Jayr POV - Nasuverse, Moon, SE.RA.PH, Tsukumihara Academy - 2030 AD
"Marie! My friend! I command you… Break this curse!"
Aletha's voice cuts through the battlefield, raw and absolute.
The Command Seal on the back of her hand ignites in response, lines of crimson light flaring with violent intensity. It doesn't simply release a soft glow, but it burns with authority made manifest, tearing through the Master–Servant bond and rewriting it for a single, irreversible order.
I feel it from where I stand, the air tightens, Mana across the arena convulses as if something fundamental has been seized and bent into place.
The next moment, Marie Antoinette gasps.
Power floods into her in a brutal surge, far more than she normally allows herself to draw. It gathers instinctively between her hands, condensing in the shape of a radiant crimson lily, known as Fleur de Lis, sharp-edged and luminous, its symbolism given form, Royal authority, the pride of a nation that once believed itself eternal.
Marie's expression shifts. Fear flickers for an instant, then resolves.
Then she begins the chant to invoke her Noble Phantasm, Guillotine Breaker: Glory to the Crown of Lilies. "The radiance is still here," she continues, voice steady now, almost serene. "Like boisterous flowers."
Her voice rings clear despite the pressure crushing the arena as pink light bleeds outward from her body, her wounds sealing themselves in rapid succession as the Noble Phantasm asserts itself, blood evaporates into motes of light, torn fabric knits back together, the curse gnawing at her presence recoils, forced into retreat.
She gestures, and the crimson lily shatters into countless crimson petals as they spin, spiral, accelerate, snapping together in midair with the sound of ringing glass as a horse takes shape.
Turas Realta emerges in full, a magnificent construct of translucent crystal and lilies, its form refracting the battlefield into fractured rainbows, its hooves strike the ground with a sound like chiming bells, and every step leaves hairline cracks in the curse-laden arena floor.
Marie vaults onto its back in a single smooth motion before she calls out, lifting her arm as mana surges to a blinding peak, "Like the shining sun. Right now, I will guide that radiance!"
"Guillotine Breaker!"
At this point, Turas Realta launches forward.
The glass horse explodes into motion, speed tearing at the air itself, and in its wake, massive crystalline spikes erupt from the ground, jagged and radiant, racing outward in every direction. They spread like a plague of frozen light, impaling the arena, carving through cursed terrain, ripping anchors free by sheer conceptual force.
Ledram and Nobunaga barely have time to react.
With a single, thunderous leap, Turas Realta lands mere meters from them; the impact sends a shockwave rolling across the battlefield.
Then the horse rears, front legs lifting high as it releases a resonant neigh that echoes like a cathedral bell struck by lightning, unleashing countless glassy spikes that, like ice, cover the whole battlefield, enveloping everything, including Ledram and Oda Nobunaga.
Then it slams its hooves down, making the crystalline spikes detonate.
Glass shatters across the arena, not outward but inward, collapsing in a storm of radiant fragments that tear through everything aligned against the Crown. Light swirls violently, scattering in spirals of pink and white as the Noble Phantasm reaches its climax.
At the same time, the curse breaks, it shatters just like the glassy spikes.
I feel it tear apart at its foundation, the oppressive weight that had been pressing down on the arena snapping loose like a severed noose.
The battlefield trembles as the anchoring magic is ripped free, leaving behind a hollow, ringing absence.
Breathing becomes easier.
Marie straightens atop Turas Realta, her posture proud despite the exhaustion bleeding into her limbs, while Aletha staggers slightly, then steadies as mana floods back into her circuits, the CAD-wand in her grip humming as it recalibrates to the sudden shift as the aftermath of Marie's Noble Phantasm fully restores her.
Across the arena, Ledram and Oda Nobunaga are hurled backwards, skidding across the sand and the fractured stone. Their forms are torn and bloodied, armour cracked, momentum violently broken.
For a heartbeat, silence hangs heavy.
For a heartbeat, it looks like it might be enough.
It should have been as with the Command Seal invoked, and Noble Phantasm unleashed at full authority results in the curse being broken at the conceptual level and Ledram and Oda Nobunaga being hurt by the aftermath.
