(A/N: In the lore, Scáthach is described as an extraordinary existence who has "graduated from this world." Her weakened portrayal in Fate/Grand Order stems from her manifestation as a Servant. A Servant's strength is influenced by their fame and recorded deeds, but Scáthach's achievements have long faded into obscure myth, unknown to most. In Celtic mythology, her renown is overshadowed by Cú Chulainn, her student. With neither great fame nor widely recognized feats, her Spiritual Foundation as a Servant is naturally limited. It's unsurprising that her Servant form pales in comparison to someone like Gilgamesh, especially when facing Servants empowered by a Holy Grail.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that Scáthach's true self ranks among the mightiest beings in the Nasuverse.)
A glint of cold light flashed first, followed by a spear thrusting forth like a dragon!
Roy recalled his days as an ordinary person, gaming online with friends in a chat group. They would jokingly recite grandiose lines without much thought. Back then, Roy found this particular phrase brimming with momentum, cool and striking, but it carried no deeper meaning for him.
Now, however, Roy truly grasped the profound weight behind those majestic words.
After uttering her declaration, Scáthach leaped into action without warning. Her movements were fluid and agile, like a dragon bursting from the sea. The twin magical spears in her hands whirled with ferocious grace, as if poised to rend the heavens and earth asunder.
The night was starless, the candlelight tearless. Raising a cup, drowning sorrows in drink. Snow and rain fell softly, the chill wind howled. Blades danced through the sky, and the spear struck like a dragon!
Retreat, retreat, retreat, retreat, retreat!
Caught off guard, Roy could only stumble backward, barely avoiding injury amidst the storm of blows. His movements were frantic, his form disheveled and desperate.
"Foreigner, I care not for your purpose in this world, show me your courage!"
The proud and solitary queen's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. Her striking eyes glared fiercely, wine-red pupils blazing with a chilling battle lust and murderous intent. This icy resolve, intertwined with the deathly aura of the surrounding Land of Shadows, sent shivers through Roy's body, as though he had plunged into a frozen abyss.
Before, Scáthach had exuded an aura of haughty pride tempered by a subtle, unforgettable gentleness. Now, she had cast aside all traces of softness, transforming into a true instrument of war. Amid surging bloodlust and the exhilarating call of glory, she wielded her spear, clashing with her foe and reveling in the visceral thrill of combat.
Be it the enemy's blood or her own, a severed limb or shattered bones, such things only fueled the frenzied ecstasy. This was the bloodthirsty essence of the Celts, their love for slaughter.
As the adage goes, prolonged defense invites defeat. Roy's haphazard dodging, driven solely by reflexes and physical prowess, was no exception. After evading several of Scáthach's spear thrusts, his footing faltered, leaving his guard wide open, a fatal mistake she was quick to exploit.
To a being like Scáthach, who had slain countless gods, demons, spirits, and mortals, such a flaw was a death sentence.
Her right-hand spear parried Roy's arm aside, while her left-hand spear became a crimson blur, piercing his right shoulder with effortless precision.
"Guh—argh!"
Roy groaned in agony. The searing pain of the wound sent his magical energy—his divine power—roaring through his body. A surge of raw magical force erupted from him, manifesting as a pure concussive blast. With a thunderous boom, the ground beneath him cratered under the unleashed energy. But Scáthach, anticipating the outburst, had already withdrawn her spear and executed a graceful backflip, landing deftly on the same rock she had stood upon before.
"Hiss… damn, that hurts…"
Roy hissed, grimacing as he glanced at his right shoulder. The wound was a mangled mess, blood streaming freely. Pain pulsed through him, veins bulging on his forehead, his right hand trembling faintly.
In his battles within the Campione world, Roy had triumphed over formidable foes like Marquis Voban and Athena. Yet, in truth, he had sustained little real injury in those encounters. Against Voban, he had merely been exhausted. Against Athena, though he had been drenched in blood, it was only from ruptured capillaries, unpleasant, but hardly painful.
But this time was different. A spear had truly pierced through his body, leaving a gaping wound. The magical spear seemed imbued with a peculiar demonic nature, and the injury it inflicted was excruciating, a pain so profound it shook his very soul.
In that moment, Roy felt an overwhelming, inexplicable fear.
