Go back a few minutes earlier.
Opening her eyes again from the darkness, Jeanne Alter sneered with a face tinged with disappointment—or perhaps outright displeasure—as she surveyed the environment around her, which felt as if she were inside the body of some monstrous thing.
"What the hell… Am I still alive? How annoying."
A quarter of her body was shattered—from her left chest down to her left leg. Though her heart had been overflowing with rage and hatred just moments before, Jeanne Alter had genuinely believed she would vanish forever when she was swallowed by the Holy Grail's light.
She was not a true Servant—she was merely a replica, conjured by Gilles de Rais who used the Holy Grail to fulfill his wish. She had no right to exist in this world.
"Where is this place? Disgusting, nauseating… it reeks."
"Inside the Demon God Pillar."
Another voice came from nearby. Jeanne Alter turned toward it. Atalanta lay in a similar state—her arms and legs bound, her entire body embedded within the fleshy wall.
Seeing Jeanne Alter awake, Atalanta spoke with mocking tone: "You're conscious now, Master?"
"Archer… you're still alive too? You're lucky—what exactly is this 'Demon God Pillar'?"
"You're right—you aren't a legitimate Servant. You're nothing more than a miracle made possible once through the Holy Grail. And since you passed out earlier, it's only natural you don't understand the current situation." Atalanta sighed slightly. "The Demon God Pillar is the true form of the man who attacked you. Simply accept that we've been absorbed by it."
Absorbed?
Jeanne Alter frowned sharply. "He plans to eat us? Don't joke. There are limits to acting so arbitrarily! He suddenly appears, ruins my vengeance, kills Gilles—and then me—and now he wants to absorb me? What an even more capricious bastard than any god!"
"But." Atalanta said, "the reason you're still alive right now isn't because you've been absorbed, is it?"
"Your Spirit Origin has just been destroyed. You're merely a copy. Your very existence here is already unnatural. If your Spirit Origin is gone, it should be normal for you to vanish instantly. Yet here you are—alive. How does it feel having your body filled with chunks of flesh?"
"Do you want to die?"
Jeanne Alter stared at her deeply for a moment, then coldly replied. Blood-red Karma Fire ignited around her—but it vanished within less than a second. The constant, gnawing fatigue surging from within her body immediately drained the color from her face.
Atalanta advised gently: "Give up. You can't do anything now. You're stuck here like me, waiting to be dissolved and return to the Throne of Heroes… No, correction—you won't even get that privilege."
For Servants, death doesn't mean permanent erasure. After all, they are mere copies of their original selves residing on the Throne of Heroes—their true bodies exist beyond this world. Even if destroyed, they may be summoned again.
But Jeanne Alter was different. She was a replica created via the Holy Grail—both Servant and original body fused into one. If she were fully destroyed, she would vanish completely—with no possibility of return.
"Did you come here just to argue with me? And what's with this attitude? You're restrained but don't try to escape—you've given up. Is this what you call a hero? How laughable."
"I simply have no reason." Atalanta answered. "Even though you're my Master and cursed me with Mad Enhancement, I have no interest in helping you destroy France. This summoning has been an absolutely terrible experience for me. If I could, I'd return to the Throne of Heroes as soon as possible."
Compared to this ordeal, the version of herself mentioned by the Magician must have experienced a far better Holy Grail War.
Atalanta recalled Aoko's reaction upon their first meeting—a look of familiarity, mixed with shock at why she was here.
It seemed the version of herself summoned in another Holy Grail War had shared a close bond with that woman. And quite likely, it had been an excellent relationship.
"I wonder how my own experience was back then…"
Thinking thus, Atalanta closed her eyes, as if surrendering entirely to defeat. Calmly, she waited to be fully absorbed.
Watching her like this, Jeanne Alter clenched her teeth tightly, then lowered her head helplessly. As Atalanta said—she truly couldn't do anything now. All she could do was surrender to absorption… and then vanish utterly from this world.
(What a wretched birth. Even the way I'm dying is humiliating…)
"—The most effective method is to attack its entire body. Obliterate it completely with one massive-scale strike!"
Suddenly, faintly, that voice echoed inside Jeanne Alter's mind—or rather, in her ears.
Her eyes snapped wide open as she frantically scanned her surroundings.
No one else was there. Aside from motionless Atalanta, no one else was nearby.
So that voice…
(Is it coming from outside? Or… no, wait—is he—this bastard who absorbed me—hearing it too?)
Since Jeanne Alter now resided within Flauros's body and was undergoing assimilation, there existed a partial sensory link between them. Anything Flauros heard, she also heard simultaneously.
With a massive-scale strike… she could obliterate the bastard who destroyed everything for her?
"Haha… Hahaha… Bastard… In the end, you still make me hear trash like this… Divine favor? Or mercy from heaven…?"
"It's fine… actually… good."
The blood-red Karma Fire, moments ago extinguished, erupted violently once more.
Feeling the shift in the space around her, Atalanta opened her eyes: "What are you planning? You know full well that you're currently—wait… you're—"
Jeanne Alter was in the midst of assimilation. She had no Mana freely available to use. Even the simplest act—like igniting fire—was impossible, because every flame she summoned now burned away her dwindling remaining life.
Igniting fire meant slow suicide.
Her pallid face earlier had been due to this. The pain was unbearable—even for a moment. But now, the fire she lit did not fade instantly; instead, it roared higher and fiercer!
"Do you want to die?"
"Hah! Die? I don't even have a life left to waste! If I'm going to die, I'll take this disgusting flesh pillar straight to hell with me!"
Bathed in roaring flames, enduring the agony of her own disintegration, Jeanne Alter nearly screamed at the top of her lungs the true name of her Noble Phantasm—
"Feel this, bastard! This is the scream of my soul tormented by hatred! [La Grondement Du Haine]!"