The inferno roared behind them, casting flickering shadows across the battlefield. Ash rained from the sky like cursed snow, coating the ruined castle in the remnants of what had once been homes, lives, and history.
Jeanne Alter stood atop the Fafnir, her corrupted banner draped over her shoulder. She watched the battlefield with amusement, her golden eyes glinting like molten metal. Beside her, Kromer stand casually, her grin sharp as a knife.
"What a show," Kromer mused, her silver hair shimmering in the firelight. "Do they think they have a chance?"
Jeanne Alter smirked. "Let them struggle. It makes their downfall all the more satisfying."
Below them, the battle erupted.
---
The sound of metal scraping against the ground rang through the air as Cu Chulainn spun his spear, the tip carving a shallow trench in the dirt. He smirked, his sharp red eyes locked onto Atalanta, who stood a few meters away, her bow drawn and ready.
Atalanta's emerald eyes burned with something primal, something unnatural. Her feline ears twitched as she assessed him, her body coiled like a spring. Without a word, she loosed an arrow.
It howled through the air like a wailing specter.
Cu barely tilted his head, and the arrow sliced past his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
"Fast," he admitted. "But—"
Another arrow was already coming.
He twisted sharply, spinning his spear in a wide arc. The crimson tip clashed against the projectile, sending sparks flying.
Atalanta's movements blurred. She loosed another, then another, each shot faster than the last. Cu's spear whipped through the air, deflecting the storm of arrows with ease.
Then she vanished.
Cu's instincts screamed.
He ducked.
A clawed gauntlet slashed where his throat had been.
Atalanta had closed the distance instantly. Her bestial form surged forward, fangs bared in a silent snarl. Cu barely had time to bring up his spear before her next strike collided with him.
The impact sent him skidding backward, dust and ash rising in his wake. He planted his spear into the ground, stopping himself just short of crashing into a pile of rubble.
He grinned. "Now we're talking."
Atalanta lunged again, her claws aiming for his heart.
Cu met her head-on.
---
Carmilla's laughter was sharp and cruel.
"You, of all people, dare to challenge me?" she sneered, circling Medusa like a predator playing with its prey.
Medusa said nothing.
Her chains slithered through the air, coiling like living serpents.
Carmilla smirked. "Silent, are we?"
She vanished.
Medusa's instincts flared.
She twisted, her chains whipping out—just in time to block Carmilla's claws.
The force of the attack sent sparks flying. Medusa gritted her teeth, holding her ground as Carmilla pressed closer, her breath cold against her skin.
"So stubborn," Carmilla purred. "It's almost charming."
Medusa didn't respond.
Instead, she yanked her chains.
Carmilla's eyes widened as she was pulled off balance.
Medusa slammed her into the ground.
The vampire let out a snarl, kicking off the dirt and flipping back onto her feet. Her eyes glowed with fury.
"Alright, then," she growled. "Let's see how long you last."
---
The N Corp Inquisitors marched forward, their chants relentless.
"Purge the heretics. Cleanse the impure."
Angela raised her book.
The air hummed with energy as One Sin and Hundred Good Deeds materialized in her hands.
The skeletal club pulsed with unnatural light, its jagged thorns gleaming.
The first inquisitor charged.
Angela moved.
Her club smashed into their skull with a sickening crunch. The inquisitor collapsed instantly, their blood pooling into the dirt.
Another swung a hammer at her.
Angela sidestepped smoothly, twisting on her heel.
Her club whipped up in an arc, slamming into their ribs. A wet snap echoed in the night.
Yet they did not stop.
They never stopped.
Angela exhaled, shaking blood from her weapon. "How pathetic."
Another lunged.
Angela dodged, her club cracking against their temple.
They crumpled.
But still, more came.
And Angela kept fighting.
---
The battlefield was chaos—flames, steel, and madness.
Der Freischütz moved like a wraith among the fighting, her long black coat billowing behind her as she struck down enemies with ruthless efficiency.
She didn't fire her gun. Not yet.
Instead, she used it as a bludgeon, gripping the heavy barrel and swinging it like a club.
An N Corp Inquisitor lunged at her, hammer raised.
