out of the sky one by one. Eternal Arms Mastery (A+ Rank) guided his every action, ensuring his martial technique remained flawlessly instinctual, blindingly fast, and absolutely perfect, even with his rational mind utterly consumed by madness.
Suddenly, the Supplicant materialized from the shadows, her cursed claws raking viciously across Lancelot's armored back. In that exact fraction of a second, the Principality brought its radiant mace crashing down, aiming to obliterate the mad knight's skull. Yet, Lancelot simply raised both of his arms.
He perfectly deflected the angelic strike with his dark sword, while simultaneously blocking the demon's assault with a rusted slab of scrap metal he had effortlessly scooped from the ground instantly weaponized into an impenetrable shield via Knight of Owner: A Knight Does Not Die with Empty Hands (Anti-Unit A+). A deafening shockwave erupted as the three opposing forces violently collided. But the black knight did not yield a single inch.
Using the sheer momentum of the clash, Lancelot violently spun his body, hurling the corrupted shield straight into the Supplicant's face. The brutal impact sent the stitched demon hurtling backward, foul black blood spraying violently into the air.
With a single, explosive leap, Lancelot launched himself upward, severing two of the Principality's wings with a devastating cross-slash. The angel shrieked as its body plummeted, but before it could even hit the ground, Lancelot brought his massive armored heel crashing down onto its skull, violently driving the celestial being into the earth.
Without giving them a single second to breathe, he snatched up two pieces of battlefield debris a shattered spear and a cracked battleaxe. The moment his pitch-black gauntlets gripped them, the ruined weapons pulsed with dark energy, instantly transforming into magnificent, corrupted armaments. Knight of Owner: A Knight Does Not Die with Empty Hands (Anti-Unit A+) effortlessly turned mere trash into Noble Phantasm.
The two summoned entities desperately launched another synchronized counterattack. Unfazed, Lancelot swung the dark spear with terrifying speed, brutally impaling the Supplicant right through her stitched chest. With a flex of his monstrous strength, he hurled her high into the sky, the force of the throw tearing through the very air.
In the exact same fluid motion, he brought the heavy axe smashing into the Principality's chest just as the angel tried to raise its guard. The overwhelming impact completely shattered its holy armor to pieces, sending the celestial guardian crashing back into the dirt.
With a final, deafening roar, Lancelot leaped high above the battlefield, his massive frame cutting through the sky. He violently hurled his stolen weapons downward like deadly meteors, the dark spear and axe striking both entities at the exact same fraction of a second. A colossal, earth-shattering explosion erupted, carving a massive, smoking crater into the battlefield.
When the dust and debris finally cleared, a chilling silence fell over the ruins. The Supplicant had been completely incinerated into ash, her final curse dying unspoken in her throat. The Principality lay utterly broken and wingless, its once-glorious holy armor reduced to shattered fragments.
At the epicenter of the crater, his chest heaving with heavy, ragged breaths, Lancelot stood alone. Though dark blood dripped from beneath his battered armor and torn flesh, the mad glow piercing through the narrow slit of his visor burned as fiercely as ever completely consumed by a wild, insatiable thirst for the next slaughter.
-
In other side of the battle field, Jeanne Alter emerged from the lingering, crackling sparks of the fading lightning. She stood tall and unyielding, her burning crimson eyes radiating an aura of hatred so incredibly dense it felt as though she were cursing the very world itself. Pitch-black shadows coiled tightly around her figure, creating a terrifying, seamless blend of dark elegance and absolute terror.
"Did you honestly think something that pathetic could defeat me?" she mocked, her voice dripping with blood. She stepped forward without a single shred of hesitation, glaring at Fujimaru with a piercing look of pure, unapologetic defiance. Every inch of her being radiated a dark, suffocating power that weighed heavily upon the battlefield.
Her every deliberate movement served as a grim, lethal warning: she was not an opponent Fujimaru could ever afford to underestimate. Furthermore, as an Avenger, her very Class inherently possessed a devastating, absolute advantage against the Ruler Class, making her mere presence an overwhelming threat for Fujimaru who is Ruler servant.
Reaching into the void, Fujimaru manifested two Top-Tier Items: Elemental Gachas. He tightly gripped the transparent, glass-like orbs, inside of which four distinct lights representing fire, water, wind, and earth swirled in an endless, mesmerizing circle. These rare magical artifacts were designed specifically to summon elemental entities, including devastating composite beings born from two different elements.
