Chapter 76. Sweet and joyful life
The Battle in London erupted with a rage capable of shaking the very foundations of the earth. Destruction became all-encompassing, as if the fiery fists of invisible giants struck the city, leaving only ruins and ashes in their wake.
In this hellish chaos dance, the second round began with a powerful onslaught from Hercules, a creature not fully human, carrying the anger of ages and the strength of myth. He growled, his voice thundering like a roaring thunder, tearing through the sky with his mad roar. Amidst the flickering falling stars, he stood - a veteran berserker, a master of destructive forces.
His movements were not human-like - he glided through the streets with incredible speed, leaving only confused dismay in his wake. Hercules' silhouette merged with the darkness of skyscrapers, his appearance and disappearance in the shadows sending shivers down the spine. He was a shadow clothed in a hammer and a maul, and no participant in the battle dared to stand in his way. In the horrifying guise of Hercules, the inherited natures of the worlds melted away, trembling before the power contained in his ruthless heart.
He was invincible until his anger found an outlet. And then, sacred bones and phosphorescent dust witnessed his furious actions as they scattered under Hercules' strikes. It was a battle that left no room for mercy, only hungry destruction and unstoppable power. The second round began, and London knew that resisting such horror would be in vain.
Jeanne, with burning eyes and silver hair, wielded a sword so sharp that even the air shattered under the force of her blows. Mordred, whose scars spoke of expertise in combat, stood by Jeanne's side, their eyes filled with determination and ruthlessness. The wave of their combined strength emanated from their joined hands, cleaving through the air in its path.
Hercules, a titan in flesh, sensed their presence, his unfathomable senses anticipating their attacks, and yet, despite his might, he had to evade their strikes. Remarkably nimble, he dodged Jeanne's cool-headed blows with fluid and precision. But his ruthlessness faltered against Mordred's onslaughts, her lightning-fast attacks penetrating his defenses.
A grand symphony of art and destruction played out in this epochal battle. Jeanne's sword shimmered and whistled, leaving traces of blood on Hercules' muscles. His roar grew with each strike, descending into a venomous madness. In a desperate attempt to gain an advantage, Hercules unleashed his powerful fists, seemingly invulnerable, but Jeanne and Mordred were able to predict his movements.
Passions roiled with every encounter. Swinging her sword, Jeanne unleashed a torrent of penetrating blows upon Hercules, slowly reducing his impenetrable demeanor to a grotesque wreck of unwavering resolve. Meanwhile, Mordred danced around him like a phantom, delivering swift and precise strikes at his weak points. Each of their touches upon Hercules was devastating, as if attempting to tear the titan apart. Hercules fought against them with all his strength and might, but his opponents were ruthless and more experienced. He felt his strength and energy deplete with each blow, growing weary and wounded.
But Hercules did not surrender. He was a titan, an invincible hero, and he knew that his fate depended on the outcome of this struggle. He gritted his teeth and endured the blows, even as blood flowed from his wounds. He closely watched Jeanne and Mordred's movements, trying to find the weak spot in their attacks.
Suddenly, Hercules picked up a truck from the ground and hurled it at Jeanne, momentarily blinding her. In that moment, he turned around and struck Mordred forcefully in the heart. She barely managed to dodge. A moment of respite settled as both opponents realized that the fate of their battle was not yet decided.
Hercules rose, covered in wounds and blood. He felt tired and exhausted, but in his eyes burned a sense of imminent victory. Joan and Mordred stood before him, battered but not defeated, their strength also threatened to wane.
In the eerie silence, Mordred split the air, summoning a raging whirlwind that enveloped her slender body clad in armor from head to toe. Her brown eyes gleamed with a bright, energetic light as she focused her superpower.
Hercules froze, attempting to resist the powerful streams of energy that tore through his steel muscles. Pulsating, agonizing pain permeated every cell, weakening him, as if iron ropes, causing his knees to tremble.
Mordred darted forward, swiftly moving from one side of the square to the other, evading Hercules' lightning-fast attacks with agile movements. Frantically, the dreamlike strikes of his multiple arms futilely dissipated into thin air as he tried to grasp the embodiment of pure energy.