Without even looking, she sidestepped, and the hammer slammed into the dirt where she had been standing.
Then, with a single motion, she brought her weapon down—hard.
Crack.
The metal barrel caved in the Inquisitor's skull. Blood splattered across her coat, but she didn't pause.
Another came at her, his nail-lined gauntlet aiming for her throat.
Der Freischütz twisted her body, avoiding the strike by inches.
Her gloved hand caught his wrist, and with a sharp twist, she snapped it like a twig.
He screamed.
She let him fall. Useless.
Her golden eyes flicked upward.
Across the battlefield, Jeanne d'Arc stood frozen.
Her armor, once gleaming, was stained with ash. Her banner trembled in her grip.
She wasn't fighting.
She was watching.
Watching the burning ruins of the castle.
Watching her mother's home turn to cinders.
Watching her own face sneering down at her from the inferno.
Der Freischütz's voice cut through the carnage.
"What are you doing, Saint?"
Jeanne flinched, her blue eyes wide with grief.
"You're just standing there," Der Freischütz continued, stepping over a corpse. "Watching the flames, watching the screams fade. Are you waiting for permission to act?"
Her voice was sharp. Cold. Unforgiving.
Jeanne's fingers clenched tighter around her banner.
"You're wrong," she whispered.
Der Freischütz tilted her head. "Am I?"
Jeanne's breath hitched.
She could still hear the screams.
Could still feel the fire on her skin.
She had fought for France.
She had died for France.
And now, her own shadow was burning it down.
Der Freischütz's golden eyes bore into her.
"You can mourn later," she said. "But if you don't act now, you'll have nothing left to mourn."
Something snapped in Jeanne's mind.
Her hands stopped trembling.
Her heartbeat slowed.
She took a deep breath-then exhaled.
And then-she charged.
Her banner sliced through the air, its golden fabric catching the light of the inferno.
The Saint had made her decision.
She would not allow this nightmare to continue.
---
Der Freischütz continue to moved with deadly efficiency, her rifle swinging like a club.
Then suddenly Chevalier d'Eon lunged forward, their rapier flashing like silver lightning.
Der Freischütz sidestepped, twisting her body just enough to let the blade pass.
Then, with a brutal counter, she slammed the stock of her rifle into d'Eon's ribs.
The knight grunted, staggering back, but did not fall.
Der Freischütz exhaled through her pipe. "Still standing?"
D'Eon smirked, wiping blood from their lips. "A knight of France does not fall so easily."
They lunged again, their blade dancing through the air.
Der Freischütz raised her gun, parrying the strike with its barrel before spinning into a vicious counter.
The rifle's butt crashed into d'Eon's shoulder, forcing them back once more.
Then—a shadow loomed.
Der Freischütz barely had time to react before Vlad III's spear came crashing down toward her.
The Impaler's eyes glowed red with madness, his presence a looming specter of death.
Freischütz rolled aside, barely escaping as Vlad's spear split the earth where she had stood.
"Too slow," Vlad growled, his fangs gleaming as he raised his weapon again.
Freischütz cursed under her breath. D'Eon was already recovering, and now Vlad had entered the fight.
Two-on-one.
Not ideal.
Vlad lunged, his spear moving in a deadly whirlwind, forcing Freischütz to go on the defensive—
Until a streak of silver chains wrapped around Vlad's weapon, yanking it back.
Freischütz's eyes flicked up.
Medusa.
The gorgon stood between them now, her blindfolded gaze locked on Vlad, her chains coiling like living vipers.
"Need a hand?" she murmured.
Freischütz chuckled, wiping blood from her lips. "I won't say no."
The two women stood together, facing down the knight and the vampire.
And the battle resumed.
---
Angela swung One Sin and Hundred Good Deeds, the spiked club cracking through armor and flesh alike.
The N Corp Inquisitors swarmed her, their bloodstained hammers rising in unison.
"HERETIC," they droned in perfect harmony. "FOR THE ONE WHO GRIP."
Angela's golden eyes flashed coldly. "Your words are as hollow as your faith."
She raised her club, parrying a downward swing. Sparks flew. The force nearly pushed her back, but she dug her feet into the dirt and countered.
