The sky was a suffocating canvas of rust and grinding gears, devoid of a sun or stars. Below it stretched an endless wasteland of red sand, littered with countless swords stabbed into the earth like gravestones.
This was the inner world of the nameless Counter Guardian. The Reality Marble, Unlimited Blade Works: Infinite Creation of Swords.
"A barren land filled with counterfeit blades," Jacques de Molay, the final Grand Master of the Knights Templar, declared. Manifested in his true historical aspect as a male Saber-class Servant, his imposing figure was clad in pristine silver armor and a white tabard adorned with a red cross. He radiated an untarnished, holy aura that stood in stark, blinding contrast to the rusty wasteland around him. "To forge such illusions and parade them as absolute... this Reality Marble is a heretical insult to the divine truth of the Lord!"
Standing atop a hill of swords, his red coat billowing in the dry wind, EMIYA looked down at the devout knight with cold, steel-colored eyes.
"They may be fakes, but there is no rule that says a fake cannot surpass the original," EMIYA stated calmly, his voice echoing across the endless horizon. "If you believe your holy light can simply burn this world away, you are welcome to try, Saber."
"Gladly! I shall purify this purgatory of iron in the name of God!" Molay shouted, his eyes burning with absolute, unwavering zeal.
He lunged forward with the speed of a comet. Saber brought his massive holy broadsword down, unleashing a crescent wave of blinding white light that instantly vaporized the iron swords stuck in the ground before him. The sheer weight and precision of his swordsmanship were befitting of the Grand Master who once led the greatest holy order in history.
EMIYA didn't flinch. He didn't even move his hands.
"Trace, On."
At his mental command, dozens of swords pulled themselves from the red sand. They levitated into the air, aiming their points at the charging Templar, before firing off like a volley of supersonic missiles.
CLANG! SMASH! SHATTER!
Molay did not slow down. He swung his holy blade in wide, masterful arcs, deflecting and shattering the incoming projectiles with absolute precision. "Too frail! Is this all the Faker can muster against the shields of the Holy Land?!" Molay mocked, closing the distance in the blink of an eye.
He thrust his sword forward, intending to pierce the Archer's heart.
EMIYA sidestepped the lethal strike with millimeter precision, allowing the holy blade to graze his cheek. In that same breath, twin blades materialized in his hands—the married swords, Kanshou and Bakuya.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," EMIYA countered.
He stepped inside the Saber's guard, launching a relentless flurry of dual-wielding strikes. Yin and Yang, black and white—the twin swords moved in a perfect, flowing dance of offense and defense.
CLASH! SPARK! CLANG!
Sparks of holy light and blue ether showered the red sands. Despite EMIYA's flawless technique and Mind's Eye (True) (EX Rank), Molay's base parameters as a Saber were overwhelming. The Templar parried Kanshou with his gauntlet and delivered a devastating horizontal sweep with his broadsword, forcing EMIYA to cross his twin blades to block.
The heavy impact sent EMIYA skidding backward across the desert of swords, his boots digging trenches into the sand.
"Your technique is admirable, but your weapons lack the weight of true faith!" Molay declared, raising his holy sword high toward the gear-filled sky. Pure, golden mana poured from his Saint Graph, drawing upon the collective devotion and history of the Knights Templar. The atmosphere inside the Reality Marble began to tremble under the immense pressure of his Noble Phantasm.
"O Lord, guide our steps. We are the shields of the holy land, the blades of the cross!" Molay chanted, his voice overlapping with the phantom cries of thousands of crusaders. "Pèlerinage du Temple: Such a Long Pilgrimage's Journey (Anti-Unit C)"
A massive, blinding tide of holy light erupted from his blade. From within the light, the phantom manifestations of countless Knights Templar on horseback charged forward. It was a conceptual holy crusade—an Anti-Army wave of divine purification threatening to trample the Reality Marble and its creator into dust.
EMIYA looked up at the encroaching cavalry of light. His expression remained utterly unfazed. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, syncing his magic circuits with the entirety of the world he had created.
"You don't seem to understand, Saber," EMIYA's voice resonated, not just from his mouth, but from every single blade stuck in the ground. "This isn't just a battlefield. This is my mind. Every weapon here... is already loaded."
He opened his eyes.
The giant gears in the sky suddenly accelerated. Hundreds, then thousands of swords began to vibrate violently across the entire wasteland.
Rather than projecting a single shield, EMIYA commanded the Reality Marble itself. Thousands of Noble Phantasms—spears, halberds, broadswords, and demonic blades—levitated into the air, aiming simultaneously at the charging holy crusade.