Battles are supposed to end after such an upset; however, I find myself holding my breath anyway as the battle is anything but over.
Meanwhile, Nero comments in a soft tone, "Well done. They have broken free. This is a performance worthy of a crown."
However, the silence doesn't last long.
Ledram plants one knee against the fractured stone and forces himself upright, blood dripping from the edge of his mouth, his grip tightens around the Keyblade, fingers flexing once as if testing the world for resistance. Nobunaga exhales sharply beside him, one hand braced against the ground, the other steadying her rifle as she rises with a crooked grin that refuses to fade.
Ledram doesn't snarl, he doesn't shout, he chants a single spell, "Curaga."
The spell blooms instantly as green light pours outward in layered waves, wrapping around both him and Nobunaga.
The next moment, flesh knits together, burns fade, fractures mend, and Mana stabilises with surgical precision.
The damage Guillotine Breaker inflicted isn't erased completely, but it's undone enough, far more than enough.
Nero observes all this happening with her lips curling slightly as she comments, "He refuses the ending. How vulgar. To treat a climax as an inconvenience."
In response, I say, "This isn't the climax... Not yet... They are just getting started."
While saying that, I sense the tension in the battlefield becoming even sharper, to the point that it can actually be felt on the skin.
I feel it the moment Ledram straightens fully, something in him shifts, a deliberate loosening of restraint. The Darkness no longer coils quietly beneath his skin and starts spilling outward.
Fire erupts at his feet, blackened flames roaring outward in a violent ring, jagged arcs of lightning follow, tearing across the arena floor in erratic patterns that leave scorched trenches behind, wind magic detonates a split second later, compressing the air itself into invisible blades that scream as they shear through sand, stone, and glass alike.
Aletha reacts instantly.
Her CAD-wand snaps up, calculations blazing through its core as layered shields manifest in rapid succession.
They aren't static barriers; they twist, rotate, fold into one another, Harry Potter-style charmwork reinforced with Mahouka precision, each layer tuned to deflect a different vector of force.
Marie moves with her.
She darts through the chaos, pink energy flaring from her palms in short, precise bursts.
Beams collide with incoming lightning, shattering it midair. Turas Realta pivots sharply beneath her, hooves skidding as compressed wind howls past close enough to tear ribbons of light from Marie's aura.
Then the Darkness makes its presence known.
It seeps into every spell Ledram casts, not overwhelming them but infecting them. Fire burns colder, lightning leaves shadows etched into the ground, and wind carries a suffocating weight that drags at the lungs.
Tendrils emerge and lash out without warning.
They strike from blind angles, slithering up from cracks in the arena floor, tearing free from Ledram's shadow and back, reaching not just to bind but to claim. Where they touch, shields corrode, mana fraying as if chewed apart by something hungry.
Aletha grits her teeth, feet sliding back as she layers counterspells faster than most mages can think them. Old Religion sigils flare briefly beneath her boots, anchoring her position, stabilising her presence against the suffocating pressure.
Even so, the ground trembles under her.
Marie's breathing grows ragged; she deflects, dodges, counters, but the angles keep multiplying. Every time she destroys one tendril, two more replace it, making the elegance in her movements sharpen into urgency.
Ledram watches the whole thing with cold focus.
Then Nobunaga moves.
She steps forward, boots grinding against broken stone, and lets her rifle slip from her grasp before it vanishes in a shimmer of crimson light as she reaches over her shoulder and draws her katana in one smooth, practised motion.
The air changes.
A massive, swirling aura erupts around her, thick and oppressive, stained crimson as if soaked in blood and smoke. Heat rolls outward in heavy waves, forcing Aletha to brace herself instinctively.
Nobunaga rests the blade across her shoulders, eyes gleaming before she begins her incantation, voice low and vicious, "Show your corpse to the Three Thousand Worlds…"
I don't need to see the rest to know what comes next.
The battlefield braces for annihilation.
The pressure spikes the instant Nobunaga finishes the first line of her chant.
Crimson energy coils around her like a living thing, thickening with every heartbeat. It bleeds into the air, staining the battlefield as if reality itself is being painted over in blood-red ink. The Darkness recedes just enough to make room for it, Ledram stepping aside without hesitation, already anticipating what's about to be unleashed.