Her club crashed into the Inquisitor's ribs, shattering bones and sending the corpse flying.
Another Inquisitor rushed her from the side.
Without turning, Angela flicked her wrist.
A single, razor-sharp page materialized and shot forward.
It sliced through the Inquisitor's throat.
Blood sprayed.
Angela stepped forward, smashing her club into another attacker's skull. The sound of shattering bone was lost in the chaos.
She exhaled. "Messy work."
Then—a shadow fell over her.
She turned—
Kromer.
The fanatical woman smiled, tilting her head. "And here I thought I was the only one who enjoyed a little purification."
Angela tightened her grip.
Kromer raised her hammer.
Their weapons clashed.
Her club swung forward, the thorns glowing with divine energy—but Kromer sidestepped at the last moment, her unnatural speed allowing her to twist around the attack and retaliate.
Her hammer came down in a savage arc.
Angela barely dodged, the weapon crashing into the earth with enough force to send cracks rippling outward.
Kromer whistled, a sharp, shrill sound—
And from the darkness, more Inquisitors surged forward, their crimson robes fluttering.
"YOU CANNOT ESCAPE PURITY," they chanted.
Angela's golden eyes burned.
"Neither can you."
She thrust her hand forward, pages from the Library manifesting around her.
Green serrated blades burst forth, cutting down the nearest Inquisitors in an instant.
Kromer grinned, licking blood off her lips.
"Yes. That's it. Show me your anger, Angela."
Angela didn't hesitate.
She charged.
Kromer met her head-on.
---
Hong Lu weaved through the battlefield, laughing.
His hammer crashed through skulls and ribs, each swing leaving a trail of broken bodies.
"Really, is this all you've got?" he chuckled, dodging an Inquisitor's wild swing.
He countered with a brutal upward smash. The Inquisitor's body crumpled inward, collapsing like a broken doll.
Another came from behind.
Hong Lu spun, ducking low, and hooked his hammer behind the man's knee.
The moment the Inquisitor fell, Hong Lu crushed his skull beneath his boot.
Blood splattered across his face.
He wiped it off absently, his smile widening.
But then—he felt something shift.
The air grew heavier.
Hong Lu turned.
Carmilla stood there, licking the blood from her fingers, her red eyes gleaming.
"My, my," she purred. "You would make such a lovely victim."
Hong Lu chuckled. "You'll have to try harder than that, lady."
Carmilla lunged.
Which Hong Lu dodge "Haha, this is something else."
Carmilla moved like a phantom, her claws gleaming under the eerie light of the battlefield. Every swipe came too close, every step she took carried the predatory grace of a beast hunting its prey.
Hong Lu had danced around death before, but this feel familiar.
And then he saw it.
The hunger in her eyes.
Not just bloodlust. Not just battle rage. Something deeper, darker, more ancient.
And when she licked the blood from her fingers—his blood—the realization hit him like a hammer blow to the chest.
She wasn't just any Servant.
She was a Bloodfiend.
His entire body tensed.
Hong Lu's usual relaxed expression didn't falter, but inside, something shifted. His instincts screamed.
This wasn't just another fight.
This was personal.
Carmilla chuckled, the sound rich with amusement. "Ah... I see it now. That look in your eyes. You recognize what I am, don't you?"
She licked her lips, stepping closer. "Tell me, boy. Have you danced with my kind before?"
Hong Lu exhaled slowly, gripping his hammer tighter.
"Something like that," he murmured. His voice was still light, but there was a new weight behind it.
Carmilla grinned. "Oh, how delightful."
She lunged.
Hong Lu reacted instantly, his hammer swinging up to meet her claws. Steel met darkness, the impact sending a shockwave through the air.
But Carmilla was stronger than before.
Faster.
Her blows were sharper, her movements more erratic—like a predator that had caught the scent of its favorite prey.
Hong Lu adjusted.
His hammer became a blur, spinning and twisting, shifting seamlessly between offense and defense. Every strike of hers that he blocked sent vibrations rattling through his arms.
He grit his teeth.
This was what he hated most about Bloodfiends.
They didn't just fight with skill.
They fought with hunger.
Carmilla's voice was a purr, her breath cold against his skin as she darted close. "Your stance is different now. Ah… I do love the scent of fear."
