Jayr POV - Nasuverse, Moon, Far Side, Sakura Labyrinth - 2030 AD
I meet her gaze and ask the question that matters the most at the moment, "What are your intentions now?"
The silence stretches between us.
The ruined city holds its breath, stone eyes fixed on the four of us as if waiting for a verdict. Broken statues loom nearby, one arm raised in an eternal command, another frozen mid-step, their gazes carved to look past us rather than at us. Even here, even now, this place expects progress.
Rani does not avert her gaze, and at last, she breaks the silence as she says, her voice level, stripped of hesitation or warmth, "I have no desire to fight you, Jayr. However, fulfilling my Professor's objective takes precedence over all other considerations."
That is all she says, and she couldn't be clearer. She isn't threatening me or giving any justification for what she wants to do; she just stated a fact.
For a moment, I consider saying something. Explaining to her that she has no chance at all to overcome the other Champions and me. Asking if we could find some other way to fulfil that objective that does not include taking part in this hopeless battle.
But there is no space for that here, so I can only reply quietly, "I see."
Nero steps forward before I can say anything else, red cloak settling around her shoulders like a banner claiming the ground. Her expression is calm, confident, almost eager before she says, "So be it. If fate insists upon contest, then let us answer it properly."
The next moment, without wasting any other words, Lu Bu moves without any signal or warning. It is a mere execution of the intent of his Master.
The air shudders as he throws his head back and roars, the sound ripping through the avenues and broken forums like a physical force. Loose stone shakes free from fractured walls. Cracks spiderweb outward along already ruined facades as if the city itself flinches at his presence.
His Mana surges like an untamed beast.
Suddenly, Houtengeki manifests in his hands in a flash of cold, merciless light. The halberd is massive, its shaft thick enough to look more like a pillar than a weapon, its blade wide and brutal, edges catching the pale glow of the ruins as though eager to carve something living.
Then he charges.
There is no buildup.
The instant his foot hits the ground, the stone beneath him fails. Layered marble and ancient masonry split apart along ceremonial seams, fractures racing outward as if the plaza itself is being torn open from below. The force of his launch leaves a shallow crater behind him, debris thrown backwards in a violent spray.
He crosses the distance in a heartbeat.
At the same time, Nero answers in kind.
Aestus Estus ignites in her grasp, crimson light flaring along its length as if the blade itself is singing in anticipation. She doesn't retreat. She doesn't dodge. She steps forward.
Their weapons meet at the centre of the plaza.
The impact is almost catastrophic.
The collision detonates with a thunderous crack, a shockwave exploding outward and flattening everything nearby. Statues disintegrate into clouds of dust and fragments. A half-collapsed column snaps cleanly in two, its upper half spinning away before crashing down somewhere behind me.
I brace instinctively, planting my feet and raising an arm, even as I keep up the pretence of strain. Dust and debris slam into me like a sudden storm, stinging exposed skin and filling the air with grit and choking powder.
Through the chaos, I continue to observe, ready to act at a moment's notice.
At the same time, I notice that Lu Bu's strength is immediately apparent.
Every exchange is a test of endurance. Each time Houtengeki crashes down or sweeps across the plaza, Nero is forced back another step, then another. Her boots grind against the stone, carving shallow grooves as she yields ground inch by inch under the sheer, relentless force.
His halberd moves with terrifying momentum.
It isn't just heavy, it's almost unstoppable, like a force of nature. Every swing carries enough power to level buildings, the air screaming in protest as the blade cuts through it. Missed strikes don't lose meaning; they pulverise the ground, send slabs of stone flipping end over end, and reshape the battlefield with every blow.
And yet Nero does not break under such pressure, but bends to dissipate the strain.
At the last possible instant, she twists aside, her movements precise to the point of almost perfection, likely the result of her Skill Imperial Privilege, which further enhances her abilities.
Houtengeki tears through empty air where her body had been a heartbeat before, the displaced wind alone tearing at her cloak.
She darts in immediately, refusing to let Lu Bu reset.
Aestus Estus flashes in tight, efficient arcs. She doesn't aim for killing blows. Instead, she targets the structure, joints, tendons, and narrow gaps between armour plates where reinforced parameters are thinnest.
Metal rings sharply as her blade bites in.