Nobunaga lifts off the ground, not abruptly nor violently.
She ascends, as if the battlefield itself is bowing beneath her presence, as she exclaims, "Demon Descent."
The words land like a verdict.
One by one, shapes tear themselves out of the air around her. Matchlocks, arquebuses, old, brutal, unmistakable. They don't appear all at once; they multiply, spiralling outward in expanding rings, until the sky above the arena is choked with them.
Three thousand.
They rotate in perfect formation, barrels tracking, adjusting, locking onto their targets with mechanical precision. Each one hums with condensed crimson energy, their firing mechanisms glowing like smouldering coals.
Marie's eyes widen while Turas Realta stamps nervously beneath her, glass hooves cracking the stone as it senses the imminent threat.
Then, Marie raises her hands, pink light flaring brighter as she pours everything she has into her defences.
Nobunaga swings her katana forward, blade levelled directly at Aletha and Marie as she snarls, grin stretching wide, "Behold, the Demon King's Three Line Formation!"
The next moment, the world explodes.
Gunfire roars in perfect synchronisation, a deafening, relentless storm of crimson beams tears through the air in disciplined waves, each volley overlapping the last with brutal efficiency. There's no wasted motion, no hesitation; it isn't a barrage meant to intimidate, it's a clear execution.
The first wave slams into Marie's defences, detonating in bursts of light that shake the arena.
She screams as she's forced backwards, Turas Realta skidding as glass fractures ripple across its form. The pink energy flares wildly, forming layered shields that shatter one after another under the sheer volume of fire.
Marie deflects what she can, beams and petals intercepting incoming shots, but the angles are impossible. Fire rains from above, from the sides, from blind spots she can't cover all at once.
Each impact sends pain lancing through her, cracks spreading through her aura as exhaustion sets in. Her breathing becomes ragged, her movements losing their earlier grace.
Aletha feels it instantly through the bond.
She steps forward without hesitation, planting her feet as the CAD-wand hums in her grip. Calculations cascade, spell frameworks assembling at near-instantaneous speed as she throws up additional barriers, reinforcing Marie's failing defences, but even that feels like trying to hold back the ocean with bare hands.
The volleys just keep coming.
Crimson light tears chunks out of the battlefield's corals, rocks, and even the invisible walls limiting the area. Molten stone and glassified sand rain down as the reinforced field strains under the punishment. The sound is constant, overwhelming, drowning out thought itself.
Marie's scream cuts through it all.
Her shields buckle, which means that one more volley will break her, and Aletha knows it, too.
And so, in the heartbeat before everything collapses, she makes her choice.
Aletha steps forward, with no panic, nor any kind of hesitation.
Her hand tightens around the CAD-wand, the device responding instantly as internal arrays flare to life.
Runes, calculations, and spell matrices overlap in layers far too dense for any conventional mage to follow. She doesn't look away from the storm of gunfire tearing through the arena.
She looks through it as she casts, "Malleo Chaos."
The words snap into existence, and reality answers.
A formless, multicoloured mass erupts into being in front of her, unstable and writhing, like raw magic stripped of shape or restraint.
Colours bleed into one another without pattern or rhythm, light and darkness colliding in violent flux. The air around it screams as space itself strains to accommodate something that doesn't belong.
But Aletha doesn't release it.
She inhales sharply and immediately follows, voice accelerating into a rapid-fire incantation, each word layered with intent and absolute precision.
"Stagnet. (Fixate.)"
The chaos freezes, the roiling mass locking into place as if seized by an invisible vice.
"Complexio. (Seize.) "
The spell compresses violently, density skyrocketing as its power is forced inward, screaming against its own containment.
"Supplementum. (Load Magic.)"
Mana floods the construct, feeding it, amplifying it beyond safe limits.
"Pro Armationem! (Armament!)"
Aletha thrusts her free hand forward and grabs the sphere.
The chaos pours into her without any resistance, seemingly rushing into her embrace like a child seeking its mother.
For a split second, it looks like she's going to tear herself apart from the inside as her body arches as raw Chaos Magic floods her circuits, bypassing safeguards, overriding limitations, even the CAD-wand shrieks in protest before recalibrating, its systems struggling to keep up with a master who has just stepped beyond conventional spellcasting altogether.