But EMIYA didn't stop there. He raised his left hand, manifesting his black bow, while his right hand projected a spiral, drill-like sword that hummed with terrifying, volatile mana. Caladbolg II.
"Go."
It was a meteor shower of steel. Thousands of weapons rained down like a relentless iron storm, violently clashing head-on against Molay's phantom cavalry. The sheer, infinite volume of Noble Phantasms, fueled by the Reality Marble's absolute authority, began to pierce the holy knights, stalling the momentum of the "Pèlerinage du Temple: Such a Long Pilgrimage's Journey (Anti-Unit C)"
"Push through! The Lord's light will not yield to counterfeits!" Molay roared, physically surging ahead of his phantom army, his holy sword cutting a path through the rain of infinite blades.
He was only fifty meters away. Then thirty. Then ten.
Drawing his bow to its absolute limit, EMIYA nocked the spiraling blade. He poured every ounce of his remaining mana into the weapon, forcibly altering its concept into a Broken Phantasm—a bomb of pure, destructive magical energy.
"Caladbolg!"
He fired. The twisted sword tore through the air, carving a vacuum through Molay's remaining holy light. Because Molay had poured all his energy into his offensive charge, he had no defenses left to stop a point-blank, Anti-Fortress-level explosion.
The spiraling blade struck the Grand Master's silver breastplate.
KABOOOOOOOM!
A blinding explosion of blue ether and spatial distortion completely engulfed the Saber. The detonation of the Broken Phantasm violently shredded the holy light of the Templar crusade, shattering Molay's Saint Graph from the inside out.
The explosion kicked up a massive cloud of red dust. The giant gears in the sky slowly came to a halt.
As the smoke cleared, Jacques de Molay stood frozen, his holy sword planted into the red sand to keep himself from falling. His silver armor was shattered, and his body was rapidly dissolving into golden spirit particles.
Despite the fatal blow, there was no anger or madness in the Grand Master's eyes—only the dignified acceptance of a true knight.
"To pierce the armor of faith with mere fakes..." Molay coughed, a weary but respectful smile crossing his face. "It seems... the strength of your conviction is no illusion, Archer. You have fought well."
EMIYA lowered his bow, letting it disperse into blue light. He looked at the fading Saber and gave a small, respectful nod.
"Rest in peace, Grand Master."
Molay closed his eyes, bowing his head in a final, silent prayer before completely dissolving into golden light, his spirit returning to the Throne of Heroes. Left alone in his infinite wasteland of swords, the Counter Guardian turned away, the Reality Marble slowly fading around him to return him to the real world.
! Saber, Jacques de Molay has been defeated !
The hardened surface of the illusionary ocean violently shattered, melting into steam under a sudden, cataclysmic surge of heat.
From the epicenter of the blue inferno, a deafening, earth-shattering hiss echoed across the Singularity. The light dispersed, revealing a horror born of absolute, obsessive love.
Kiyohime was no longer in her humanoid form. Her Noble Phantasm, Samadhi Through Transforming Flames (Anti-Unit Self EX), had completely overwritten her physical vessel. She had metamorphosed into a colossal, terrifying Eastern-style serpent. Her massive, scaled body was wreathed in a maelstrom of scorching blue fire, and her reptilian eyes locked onto the Avenger with the lethal intent of a predator defending its mate.
"A Dragon Witch...?" The colossal serpent's voice echoed directly into the minds of everyone present, dripping with lethal malice. "Do not flatter yourself, vulgar woman. You are nothing but kindling for my love!"
The giant serpent reared its massive head back and unhinged its jaws.
"Burn into nothingness!"
Kiyohime unleashed a devastating, wide-area dragon breath attack. A torrent of ultra-concentrated blue fire, fueled by her EX-rank transformation and the Flame-Colored Kiss she had stolen from Fujimaru, washed over the battlefield. The heat was so intense it began to vaporize the very mana in the air.
"Damn you!" Jalter roared. She planted her tattered flag into the melting ice, desperately channeling all her amplified mana to project a barrier of black flames to counter the breath. BOOOM! The collision of black hatred and blue obsession created a localized firestorm that tore the sky apart.
Despite her boosted A+ parameters, Jalter was slowly being pushed back. The sheer volume and conceptual weight of Kiyohime's transformed state were overwhelming.
"Now, my other self!" Jeanne d'Arc's voice pierced through the roaring flames.