Lu Bu grunts as the strikes land, more in irritation than actual pain, but the effect is undeniable. Thin lines of crimson begin to spread across his arms and torso, staining his armour where her blade slips through again and again.
None of the wounds is deep. None of them is fatal, but they accumulate.
Each cut shaves away a fraction of his momentum. Each precise strike disrupts his rhythm just enough to matter. Nero presses in close, forcing him to fight in cramped exchanges where his overwhelming reach becomes a liability.
This isn't a battle of brute force but one of erosion and resilience.
She is shaving him down piece by piece, whittling away at his resistance bit by bit, turning an impossible wall of strength into something that can eventually be toppled, if she can endure long enough to finish the work.
Rani notices the same, and in response to that, she acts immediately.
There is no spoken command, no dramatic gesture. Just intent, executed with precision.
Multiple Codecasts flare into existence around her, lines of prismatic light snapping into focus as layered scripts unfold in rapid succession. Complex geometric patterns bloom outward, interlocking sigils rotating and sliding past one another like pieces of a multidimensional puzzle.
The codes don't move toward Lu Bu but assemble around him.
Invisible structures lock into place along his frame, reinforcing joints, overlaying his armour, threading through his spiritual core. The air around him hardens, pressure thickening as if the space he occupies has been redefined by new rules.
His presence changes instantly.
The next strike Nero lands should have cut deep. Instead, Aestus Estus screeches as it skids across reinforced parameters, sparks bursting outward as the crimson blade is deflected at the last moment. The impact reverberates through her arms, the resistance jarring in a way that hadn't been there before.
Lu Bu doesn't even flinch.
Like what we saw before through the Funnels, he has become a living fortress once again. Not just tougher, but absolute. His mass feels anchored, immovable, as if the world itself has been instructed to stop yielding where he stands.
Nero adjusts instantly, but I don't wait.
Seeing the shift, I also make my move.
I synchronise with her, opening the conduit fully. The connection snaps into place with familiar clarity, and I release my Spiral Cosmo into her without restraint, making it surge with immense force.
The energy floods through her Saint Graph in a single violent pulse, then detonates outward in a controlled release, mimicking the structure and timing of Artoria Pendragon's Mana Burst.
The effect is immediate.
Golden light erupts around Nero, her aura flaring like a miniature sun. The air distorts around her as her parameters spike violently. Strength, speed, and resilience are all surging beyond normal Servant limits. Her stance lowers, muscles coiling with barely contained force as the ground beneath her boots begins to fracture under the pressure alone.
Then, she moves.
This time, when Aestus Estus clashes with Houtengeki, the ground directly collapses under their immense force.
The stone plaza caves inward at the point of impact, a shallow crater forming as the shockwave detonates outward. Buildings lining the forum shudder violently, ancient masonry screaming as balconies shear off and plunge into the streets below. Arches fracture and collapse, sending avalanches of debris cascading into the avenues.
Elevated walkways buckle under the strain, their supports snapping as stone banners tear free and crash down in clouds of dust and shattered marble.
The city in our immediate surroundings begins to come apart.
Columns topple like felled trees. Statues shatter mid-stance, reduced to torsos and scattered limbs. Narrow alleys choke with rubble as collapsing walls spill inward, forcing the battlefield to constrict even as the fight itself grows more violent.
Within the chaos, Nero and Lu Bu clash again and again.
Blades meet halberd in a relentless exchange, each impact sending fresh tremors through the ruins. Nero no longer yields ground easily, her empowered strikes forcing Lu Bu to brace, to adjust, to resist rather than simply advance.
For a time, neither Servant gives ground.
The fight stabilises into a brutal equilibrium with raw force grinding against reinforced inevitability until, at last, Rani's eyes narrow behind her glasses.
And she shifts tactics.
A set of Mystic Codes materialises around her. A dozen knives circle in the air around Rani; they never still. Each one is different, but all of them look purpose-built for killing.
Their blades are thin and sharp, edges jagged or hooked, with surfaces that catch the light in the wrong way.
All of them look freshly forged, likely Rani's own creation made through her impressive alchemical knowledge. None of them falls. They hover and drift like hunting birds, turning slowly as if choosing a target.
