American battle moves to it's it's end (175) (Patreon)

The spell Ainz used without any additional modifiers other than to widen its AoE was only a seventh-tier spell – for Ainz nothing more than an afterthought used in a reflex. It was a spell designed primarily to damage a group of opponents – especially heavily armored opponents. The spell has an additional ability to reduce an opponent's armor rating, and its duration and damage were satisfactory. Of course, in a PvP environment, the spell was nothing more than a distraction. While its effect is indeed satisfactory, no player worth their salt would actually allow it to run its full duration – if even a second more before they cast the counterspell.

But Ainz seeing a heavily armored – if in appearance – Cu Chulainn Alter and the presence of other suitable targets, Ainz reflexively used the spell as his opening move.

After all, it was roughly under these conditions that Ainz would have used this spell back in YGGDRASIL.

And, for all the wonders of Ainz's experience and incredible depth of thought in his beloved game, he has no idea how the spell would affect the real world. In an instant, a purely damaging ‘sustained exposure area’ bloomed on the battlefield. The ‘damage’ manifests in YGGDRASIL through the action of its underlying strings of code and mathematical equations, its target receiving a stackable debuff to their items and even in their stats.

There are no such things as a ‘code’ in real life however, and so the ‘damage’ manifesting in the real world, manifested according to the developers' creative thought and a modicum of logic.

If the Geneva Convention actually existed in the Singularities – and Magi actually cared about such a thing – the spell that Ainz had cast would have definitely broken multiple rules.

Because the cloud of poisonous green that instantly emerged, in keeping with its name, instantly drowned the area in a deluge of stinging acid.

Rama's barely armored body was immediately subsumed by the mist, the suspended droplets climbing even beneath Cú Chulainn's bony armor. All the Servants, even Scáthach, instantly felt the spell gnawing into their flesh like a string of stinging teeth.

When the acid precipitated on their eyes, it was even worse.

But worst of all is the fact that the Servants need to breathe to show off their full strength.

And God helps those who breathe in the searing mixture of Ainz magic and developer creativity in creating fluff.

For a moment it seemed to Rama that his entire being had been replaced by pain – excruciating pain, eating him up from the inside and out, turning every part of his being into a new focus of suffering. There seemed to be nothing but pain – there was no sight or hearing, no feeling of the blade in his hand or the armor on him. Nothing but the all-consuming searing pain.

Rama could not even scream – just one breath had allowed the searing cloud of acid to enter him, turning his vocal cords into nothing more than a lump of meat, blazing with the fire of agony.

Cú Chulainn Alter, capable only of cruelty, felt his arms and legs, his tail and head, even his armor and his body – as if they were dissolving into a torrent of torture.

Even Scáthach, who had passed through a Hell that could not be described in human terms, felt like the acid was devouring her very essence, replacing her mind with a core of throbbing pain.

That said, the damage from Ainz's magic wasn't actually that damaging – as magic that works for a period of time is supposed to, especially for a 7th level spell, its DoT wasn't actually that high.

However, the pain that gnaws into one’s consciousness was far more terrifying than any practical spell power.

Even through the blinding pain, Scáthach was still one of the greatest Servants of the Throne of Heroes.

Moments later, she rushed away, eager to escape the zone of magic – as if she needed no consciousness, no mind to continue the battle even in the most hellish conditions. No, perhaps Scáthach really didn't need her mind to fight.

However, her escape was interrupted as Ainz was quick to react, continuing to methodically work out a bundle of spells to corner his opponent, not giving his foe a chance to escape.

The glow that appeared around the three Servants that Ainz had chosen as his target indicated that they could not escape. The two Servants simply had not the chance to fully analyze the spell to be able to counteract it.

Rama had the speed and strength to escape it, but the pain had sapped his ability to move or even properly analyze the spell. Cu Chulainn Alter had ample strength and was skilled in Runecraft to properly dispel it if only he had the time to do it, alas, he has none. Only Scáthach had any hope of escaping.

Scáthach already knew the effect of this spell – it had already been used against herself in her first encounter with Ainz after all. And if Scáthach had seen it, she had prepared for it.

So after a moment, Ainz's spell’s lock on her was broken. It was easy to forget, but Scáthach remained not only a warrior, but also a powerful witch of the Land of Shadows. Still, a moment’s distraction was enough for Ainz.

