"This time... it should truly be over."
Atalanta slowly lowered her bow. Even if her Noble Phantasm hadn't managed to kill Shirou Emiya outright, the devastating blast from Arthur's unleashed attack at such close proximity would surely be enough to claim his life.
"Over? I'm afraid it's far from it."
An utterly unfamiliar voice suddenly appeared behind Atalanta.
"Who—?!"
Without an instant's hesitation, Atalanta swiftly spun, firing three arrows imbued with emerald mana toward the source of the voice. Simultaneously, she kicked off from the tower roof, allowing her body to fall freely toward the ground.
As an Archer-class Servant, engaging an enemy in close combat was sheer folly—at least, that was her steadfast belief.
She had to immediately widen the distance between herself and this mysterious Servant.
Even as she turned, Atalanta caught a glimpse of the enemy's appearance:
A sinister figure draped in a pitch-black cloak, wielding a club-like arm, with an unsettling skeletal mask covering his face. What left the deepest impression, though, was undoubtedly that haunting skull mask.
Yet he seemed utterly unconcerned by the three arrows streaking toward him at incredible speed.
Instead, he simply swung his grotesque, club-like right arm, muttering something unintelligible.
Hassan...?
That iconic Assassin's mask allowed Atalanta to immediately recognize him as one of the Hassans.
Though she couldn't tell exactly which Hassan this was, she was sure the priest acting as her Master knew. After countless irregular Holy Grail Wars in this world, virtually every Hassan's identity had long since been exposed.
But why had a third Hassan appeared now?
Before Atalanta could even ponder further, a dense white mist surged forth from behind her.
Its powerful corrosiveness instantly overwhelmed Atalanta's senses, causing her to completely lose her bearings. Only now did she truly comprehend how troublesome Black Assassin's Noble Phantasm was.
She felt her Agility rank sharply drop, her movements noticeably slowed.
Gracefully flipping mid-air, Atalanta landed securely, rapidly firing several precautionary arrows overhead as she warily scanned her surroundings.
As the mist billowed gently around her, an innocent, ethereal voice drifted toward Atalanta.
"Can you...be our mama?"
The silver-haired girl before her wore an expression so desperately filled with anguish and longing, Atalanta couldn't help but feel an instinctive urge to embrace her.
Even knowing clearly this girl was Black Assassin, Atalanta couldn't resist the ache in her heart—she wished only to offer the child some warmth.
Atalanta could sense vividly that the longing in the girl's eyes for a mother's embrace was genuine.
Yet, as she reached out toward the girl, her instincts as a huntress screamed an urgent warning—a fatal danger lurked there.
Atalanta tried to leap backward, but it was already far too late.
Her abdomen was mercilessly ripped open, internal organs violently torn from her body in an instant. It was an unavoidable curse, impossible to evade.
"[Maria the Ripper]."
The silver-haired girl whispered softly, holding a small blade dripping with blood.
Nighttime, female, within mist.
When all these conditions were met, Black Assassin's Noble Phantasm would instantly tear out the target's internal organs, leaving behind only a dissected corpse. It was, in essence, a deadly curse.
Without all three conditions fulfilled, the attack would merely inflict severe physical injury. But with each condition met, its lethality drastically increased.
Feeling her body already beginning to fade away, Atalanta finally understood clearly the words the Hassan had murmured:
"Farewell."
It seems he was certain I'd perish by Assassin's hand, Atalanta thought bitterly.
"Ugh—!"
She suddenly felt something cling tightly to her.
"Mama!"
The silver-haired girl embraced Atalanta's gradually dissipating body with childlike dependence, breathing peacefully against her chest like a sleeping child.
Had there not been such a horrific attack moments earlier, the girl would've seemed like nothing more than a pitiful child abandoned by her mother.
"Can you...tell me your name?"
Even as her body slowly faded, Atalanta bore no resentment toward the Assassin who had killed her. Instead, she gently stroked the girl's silver hair, softly asking the question.
In Atalanta's eyes, Assassin was nothing but a pitiful child. The thought of a child so young becoming a Heroic Spirit was unbearably tragic to her.
"Jack. Mama can just call us Jack," the silver-haired girl responded honestly.
"Jack…"
Atalanta immediately grasped the girl's True Name—Jack the Ripper—and simultaneously sensed the overwhelming resentment and sorrow that composed her being.
It was as though the girl herself was formed entirely of vengeful spirits.
"Mama!"
Jack joyfully responded, delightedly snuggling against Atalanta.
"So...is this how it ends?"
Atalanta's gaze turned reluctantly toward Hassan, who silently leapt down from the tower beside them.
"If only my wish could have been granted..."
Atalanta's voice trailed off wistfully, her hand gently brushing Jack's hair one last time as her form gradually dissolved into luminous blue particles, fading into nothingness.
---
"King of Knights your Noble Phantasm isn't that impressive after all!"
As the smoke cleared, Achilles stood defiantly, holding a seemingly ordinary shield raised confidently before him.
Despite receiving Arthur's full-powered Noble Phantasm at point-blank range, Achilles hadn't sustained even the slightest scratch. His clothing merely fluttered slightly from the gusting winds.
[Achilles Kosmos]—the shield Achilles held—was his proudest defensive Noble Phantasm, an unbreakable bounded field comparable even to the renowned [Rho Aias].
Forged by the divine smith Hephaestus himself, the shield bore a projection of the entire world Achilles had seen in life, surrounded by swirling ocean currents granted by Poseidon.
To face this shield was to oppose the very world itself. Once activated, it could block any attack, whether Anti-Unit, Anti-Army, Anti-Fortress, Anti-Country, or even Anti-Divine Noble Phantasms.
In a certain sense, it was the closest thing to the mythical [Avalon] itself.
Arthur held his golden sword aloft, sweat dripping steadily down his forehead. He hadn't imagined Achilles's shield would so effortlessly repel his Noble Phantasm. Its defensive prowess was practically on par with Shirou's [Avalon].
---
T/N: im back, did a poll on my patreon on the new schedule and releases for webnovel so yeah
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