Neither beast nor human, neither monster nor even Servant.
That colossal curse-like entity finally unleashed its final strike upon the world.
Red Berserker's heart overflowed with intoxicating bliss—this ultimate blow would shatter all oppression and utterly demolish the symbols of authority.
Of course, he had already descended into madness... even he himself recognized his insanity. Yet he couldn't stop. For he was born with an innate nature that could never endure subjugation to anyone.
No, that wasn't quite right. He found perverse pleasure in being scorned and wounded. The sensation of some corrupted form of anger accumulating within him brought boundless ecstasy.
Thus, he laughed ceaselessly. When this accumulation reached critical mass, Spartacus ignited his rebellion. As long as oppressors existed in this world, neither his pleasure nor his rage would cease.
Now granted a second life, he was unleashing the most powerful strike of his entire existence. His vision distorted as excruciating pain wracked his body—each part gradually transforming into something else—but even that torment would soon end. This wasn't merely an all-out attack. It was the ultimate destruction, achievable only by offering his entire being as sacrifice.
"Ahahahaha! The time has come! My strike shall annihilate all oppression—"
His vocal cords crushed and regenerated beneath pulsating flesh as he roared. Paying no heed to how grotesquely his body had transformed, the gladiator who dedicated his entire existence to rebellion finally unleashed his strike.
The target? The supreme authority figure in this Holy Grail War—Ruler Jeanne d'Arc—and the Fortress of Millennia looming behind her. A blow that could nearly reach the moon and strike down stars.
Neither in life nor death had he ever delivered a more powerful rebellious strike.
Would his fist and sword truly reach the oppressors?
He couldn't know, nor did he care to. The ascetic gladiator who devoted his entire being to rebellion ended his life laughing—so unrestrained, so resolute, simply because—
"This! Is! Spartacus!"
At the instant consciousness faded and his body broke free from constraints, the monstrous form containing all his joy and hatred fully unleashed itself. Violet mana circuits snaked across the bloated flesh as annihilating light erupted from thirty-five eyes, nineteen mouths, forty-nine ears, and every other conceivable orifice across his body—an unrestrained deluge!
A tsunami—Spartacus' personal tsunami—surged toward the horizon.
Yet standing against this strike were the Holy Grail War's absolute arbiters—the Rulers.
Two sacred figures bearing strikingly similar faces and auras.
Facing the enemy's assault, one raised the utopian Avalon while the other unfurled her holy banner to shield her comrades.
Thus—the EX-ranked torrent of destruction was held at bay mere inches away!
As the ahoge increased its magical output, this destruction gradually began to shift its focus...
————
While Artoria's Avalon shone brilliantly, the Red Faction also successfully completed their assembly with the Empress's assistance.
"—It seems everyone has had their fill of the Holy Grail War's taste."
Amakusa spoke these words as his gaze swept over the unharmed Karna, the grinning Achilles, the expressionless Atalanta, the disheveled Mordred and her Master beside her, as well as Sakatsuki—still clad in his black robe but now with a golden orb embedded in his chest.
Hearing this, Sakatsuki looked at him with a faint, ambiguous smile.
"Speaking of taste, haven't you already experienced it yourself?"
Without giving Amakusa time to ponder, he added, "As a Master, you successfully restrained Black Berserker, didn't you? Impressive, impressive."
So he was referring to this battle?
Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, the Ruler who had participated in the Third Holy Grail War, secretly sighed in relief. Achilles had already shaken off the frustration of his interrupted battle, and as he observed Sakatsuki and Karna, whose auras mirrored his own, his grin widened.
"After all, us crude warriors can only find pleasure in such deadly situations."
This self-deprecating remark earned a slight nod from Karna, while Sakatsuki merely quirked the corner of his lips, smiling without a word.
Once addicted, the thrill of violence is harder to quit than drugs or fine wine.
"This battle maniac—no, these three..."
Atalanta withdrew her furtive glance at Sakatsuki. Perhaps because they were both women (she categorized the Empress as a dangerous species), or perhaps because the stunningly beautiful swordswoman piqued her curiosity, she turned to the somewhat disheveled Mordred and struck up a conversation:
"Thou seem quite dejected. Wouldst thou require my assistance in the next battle?"
Still lost in confusion over her defeat by her father and the inexplicable mercy shown afterward, Mordred instinctively glanced at Atalanta and replied offhandedly, "No need. That's a matter between me and... Black Assassin."
Father? Father?
Atalanta's keen senses caught the slip immediately, her beast ears twitching as she deduced the word Mordred had hastily replaced. Stumbling upon such juicy gossip, she found it quite thrilling.
That cloaked, gloomy, and slender figure who had fought Sakatsuki to a standstill was Saber's father? And it seemed Saber had suffered quite a bit...
Father, father... How nice...
For a moment, Atalanta—who had grown up without parents—felt a pang of wistfulness. Gazing at the golden-haired knight, she sensed an emotion she had never experienced herself and couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy.
Choosing not to pry further, she turned to the Empress and asked bluntly, "Since Berserker is about to explode, what should we do next?"
She had expected the ever-confident priest and Empress to issue orders immediately, but the two on the throne were inexplicably frowning. Only after hearing Atalanta's question did they look up, with the Empress coldly snorting and waving her hand to project the images captured by her familiars.
"We were prepared, but something unexpected happened—the Black Faction's Assassin activated their Noble Phantasm. Spartacus, who's about to explode, is now charging straight toward us."
Spartacus is coming our way?!
You have to understand—this smiling boy is currently equivalent to 'Little Boy' or 'Tsar Bomba'!
Hearing this, everyone, including Mordred (who heard someone call her a 'dumb blonde'), looked up to see an unbelievable reflection in their vision—
The moment that glimmer appeared, the cluster of magical energy and spiritrons was repelled. Under the force of severance, it rapidly contracted as if gripped by an invisible hand, slowly reversing its flow.
A mysterious and tremendous power pulled at that black hole-like monstrosity, compressing it from the depths of the starry void while accumulating immense energy. Even the world couldn't bear such a heavy burden—the air shattered, the void wailed, and the sound of collapse echoed through the heavens.
In the end, both gravity and will were completely severed by the walls of the Utopia. The gladiator turned monster lost its form entirely, transforming into a dazzling, kaleidoscopic radiance that scattered in all directions. The mere aftermath flattened the forest and erased everything on the ground.
And that terrifying cluster of light, at last, had its trajectory reversed by the Isle of Avalon, launching it out from the collapsing space.
In that instant, a premonition of death exploded in the hearts of the Red Faction's Servants.
Even though this was just a magical projection of light and shadow.
Because they could feel it—the crisis had already locked onto them.
Straight. Unwavering. Heading straight for the Hanging Gardens!