Scorching heat, trembling.
"Hah... cough cough, pff—!"
Rider Achilles struggled to breathe, gasping as he forced apart the rubble burying him. Using his cross-shaped spear as support, he pushed himself to his feet. The once gleaming silver armor was now battered and torn, stained with blood.
"Thank goodness... my heel."
His entire body and face were covered in exploded wounds—flesh torn open, mixed with sparks and dirt fragments, making him look utterly miserable. Yet he wore a serious expression as he checked his heel, only then letting out a sigh of relief.
Even though his 'Andreias Amarantos' could not nullify Selene's direct divine attacks and seemed to have little effect, the immortality granted by his divinity was his ticket to even contend with her.
As long as Achilles' heel remained intact, 'Andreias Amarantos,' along with the powerful regeneration, enhanced physical abilities, and resistance to residual attacks granted by immortality, would not disappear.
Without divinity, one wouldn't even meet the threshold to deal effective damage to Selene.
"That terrifying brute strength... 'Akhilleus Kosmos'—I owe that one to you."
A faint green glow flickered across the patterns on his shield as he dismissed the manifestation of his trump card Noble Phantasm. Achilles raised his head and muttered with a bitter smile:
"To defeat a battle god this outrageous... the difficulty is probably no less than big brother Heracles' Twelve Labors."
Looking out across the distance, in the brief time he had been swatted several kilometers underground, everything within his line of sight had turned into a barren wasteland devoid of life. Every building had been completely pulverized.
The old district of Fuyuki in Miyama Town had been replaced by a massive ring-shaped crater dozens of meters deep.
Whether it was Homurahara Academy, the shopping district, residential areas, Ryuudou Temple, or the Emiya residence, Tohsaka residence, and Matou residence—within a radius of seven to eight kilometers, it looked as though a nuclear bomb had ravaged the area. The ground had been shaved down by thirty meters, and in some places, groundwater was even gushing out.
Centered around the serpentine shadow within the storm-filled sky, a terrifying repulsive shockwave had blasted away both buildings and earth alike, spreading outward in a circular pattern. Once the force dissipated, everything piled up at the edges, forming strange artificial mountain ranges.
Achilles himself had previously been embedded within one of those 'mountains.' Looking around, there was no trace of the Mion River—it had been completely filled in.
Crunch—
"Achilles! Hah—hah—how's the situation?"
Amid the rustling sound of dragged debris, Rider Achilles turned his head. Ritsuka Fujimaru was climbing up, panting heavily, with Mash following close behind, shield raised as she scanned the surroundings warily.
"As you can see, it's not good."
"Even I can only deal very limited damage to her, and I still have to stay on guard against her Mystic Eyes and attacks at all times... constantly avoiding anything aimed at my heel. Sigh, being too famous has its downsides."
As he spoke, Achilles spread his hands and even smugly praised himself a little.
Honestly, Selene's Mystic Eyes were a nightmare for him. If her gaze turned toward you, could you really not dodge?
With 'Andreias Amarantos,' maybe the rest of his body could withstand it briefly—but Achilles feared Selene focusing specifically on his heel.
"Kid, surrounding her won't work. No matter how many ordinary Servants you bring, for Rider, even if she just stood there and let them attack, they wouldn't be able to harm her."
"Only demigods or gods with immortality, or Servants who possess feats of slaying divine beasts, god-killing achievements, or divine constructs (star-forged weapons), can deal real damage to her."
"This world is being transformed into something akin to the Age of Gods. While that environment benefits us to some extent, it clearly benefits her far more!"
"She's getting stronger every moment... no, more accurately, she's recovering—reconstructing the divine authority of her true self."
"If Chaldea has any other trump cards, use them now. Otherwise... there won't be a chance later."
With that, Rider Achilles hoisted his cross spear onto his shoulder. His muscles tensed, his body leaned forward, and with a single step—boom—he vanished instantly.
At that moment, the value of immortality was displayed to the fullest. Just moments ago, his body had still carried the smell of burnt metal and flesh, yet after a few rapid movements, he had already recovered most of his condition.