Her skin pales to an unnatural white as veins of shifting colour etch themselves across her body in erratic, ever-changing patterns.
A wreath of crackling energy coils around her, snapping and twisting with barely restrained madness. Her hair bleeds into a kaleidoscope of hues, every colour clashing, refusing harmony.
Then, Aletha exhales, and the battlefield reacts.
The air warps around her presence, pressure buckling outward in ripples that distort light and sound, spells aimed at her unravel mid-flight, mana structures collapsing as if confused by her very existence, the crimson energy beams veer off course, detonating harmlessly against the ground.
This isn't just a show of power; this is a true embodiment.
The current Aletha is Chaos Magic given flesh as a result of the Magia Erebea.
Resistance hardens into absolute immunity, spells that strike her and are devoured, absorbed, or simply ignored, and physical force glances off her form as if reality itself has decided she is no longer a valid target.
For weaker minds, her presence alone is enough to induce nausea, disorientation, creeping dread, even I can feel it from here, a pressure behind the eyes, a whisper at the edge of thought urging everything toward disorder.
Aletha's will holds then she moves.
The gunfire parts before her like water before a blade, darkness recoils as she charges straight through Nobunaga's barrage, slamming into Ledram with enough force to send him skidding backwards across the arena.
Chaos detonates in her wake.
Spells explode on contact, mana burning like radiation, leaving scorched scars in the reinforced sand.
Ledram barely has time to raise his Keyblade before Aletha's fist crashes into him, the impact sending shockwaves that fracture the ground beneath his feet.
At the same time, Marie screams as the Chaos floods through the bond.
Pink light collapses inward around her, twisting violently as something fundamental fractures, her aura darkens, sharpens, shedding elegance for raw hostility and when it erupts outward again, it's no longer the soft glow of royalty.
It's pure fury.
The Marie Antoinette we know is gone, and in her place, Marie Antoinette Alter steps forward.
Her blue eyes turned yellow, her silver, wavy hair styled into pigtails now has black and blonde highlights.
Her attire also changed as she now wears an oversized white padded jacket with red accents, which is draped casually off her shoulders.
The jacket features various patches, including a lily design. Around her waist is a black belt with a futuristic-looking buckle. Accessorised with a pair of white and pink sneakers, with one leg clad in a light purple sock and the other in a white and gold striped stocking.
A notable feature is her peculiar headgear, a checkered pattern cap with sharp, abstract protrusions resembling spikes encircling it.
(Image Here - Marie Antoinette Alter)
And the battle changes once more.
The transformation completes in a violent pulse of energy.
Where Marie Antoinette once stood radiant and defiant, Marie Antoinette Alter now takes her place, feet planted firmly against the fractured stone.
The air around her warps under the pressure of her presence, purple and black energy bleeding outward in sharp, unstable flares.
Her yellow eyes lock onto the battlefield with cold clarity.
Gone is the gentle warmth, the idealistic smile; what remains is fury honed into a weapon, despair sharpened into intent. The Avenger Class asserts itself fully, a weight that presses down on everything around her like an unspoken accusation.
Even Nobunaga's grin falters, just for an instant.
Marie Alter raises one hand, and the battlefield answers.
A surge of violet-black energy erupts forward, tearing through incoming Darkness tendrils as if they were paper. Spells detonate harmlessly against her aura, unravelling under the sheer hostility radiating from her existence.
She moves, not with elegance, but with lethal efficiency.
Energy beams lance from her hands in rapid succession, each shot heavier, denser, carrying the weight of her hatred.
They slam into Ledram's defences, forcing him to brace as Darkness tendrils fracture and reform under the assault.
At the same time, Aletha presses her advantage.
Chaos roars around her as she closes the distance again, strikes landing with impossible force.
She doesn't chant now; she doesn't need to, every movement she makes is spellwork by default, Chaos reshaping reality around her in violent, localised distortions.
Ledram snarls as he's driven back, boots carving trenches into the arena floor.
He retaliates by tearing open his shadow, summoning Darklings in a writhing tide. Soon, hundreds of them pour forth, clawing, screeching, swarming the battlefield.