As Fujimaru forcefully channeled his immense mana into the orbs, a terrifying pressure erupted, feeling as though the very air around them was being physically crushed. In the blink of an eye, he summoned two massive entities: a Blizzard Elemental, a high-tier water and wind composite, and a Sandstorm Elemental, a high-tier wind and earth composite. Both materialized at Level 50 a monstrous tier boasting enough raw power to easily stand against several Servants at once.
Refusing to be intimidated, Jalter launched herself forward, her movements a blur of brutal, killing intent. She swung her cursed banner with devastating force, aiming to smash right through the frontline. But Fujimaru was ready.
The Blizzard Elemental instantly intercepted her, trapping the Avenger in the dead center of a howling, sub-zero tempest. The freezing winds viciously dragged at her limbs, drastically slowing her relentless advance and fighting to smother her dark hellfire. Simultaneously, the Sandstorm Elemental encircled her, unleashing a constant, swirling barrage of jagged, high-speed stone projectiles.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
Jalter violently deflected the storm of rocks with preternatural reflexes, her pitch-black banner a blur of defensive motion. Raising her free hand, she violently ignited the surrounding air, wrapping her body in a raging armor of fire to passively shield against the onslaught even as the suffocating blizzard fought to dampen her flames.
Realizing the battlefield was shifting against her, her glowing yellow eyes narrowed with pure malice. Instantly activating her Dragon Witch (EX Rank) skill, a dark, terrifying pulse of Charisma swept across the ruined landscape. The horde of Wyverns waiting on standby let out deafening, bloodcurdling roars as her dark will drove them into an absolute frenzy. With a single, wordless command, she directed the maddened beasts to swarm the greatest threat on the battlefield: Fujimaru.
Meanwhile, Lancelot emerged from the smoking ruins. Having utterly obliterated Fujimaru's previous summons, the mad knight advanced with a suffocating, murderous aura. Every heavy, armored footstep sent violent tremors rippling through the ground. Without uttering a single word, he took his place beside Jalter. His corrupted, pitch-black blade was already drawn, and the sheer, overwhelming intensity of his presence made the very earth seem to groan and buckle beneath the weight of his power.
"A truly troublesome enemy has arrived," Fujimaru muttered under his breath, his eyes locking onto Lancelot with extreme, calculated caution. The aura bleeding from the black knight was unimaginably oppressive a raw, terrifying brutality that seemed to violently silence the very air around them.
Now, Jalter and Lancelot stood side by side. Two imposing figures of absolute darkness, two living curses, fully prepared to unleash the darkest depths of their destructive might alongside the swarming Wyverns. Facing the encroaching nightmare, Fujimaru shifted his stance and steadily regulated his breathing. He locked eyes with the terrifying duo, his unwavering glare silently declaring a single, absolute truth: he would not take a single step back.
-
Atalanta drew back her bowstring with a feral, deeply entrenched resolve. "I will kill you! I'll slaughter you all! Shatter beneath my arrows!" Her voice trembled with unadulterated rage, every syllable dripping with a blazing, venomous hatred. Her piercing, crimson eyes reflected the raw fury burning within her soul.
Her muscles coiled tight, fully prepared to unleash an attack meant to end everything. She drew the bow back so deeply that the heavy string loudly groaned and creaked, a terrifying testament to the monstrous physical power concentrated into a single shot.
Standing perfectly composed before her, the opposing Archer simply raised his twin, contrasting swords, ready to meet the devastating assault. His face was entirely calm, seemingly untouched by the suffocating, oppressive pressure radiating from the mad huntress. Yet, beneath his stoic exterior, he knew all too well that this clash would be a matter of life and death. His expression remained incredibly cold and sharp.
"If that is what you truly desire, then prepare yourself, Atalanta," Archer stated, his tone unwavering. The tension in the air was so thick it felt as though it could be physically cut, and the atmosphere grew increasingly suffocating with the promise of imminent, violent destruction. With a vicious snarl, Atalanta released the string, firing five consecutive arrows in the blink of an eye.