"Oh, praise the Lord! Once again, Rider has been born into the world with such a ferocious 'beast'! How truly marvelous! We cannot help but be overcome with poetic inspiration, ideas flowing like a spring."
With exaggerated, theatrical gestures, a middle-aged man with yellowish hair and beard, dressed in a brown-green long coat, held a book and delivered a self-indulgent speech.
The world-famous English playwright—Caster William Shakespeare—made his dazzling entrance.
"Caster, didn't I tell you to stay by the magic circle and assist Lord Waver? What are you doing here?"
Ritsuka Fujimaru covered his face.
"Ah—how sorrowful! Master, please allow me, William Shakespeare, to offer my sincerest apologies for disobeying your instructions..."
"But, oh Master! With thunder raging, horns blaring, and a battlefield where gods and men clash—such a heroic stage—how could it lack the singing of poetry? Poetry is the vessel of human civilization!"
Clutching his chest with exaggerated theatrical expression, Caster William Shakespeare first feigned grief before abruptly shifting tone, speaking passionately.
As someone with an extremely proactive personality—one who would grow listless without stirring trouble—William Shakespeare was deeply versed in the 'troublemaking' tendencies of his homeland.
Although the battle of Heroic Spirits on Waver's side featured excellent material—the Mesopotamian goddess of beauty, the King of Heroes of ancient Babylon's Uruk, the King of Knights of Britain, and the Child of Light of Ireland—when compared to the grand spectacle on the opposite side, William Shakespeare made his choice without hesitation.
As he spoke, he seemed to suddenly gain inspiration. Holding a quill, he began writing rapidly on parchment, muttering to himself as he did so.
"Oh~ just look at those pitiful exotic races—utterly devoid of artistic sensibility..."
Watching Caster William Shakespeare suddenly begin writing furiously, Ritsuka Fujimaru froze for a moment. Then Dr. Roman's specially emphasized advice surfaced in his mind.
'Ritsuka, William Shakespeare is a world-renowned master of tragedy.'
"Caster."
"?" William Shakespeare looked up in confusion.
"Mr. Shakespeare, I sincerely hold deep respect for you as a world-class playwright whose name is recorded in history. Your Four Great Tragedies are legendary—but precisely because of that, I've realized something. As you are now, you'll definitely write this story as a tragedy. So..."
Ritsuka Fujimaru stared at Shakespeare and spoke solemnly, word by word:
"I command you with a Command Spell—Caster William Shakespeare. If you wish to maintain your manifestation, then anything concerning us must not be written as a tragedy!"
"Ugh... Master! Why, why must it be like this again? This cage that binds creative freedom—too excessive, too cruel, truly far too cruel!"
With Shakespeare's almost nonexistent magic resistance, even the weakened Chaldea-style Command Spell wrapped around him like chains, binding him tightly.
"Sigh... such cruel reality as in King Lear. Very well—if not tragedy, then comedy it shall be. In my youth, I too was once a pure and virtuous man."
Though he protested exaggeratedly, Shakespeare did not attempt to forcibly break the restriction imposed upon his body and mind—this constraint of 'no tragedies.' Instead, he revealed a curious smile, as if he actually enjoyed it.
Seeing this, Ritsuka lowered his hand after using the Command Spell and sighed helplessly.
Caster William Shakespeare's skill: Enchanting Words—Rank A.
Through phrases such as 'able to cut through all things' or 'able to block any attack,' he could enhance the sharpness or durability of weapons—essentially a form of conceptual reinforcement. If he wrote a tragedy, wouldn't that just push their situation into something even worse?
"Screee—!"
"Master! Caster, stay here and don't move—I'll be right back!"
At that moment, from the empty, cloudless sky, a phantom steed and hawk-like creature let out a piercing cry that rivaled the sound of the wind.
"One of the Twelve Paladins of Charlemagne—Astolfo! Reporting for battle!"
Faced with that loud self-introduction, everyone present noticed Astolfo's arrival—if only for a brief instant.
But...
Nothing happened.
Sometimes, the most terrifying thing is sudden silence—because absolutely no one paid him any attention...