He was, at his core, an ordinary person. In his twenty-plus years as a mundane human, he had never undergone surgery, let alone endured injuries as severe as broken limbs. During his fifteen years in the A Certain Magical Index world, though he lived in poverty, he had avoided significant harm. In the Campione world, the only exception was his battle against Michael, where the agony was so intense it numbed his pain receptors entirely. After gaining his powers as a Godslayer, he had never again experienced pain he couldn't bear.
Now, for the first time, he understood the meaning of true, unbearable agony and the terror of a grievous wound.
Roy's life experiences revealed his truth: he was merely a product of a modern, peaceful society. He was neither a battle-hardened soldier nor a trained assassin honed in the shadows. Becoming a Godslayer had enhanced his physical form, but it could not fortify his will.
For the human will is the hallmark of the strong, the greatest force of humanity, a realm that can only be transcended through one's own resolve!
"She is not a god!"
Roy was certain of this. Scáthach was absolutely not a god. If she were, Roy, as a Godslayer, would have succumbed to the frenzied state of the Son of Fool without deliberate suppression, oblivious to fear itself.
Yet now, Roy felt the same dread that Annie Charlton had experienced not long ago. This confirmed that Scáthach was no god indeed, she was a Godslayer, just like him.
As a fellow Godslayer, Roy could perceive the divine curses radiating from Scáthach's graceful, lithe form, a body exuding feminine allure. These curses were proof of her countless divine slaughters, a testament to the fear she instilled in the gods themselves.
Moreover, the gods she had slain were incomparable to the Heretic Gods Roy had defeated.
True gods were akin to the information enshrined within the Realm of Immortality, while Heretic Gods were mere incarnations of that information. The relationship between a god and a Heretic God mirrored that of a Heroic Spirit and a Servant. However, because gods outrank Heroic Spirits in hierarchy, Heretic Gods were far more powerful than Servants. (T/N: The raws called it a 'Throne' but I am using 'Realm of Immortality' for it to be consistent)
The gods Roy and other Godslayers killed were only Heretic Gods, incapable of affecting the Throne of the gods within their myths. This explained why, in the Campione world, a slain Heretic God could reappear later, or why figures like Marquis Voban and Madame Aisha could kill the same god multiple times.
The death of a Heretic God was merely a return to the Realm of Immortality, not the true demise of the deity. As long as the god's information persisted in myth, they could continue to manifest.
Scáthach, however, was an entirely different entity. The gods she killed were the true deities seated upon the Throne. With the body of a mortal, she had toppled gods from their divine seats, obliterating them completely, leaving no trace. She was a true Godslayer in every sense. (T/N: Basically a Nasuverse equivalent of Realm of Immortality)
Why were there no records of Scáthach's countless divine conquests? Because the gods she erased from the Throne ceased to exist entirely. Their myths fractured, their stories vanished, making it impossible for their tales to endure in the mortal world.
To reach the realm of divine with a mortal body. Roy now comprehended the sheer terror of the being named Scáthach. She had pushed the limits of mortality, slaying gods with unmatched martial prowess to stand at the pinnacle of humanity, even stepping half a foot into the realm of a Magic God.
"No wonder her Land of Shadows exists outside the world. If a being like her entered the material world in her true form, a single thrust of her spear could nearly pierce the entire material plane!"
The more Roy understood Scáthach's true might, the more his heart trembled, his mind weighed down by dread.
To face such a formidable opponent was beyond his current capabilities!
The outside of the world, in the terms of Eastern Taoist philosophy, was akin to existing beyond the Three Realms, unbound by the Five Elements.
"Is this all you have, foreigner?" Scáthach's voice dripped with disappointment, even desolation. "Where is your courage? Your strength? Does mere pain render your hands powerless? Does a mere foe make your heart quail? If you cannot show me your valor and might, then I shall claim your life here and now!"
It was rare to encounter a living soul in the desolate Land of Shadows, rarer still to meet a being from another world whose nature eluded even her Wisdom of the Abyss. Rarest of all was to find another who, like her, bore the curses of the gods for slaying them. Scáthach had hoped that these three joys combined would rekindle the vitality in her withered, lonely heart. Yet now, it was clear Roy fell short of her expectations, leaving her bitterly disappointed.
If he could not satisfy her spirit, then she would end him here!