A chain made of bony arms struck from the ground, coiling around her legs – it took Scáthach only one moment to analyze the spell and another second to break free of it, ample enough time for Ainz.

His second spell created stakes that struck from the ground, piercing Scáthach body like a demented butterfly on a pin. But Ainz didn't stop there.

There is no such thing as ‘overkill’.

He cast yet another crowd control spell and scarlet ice shackled Scáthach's legs, already tangled in a bone chain. The ice then began to grow, slowly crawling over Scáthach paralyzed body, shackling her even more. As the ice covered more and more of her body, she could feel her muscles grow stiff, as if a paralytic poison was coursing through her body – but it was still not enough for Ainz.

After another moment, Ainz appeared beside Scáthach's frozen body and stretched out his hand, a finger touching Scáthach’s forehead. With one single touch, all resistance seems to leave Scáthach’s body, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Following that, another seal, like the one she had broken recently, appeared around her again. And then, still not satisfied, Ainz used the next spell, locking Scáthach's perception down, cutting her senses off. As the barrage of spells finished, the scarlet ice rose higher, sealing her body completely in an impenetrable cocoon, leaving only her head, hanging powerlessly as her very body lost its ability to fight back.

His work completed, and Ainz was finally sure that Scáthach was fully incapable of fighting – he went off to do the same to the other Servants, who had not yet escaped even his first spell. He quickly returned only seconds later, during which time Scáthach still failed to break free of the trap.

The venomous cloud, the bits that still clung to her, continued to peck at her face in a swarm of stinging bites – and Scáthach could feel her body collapse more with each passing second. A lesser Servant would have already discorporated at this point, but even with her vaunted Endurance, her body was not responding to her commands. Not even her lips could whisper a word, let alone use any of her runes. Her eyes could not turn to the side and her eyelids could not cover her eyes – though she no longer had eyelids or eyes. The cloud that had gobbled up her face like a swarm of voracious leeches continued its torture – gnawing already into the bones.

Through the pain, only one thought kept pounding through Scáthach’s mind.

‘I was right.’

Scáthach had another Noble Phantasm, Rama had another Noble Phantasm, and Cú Chulainn Alter was ready to fight on, stronger and tougher than before – but what was their strength and ability worth before the terror brought by Ainz?

For all the vaunted strength of the three legendary Servants, it was like they were children fighting an adult.

‘What evil has been called into this world? Is there still hope for humanity for salvation?’

Moments later, Ainz appeared beside Scáthach, completing what had begun earlier and finally ending her suffering with a spell.

If somehow Ainz could hear Scáthach’s last thoughts, he might have been surprised or even offended.

After all, he was saving humanity right now.

As for the inhumanity of his methods…

It was simply the most effective tactic on his part and in the current circumstances.

And if anyone complained that his actions were excessively effective… wasn't that a manifestation of hypocrisy?

***

Arjuna could move quickly – one of the thousand traits of being a Servant. And knowing Karna's thoughts as if his own, he knows that he could run from him almost indefinitely.

But only just. Though Karna's flame was like only one grain of sand – it was the grain that broke the camel’s back. Knowing that running was futile, Arjuna finally stopped when the two brothers had already left, not only the battlefield of the other Servants, but even the city limits.

Arjuna and Karna did not need to shout at each other, to shout curses at each other, to report their moral turmoil or their vicissitudes. They were as close as opponents could be, and knew each other so deeply and completely that it was as if they were one whole reflected as two sides of the same coin.

They did not even need to communicate for each of them to understand what his brother wanted to say to him – what he felt and what he was thinking. It was as if they were the closest of comrades.

Alas, fate had decreed that they would be each other’s worst enemies.

“Pashupata,” Arjuna's voice was cold.

His second Noble Phantasm, Pashupata, was the perfect weapon. Created and given to Arjuna by Shiva, the God of Destruction himself – it appeared at the tip of his fingers like a spark. In an instant, the spark rose up, turning first into a white dot and then into a sphere, the power contained within almost immeasurable.

Arjuna's weapon was rightly his greatest trump card – its power, however, was not in its destructiveness.

That is, of course, the incredible destruction that occurred around Arjuna after using Pashupata was self-evident – but the primary function of this weapon was not indiscriminate destruction.

Pashupata was simply a scale.

This Noble Phantasm did not kill people in a blaze of destruction – no. Instead, it judged them.