"Ahahaha..." Rider Astolfo scratched the back of his head and laughed. As long as he wasn't embarrassed, then it was someone else's problem.
Rumble—!
No one had time to care about Astolfo's antics. Before them, the earth churned, and the sky inverted!
Whoooosh—!
Using his Mana Burst skill, Lancer Karna transformed into a golden meteor, charging forward at supersonic speed.
With such pure, overwhelming velocity, even without any additional technique, an ordinary Servant would likely be smashed to pieces in an instant.
The next moment, within the storm-darkened sky, countless violet points of light suddenly ignited. Massive beams of blazing energy descended like a meteor shower, crashing down endlessly from above.
Mountains burned, seas boiled. The surging seawater and seeping groundwater were instantly vaporized, turning into scorching steam. The magma forged by the magical artillery seemed intent on transforming the entire world into a sea of flames.
"Like a mayfly shaking a tree."
The colossal figure, like a demon god, slowly rose from the sea of lava. Horns like those of a dragon or beast pierced toward the heavens, and her '×'-shaped pupils shimmered as though reflecting a sea of stars.
The Saint Graph filled with love for humanity seemed to soften the brutality of her Demonic Beast Goddess form. At a glance, all who gazed upon Selene—whether human or Heroic Spirit—felt an uncanny sense of familiarity.
"A mother's love?!"
Though her tone remained as arrogant and domineering as ever, one could faintly sense from that cold sun-like presence an unreal gentleness—holy, maternal, and filled with compassion...
She had changed again... this time, it was the authority of the Primordial Mother Goddess Tiamat. Karna thought silently.
"Roar—!!"
Berserker Spartacus paid no heed. Wrapped in countless serpentine coils, his submerged mouth still roared as he struggled, his swollen, overgrown flesh-arm swinging wildly in an attempt to reach Selene's body.
Rejected.
Allowing normally shaped Heroic Spirits to engage in three-dimensional combat on her tail and hair was already the limit of what Selene could tolerate.
But letting a grotesque mass of flesh—its skin bursting from overgrown muscle, its body an unnatural mix of blue, white, and pink, towering several stories high—crawl onto her body?
In one word: get lost.
"Filthy trash!"
With visible disgust, Selene turned. Her enormous serpent tail descended, and with a dull explosive sound that was nothing more than firecrackers to her ears, the noise was silenced.
"Ah! Ahh! Aaaah—!"
Within the crushing jaws of a serpent, Berserker Frankenstein—her body severely damaged, sparks flying—cried out incoherently at Selene.
"This battlefield isn't suited for you. Go to sleep."
Selene cast her a flat glance. With a thought, corrosive violet-red energy surged, and Frankenstein was instantly disintegrated.
"Next."
Her cold, mechanical voice rang out again. Lancer Vlad III's expression changed drastically. Without hesitation—thud thud thud—a forest of black, blood-soaked stakes erupted from the ground.
As Selene's fully activated Mystic Eyes swept over him—crack crack crack—despite reacting in time, half of Vlad III's body, along with his stakes, was instantly petrified.
"Not Romania—without territorial advantage, it's lacking... next."
In the following instant, her gaze continued. Vlad III's entire body turned into a statue, and what followed was a descending magical bombardment.
BOOM—!
The magical artillery did not cease, relentlessly bombarding the remaining Servants who relied on personal defensive Noble Phantasms.
Wings spread. Energy gathered.
Bzzzz—!
Just as Selene was about to fire again, she suddenly paused.
"Hmm?"
Straightening her body, she looked toward Fuyuki's new city district. At the edge of her perception, tens of thousands of new magical signatures had suddenly appeared.
"A legion-type summoning Noble Phantasm."
Among them, many radiated magical energy on par with Saber Siegfried—some even exceeding it.
Selene could already foresee it—Kiana and the others would not have an easy time. Being surrounded was inevitable.
And these were standard Servant Saint Graph incarnations—the gap between upper and lower limits wasn't large enough to guarantee overwhelming dominance. Facing massed attacks, someone was very likely to fall.
"Hm? Rita? She's the first to fall again?"