The night sky was filled with a faint radiance, accompanied by a sound as delicate as raindrops dancing in the wind. But this was no gentle drizzle. It was a storm of calamity, unleashed upon the earth by a wrathful god in search of sacrifice.
Across time enough to erode golden statues and wither divine idols, the gods had answered Atalanta's plea. Thus, divine grace and divine fury streaked through the night sky, trailing behind them a fleeting river of stars. Amidst the overwhelming presence of the sacred and the destructive, the homunculi and golems running below instinctively halted and looked up, capturing in their final moments a beauty so awe-inspiring it shook the soul.
They were meteors—a rain of azure stars, shimmering as they fell from the heavens.
The stars were so beautiful, as if whispering to ignorant newborns the fleeting yet dazzling truth of existence.
Ah, if only they could meet their end in such a beautiful finale—
With such thoughts in their hearts, the homunculi and golems offered no resistance as the arrows of light struck them. Their bodies were torn apart, their consciousnesses swallowed by starlight, and thus they willingly embraced death. Though the Servants managed to evade, block, or deflect the attack, their formation had been utterly shattered.
"Gaaaaah!" Frankenstein, hidden among the ranks of soldiers, burst forward. She slammed her Noble Phantasm, Bridal Chest, into the ground, unleashing a surge of golden lightning that roared upward, devouring the starlight and neutralizing the remnants of Atalanta's Noble Phantasm.
Immediately after, Vlad III spurred his golem steed. The obedient mount leaped over the corpses of Black Faction homunculi and golems, past the crackling Frankenstein, and the Voivode of Wallachia charged headlong into the tide of thousands of skeletal warriors.
"Come, barbarians who dare trespass upon my lands—the time of judgment is at hand!"
Perhaps Vlad III had been suppressing his rage ever since the battle around the Red Berserker. Now, the fury he had accumulated for so long would manifest as an inferno of calamity, unleashed without restraint upon the invading forces of the Red Faction.
"Mercy and wrath shall become searing stakes, piercing you through without exception!"
The face of the Black Lancer was painted with the omen of slaughter. The moonlight was blotted out by the lone black rider, and only blood could leave its mark upon this abyssal curtain.
Against enemies, he would impale them. Against Noble Phantasms, he would answer in kind!
"—Kazikli Bey!"
Dark spiritual particles began to spread. The skeletal warriors reflexively looked down at their feet—and in that instant, countless slender stakes erupted from the earth around them, piercing through their bodies one after another. Shhhh… They were thorns, they were trees—the stakes were the slender trunks, and the bones formed their leaves and branches.
The dark Voivode stood amidst this hell of sharpened stakes, gripping his spear, his silent grin a thing of nightmares.
From the moment the Noble Phantasm was activated, only three seconds had passed—yet in that time, five hundred skeletal warriors had been annihilated in an instant. But the wrath of Kazikli Bey had not yet abated. The black punishment continued to spread, surging relentlessly toward the Hanging Gardens of Babylon—before finally shooting skyward!
That was a fang formed by countless stakes, united as one!
The moonlight was pierced, bleeding crimson. Before the aftermath of Atalanta and Frankenstein's Noble Phantasm clash had even dissipated, amidst the scattering blue and golden sparks, demonic claws burst forth from the earth, rapidly multiplying into a colossal formation hundreds of meters tall, thrusting straight toward the Hanging Gardens!
"To think he can sustain such a consumption of mana?!" The Empress seated atop the gardens couldn't help but exclaim in shock. Even if the legend and Noble Phantasm of the Black Lancer could produce such a grand spectacle, the sheer mana expenditure was undeniably immense—enough to drain even a first-rate magi dry.
Was the leader of the Black faction planning to stake everything on this one strike, sacrificing sustainability just to bring down the Hanging Gardens?!
How reckless—yet how awe-inspiring!
While third-rate fools might panic, the Red faction's Servants were all renowned heroes. Even Shakespeare, who couldn't fight to save his life, responded to Vlad III's attack with a lighthearted scoff.
Atlanta, watching the scene with an icy expression, turned and declared:
"With this, my first strike is complete. Your turn, Rider."
"Got it!"
Achilles slapped his knee with delight and stood up, only to find the black-robed youth beside him—Assassin, Sakatsuki—rising at the same time. His expression instantly soured.
"Sakatsuki, are you trying to steal my glory as the vanguard?"