Codecast clings to them in uneven ways. One knife leaks a faint green vapour that gives the impression of stinging the eyes and burning the throat. Another leaves a smear of frost in the air, the metal rimed with ice even in warmth. A third hums softly, vibrating with stored force, while a black-bladed dagger drinks in light and leaves a dull ache in the skull when you look at it too long. There is a curved knife etched with symbols that crawl across its surface, and a narrow spike that bleeds from the tip, the droplets vanishing before they can fall.
Then, after a very brief moment where the Mystic Codes hover around Rani, she launches them toward me in a deadly arc.
They move with intent. When stirred, the knives snap into motion as a pack, darting, wheeling, and striking from impossible angles.
It is clear that each Mystic Code carries its own curse or consequence: poison, fire, paralysis, bleeding wounds that will not close, pain that lingers long after the blade is gone.
Together, they are not just weapons, but an execution waiting to happen.
Not that it is a problem for me as I raise my hand and casually chant, "Sagitta Magica, Series Obscuri!"
The next moment, multiple black projectiles of pure destructive magic materialise around me and fly off, intercepting and destroying the Mystic Codes while barely slowing my support for Nero.
After all, for me, the reaction to such an attack is way too easy.
But then, I realise the mistake a heartbeat too late.
Another Mystic Code slips through the opening, one that I recognise with a single glance, a sword that seems entirely made of glass. The Vorpal Blade. Another of Rani's creations. One with quite the nasty effect.
The luminescent Vorpal Blade, whose edge is vibrating with suppressive force, streaks toward Nero, who is still engaging Lu Bu in battle.
I don't even have to warn Nero; she reacts instantly, bringing Aestus Estus up to intercept the Mystic Code, and the soaring blade shatters on impact, but its effect washes over her anyway.
I feel it through our link. Nero's strength is bleeding away. Her momentum is faltering.
At the same time, Lu Bu does not miss the opening and drives Houtengeki forward in a brutal thrust, piercing straight through Nero's chest.
Golden light explodes outward as her body shatters into countless motes, scattering across the ruined plaza like dying stars.
Rani exhales softly, seeing her complex calculation fulfilled, but I remain calm because I felt it.
The moment the Vorpal Blade was launched, Nero also activated her Skill. Invictus Spiritus: Thrice, Even Though I Welcome the Setting Sun.
And as expected, the golden motes quickly reverse course, gathering, condensing, reforming.
Before long, Nero stands again, whole and radiant, the weakening effect gone as if it never existed.
For the first time since the start of this battle, Rani's eyes widen, just slightly but enough to show that her calm mask is starting to crack a little.
Then the battle resumes with renewed ferocity.
There is no reset, no pause to reassess. Nero is already moving as Lu Bu recovers from his last exchange, pressing into the narrow margins she has carved for herself. Her strikes come faster now, chained together in tight sequences that deny him the space to fully leverage his strength.
At first, the change is subtle.
Lu Bu still hits just as hard. His halberd still tears through stone and air with devastating force. But his movements are no longer perfectly synchronised. A fraction of delay creeps in between attacks. A step lands heavier than intended. A recovery comes a heartbeat slower than before.
It's clear that wounds begin to accumulate to the point that even a Berserker starts to falter.
The shallow cuts Nero inflicted earlier start to matter as she revisits them again and again. A slash across an already damaged joint draws a deeper reaction. A thrust that grazes a tendon forces his grip to tighten, then readjust. Blood darkens the seams of his armour, dripping onto shattered stone that can no longer absorb it.
I don't waste the opening.
I add my own attacks, weaving them between Nero's strikes rather than over them. Spells snap into existence with minimal incantation, lashing out in precise, controlled bursts. I keep it simple to not reveal too much and continuously cast Sagitta Magicas. A focused impact clips Lu Bu's knee just as he shifts his weight, destabilising his footing. Another detonates near his shoulder, not to pierce his defences, but to force a misalignment at the worst possible moment, allowing Nero to strike again. Rani tries to help him and disturb me using her Mystic Codes and Codecast, but I easily dodge and deflect every attempt and continue to focus on the Berserker class Servant.
Lu Bu slowly adapts to our new offence, but adaptation costs time, and time is what he no longer has.