Using Kiyohime's massive breath attack as cover, the original Holy Maiden dashed through the crossfire. Her Luminosité Eternelle glowed brilliantly, parting the blue and black flames alike. She closed the distance in an instant, swinging her holy standard not as a spear, but as a heavy, blunt instrument.
SMASH!
The flagpole struck Jalter squarely in the ribs, shattering her concentration and disrupting her defensive barrier of black fire. The Avenger stumbled, her eyes widening in realization as the blue firestorm above her shifted.
"I've caught you, homewrecker!"
Before Jalter could recover her footing, the colossal serpent descended from the smoke. Moving with a terrifying, unnatural speed that belied its massive size, Kiyohime's serpentine body coiled violently around the Avenger.
One loop. Two loops. Three.
This was the true, inescapable horror of her Noble Phantasm: a lethal, single-target constriction attack.
"GHK—!" Jalter gasped violently as the massive, burning scales crushed against her armor. The physical pressure was astronomical, equivalent to being caught between tectonic plates. Her bones groaned, and her internal spiritual core began to crack under the overwhelming force of the giant serpent's coils.
"Let... go... of me!" Jalter snarled, her sword trapped against her own body. She desperately tried to detonate her La Grondement Du Haine: Roar, Rage of Mine (Anti-Army EX) from point-blank range, attempting to blast the snake apart with spikes of cursed iron and black fire.
But Kiyohime merely tightened her grip. The blue flames coating her scales flared even hotter, incinerating Jalter's cursed spikes the moment they materialized. The conceptual weight of a dragon born from madness and obsession completely overpowered the artificial hatred of the Avenger.
"To burn away all impurities... this is the fiery bell of absolute love!" Kiyohime hissed, her massive serpentine head looming directly over the trapped Avenger.
"It is over, Avenger," Jeanne declared, stepping forward. She raised her holy flag, its golden light resonating with the blue flames of the serpent. "Let this light purge the shadows of your sorrow."
Trapped in the unbreakable, crushing coils of the EX-rank serpent, Jalter could only grit her teeth. For the first time since she manifested, the burning hatred in her eyes flickered, replaced by a fleeting, bitter acceptance of her checkmate.
"Hypocrites... the both of you..." Jalter spat, blood dripping from her lips.
Kiyohime unhinged her massive jaws one final time, while Jeanne thrust her glowing standard forward.
A point-blank burst of absolute blue fire from the serpent synchronized perfectly with the purifying holy light of the Ruler. The combined, catastrophic strike engulfed the constricted Avenger entirely. The black flames of hatred were swallowed, purified, and utterly incinerated.
The blinding vortex of blue fire and holy light slowly began to dissipate, leaving behind a massive crater of molten ice and scorched water. The colossal serpent had uncoiled, its form shifting back into a heavily exhausted Kiyohime, who fell to her knees, gasping for air. Jeanne d'Arc lowered her flag, her chest heaving as she stared into the center of the destruction.
By all laws of magecraft, nothing should have survived a point-blank, dual-pronged execution of that magnitude.
But from the very center of the billowing steam, a low, chilling sound echoed. It wasn't a death rattle.
It was laughter.
"Hah... Hahaha... AAH-HAHAHAHA!"
The thick smoke was suddenly and violently sucked inward, pulled into a singular, gravity-defying point of pitch-black void. Standing in the epicenter of the molten crater, Jeanne Alter's armor was heavily cracked, her cape burned to cinders, and blood poured from her lips. Yet, her golden eyes burned with a madness and malice that dwarfed anything they had seen before.
Her tattered flag was planted firmly into the ground, completely absorbing the residual holy light and blue flames that had just tried to kill her.
"Did you actually think a snake's tight hug and some hypocritical spotlight could burn away my hatred?" Jalter spat, wiping the blood from her chin. The air around her began to vibrate with a catastrophic, suffocating pressure.
Class Skill Activated: Avenger (B Rank)
Class Skill Activated: Self-Restoration (Mana) (A+ Rank)
As an Avenger, the more pain, damage, and malice inflicted upon her, the stronger she became. The colossal crushing force of Kiyohime's EX-Rank serpent coils and the point-blank magical bombardment hadn't killed her; they had merely acted as the ultimate fuel for her Noble Phantasm.
"I am the Witch of Vengeance! I am the flame that will scorch this cursed history to the ground!" Jalter roared, her voice distorting into something demonic. She gripped the flagpole with both hands, lifting it high as the accumulated damage and hatred reached critical mass. "If you want to feel true despair... then let me return your 'love' and 'light' a thousand times over!"