The projectiles tore through the air with horrifying, blinding speed. Each individual arrow carried the full, devastating weight of her madness and hatred, screaming across the battlefield as if desperate to annihilate everything in its path. The sheer kinetic force and lethal intent behind her volley violently shook the very air, leaving a trail of vibrating shockwaves in their wake.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The impact of the arrows didn't sound like snapping wood; they detonated against Archer's twin swords with the deafening, explosive force of artillery shells. Every arrow Atalanta released tore through the air with terrifying, blinding velocity, leaving a vacuum of distorted air in their wake.
Even with his Hawkeye (B+ Rank) allowing him to read the trajectories before the bowstring even snapped, seeing the future meant absolutely nothing if his physical body could barely keep up. The sheer, overwhelming kinetic force behind her strikes violently drove Archer backward, his boots carving deep trenches into the earth as he struggled just to stay upright.
His twin blades violently sparked and groaned under the monstrous pressure. Utilizing her Crossing Arcadia (A Rank), Atalanta didn't just stand and shoot she became a terrifying blur of lush green and wild fury. She bounded off shattered ruins and jagged debris with logic-defying speed, transforming the entire battlefield into a 360-degree death trap. She rained down high-caliber shots from impossible, unpredictable angles.
Worse yet, her Aesthetics of the Last Spurt (C Rank) made evasion practically suicidal for him. The moment Archer shifted his weight to dodge, Atalanta's feral instincts violently overpowered his movements. She perfectly anticipated his evasions, her arrows ruthlessly hunting down his blind spots the very fraction of a second he exposed them.
Archer's stoic facade finally cracked under the suffocating pressure. Blood sprayed from his arms and shoulders as several of the glowing arrows shattered through his guard, grazing his flesh with enough force to rip away chunks of his armor. His muscles screamed, his hands completely numb from the bone-shattering impacts of parrying her monstrous strength.
"You..." Archer gritted his teeth, his breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps as he desperately crossed his chipped, fracturing swords to block another earth-shattering volley. The cuts across his body bled freely, the sheer volume of her relentless assault slowly tearing him apart. "...are a true monster, Atalanta."
Despite the overwhelming, beast-like fury crushing him from all sides, his steel-gray eyes remained razor-sharp, desperately searching for a single, microscopic opening in the maddened huntress's flawless, torrential storm of death.
"You can only defend, you can't attack!" Atalanta spat back, her voice trembling with untamed fury. Her crimson eyes burned like an unstoppable, raging wildfire. "I will make you regret everything!" she roared, her burning resolve bleeding into every syllable.
Her face was twisted with a profound, absolute hatred as her muscles coiled even tighter, priming her feral body for the next devastating assault. The wind itself seemed to violently howl in response, whipping fiercely around them and shaking the very atmosphere.
—Rumble—
Suddenly, the very fabric of reality surrounding Archer began to warp and violently shift.
"Unlimited Blade Works: Infinite Creation of Swords!"
As Archer invoked his ultimate Reality Marble, the words echoed like thunder, flooding the entire battlefield with a deafening, overwhelming wave of magical energy. In a fraction of a second, the world around them was completely overwritten. Beneath a bleak, smog-filled gray sky, colossal steel gears began to slowly grind and turn overhead, casting harsh, metallic flashes of light across the barren wasteland.
From the scorched earth, countless blades instantly materialized. Hundreds upon thousands of swords, daggers, and halberds of varying shapes and sizes sat pierced into the dirt—each weapon silently radiating the immense power and pride of its original, legendary wielder.
Faced with this impossible, otherworldly armory, Atalanta did not take a single step back. Driven by her madness and brimming with absolute, feral confidence, she raised her bow toward the smog-filled heavens, nocking two glowing arrows as she prepared to unleash her ultimate strike.
"Phoebus Catastrophe: Complaint Message on the Arrow (Anti-Army B+)"
KABOOM!
A colossal explosion filled the entire Reality Marble, creating an almost impenetrable fog of dust and smoke. The two warriors were trapped within the blinding remnants of their clash. However, rather than feeling cornered in enemy territory, Atalanta turned this chaotic smokescreen into her new hunting ground.
Utilizing Crossing Arcadia (A Rank), Atalanta darted like a wild shadow through the storm of steel. She bounded from one flying sword to another with lightning speed, evading every trap and slash with logic-defying agility. Every time Archer attempted to predict her movements using Clairvoyance, Atalanta's Aesthetics of the Last Spurt (C Rank) instincts instantly took over. The wild huntress altered her trajectory in mid-air at the very last second, dodging Archer's blades and retaliating with a volley of arrows aimed precisely at the red archer's blind spots.