Hong Lu's hammer whipped around, forcing her back.
"Hmm~ not afraid but thinking how to kill you," he said, voice steady.
Carmilla chuckled, circling him like a wolf. "Liar."
She struck again—a blur of crimson and shadow.
Hong Lu barely dodged. A claw scraped across his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
Carmilla's eyes flashed.
And that was all the confirmation he needed.
She was enjoying this.
Damn Bloodfiends.
With a burst of movement, Hong Lu closed the distance.
Carmilla expected him to dodge. Instead, he charged head-on, hammer spinning.
The sudden aggression caught her off guard.
Hong Lu's hammer slammed into her ribs.
Carmilla hissed, staggering back—but she didn't fall. Her recovery was unnatural, her spine twisting in ways that shouldn't be possible.
And then—
She grinned.
"Interesting," she whispered. "You're not just some ordinary hunter, are you?"
Hong Lu exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "You could say I have experience with your kind."
Carmilla's laughter was low, sultry. "Experience? Oh, darling, you're still just a boy playing knight."
Her form blurred—she was behind him before he could blink.
Her claws sank deep into his side.
Hong Lu grunted, whirling and slamming his elbow into her stomach.
Carmilla let out a sharp breath, but her grip didn't loosen.
She leaned in, her lips nearly brushing his ear.
"Tell me," she whispered, her voice like silk, "how did it feel, the first time you saw one of us drain the life from someone you cared about?"
For the first time, Hong Lu's grin disappeared.
And that, more than anything, delighted Carmilla.
He shoved her away, his movements precise, calculated. No wasted energy. No hesitation.
Carmilla studied him, a glimmer of curiosity in her blood-red eyes.
"Oh… so you do know."
Hong Lu wiped the blood from his lips, tilting his head. "Like I said—something like that."
And then he moved.
His hammer became bigger—faster, heavier, relentless.
Carmilla dodged, but barely. The cracks in her composure began to show.
And for the first time—her smile wavered.
Hong Lu grinned.
"You're not the first Bloodfiend I've fought," he said. "And you sure as hell won't be the last."
"Oh, how amusing" Camilla raised a delicate hand, magic coalescing at her fingertips in a dark, pulsing glow. The ground beneath Hong Lu cracked, shadows twisting into spectral chains that shot toward him like fangs.
He grinned.
Hong Lu twisted his body mid-step, leaping high above the reaching shadows. The chains barely grazed his feet before his hammer came crashing down, shattering the ground where they had emerged.
Carmilla hissed, retreating just as his weapon nearly clipped her shoulder.
Hong Lu landed effortlessly, tapping his hammer against his palm. "You really like controlling people, don't you?"
Carmilla smirked. "And you seem like the type who's never been controlled a day in his life."
"Ah, but you see," Hong Lu said, tilting his head, "I know when to dodge a bad deal."
And then, he was moving.
This time, he took the offensive—his hammer a whirling storm of destruction, each strike calculated, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next. Carmilla dodged with unnatural speed, but Hong Lu was relentless.
He feigned a strike toward her ribs, forcing her to pivot—only to swing low at her legs.
She barely avoided it, twisting midair like a phantom. But Hong Lu was ready. The moment she landed, he flipped his hammer in his grip and slammed the handle's blunt end straight into her stomach.
A gasp. A crack.
Carmilla stumbled, coughing blood.
Hong Lu smiled wider. "See? That's what happens when you overestimate yourself."
Carmilla's glare was venomous. "You—"
A blur of motion.
Her form vanished in a mist of blood, reappearing behind Hong Lu.
This time, her claws sank deep into his side.
Hong Lu winced as pain seared through his ribs.
She leaned close, her breath cold against his ear. "Do you know what I love most about people like you?"
Hong Lu's breath hitched slightly, but his expression never changed. "Oh? Do tell."
Carmilla dragged her claws deeper, relishing the way he tensed. "The way your blood smells when it's spilling out of you."
She twisted the wound—
Only to feel cold steel press against her throat.
Her eyes widened.
Hong Lu's free hand had drawn a concealed knife, its blade resting just below her jaw. His grin never wavered.