Faced with the Greek hero's challenge, the Assassin responded with a calm yet lethally charged smile.
"No, forgive me, Achilles—how could I possibly ignore such provocation?"
Witnessing a scene straight out of myth and legend, Sakatsuki's battle-hungry heart stirred like never before, reaching its peak the moment Vlad III unleashed his Noble Phantasm in defiance.
Even if the Assassin class had amplified certain aspects of his personality, at his core, he remained that same madman who craved battle.
"A wounded dog, exposed for his clumsy assassination attempt, forced to cower in his fortress." Staring at the rapidly advancing stakes, Sakatsuki made no effort to hide his contempt for the Black Lancer. "—How dare a fraud of a Heroic Spirit like him provoke me!"
Shock—even the Red faction hadn't expected Sakatsuki to make such a declaration. The battlefield before him seemed to awaken something primal, stripping away his scheming facade to reveal the ferocity beneath.
Or perhaps, as the envoy of Hades, he was always meant to mirror his god—deep and cold, ruthless and arrogant. That was the essence of a deity who sat upon his throne, judging the world of the dead.
Atalanta's beast-like ears twitched slightly, lost in thought, while Achilles, after a brief moment of surprise, burst into laughter:
"Hahaha, splendid! Sakatsuki, I acknowledge you! Then let us charge forth together! Let us declare war upon the Black faction in full!"
"Indeed!"
The Assassin responded with a prideful grin to match Achilles', and for the first time, he didn't conceal his magecraft incantation. Spreading his arms, he loudly summoned his long-awaited armaments.
"Trace—On!!!"
Under the incredulous gazes of all, spiritual particles converged, outlining jagged lines as an enormous axe-sword surpassing human height manifested before the Red Faction's Servant—the hero of Greece!
"This is—!" Atalanta, who had once fought alongside that mighty hero as one of the Argonauts, widened her eyes. An unprecedented emotion struck her heart, sending tremors through her entire body. "Heracles' weapon!!"
"You mean—?!" Achilles turned his head in disbelief, only to see the black-cloaked youth hoisting the axe-sword onto his shoulder. Though the proportions between man and weapon seemed mismatched, it carried an extraordinary impact in his grasp.
"Let's go, Achilles!" Laughing heartily, the youth's black cloak billowed as he charged forward against the tempestuous sky, leaping down from the floating garden.
"Let us fight the Black Faction to the death, until the ends of the world and beyond!"
Thus, he stretched out his body, fearlessly falling, falling, falling—until the hands gripping the axe-sword met the massive stakes thrust forth by Vlad III!
The moment they made contact, the youth laughed wildly and unleashed the pinnacle of martial arts inherited from his projected memories.
"Nine Lives!"
Nine radiant beams pierced heaven and earth! A brilliance unmatched by mortals!
A thunderous explosion erupted, the deafening roar tearing through the thick night sky like divine wrath, spreading in all directions as the very heavens and earth trembled violently.
The order of space-time crumbled. The power of fantasy was defeated by human hands. The coldly gleaming axe-sword roared as if its original wielder had raised it once more, facing the supreme phantasmal beast Hydra to deliver a strike even he could never surpass!
Cold flames burned deep within rainbow-colored Mystic Eyes. Under Vlad III's stunned gaze, the supposedly infinite stakes shattered. His proud conceptual armament was crushed, leaving only a single slash embodying the zenith of martial arts—ninefold strikes that eradicated all creation, even the sky-piercing stakes of impalement!
Within the fragmented vision of death, distorted lines were erased, concepts wailed and perished, and the towering Babel collapsed!
"Mystic Eyes of Death Perception." As the axe-sword dissipated contentedly, Sakatsuki spread his arms like a bird in a leap of faith, softly uttering his Noble Phantasm's name. Behind him, a great hero laughed heartily, wielding the reins of a chariot drawn by three mighty steeds. Their thunderous neighs shook the battlefield.
Amidst the sound of shattering glass, the black night sky revealed emerald green, unleashing the cavalry's agile figure—a verdant meteor, the fastest and mightiest streak of light from the Age of Gods!
"Come, the battle begins! I, Red Rider—shall take the vanguard!"
The chariot raced past Sakatsuki as he fell freely. The two warriors, burning with the same fighting spirit, exchanged smiles before charging toward their shared foe.