At the center of the Reality Marble, Archer stood his ground, his hands moving in a blur as he projected weapon after weapon. Unlike a normal magus who would have crumbled under the sheer cost of maintaining such a massive Reality Marble, Archer was backed by an incredibly strong, deep well of mana. The colossal gears in the smog-filled sky continued to grind flawlessly, and the barren wasteland readily supplied him with an infinite arsenal. He didn't even break a sweat when it came to magical energy—he could keep Unlimited Blade Works active as long as he needed.
Yet, despite his boundless armory and overwhelming firepower, a grim realization settled over him.
The battle had devolved into a terrifying, unbreakable deadlock. It was a perfect stalemate between an untouchable beast and an infinite forge.
"Tch..." Archer clicked his tongue, his steel-gray eyes tracking her blinding movements. He launched dozens of Noble Phantasms from the sky simultaneously, creating an inescapable net of steel.
But it was escapable for her. Atalanta roared, firing a rapid barrage of arrows that intercepted the descending blades mid-air, shattering them into glowing fragments. Where her arrows couldn't reach, her feral agility carried her through the microscopic gaps in the sword rain. She was too fast, her instincts too sharp. No matter how many swords Archer summoned, he simply could not pin down the maddened huntress.
Conversely, Atalanta was trapped in a similar hell. Every time she closed the distance or found an angle to land a lethal shot, a dense wall of legendary shields and twin swords would instantly materialize to block her path, repelling her arrows with explosive force. She could dodge indefinitely, but she couldn't break through his absolute defense.
"I will slaughter you! I will tear you apart!" Atalanta shrieked, her voice echoing through the metallic wasteland as she launched yet another ferocious volley from the shadows.
"You can certainly try," Archer responded coldly, projecting another dozen blades to meet her arrows in a series of deafening mid-air explosions. The gray, smog-filled sky of the Reality Marble remained firmly intact, the gears turning with agonizing persistence. Neither fighter gave an inch.
Archer possessed the mana to sustain his world indefinitely, but against Atalanta's monstrous agility and unyielding madness, he still couldn't find a single viable path to victory. The two archers remained locked in an endless, deadly dance of steel and light, trapped in an inescapable equilibrium of destruction.
-
Martha stood tall in the center of the battlefield, her eyes entirely vacant as her body moved completely against her will, pulled by the invisible strings of a cruel puppeteer.
"I am truly sorry. Defeating me is the only way to end all of this," she spoke, her voice laced with profound sorrow. "My True Name is Martha."
Her hands gripped her staff tightly, her knuckles turning white. Deep within her heart, she fought desperately to restrain her own limbs, but it was futile. "Forgive me," she whispered, raising her staff to initiate combat. Every movement, every tactical decision—none of it belonged to her. Her body moved mechanically, flawlessly executing lethal commands that her heart vehemently rejected.
"Tarasque: O' Dragon's Shield that Shall Not Let a Blade Pass (Anti-Unit C)"
Forced to invoke her first Noble Phantasm, a heavy, ethereal manifestation of the legendary dragon's carapace materialized around her. The Anti-Unit shield drastically reinforced her defenses, turning the Holy Maiden into a nearly impenetrable fortress that would be incredibly difficult to wound with ordinary strikes.
But the forced assault did not end there. Tears pricking the corners of her unblinking eyes, her voice rang out once more to unleash her ultimate weapon.
"Tarasque: O' Tragic Drake Who Knew Naught of Love (Anti-Army EX)"
The earth violently ruptured and split apart as her second Noble Phantasm was activated. From the depths of the cracked ground, the primordial dragon Tarasque erupted onto the battlefield. It was a terrifying monstrosity, boasting a massive head, a colossal body completely encased in a razor-sharp, spiked shell, and a long, sweeping tail dripping with deadly venom.
Letting out an earth-shattering roar, the ancient beast launched itself forward with terrifying, unstoppable velocity. It bulldozed through the ruined terrain, hurtling straight toward Medusa while unleashing a massive, incinerating torrent of flames from its gaping maw.
"Bellerophon: Bridle of Chivalry (Anti-Army A+)!"