Hammered from angles he cannot fully cover, Lu Bu is forced to react instead of dictate. His halberd comes up a fraction late to intercept a spell, opening his flank to Nero's blade. He blocks a strike meant for his torso only to take another across the arm, the reinforced parameters flickering briefly under the sustained pressure.
The living fortress begins to crack.
Not all at once, and not visibly to an untrained eye. But I can feel it. The feedback from the battlefield shows that his presence no longer dominates the space around him as completely as before. The defences are holding, but they are being worked.
That is the moment I've been waiting for.
Before Nero can commit further, before momentum pulls her too deep, I issue the command through our link without hesitation, [Withdraw now!]
She doesn't question it.
She disengages instantly, springing back with practised precision, creating space just as Lu Bu overextends in pursuit, exactly where I need him.
Seeing the perfect chance open in front of me, I don't hesitate.
This is the window I created. The one Nero paid for with pressure and precision. If I miss it, Lu Bu will recover, and the battle will spiral back into attrition I don't intend to endure.
I take aim.
The incantation leaves my lips smoothly, without flourish or emphasis, every syllable anchored by intent rather than volume, "Spēlaion Mikron Bary Melan."
The spell answers immediately.
A point of absolute density forms in my palm, no larger than a marble, yet impossibly heavy. Gravity folds inward on itself, compressing space into a tight, merciless knot. Light bends sharply around it, curving away as if instinctively afraid to touch its surface.
The air grows cold.
Not from temperature, but from absence. Sound thins, pressure warps, and the space between heartbeats feels suddenly stretched, elastic, wrong.
I release it.
The sphere leaves my hand without recoil, drifting forward for a fraction of a second before acceleration takes hold. Spiral Cosmo flares along its path, colliding violently with the already devastated remains of the city. Shattered pillars tear free from the ground, ripped from their foundations as if pulled by an invisible tide, stone screaming as it fractures mid-flight.
The ruins react before Lu Bu does.
Broken arches tilt and collapse inward. Loose debris lifts from the ground, pebbles and dust spiralling upward as the spell's pull intensifies. Cracks race through the plaza, widening as the earth itself begins to fail under forces it was never meant to endure.
Rani stands far from the epicentre, yet even there the air around her whips violently. Her purple hair lashes across her face, coat snapping like a banner in a storm. Her glasses catch the warped light, lenses reflecting impossible angles as she tracks the spell's behaviour in real time.
She does not retreat as she calculates any possible solution.
Meanwhile, Lu Bu remains directly in the spell's path.
Towering, bloodied, armour scarred and fractured from sustained battle, he squares his stance instinctively, planting his feet against a pull that is already testing the limits of his reinforcement. His gaze locks forward, not on me, but on the anomaly advancing toward him.
It begins as a pinprick of darkness.
A flaw in reality, like ink spilt onto the world and refusing to spread correctly. Then it grows. Rapidly. The point widens into a swirling, obsidian vortex, its edges indistinct, devouring definition as much as matter.
Light bends sharply toward it, warping the air into distorted ribbons. Sound collapses into a constant, rising scream as the atmosphere rushes inward. The ground beneath us quakes violently, slabs of stone lifting and then shattering as they're torn free.
Even reinforced structures groan in protest.
This is no explosion; it is pure consumption.
No normal magecraft can truly prepare one for the sight of a nascent black hole tearing at existence itself, rewriting the rules of distance, weight, and permanence in real time. It is not violence in motion, but inevitability given form.
And it is bearing down on Lu Bu.
Yet, Rani remains calm and doesn't hesitate to answer with her trump card.
With a serene expression, too calm for the situation, Rani extends her hand.
The world seems to still for a brief heartbeat as she whispers a single command, "Executing final measure. O Dust of Osiris, weave boundaries and consume ordained order. Reject all twisting intent, and be the sand storm that guards the causal threads upon my board. Dust Storm of Osiris. Activate!"
At once, the air changes. Dust and sand from the shattered floor rise in a spiralling column around Lu, carried by a force that feels ancient and unforgiving.
The grains dance and pulse with arcane energy, merging into a seething maelstrom that grows larger by the second.
A raging sandstorm blasts outward, a cyclone of ochre and violet-tinged sands that seems to absorb the light around it.
The particles coalesce into a protective sphere around Lu Bu, its winds howling as a screaming echo of battle cries long forgotten.