"La Grondement Du Haine: Roar, Rage of Mine (Anti-Army EX)"
This was the true horror of her Noble Phantasm. It did not just summon spikes; it forcibly reflected the magical energy and physical damage she had taken back at her enemies, amplified by her endless grudge.
A catastrophic eruption of hellfire and jagged, cursed iron spikes exploded outward from her flag. Because she was releasing the absorbed energy of an EX-Rank Noble Phantasm mixed with Ruler's holy light, the blast radius was apocalyptic.
"Kiyohime, get behind me!" Jeanne screamed, slamming her standard into the ground to project her Luminosité Eternelle: God is Here With Me (Barrier A Rank).
But Jalter's counter-attack was too fast and too overwhelming. The shockwave of black fire and iron spikes smashed into Jeanne's golden barrier with the force of a meteor impact. The holy shield groaned, cracked, and finally shattered.
BOOOOOOM!
The resulting explosion launched both Jeanne and Kiyohime backward like ragdolls. Kiyohime, completely drained of mana from her previous transformation, took the brunt of the shockwave and crashed heavily into the hardened ice, instantly falling unconscious. Jeanne rolled across the jagged terrain, using her flag to brutally brake her momentum, but her holy armor was heavily scorched, and her spiritual core flickered violently from the sheer trauma of the blast.
As the rain of cursed black fire fell around them, setting the very ocean on fire, Jalter slowly stepped out of her crater.
Her physical vessel was on the brink of collapse from taking so much damage, but Dumas's Musketeers' Masquerade was still violently holding her parameters together. Surrounded by the inferno of her own making, the Dragon Witch dragged her sword across the ice, her twisted smile radiating absolute, unyielding supremacy.
"Now then..." Jalter sneered, pointing her blackened blade directly at the kneeling Jeanne d'Arc. "Who is the next one to burn?"
At the absolute center of the storm, the hardened illusionary ocean had been completely pulverized, replaced by a churning vortex of black water and eldritch madness.
Towering above the chaotic waves was the Gigantic Horror—a mountainous, writhing abomination of fleshy tentacles, countless blinking eyes, and gaping maws. It was not a creature of this universe, but a blasphemous manifestation pulled straight from the abyss.
Standing atop the gelatinous peak of the monster were the two architects of this nightmare.
"O' Jeanne! Can you see it?! The supreme beauty of despair!" Gilles de Rais, the Bluebeard, screamed into the tempest, his eyes bulging with manic ecstasy as he held the Prelati's Spellbook high into the air. "Let this world be swallowed by the void! Let God witness our magnificent tragedy!"
Beside him, hovering effortlessly on a floating disc of mana, was his eternal partner in madness: Francois Prelati. The androgynous illusionist giggled, waving a delicate hand over the battlefield.
"Ah, the Hound and the little shielder are putting up such a wonderful struggle, Gilles!" Prelati smiled sadistically.
A wave of prismatic, mind-altering mana washed over the area. Suddenly, the dozens of massive tentacles whipping toward Cú Chulainn and Mash Kyrielight multiplied into thousands. The sky became a fractal nightmare of crushing appendages, making it completely impossible to distinguish reality from fatal illusion.
"Tch! These Caster types are nothing but a massive headache!" Cú Chulainn grunted, dodging what he thought was a real tentacle, only for it to phase through him, while a hidden, physical appendage smashed into his side.
The Hound of Ulster was manifested in his Caster class, relying on his primordial runes and his wooden staff rather than his iconic spear. He drew an Ansuz rune in the air, unleashing a torrential blast of fire that incinerated several tentacles, but the eldritch flesh simply regenerated instantly, fueled by the infinite mana of the demonic grimoire.
CLANG!
Mash slid backward across the fragmented ice, her boots digging deep grooves into the ground. She held her massive cross-shield high, forcibly blocking a physical slam from a tentacle the size of a skyscraper.
"Senpai isn't here yet! I have to hold the line!" Mash declared, her small body trembling under the astronomical weight. "Cú, there are too many! I can't track the real attacks through these illusions!"
"Just focus on keeping your head attached to your shoulders, little lady! I'll figure out a way to roast this overgrown calamari!" Cú yelled, spinning his staff to deflect a volley of highly corrosive acid spat by the monster's auxiliary mouths.
Suddenly, a calm, commanding voice cut through the howling storm via their telepathic link.