Medusa invoked her Noble Phantasm, manifesting the golden bridle and whip in her hands. In a brilliant surge of magical energy, she mounted Pegasus, the majestic and fiercely powerful winged white horse of legend. With breathtaking, blinding velocity, Medusa and her divine mount soared directly toward Martha. The scorching heat of Tarasque's incinerating flames closed in to consume them, but Medusa effortlessly guided Pegasus through the sky, dodging the raging inferno with unpredictable, gravity-defying agility.
Tapping deep into her dark lineage, Medusa activated Monstrous Snake Metamorphosis (B Rank). Her physical parameters instantly skyrocketed, granting her a terrifying surge of raw, inhuman power. Moving with lethal grace, she forcefully hurled her signature spiked whips with pinpoint precision.
The bladed whips snaked rapidly through the air, violently wrapping around Tarasque's colossal, heavily armored body. With a massive flex of her enhanced strength, Medusa yanked the chains back, bringing the momentum of the massive, charging beast to a sudden, grinding halt. Tarasque let out a deafening, furious roar, thrashing wildly as it desperately attempted to break free from the razor-sharp steel biting into its shell.
Refusing to let up the pressure, Medusa simultaneously unleashed her secondary Noble Phantasm.
"Blood Fort Andromeda: Other-Seal, Blood Temple (Anti-Army B)"
A chilling, blood-red bounded field erupted across the battlefield, rapidly expanding to enclose the entire outer perimeter of the Vaucouleurs fortress. The terrifying, dome-like barrier cast a suffocating and ominous crimson glow over the ruins. Instantly, every single one of Jalter's Servants caught within the battlefield felt a sickening pulla slow, but constant and relentless drain that began to mercilessly siphon away their magical energy drop by drop.
Despite her low physical Strength, Martha focused every ounce of her power to help tear Tarasque free from the bladed restraints. With absolute control over Pegasus, Medusa shifted to a far more aggressive assault. Her spiked whip lashed out like a striking viper, this time aiming directly for Martha.
However, utilizing her surprising agility, the Holy Maiden swiftly darted out of the way, cleanly evading the deadly strike. Breaking free from the loosened whips, Tarasque immediately threw its colossal, heavily armored body in front of Martha, acting as an impenetrable wall to shield her from Medusa's incoming onslaught.
"Your resilience is quite remarkable, Martha," Medusa praised with a cynical, predatory smile, fully aware that the saint would not be so easily broken. "But let us see just how much longer you can endure!"
Medusa swung her bladed whips with blinding speed, violently ensnaring Tarasque once again just as the beast charged forward. The heavy whips coiled tightly around the dragon's massive frame, forcefully dragging it down into the earth. The ancient drake roared in defiance, struggling violently, but the jagged steel only bit deeper into its carapace, agonizingly tightening and locking down its monstrous movements.
"Tarasque!" Martha cried out. Her hands trembling with absolute resolve, she swung her holy staff, unleashing a radiant wave of magical energy in a desperate bid to shatter the whips binding her beloved dragon.
Moving with terrifying speed, Medusa launched another relentless counterattack. She ruthlessly directed her secondary whips with pinpoint precision straight at Martha, aiming to completely immobilize the Holy Maiden and end the fight.
Barely managing to deflect the strike, Martha successfully diverted Medusa's attention for a split second using that exact, desperate command to her familiar. Mustering the absolute limits of its monstrous strength, Tarasque surged upward, violently tearing its massive body free from the spiked restraints.
"Tarasque, break them away!" Martha shouted.
Unleashing its primordial draconic fury, the colossal beast opened its maw and fired a massive, incinerating torrent of hellfire straight at Medusa. The devastating blast of flames nearly engulfed her entirely, but Pegasus, beating its majestic wings with godlike speed, effortlessly banked through the sky, dodging the lethal inferno by a mere hair's breadth.
Feeling heavily pressured, Medusa launched another desperate assault with her bladed chains. With a rapid, violent spin, the spiked chain shot toward Martha with far greater force than before.
Martha tried to hold her ground, raising her holy staff to parry the strike, but this time, the sheer kinetic force of the chain pierced right through her defense, tearing viciously into her flesh. Dark blood spilled into the dirt, and Martha stumbled backward, her vision swimming as she nearly lost her balance.
Medusa, the legendary Gorgon, reacted instantly. Her bladed whips battered the Holy Maiden relentlessly, striking from every angle. The phantom armor of the Tarasque shell held firm, echoing each heavy impact with a loud, ringing clang like a desperate warning bell.
