Altair wasn't about to waste time toying with this Berserker. He went all-out from the start, blasting Spartacus' legs with his beam rifle before charging in. Wielding his cleaver, he began dismembering the Berserker, reducing him to a limbless torso. Dragonifying his hands, Altair pinned Spartacus down and pummeled him relentlessly.
Each strike hit like a bomb, shaking the earth. The ground sank with every blow, and after a few hits, a massive crater dozens of meters wide formed around them.
Spartacus, absorbing Altair's immense power, swelled rapidly.
To ensure his "growth." Altair occasionally paused his punches to breathe flames, scorching Spartacus evenly. Whenever Spartacus' arms began to regrow, Altair swiftly severed them with his cleaver.
The cuts were too fast for Spartacus to recover.
Amid tremors and fire, Spartacus ballooned into a monstrous beast.
His transformation drew every eye on the battlefield. Servants and magi alike gaped at his colossal form, recognizing Berserker's power, and marveling at Altair atop him.
Was this the legendary King Arthur? His raw strength was staggering, his fists alone devastating, and he could breathe fire? Did Arthur's red dragon blood let him wield draconic flames?
No one corrected these wild misconceptions. With opponents before them, all but the rearguard had to focus on their own fights.
As the battles raged, Spartacus continued swelling until he could absorb no more.
"Looks like you've hit your limit. Now, strike me, oppressor!" Altair taunted, eyeing Spartacus' gaping maw, glowing pink with imminent release.
"Oppressor! Taste the rebel's final roar!" Spartacus bellowed his last coherent words, his mouth widening. His body inflated like an oversized pufferfish, a balloon of flesh writhing to aim at Altair.
Altair obliged, leaping high to position himself between Spartacus and the Hanging Gardens.
"Show me your rebel's might!"
"Rua!!!" Spartacus unleashed a massive beam of mana from his maw, his body deflating as the colossal energy surged toward Altair.
Under every gaze, the beam engulfed Altair, then lanced skyward.
"No! Assassin, dodge!" Amakusa Shirou shouted, realizing too late the beam's trajectory.
"Too slow!"
Boom!
The beam struck the Gardens' outer stone slab, a defensive barrier capable of withstanding army-level attacks. Yet, Spartacus' army-grade beam overwhelmed it, shattering the slab and punching a gaping hole through the palace's core.
The Gardens quaked, teetering on the brink of collapse, but Semiramis stabilized it.
"Tch, too bad it didn't fall." Altair muttered. A mobile fortress from the Age of Gods deserved some credit, crashing from one hit would've been embarrassing.
Altair emerged unscathed, as if shielded by Jeanne's Luminosité Éternelle. Like her EX-rank Magic Resistance against Noble Phantasms, Altair's Campione status granted him similar immunity. Tanking a mana-fueled beam was child's play.
Glancing at the still-floating Gardens, Altair sighed, scheming for another army-level Noble Phantasm to bring it down. Two such hits should do it. As the Red Faction's Saber, he couldn't defect yet, so neither he nor Mordred could fire the shot. The Black Faction's beam-capable Servants? None left. Vlad had no beams, Astolfo lacked them, Frankenstein's were absent, Avicebron's Noble Phantasm was a dud, if it even activated. Chiron's Antares Snipe was single-target, no beam either. Expecting him to dismantle the Gardens with Greek pankration was absurd.
Tch, tricky.
Looks like Mordred would have to play traitor.
But first, the task at hand.
With Spartacus dealt with, no one stood in Altair's way, until Astolfo appeared.
"Hey, you planning to block me?" Altair asked, slinging his cleaver over his shoulder, adopting a cocky, street-thug swagger as he eyed Astolfo.
Astolfo faced him nervously, swallowing hard.
"I know I'm no match for you, but I've got no choice. I'm a Servant, and right now, I'm the only one who can stop you from charging our fortress." Astolfo said, his expression grim. As one of Charlemagne's Twelve Paladins, how could he compare to King Arthur?
"Then let me send you off." Altair said, grinning wickedly, his face as villainous as Mordred's.
"Um…" Astolfo stepped back, clutching his lance tightly, his voice almost pleading.
"Can you… not hit my face?"
***
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