Everyone in contact with this weapon would be judged – and then deliver them Moksha. Though to most people moksha was known as nirvana it was wrong and only created confusion in the concepts.

Moksha stood for ‘existence outside the circle of rebirth’, outside samsara – in other words, an existence without existence. From the perspective of Hinduism or Buddhism, it could even be considered ‘paradise’ – or at least the closest thing to it. Existence beyond reality, beyond existence itself, the final escape from an endless cycle of rebirths.

In other words, it could be said that this was the most, perhaps the only truly ‘Noble’ Phantasm.

One that did not kill, but granted instead a way out of the wheel of rebirth – granting ‘paradise’, in a certain sense, to the enemy.

However, from the point of view of many, such a paradise was not much better than actual death – and fulfilled the same function by removing a certain number of Servants from the battlefield. It was not like Servants, the existence that exists in the Throne of Heroes would ever be released into Nirvana.

Moreover, the closer one was to divinity – the more fully this power worked on them. Not because of their supernatural legend – but simply because the divine understood more clearly how tempting an offer it really was. To ‘give up’ their current lowly existence in objective reality for a transcendent existence. By contrast, the down-to-earth, divine-less and cynically inclined heroes saw in this offer only a sham that was no different from simple death.

And so when the hero, devoid of divinity, refused Arjuna's offer – a truly noble offer – there were consequences to follow.

After all, it was not like Arjuna expected his brother to actually be defeated by simple Moksha. And he didn’t use his Trump Card at the very slight chance that Karna would be silly enough to accept the ‘Noble’ offer.

Pashupata was, after all, also able to destroy the enemy by the simple process of overwhelming force. Either you have enough enlightenment to reach Paradise, or you get the chance of an instant re-roll in the cycle of Rebirths until you do.

Truly, the most fitting of artifacts for the god of Destruction and Rebirth.

In other words, it was a powerful weapon – one that Karna could answer with only one thing. “Vasavi Shakti.”

A moment later, the golden armor around Karna – the symbol of his divinity, the indestructible armor – was gone. The splendor of the golden armor was replaced with the blazing lighting of the god of thunder.

In Karna’s hand, Indra's spear glowed a baleful light.

According to legend, before Karna’s battle with Arjuna, Indra, who sympathized with Arjuna, descended in the guise of a Brahmin and laid a trap, wishing Karna to give him his golden impenetrable armor. And, without any pause, Karna obeyed this request without resisting, ripping the golden armor off of his skin – even if it meant his death on the battlefield at the mere request. All because he had vowed never to refuse the request of a Brahmin.

Indra himself, seeing the glory of Surya in Karna’s action, felt that he would commit dishonor if he left Karna, the Hero of the Poor, in battle with Arjuna without a trump card. And so, in respect to Karna’s nobility, he bestowed upon him his own spear – Vasavi Shakti. All so that Karna could manifest his nobility and willingness to help anyone, even if at his own cost and the very divine light of Surya, God of the Sun, through it.

Vasavi Shakti was the weapon of absolute destruction. The purest expression of ‘force’ and ‘destruction’ lost all meaning as any comparison or description. It seemed as if the flame of the sun, thunder and lightning had descended in a single weapon for a single blow.

It was the perfect weapon – a weapon that no defense or force could defend against – it existed like a constant.

A weapon that destroyed everything.

It was simpler to say that it was not so much a weapon as a function of the world.

An object that, once used, would destroy anything that would become its target.

A human being. A Servant. A city. A planet. The world itself.

The perfect weapon, the final apex of destructive power – in its light, the radiant destruction of divinity, embodied in a single thrust.

To use it, Karna was stripped of his invulnerable armor and his weapon could only be used once – but that was completely unimportant. After all, a second strike of absolute destruction was completely unnecessary.

Two perfect weapons. Two perfect heroes. Two brothers.

Each was equal to the other.

A weapon that surpassed the concept of destruction for the grace of non-existence – and a weapon that set the final point of all consuming destruction.

The two Noble Phantasms were directed at each other – brother against brother. And then, for a moment, the world froze – as if to allow each brother a moment to gaze into the eyes of his brother and foe.

The moment passed, and two ultimate expressions of destruction destroyed everything separating the two brothers.