But Medusa possessed more than just brute strength. Moving with blinding, serpentine speed, she violently coiled her chains around Martha's limbs, dragging her forcefully to the unforgiving ground. Cracks began to spiderweb across the ethereal Tarasque shield—not because the Noble Phantasm was weak, but because of the endless, unforgiving barrage, coupled with Martha's naturally low Endurance.
Gritting her teeth, her breathing heavy and ragged, Martha whispered into the wind, "Tarasque..."
The ancient dragon, finally tearing itself free from its bindings, bulldozed through the battlefield. Its earth-shattering roar violently shook the ground and the heavens. With a single, massive lunge, it snapped Medusa's spiked chains like brittle twigs, forcing the Gorgon to swiftly retreat.
The tide of battle violently shifted. Now, Medusa was forced to face two opponents: a staggering Martha desperately trying to stand, and an unstoppable, enraged dragon. However, fate had already decided the outcome. The Holy Maiden had reached her absolute limit. Her Tarasque armor completely shattered into a million ethereal pieces.
Martha collapsed, her battered body falling gently at Tarasque's feet. She took one, two shallow breaths, before the strength finally left her. Yet, a soft, peaceful smile graced her lips a smile of pure serenity. She had fought to the bitter end, and now, she was finally free from the cruel strings that had forced her to fight against her own will. Her body slowly began to dissolve into glowing, golden particles.
Tarasque let out a low, mournful rumble not a roar of rage, but a cry of profound, ancient sorrow. The holy dragon slowly rose to its full, terrifying height, turning its massive head toward Medusa.
The Gorgon's body was heavily wounded, her chest heaving with exhaustion. But the fierce fire in her eyes remained unextinguished. She knew the battle was not over, and the final opponent standing before her was no ordinary beast.
Medusa fully unleashed her divine sight: Cybele, the Mystic Eyes of Petrification (A+ Rank). The absolute, terrifying gaze from the Age of Gods tore fully open.
In a fraction of a second, an unimaginably oppressive aura exploded from her being. The battlefield fell dead silent. The very air seemed to freeze solid. The ambient light around them violently receded, as if the world itself refused to touch that cursed power. Medusa locked her gaze directly onto Tarasque. It was a terrifying curse capable of instantly turning everything into solid stone.
And yet...
Tarasque continued to walk forward. Medusa staggered backward, her eyes widening in absolute, paralyzing shock.
"No. That's impossible."
Tarasque advanced, its colossal body radiating a faint, overwhelming glow. Every single scale on its carapace pulsed with an intense divine energy not from the Greek pantheon, but from something far older, far deeper... a holy, primordial power completely immune to her curse.
Legend stated that the great dragon Tarasque was the direct offspring of the Leviathan, an ancient entity intrinsically tied to the Seven Deadly Sins: Envy. The absolute authority of the Mystic Eyes of Petrification bounced off its divine scales like light hitting a mirror. Tarasque was completely, utterly unaffected.
"No..." Medusa whispered, her voice trembling. "You're... immune...?"
Tarasque answered with a devastating roar that sounded more like the shattering of the world than a living creature. Medusa stumbled, her knees nearly giving out. But she refused to surrender. Moving with a blinding speed impossible for a creature of its massive size, the dragon lunged forward.
A catastrophic impact echoed across the ruins. Medusa's body was launched through the air like a broken, lifeless doll. It was a fatal, perfect, and completely unavoidable strike. She smashed violently into a massive boulder, the impact triggering a massive magical explosion that completely leveled the surrounding area.
She lay utterly defeated among the rubble... and slowly began to disappear.
"Master... forgive me!"
Her final words were a fragile, trembling whisper carried away by the cold, unforgiving wind. She wasn't fading from her own petrification, nor from a backlash of her own magic. She was fading from absolute, undeniable defeat.
As her battered body dissolved into glowing, golden particles of light that floated gently toward the smog-filled heavens, her final gaze held no anger, no bitterness... only a quiet, absolute serenity. She had given everything she had, fighting to her very last breath for the sake of her Master.
Tarasque stared in silence. Its heavy, rhythmic breathing was the only sound left. It did not roar in victory. It did not advance any further. It simply stood alone in the center of the dead, silent battlefield.
It was the only one left standing.
! Rider, Medusa has been defeated !
! Berserk Rider, Martha has been defeated !