"You are fighting the ocean, Caster. Stop wasting your mana on the waves and aim for the moon that controls the tide."
Mash's eyes lit up. "Senpai!"
Fujimaru stepped out of the thick fog at the edge of the vortex. His expression was a mask of cold, unyielding calculation. His blue eyes scanned the chaotic, illusion-filled sky, his analytical mind effortlessly cutting through Prelati's theatrical deception.
"Prelati's illusions the entire world," Fujimaru stated, raising his right hand. The second of his three Command Spells glowed a brilliant, blood red. "But they cannot fake the true density of a demonic core. Mash, drop your peripheral defenses. Focus entirely on a forward wedge."
"Understood, Master!" Mash didn't hesitate. She abandoned her wide-area defense, angling her massive shield forward and charging directly into the writhing forest of tentacles.
"Oh? The little Master thinks he can break my masterpiece?" Prelati laughed, twirling a finger. "Swallow her whole, my beautiful nightmares!"
Hundreds of illusory and real tentacles converged on Mash simultaneously. But Fujimaru's eyes narrowed.
"Caster. Ten o'clock, elevated forty degrees. That is the physical anchor of Prelati's spellbook. Burn it."
"Heh. Now that's the kind of order I like!" Cú Chulainn smirked.
An overwhelming surge of absolute mana flooded Cú's magic circuits. The Hound of Ulster slammed his wooden staff into the ground. The earth beneath the hardened water shattered, and a massive array of primordial Celtic runes materialized in a burning, fiery ring that dwarfed even the Gigantic Horror.
"Gilles! Stop playing around! Kill them!" Prelati suddenly shrieked, realizing the immense conceptual threat of the spell being woven.
"Despair! Tremble! Return to the void!" Gilles roared, pouring the entirety of his corrupted mana into the grimoire.
The center of the Gigantic Horror split open, revealing a massive, abyssal eye that fired a continent-shattering beam of pure, concentrated dark matter directly at Cú Chulainn.
But Mash Kyrielight was already there. She planted her shield firmly into the ground directly in the path of the beam, her resolve unshakable.
"That which heals all wounds and grudges, our glorious homeland... Lord Chaldeas: Virtual Noble Phantasm Pseudo-Deployment: Foundation of Human Order (Anti-Unit D)"
The conceptual walls of the white chalk city manifested. The apocalyptic beam of the void crashed into the ultimate defense of humanity. The shockwave tore the clouds apart and vaporized the surrounding ocean, but Mash held her ground, her shield radiating a blinding, unyielding light that completely shielded Cú.
"Thanks for the cover, kid! Now, let's turn this nightmare into kindling!"
Cú Chulainn raised his hands toward the gear-filled sky, his eyes glowing with the fierce, wild light of the primordial druids.
"Scorching flames, become a giant that devours the gods!" Cú chanted, unleashing the true name of his Noble Phantasm. "Wicker Man: Cage of Scorching, Consuming Flames (Anti-Unit (Self) A+)"
From the burning runic circle beneath the ocean, a colossal, terrifying giant made entirely of flaming cursed wood and thorny vines erupted upward. The Wicker Man was equal in size to the Gigantic Horror itself.
The blazing giant lunged forward, ignoring the onslaught of tentacles. It tackled the eldritch abomination, its massive, fiery wooden arms wrapping around the Gigantic Horror in a devastating, inescapable grapple.
"No! My masterpiece! My offering to Jeanne!" Gilles screamed as the divine, primordial fire of the Wicker Man began to rapidly incinerate the unholy, regenerating flesh of his monster.
The conceptual fire of the Celtic god completely bypassed Prelati's illusions. The Wicker Man's chest opened, revealing a raging, inescapable furnace. With a brutal display of primordial strength, the wooden giant forcibly shoved the core of the Gigantic Horror—along with Gilles de Rais and Francois Prelati—directly into its burning chest cavity.
"Ahahaha! It burns! How magnificent! How utterly tragic!" Prelati laughed maniacally as his body dissolved into ashes.
"JEAAANNE!" Gilles bellowed one final, sorrowful cry before the absolute heat of the Wicker Man purified the demonic grimoire and completely incinerated the Caster duo.
The Gigantic Horror let out a final, cosmic shriek as its eldritch flesh turned to ash and scattered into the wind. The massive flaming Wicker Man stood victorious for a few moments, letting out a roaring inferno into the sky before it, too, dissolved into glowing golden particles.