This is no mere barrier; it is a tempest imbued with mystic logic and astrological precision, tuned to defend against even the most abstruse threats.
The condesend black hole advances with terrifying inevitability, hunger in its silent pull.
Time itself seems to stretch as it reaches for their defences. With a deafening roar that sounds like the collapse of a star, it collides with the Dust Storm of Osiris.
Sand surges to meet the void's pull, counteracting the distortion with a static force that resists alteration.
The black hole stretches and snarls, trying to draw in the barrier, but the Dust Storm fights back.
It isn't simply a wall of sand formed by Codecast; it is a mystic code, an alchemical bulwark that blocks anything that would try to affect or change the status of those within, whether poison, meteor, or my own spell-born singularity.
The ground trembles violently underfoot as the forces clash.
Miniature tornadoes of sand lash outwards, the winds fracturing stone and metal alike in all directions, while at the heart of it, Rani's Servant stands anchored as the storm's edge carves arcs through the wreckage of battle.
Rani doesn't falter. Eyes narrowed, she monitors every fluctuation, every pattern in the storm's pulse that signals whether the defence holds or bends.
Her voice, quiet yet steady, murmuring calculations only she can hear, weaving adjustments into the storm's script as if rewriting lines of code in the midst of combat.
Light bends around the interplay of gravity and sorcery. The black hole's event horizon wavers against the surge of mystic sand, its pull diminishing in fits and starts like a beast that has bitten off more than it can chew.
Then, with an abrupt shudder that ripples across the battlefield, the vortex collapsed in on itself, unspent. The Dust Storm of Osiris did its job, nullifying my spell before it could obliterate its target.
Before the storm fades away, Rani casts another set of Codecast and enhances Lu Bu's magic parameters one final time.
Soon, the storm dissipates, making Lu Bu let out a ferocious roar that shakes the whole area before he starts to unleash his Noble Phantasm.
The halberd separates into a large bow and an arrow.
The mana around him condenses, compressing into a single, violent point as his Noble Phantasm manifests in its ranged form. The air distorts, pressure screaming outward as the attack charges.
Seeing that, Nero and I both look at each other and nod as our tacit understanding makes further words useless.
We both stop holding back as I send my Spiral Cosmo to Nero, who stabs her Aestus Estus into the ground while chanting, "Behold my talent! Listen to the thunderous applause! Here is the honour of the Imperium! Like a blooming flower... Opening! The Golden Theatre!! I shall offer this gift to a full moon... Dancing scatters the flowers, and cleaves open a star! Behold the supreme beauty... and praise it! Aestus Domus Aurea!"
Her voice echoes through the Colosseum, imperial and absolute, while golden light erupts around us.
The battlefield warps into her palace, the magnificent theatre she designed and constructed during her lifetime, sunlit marble, towering pillars, gilded balconies, all that manifests all around us, overwriting the surroundings, trapping our enemies inside where they can't escape, constantly weakening them while empowering Nero and making sure that her attacks bypass all defence.
The next moment, Nero pulls out her Aestus Estus, which is then shrouded in flames like that of Mount Vesuvius, causing an inferno while rose petals would dance in the air.
At the same time, Lu Bu releases the immense arrow, unleashing a concentrated beam of reddish energy that quickly advances toward its intended target.
The Shoot Force erupts like a divine projectile, obliterating everything in its path.
In response, Nero smiles and chants, "Open the gate! The curtain to the solo stage draws! Behold my talent! Listen to the thunderous applause! Praise it! The Golden Theatre! Laus Saint Claudius!!"
Nero dashes forward and performs a slash that seems to create an effect of petals flowing with it.
The clash itself is almost blinding, but this time, there is no stalemate.
With one clean, radiant strike, Nero's blade cuts through the force of Lu Bu's attack, overwhelming it, then tearing through his body as he disintegrates into motes of light.
The next moment, the system announcement resounds.
[Elimination confirmed. Master Eltnam Rani VIII has been eliminated.]
I quickly focus on Rani, ready to reveal a bit more about my abilities and help her, but she does not fade.
She stands perfectly still, Spiritron circuits flaring as Hermes, her core, compensates, calculates, preserves, making any erasure attempt fail.
At this point, the city settles into uneasy silence once more, its judgment deferred, but not entirely denied.