The blue orb glowing with lightning – and the spear gleaming with darkness and flames began consuming all that stood against their path to end the other brother, but…

“I don't like it when children fight," Angrboda's voice, appearing in the path between the two Noble Phantasms, caused Karna and Arjuna to stare in mute astonishment, but neither could stop their attack.

The two strongest Noble Phantasms struck at the same time against Angrboda.

And yet, facing the two zenith of destruction, Angrboda’s expression didn’t change in the slightest, except perhaps for the slight smile on her face.

***

Which was easier, pissing off a Berserker or pissing off a child?

Probably the easiest thing to do was to piss off a Berserker that is a child.

Not that Cú Chulainn was so keen to learn this fact, but he had learned it anyway. He learned it quite well when the lumberjack's gleaming ax – so successful at dispatching the wooden giant, is now descending on the battlefield, aiming for his head in particular.

He'd pretty much done his part – knocked Blavatsky out of her perch? Done, maybe with a bit of help from the other Servants, but he got it done. Now with the enemy's main advantage, and with four other Servants on his side, that would be his job done, right? Onward to the victory celebration?

Yeah, no.

First, he didn’t even know what job he’s supposed to be doing! He just found himself embroiled in the battle at one point, he just saw that Medea and Mashu were fighting someone, and so he just joined in, something he regretted immensely. He wanted a fight, dammit! Not be the particularly handsome mole in a demented game of whack-a-mole!

Second, even with Blavatsky temporarily out of the fight, Bunyan was not an easy Servant to beat, her gigantic size needing a particularly destructive attack to fell. His second Noble Phantasm could do the trick, but he doesn’t think that standing still right now would be a particularly good idea.

Medea would have wanted to support Cu Chulainn in his fight against the huge Servant. But even with the tremendous support from Ainz – she was no expert at fighting huge monsters, and it would take her at least a few long seconds to get the spell right.

Fortunately, those few seconds in turn could have been provided to her by Mashu, who, supported by the two Lancers beside her, dealt with the enemy Servants quite confidently.

That was how Medea was able to get a few seconds of respite. That along with the fact that Blavatsky's UFO hovering in the sky had already hidden somewhere behind Bunyan contributed to her mental and physical well-being almost as much as the support from Ainz. Which in turn meant that, for all her childlike fury and destructive fervor – Bunyan had few options.

So a moment later, when Bunyan did approach Cú Chulainn, intending with one sharp blow to move him from the category of three-dimensional objects to two-dimensional ones, Medea made her move. Her attack, like an incredible storm of wind, caused the giant to sway, barely lifting her leg. Finally, making what could only be called a pathetic squeal – adjusted for her enormous size and the corresponding tone of her voice – Bunyan fell to the ground.

And with Bunyan knocked down, victory is only a stone's throw away. Bunyan after all, by the laws of physics – no matter how frivolous the Servants were about it – couldn’t be as nimble as the smaller Servants.

Finishing her off, however, was an entirely different matter. Reenacting the Lilliputians’ fight against Gulliver was not only not on the cards, as it was probably going to set off another Berserker to do some ‘Friendly’ fire of her own, it would also take too long.

Nor was she to be ignored – if she were to regain her footing and shake off her obsession now, she would be angry. Very angry and also very destructive.

Medea and Cú Chulainn needed to act quickly, and so Cu Chulainn began preparing to use his Noble Phantasm.

That is until a few shots rang out and interrupted their actions. A bullet though was not enough to even wound Medea – but the distracted Cú Chulainn, as expected, was much less fortunate. The shot that pierced his arm made him hiss and fall out of the field of battle for a few seconds. It was an unpleasant surprise that made Medea turn her gaze to the marksman responsible.

Billy the Kid could conclude that his current situation was not precarious – it was downright fatal, and getting even worse by the second.

His side was about to lose, and he, the last Servant on the field on his side, really capable of doing anything, didn’t really have a way to turn the tide.

His Noble Phantasm, the Thunderer, the name of his favorite revolver – was dangerous, but not to say really strong.

A Noble Phantasm that belonged to the rare grouping that triggered instantly, even before their True Name was uttered. And in general, the sheer speed and suddenness of this attack was all that this Noble Phantasm has. An instant burst of six shots, piercing through the enemy before they could even blink, and… that was it. Billy's Noble Phantasm, ‘the fastest hand in the Wild West’, was just that.

So there was little Billy could do against four – five when that Caster recovered – Servants of the Enemy, especially with three who specialized in close combat, along with the support of a mighty Caster.