However, they don't last.
Marie Alter gestures once, and a wave of corruptive energy sweeps outward, annihilating the Darklings instantly, making them dissolve into smoke and ash, erased before they can even reach her.
At the same time, Aletha doesn't slow.
She raises her CAD-wand and fires while chanting, "Chao Stupefy!" (AN: Chao isn't a typing error. It is intentional as it is the ablative form of the Latin word Chaos, meaning "from chaos" or "since the creation".)
A Chaos-empowered Stupefy slams into Nobunaga mid-motion, the spell hitting with far more than stunning force.
The impact distorts the air, shorting out her momentum and sending her crashing back into the ground in a burst of fractured stone.
Before Nobunaga can recover, Aletha pivots, calculations snapping into place and chants, "Chao Lumos Solem!"
The spell detonates against Ledram in a blinding eruption of chaotic light, making The Darkness recoil violently, shrieking as its inherent weakness is exploited.
The tendrils around Ledram fractures, glowing seams tearing open as radiant energy burns through the corruption.
Both enemies stagger.
For the first time since the escalation began, the momentum shifts decisively, and Aletha also feels it.
She gathers everything she has left, Chaos surging violently through her veins as she channels it into a single, overwhelming output, making the CAD-wand vibrate violently in her grip, warning systems screaming as limits are obliterated.
She aims, and then a beam of concentrated Chaos erupts from the wand, roaring across the battlefield straight toward Oda Nobunaga.
This is it.
Victory is right there; there is no way Nobunaga can survive such a powerful attack.
But Ledram recovers and moves. But more importantly, he stops holding back.
Darkness slams into place around him.
It happens in an instant, faster than Aletha can adjust her aim.
Ledram surges forward, shadow and substance collapsing inward around him as the Darkness answers his intent, and it hardens, condenses, crystallises into its absolute form.
An armour of darkness envelops him.
Not crude plating, but layered, interlocking slabs of solidified Darkness, seamless and oppressive. Glowing yellow and green orbs ignite within the armour's structure, embedded like malignant stars, pulsing in slow, deliberate rhythm, leaving only a small portion of his forehead and hair exposed, the rest of him sealed within an impenetrable shell.
This is the Darkness Armour that significantly augments the host's strength, speed and endurance, making him a powerhouse comparable to the comic version of Superman.
He positions himself directly in front of Nobunaga and takes the beam head-on.
The Chaos blast collides with the Darkness Armour in a cataclysmic explosion.
Light and shadow tear at each other with apocalyptic force, the impact fracturing the reinforced arena as if it were brittle glass, shockwaves ripple outward, pulverising stone, corals, and even what remains of the sandy floor, sending debris hurtling into the barrier walls.
I have to shield my eyes.
The sound is deafening, a shriek of reality itself being stressed past tolerance.
When the light finally fades, silence crashes down.
Ledram is still standing.
The Darkness Armour is unmarred, its surface absorbing the last flickers of Chaos as if swallowing embers, the glowing orbs pulse once, brighter, before settling back into their steady rhythm.
He exhales slowly.
He is clearly dazed, shaken even, but unharmed.
Aletha freezes for half a heartbeat, disbelief flashing through her mind as the implications hit.
That attack wasn't just strong, it was everything she had left in Chaos Form, focused, refined, unleashed with lethal intent, powerful enough to annihilate a Chaos God from the Warhammer 40K Universe.
And it hadn't worked.
Behind Ledram, Nobunaga laughs.
She pushes herself upright, brushing debris from her shoulders as crimson energy coils around her once more. Her grin is wide, feral, exhilarated as she says, voice echoing through the ruined battlefield, "Well now, that was almost convincing."
She raises her rifle again.
The air shifts immediately as the familiar crimson aura begins to spiral around her, thicker and more violent than before.
Nobunaga lifts off the ground once more, arquebuses tearing themselves into existence all around her, faster this time, angrier.
Three thousand barrels swivel into place.
Aletha understands instantly.
There's no margin left, no fallback plan, no second chance.
Her Chaos Form flickers, unstable from overexertion, power straining against the limits of even Magia Erebea. The CAD-wand trembles in her grip, systems pushed far beyond safe operation.
