In the forest near the Fortress of Millennia, a figure darted swiftly between the trees, moving with the grace and speed of a woodland spirit. Her agile and practiced movements far outclassed the silver-armored youth following close behind her.
Her sharp, feral eyes gleamed with predatory focus. Wild green hair cascaded freely down her back—untamed, unrefined, and yet perfectly suited to her primal beauty. With her beastlike ears and tail, she was the very embodiment of a beautiful, humanoid beast.
She was none other than Archer of Red—Atalanta, the famed huntress of Greek legend, celebrated for striking the first arrow during the Calydonian Boar Hunt.
Standing atop a thick tree branch, bow in hand, her green tunic and black over-the-knee boots blending into the forest around her, Atalanta narrowed her eyes as she gazed toward the distant clearing—now reduced to ruins by brutal hand-to-hand combat.
"Rider," she asked solemnly, "should we abandon Berserker?"
Her voice was heavy with unease. From her vantage point, she could see Berserker of Red—Spartacus, the largest and physically strongest among their Servants, being overpowered in close combat.
Though his massive frame exceeded two meters in height, he was dwarfed by the golden-armored giants that surrounded him—each towering over three meters tall.
Within seconds, Berserker's Roman short sword was knocked from his grasp. His limbs were seized and locked in place by overwhelming force.
Boom! Boom! Thud! Smash!
The storm of heavy blows that followed made his body ring like hammered steel. His muscles convulsed under the onslaught, his flesh yielding only slightly—but even Atalanta could see that every strike was crippling.
There was no blood, no visible wounds—but the seasoned huntress knew the signs. The dull thuds, the cracks beneath his ribs—internal injuries. She could tell at a glance that his chest had caved in; his ribs were shattered.
Crack! Crunch!
With her keen hearing, she caught every sickening sound as Berserker's thick, crocodile-like arms were twisted apart and his mammoth-like legs crushed beneath the golden giants' boots.
Atalanta closed her eyes. "Rider... it seems we have no choice but to leave him. What do you think?"
"Hmph... missy, I'd say it's stranger for you to think we can save him. He's a Berserker—mad by nature. The Masters sent him out as a pawn from the start."
Atalanta turned sharply to glare at her companion. On a branch opposite her stood a tall, handsome youth in gleaming silver Greek armor, leaning lazily against a tree trunk with a black spear resting across his shoulder.
He was strikingly handsome, but there was nothing noble about him—his charm carried a mischievous edge.
He had short, golden-green hair, eyes like a predatory hawk, and a strong, confident physique. Though his demeanor was relaxed, there was no hint of immaturity.
"Sigh... I've told you countless times, Achilles. My name is Atalanta—not 'missy.' And this isn't ancient Greece—it's the Holy Grail War. So call me Archer! Be serious for once."
"Hahaha! Come on, it's just a term of endearment, don't take it so seriously, missy." Achilles chuckled, twirling his spear casually as he looked toward the battlefield, where Berserker was now completely subdued. "Besides, no point worrying about a lost cause."
Atalanta let out a weary sigh, turning her gaze toward the ruined forest. Two Servants from the Black Faction had appeared amid the wreckage. Judging from their bearing, they were not equals—their gestures suggested a clear chain of command.
The one in a dark blue robe and golden mask was unmistakably Caster of Black—Avicebron. But the striking woman beside him... Atalanta frowned. Her posture, her aura—she couldn't immediately discern her Class.
"Rider, there are two enemy Servants—do we attack or withdraw?" Atalanta's tone was cautious. This was enemy territory, after all.
"Of course we attack. What an insult—just a frail magus and a mere woman... Ahahaha, no offense to you, of course, missy."
Atalanta's icy glare made Achilles laugh awkwardly, scratching his cheek as he rested his spear across his shoulder, preparing to leap down from the trees.
Then—
"Enough watching from the shadows. Come out, little mice."
The cool, melodious voice drifted through the forest. For a man who loved only victory and beauty, Achilles saw no reason to be intimidated.
Stepping out from the cover of the woods, he grinned playfully. "Oh-ho? Such keen senses, my beautiful lady. To think you could detect me so easily..."
"..."
To Selene, that light, teasing tone was nothing less than provocation.
For a brief moment, silence fell. It had been so long—how many years now?—since anyone had dared to flirt with her.
"...Beautiful lady, hmm?" she murmured, turning her head slightly. A slow, pleasant smile spread across her face.
The next instant—
Hummmm—!!
The tranquil air around her shattered. Her aura transformed—ferocious, cruel, tyrannical!
A torrent of violet-red mana exploded outward. The shockwave rippled through the forest, a storm of raw, murderous energy.
Whshhhhhh!
Winds howled. The forest floor trembled. Splinters filled the air like rain.
"Strong Nuclear Force—Instant Release!"
With a sharp cry, Selene pressed her palms together. Violet-red light detonated around her, blinding in its brilliance. Night was devoured—transformed into day.
Sensing the surge of power, Achilles' cocky grin froze. In the same instant that the shockwave tore outward, he threw himself in front of Atalanta. "Missy—watch out!"
BOOOOOOM—!!
"Pff—!!"
Atalanta felt hot liquid splatter across her cheek. She didn't resist—because she knew. If not for Achilles' desperate defense, her frail E-rank endurance wouldn't have survived that blast.
BOOM!
The explosion echoed like a thunderclap. From Avicebron's vantage point—protected behind layers of golden-armored guards—the scene before him was apocalyptic. The forest, spanning nearly a hundred meters, disintegrated outright. Trees turned to dust in an instant.
The Rider of Red—Achilles—had shielded his Archer companion with his body. Both were hurled back hundreds of meters, smashed deep into the earth before being flung again, carving a massive trench across the forest floor.