Billy's hope lay in his only remaining ally, Caster, the tall Indian who stood beside him, but… When he turned around – instead of seeing the Indian using the last trump card up his sleeve – he saw him…

Smoking a pipe.

Billy had no time to even be surprised - the blow of the spear pierced his heart - before the next one finally put him to rest, dropping Archer's body to the ground - a grimace of surprise and confusion on his face.

But Mashu didn't let go of the look on Caster's face, which only took a drag of tobacco from his pipe, seemingly completely unshaken by the fact that he was alone, and not even ready to fight. But Mashu's was clearly not going to buy into his deception now.

Caster clearly didn't look like a man ready to trick anyone, though, continuing to look at Mashu and the two Casters standing at her sides with rather a sort of detached confidence.

Mashu paused for a second, looking at the Caster without taking any action, and he in turn only lingered, continuing to stare at his opponents.

“You could have used your Noble Phantasm,” One of the Lancers finally spoke up.

“I could,” Caster nodded.

There was silence, and Mashu was the first to speak. “Why didn't you use it then?”

“I didn't see the point,” Caster said quietly, before he explained his answer. “I would have won perhaps a few seconds more and no more than that. I'm not one to be blind to circumstances and not know how to accept losing.”

Mashu did end up lowering her shield somewhat, though, glancing at Caster.

The tall and silent Indian did not give the impression of a dangerous opponent – on the contrary, it seemed as if he had already surrendered.

No, not surrendered – he did not look defeated or broken – rather, he simply had acknowledged his defeat with honor and chose to no longer fight.

“We're enemies, aren't we?" One of the Lancers spoke up. "I can't say I don't respect your manners…  But I still want to ask you why?”

“Because you're not my opponent.” The Indian allowed a small, serene smile, looking a little out of place on his face. “No monsters or murderers among you – if your King or any other creature had fought against me… Well, I would have fought to the end. But Servants like you would not serve a monstrous King – that is enough for me. I have to admit defeat.”

After that, he took a drag from his pipe and Mashu even felt something akin to… remorse, she guessed.

“I'm sorry, even if you no longer want to fight, we can't leave here threatening our backs.” One of the Lancers said. “I'm sorry, but…”

“It's all right,” Caster only smiled before taking another puff and putting away his pipe. “ Let your spear strike true.”

Mashu tasted something unpleasant, watching an opponent simply… give up. She… well, she was fully prepared just a few seconds ago to break the Caster in half with a shield strike, they were enemies after all. But in the end…

‘Don't worry, he's a rare exception,’ Galahad's voice echoed in her head.

Finally, with reluctance, Lancer stepped forward, his spear raised. “May I have the honor of receiving your name?”

“It's rather difficult to pronounce," Caster smiled, "But I'm known as Geronimo. That's a name you might remember.”

After another moment, Lancer, still unsure of his decision, gripped his spear more comfortably before stabbing Geronimo in the heart.

And the moment his body fell to the ground – Mashu tasted an unpleasant taste in her mouth…

But Ainz was not there now to support her.

***

And somewhere relatively close by to where Geronimo finally fell dead, Sita screamed in horror. No, not for Geronimo, she barely knew him, but for her husband.

No, she couldn't feel what her husband felt – but being a part of Rama, of his powers and legend – Sita could tell with absolute certainty.

Rama had died.

And in terrible agony at that.

That realization alone caused her to burst into flames, pouring out into the world an incoherent howl of pain and despair – she wanted nothing more than to rush forward and avenge her husband. But she could not, not yet, and so her flames were extinguished. If Ainz were as easy to kill as Sita going all out, Rama would have easily killed him already.

She had a goal – and she planned to go all the way.

Edison's army? It ended up being useless, nothing better than scrap metal.

It was probably even to be expected. Even if Angrboda hadn't snapped – even then, the inventor's plan would probably have gone awry. But still, back then, Sita wasn't worried.

At least Edison's army of mechanical dummies had one last trump up its sleeve.

A trump card she wanted to make the most use of.

All she wanted was to break through the army of opponents to see her Rama, all she needed was a glimpse, but… that Ainz – the enemy – had deprived her of even that chance.

Sita considered herself a gentle person – but that did not mean she was incapable of retaliation.

Edison's army had nothing worthy in stock – except one thing.

Nuclear weaponry.