She meets Marie Alter's gaze across the battlefield.
They both know what this means.
Aletha inhales, steadying herself as resolve hardens into something absolute.
She raises her hand.
The Command Seal ignites once more.
The Command Seal blazes.
Crimson light erupts from Aletha's hand, brighter than before, the pattern burning itself into the air as absolute authority surges through the bond one final time.
The power doesn't flow gently; it rips through the connection, dragging every remaining ounce of potential with it.
Aletha's voice is hoarse, stripped bare by exhaustion and resolve, "Marie Antoinette Alter."
She doesn't look away as she exclaims, "I command you. End this!"
The seal flares violently, then fractures, its power pouring into Marie Alter in a single, overwhelming surge.
Marie stiffens.
For a heartbeat, it looks like she might shatter under the weight of it, then she begins to chant, her voice low, heavy with layered malice, each word dragging against the air like a blade, "Woe to all the people. Woe to the losers of tomorrow."
A massive black lily blooms around her, completely enveloping her body.
It isn't summoned so much as forced into existence, petals unfolding one by one as despair and resentment condense into physical form.
The battlefield dims as the flower eclipses the light, shadows stretching unnaturally long.
Then the lily opens, revealing Marie Alter's figure, transformed once more.
She looks older now, her presence heavier, more imposing. Her figure is fuller, her posture regal in a way that speaks not of hope but inevitability. She wears the mourning dress from the day of her execution, black fabric edged with gold, a low-cut neckline adorned with a stark white bow at her waist.
Black stockings with red diamond cutouts cling to her thighs, partially hidden by flowing layers of cloth. Her gloves are immaculate, her cape vivid red and blue, lined with white fur and embroidered with golden fleur-de-lis that gleam faintly in the gloom.
An intricate headpiece crowns her head, ribbons of black, red, and white framing her face, a small crown-like ornament resting above her brow.
(Image Here - Marie Antoinette Alter NP)
A single black tear slips from her left eye.
When she opens her eyes again, the air dies as she screams with a voice echoing with the weight of countless curses, "Vae Victis! Everyone... I won't forgive you!!"
The curse explodes outward, ready to claim its victims.
Everything within its radius withers instantly. Sand, corals, and stone cracks and blacken, mana structures collapse, the three thousand matchlocks detonate midair, violent explosions ripping through Nobunaga's formation as weapons turn against themselves.
Nobunaga screams.
She plummets from the air, slamming into the ground hard enough to crater it as black corruption spreads rapidly across her body, veins darkening, strength bleeding out as the curse gnaws at her from the inside.
Her movements slow, her breath ragged, her grin finally gone.
They're winning, but then Ledram moves.
Unaffected by the curse within his Darkness Armour, he reaches Nobunaga's side in an instant and drives his Keyblade straight into her chest before he twists it sharply.
The curse locks.
The black corruption freezes in place, its power sealed away as if trapped behind an unbreakable barrier.
Nobunaga collapses, alive, breathing hard, spared at the final moment.
Ledram doesn't hesitate before he turns the Keyblade on himself and drives it through his own chest.
This time, he twists it the opposite way.
Something unlocks.
The sound echoes across the battlefield, deep and resonant, like a massive lock opening in the depths of the world.
Then Darkness erupts outward in a tidal wave, flooding into Ledram, refining him, reinforcing him, elevating him far beyond what he was moments ago.
His presence changes completely; his wild black hair becomes longer and turns pure white.
The pressure is overwhelming, almost absolute, the kind that makes instinct scream to flee.
And then he moves.
So fast, Aletha never sees him coming.
She's struck mid-breath, Chaos Form flickering violently as she's sent flying across the arena like a discarded doll. She slams into the wall hard enough to crater it, Chaos bleeding off her form in unstable bursts as her high-speed regeneration struggles to keep up.
Marie Alter lunges to retaliate, but Ledram swats her aside.
One single, casual blow.
She hits the ground and doesn't rise.
The next moment, a bright red digital barrier snaps into existence, slicing the Coliseum in two, separating Aletha and Marie from Ledram and Nobunaga.
A sign that the battle is over and that Ledram stands victorious.