"Now, now," he murmured. "That's quite the bad habit."
He twisted his body sharply, forcing her claws free—and in the same motion, he struck her across the face with the flat of his hammer.
The force sent her crashing into the ground.
Carmilla lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, blood dripping from her lip.
Hong Lu wiped his own wound, sighing. "I'll admit, you almost got me there."
Carmilla growled, pushing herself up. "You—"
"Ah, ah." Hong Lu twirled his hammer lazily. "No need to be so dramatic. We're both still standing, aren't we?"
Carmilla wiped the blood from her lips, her eyes burning with new hatred. "Enjoy your little victory while you can, boy. I'll carve you apart soon enough."
Hong Lu only chuckled. "Promises, promises."
The battle was far from over.
---
Mash braced her shield, blocking a devastating strike from Saint Martha's staff.
The impact nearly knocked her down, but she held firm.
"Senpai!" she shouted. "We need to end this fast!"
Mash bash her shield catching Atalanta's body mid-leap.
"Got you," she murmured.
She bashed again.
Atalanta slammed into the ground.
But the huntress flipped midair, landing on all fours—feral and maddened.
She let out a beastly snarl before launching herself at Mash once more.
---
The flames framed their silhouettes—one clad in golden armor, the other draped in darkness.
Jeanne Alter sneered. "How much longer will you keep fighting?"
Jeanne's grip on her banner tightened. "As long as it takes."
Jeanne Alter laughed. "You still don't get it, do you? This country doesn't deserve salvation."
Jeanne raised her flag. "That is not for you to decide!"
She charged.
Their banners clashed, the impact sending shockwaves through the battlefield.
Jeanne Alter twisted, flames spiraling around her as she swung her flag like a blade—Jeanne barely blocked in time.
The impact sent her skidding backward, boots digging into the dirt.
"You are weak," Jeanne Alter sneered. "Just like before."
Jeanne pushed forward, determination burning in her gaze.
She swept her flag low, knocking Jeanne Alter off-balance before slamming her shoulder into her.
The Dragon Witch staggered.
Jeanne raised her weapon again.
But Jeanne Alter smirked.
"Predictable."
Dark flames erupted from her feet, and in a blink, she vanished—reappearing behind Jeanne.
The attack came too fast.
The dark banner sliced across Jeanne's side, her armor cracking as pain lanced through her ribs.
She stumbled, blood dripping from her wound.
Jeanne Alter leaned close. "You feel it, don't you?"
She pressed her blackened banner against Jeanne's chest, whispering in her ear.
"That despair. That rage."
She pulled back, her eyes gleaming with malice.
"Embrace it, and you'll finally understand."
Jeanne gritted her teeth.
"I will never become you."
Jeanne panted, blood dripping from her lip.
Her golden armor was dented, scorched.
But she was still standing.
Jeanne Alter laughed. "How long will you struggle, dear me?"
Jeanne raised her banner.
"As long as it takes."
Jeanne Alter raised her hand, her corrupted magic surging.
"Enough," she whispered. "Burn."
The ground erupted in black flames.
Victory was seconds away for the Dragon Witch.
Then—
"VIVA LA FRANCE!"
A thunderous explosion shook the battlefield.
Glass shattered.
The fight stopped.
All eyes turned—
A carriage, made entirely of glass, crashed into the battlefield.
The doors swung open.
Marie Antoinette stepped onto the field, smiling brightly.
"Bonsoir, everyone~!"
Beside her, Mozart twirled dramatically.
"Ah, what a dreadful performance! I simply had to intervene!"
Music filled the air.
Golden notes of magic rippled outward, throwing Jeanne Alter's forces off balance.
"YOU DAMN PESTS!" Jeanne Alter screamed in fury.
The glass carriage shot forward, scooping up Jeanne, Ritsuka, and their allies.
Mozart waved his baton.
"Adieu, mademoiselle!"
With a final crescendo, the carriage vanished into the night.
Jeanne Alter screamed.
The battle was over.
For now.
---
A/N:Thanks for waiting and feel free to let me know what you think of how the stories are going and where it should go. I'm always eager to hear from you. Leave a powerstone and comments to motivate me ;)