Mash fell to her knees, panting heavily, her shield resting on the ground. The sheer physical and magical toll of blocking a continent-shattering beam with Lord Chaldeas had pushed her Demi-Servant body to its absolute limits.
"Mash!"
Fujimaru Ritsuka sprinted across the cracked, melting ice, his lungs burning from the freezing air. He slid to his knees beside her, immediately grabbing her shoulders to steady her. "Mash! Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
Mash looked up, her violet eyes widening slightly before a soft, exhausted smile spread across her face. "I am perfectly fine, Master. My Saint Graph is stable. Lord Chaldeas: Virtual Noble Phantasm Pseudo-Deployment: Foundation of Human Order (Anti-Unit D) held firm. But... I used up a lot of mana."
"You did amazing, Mash. More than amazing," Fujimaru said, letting out a massive sigh of relief.
"Heh. Give the girl a break, Master. She took a hit that would've pulverized a lesser Servant," Cú Chulainn chuckled, walking over and planting his wooden staff into the ground.
Suddenly, the space where the Gigantic Horror had been incinerated began to warp. However, it wasn't the golden light of a Holy Grail materializing. It was a sickening, prismatic distortion of reality itself.
"Wait... that's not right," Cú muttered, his druidic senses instantly flaring with danger. He gripped his staff, stepping in front of Fujimaru and Mash. "Everyone, on your guard! The Caster's mana signature isn't gone!"
From the center of the warped space, a delicate, feminine giggle echoed.
"Oh my, you boys are so quick to assume the final act is over!"
The distorted space shattered like glass, revealing a figure floating gracefully above the melting ice. It was Francois Prelati—but the androgynous young man was gone. In his place stood a stunningly beautiful young woman with flowing, pale hair and an elegant, aristocratic dress that seemed to shift colors with every movement. Her eyes, however, retained the exact same sadistic, manic gleam as her male counterpart.
Name: Francesca Prelati
Class: Caster
Attribute: Heaven
Gender: Female
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Stats:
Strength E | Endurance D | Agility C | Mana A | Luck B | NP A
Class Skills:
Item Construction (B Rank): Able to create tools that harbor Magical Energy. These are mostly single-use items or explosives activated by running mana through them.
Territory Creation (B Rank): Prelati established his magical workshop on a flying airship.
Personal Skills:
Illusion Arts (Fantastical) (A Rank): Unparalleled mastery of illusions that goes beyond human limits. He can deceive not just people, but the World itself. He can trick reality into healing fatal wounds by making it believe the damage never happened, or conjure impossible, reality-bending phenomena.
Disciple of the Spirits (B Rank): He learned ancient magecraft from Lake Spirits during his travels, drastically improving his magical efficiency. However, his twisted personality is so nasty that Morgan le Fay refuses to go anywhere near him.
Divinity (E- Rank): Carries the faint blood of a banished deity, loosely linking him to the dark traditions of Beelzebub.
Blessing of Folly (B Rank): Increases his allies' damage against Lawful enemies and boosts overall team performance.
Noble Phantasms:
Chóros Tis Theás Tis Trélas: The Goddess Dissolved Away Here, and Thus She Celebrates Man's Folly (Anti-Logic B+)
Invisible catastrophic wave of cognitive distortion. It instantly swept over the entire battlefield, affecting everyone in range simultaneously. It was a nasty, inescapable curse that rewrote the very cognition of her targets on an individual, case-by-case level. Francesca was now the sole director of reality, distributing buffs and debuffs purely as she saw fit.
Prelati's Spellbook: Textbook of the Sunken Spiral Castle (Anti-Logic EX)
Demonic guidebook and summoning Grimoire with a cover made of glistening and wet human skin. Capable of summoning near-endless waves of demonic, amphibious familiars without fatigue, making him a viable threat despite his failings. His most powerful summoning is Gigantic Horror, a massive evil god from another world. Appart of its giant size, its most impressive asset is its high regenerative capabilities. Because he entrusted the original book to his sworn friend, Gilles de Rais, Prelati cannot unleash its true power unless Gilles spiritually returns it to him. Looking at the book tests your sanity: seeing blank pages means sane, but being able to read the text means mind is slipping into the abyss a horrifying fact Prelati will gleefully mock.
"What is this?" Jeanne demanded, her grip tightening on her standard. "An illusion?"
"An illusion? Oh, how rude, Holy Maiden!" the female Prelati laughed, twirling a parasol that materialized in her hands. "This is simply my true, unfiltered essence! A little trick I call Illusion Arts (Fantastical) (A Rank)."