Achilles landed in a crater, coughing blood. His limbs trembled, his spiritual core nearly shattered by the impact.
"Cough... cough... missy... you should go... The enemy—unlike anything I've ever faced."
He could feel it now—the divine blessing of his mother, the sea goddess Thetis, struggling to hold firm.
His innate passive Noble Phantasm, Andreias Amarantos, rendered all attacks ineffective against him—except those that struck his heel.
But that ability had two critical flaws.
First, attacks from beings with divinity could bypass it. Second, it did not protect against actions born of affection or assimilation—like vampiric transformation.
Yet Selene's strike had clearly contained neither affection nor assimilation. His heel remained untouched—there was only one explanation.
The enemy possessed divinity.
Not all divine Servants were strong—but almost all strong Servants bore divine lineage. Divinity was, in a sense, the threshold separating heroes from gods.
Wiping dust from his armor, Achilles' expression darkened. The aura emanating from Selene was unlike anything he'd felt—even stronger than that of his mother, Thetis herself.
"Achilles, are you all right?"
Unusually, he didn't respond to Atalanta. His eyes stayed locked on the distant surge of violet-red energy, his face set in grim resolve.
"Damn it... This is supposed to be a Holy Grail War—since when did gods start taking the field?"
Before anyone could react, an overwhelming force tore through the air, the pressure alone making the atmosphere crack with an explosive roar. The ground split apart, spiderweb fissures spreading in all directions.
A streak of light flashed across the field, tearing through the terrain with a shockwave so immense it left behind a trench like the path of a colossal plow.
"Missy—move!!"
Without a second thought, Achilles kicked Atalanta backward, sending her flying several meters away. It was harsh, but necessary—she would only slow him down. Her presence in the fight would divide his focus, and right now, distraction meant death.
The deadly aura of annihilation enveloped Achilles, but fear was absent from his heart. Battle against heroes was the reason for his very summoning. Yet Atalanta—she still had a wish to fulfill. She could not be allowed to fall here.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
He raised his black spear in a flash, just as a silver-white figure burst through the dust, trailing streaks of violet-red light.
Clang!!
The sheer impact of her strike sent sparks scattering across his weapon. The destructive power behind that blow was overwhelming—enough to shatter mountains.
Cough... What kind of goddess of violence is this?! This force... it's stronger than even Berserker's raw strength! Achilles thought, gritting his teeth as his spear groaned under the pressure.
Indeed, Selene's base Strength (B+) was slightly below Berserker of Red—Spartacus' (A). However, with her Noble Phantasm, Bright Knight · Excelsis, her physical stats were boosted a full rank to (A+), and with her A+ ranked Mana Burst, her output doubled once more.
The result—an attack that completely ignored Achilles' Greek deflection techniques.
Selene's silver gauntlet-clad fist slammed directly into his chest.
Crashhh!
The brutal force ripped through the air, sending Achilles hurtling backward like a meteor.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Elsewhere, Atalanta darted through the forest, retreating with grim determination. Suddenly, a deafening gust split the air—her eyes widened just as a black silhouette smashed through the trees, splintering dozens of trunks before slamming into the earth.
"Achilles?!"
Before she could think, her instincts flared—she drew her bow in one smooth motion, magic gathering in her fingertips.
"Phoibos Catastrophe!"
Enormous magical energy surged through her arrow as she loosed it. There was no time for full invocation—her chant was rapid, breathless.
Under the night sky, the heavens themselves lit up with countless shimmering lights—each coalescing into an arrow of divine radiance. Like a meteor shower, they rained down upon Selene.
"Archer of Red—Atalanta's Noble Phantasm, hmm? A B-rank Anti-Army type... very well. Here, take it back."
With a simple flick of her hand, the air above Selene distorted. A violet-red vortex opened—like a pocket in space—and swallowed the storm of arrows whole.
Whummm—!
"What—?!" Atalanta's breath caught in disbelief. The same rain of arrows poured back through the portal, unleashed in reverse toward her own position.
"What kind of absurd ability is this?!" she cried.
The next instant, the sky was ablaze. Blinding light cascaded downward, illuminating the battlefield like a false dawn. Beams of radiant death screamed toward the earth.
"Missy!"
At the last possible moment, a massive bronze shield dropped from above, locking into place before Atalanta.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Behind the shield, the air quaked under the barrage. Then, before the echoes faded, another colossal explosion ripped through the ground.
DOOOOM!! The blast rang through the forest like a thunderclap.
When the dust cleared, Achilles once again stood between Atalanta and Selene, his round shield cracked and smoking.
Selene didn't hesitate. Her fist lashed out once more, and the ground beneath Achilles' feet exploded like brittle clay.
Shockwaves tore through the terrain as the earth cratered under her strike, sinking nearly two feet deep.
"Achilles, son of King Peleus of Thessaly and the sea goddess Thetis..." Selene's calm voice cut through the din. "I must admit—you've managed to irritate me."
Using the recoil to distance herself, Selene turned her gaze toward the silver-haired huntress peeking from behind the round shield. Her lips curled into a serene, dangerous smile.
"That woman—she's the one you're so determined to protect, isn't she? A friend? A lover? Or perhaps... family?"
She clasped her hands together. Violet-red mana surged between her palms as her voice grew low and resonant.
A weapon materialized in her hands—a massive lance of pure contrast. The shaft was perfectly cylindrical, its body divided between deep black and pure white, adorned with intricate golden filigree. Over two meters long, it resembled the lances of ancient knights.
Grasping the black half of the shaft—the Abyss Flower—Selene's body ignited with power. Violet-red arcs of lightning danced across her form as raw energy exploded outward.
"Black Abyss, White Flower—Anchor Up!"