A deafening roar echoed through the air as Mordred released her striking combinations, creating streams of destructive energy that were engulfed by vanishing flickering orbs. Hercules managed to dodge at the last moment, but the fiery touch of these energy balls ripped out clumps of his dark hair, sending them flying through the air like drops of blood in the night.
She continued to whirl around Hercules like a deadly tornado, eluding his growing frustration and devastating blows. She gracefully rose on an airwave, evading his mighty hands, which fought in futility in empty space. Her magic seamlessly blended with acrobatic agility, granting her increasing freedom in the face of the fierce Hercules. And all of this was like a terrifying novel, where dreadful magical forces and unearthly creatures from parallel worlds mingled.
But within Mordred lay a despotic essence, chilling the blood with its wicked power and indifference to the human thirst for survival. In the accursed city of Roxbury, reminiscent of the creations of outstanding horror masters, she had found her power and ruthlessly devoured the energy of her victims.
At the same time, Hercules battled his own inner demons, his mind tangled within itself, causing him to teeter on the brink of confusion and self-destruction. It seemed to him as if mysterious sinister creatures roamed the labyrinths of his heart, searching for a soul suffering from pervasive insanity. Somewhere within, they fought for dominion over his essence, without the slightest chance of granting him the will to govern himself.
And then, within the cloud of darkness, a transformation occurred. As the dark forces absorbed emanations from the Earth, the ancient Prince of the Black Wind took the stage. Strange and monstrous beings made of flame and energy, exuding twisted magnificence, danced and formed a furious vortex around Mordred, enhancing her attacks.
Within this vortex, surrounded by a fiery halo, the figure of the enigmatic Knight of Betrayal could be discerned. Possessing an impassive mind and grand energy, he observed this struggle between the world of the past and future, balancing within the black magnetic fields of the universe. Forged in the fires of battle, she maintained the rhythm of the deadly duel with Hercules, combining warrior dexterity and the art of a great master.
But in the end, it all came down to Hercules himself—it was his fate that he had to accept and overcome. Exhausted, he repeatedly bolstered his already superhuman strength and incredible endurance to defeat his enemy, leaving only a mark of time in this battle, in the presence of these two bold girls in armor.
Amidst the fiery glow of the battle, full of seething fury, the three Servants demolished everything in their path. Hercules, possessed by unbridled power, leaped into the air and effortlessly dispatched each person as if cracking nuts. Hopelessly, people fell before his incredible endurance as he ruthlessly threw them into nearby buildings, shattering windows. He then sent these despised knights flying, smashing through walls with a roar.
However, neither Jeanne nor Mordred allowed themselves to fall even before such powerful blows. Being experienced and strong warriors, they consistently rose after each devastating swing of Hercules and answered his challenge. The terrifying powers they possessed had been honed through centuries of training and artistry, and in these decisive moments, they used all their skills to claim victory. Mordred, like a ghost and shadow, bent and glided between buildings to dodge Hercules' strikes and retaliate, tearing off fragments of concrete and metal in a chaotic whirlwind.
Jeanne, a girl comparable to Hercules in grandeur and bravery, emanated grace and blazing strength, opposing his merciless power. With her wild movements, she lived at the heart of the battle, soaring into the air and landing with such force that the ground cracked and trembled beneath her. She managed to dodge strikes that shattered the ground with fiery thunder and firmly countered with her shining blade, which somehow remained intact despite such incredible direct clashes.
The battle raged on, and the city was flooded with streams of dust and destruction, like a goblet overflowing with madness and chaos. The streets, once sparkling in the sunlight, turned into countless cracks and debris, frozen in the air under the unreachable sky. The buildings, once embodying greatness and strength, had become nothing but heaps of rubble, resistant and powerless against the relentless clash.
Luxurious lanterns and windows, once witnesses to the city's vibrant nightlife, exploded into thousands of shards under the pressure of unprecedented forces. Small balls of fire scattered through the streets, like clusters of falling stars, surrendering the last remnants of light to the darkness of concrete jungles and piercing everything with their shrill whistle.
Amidst this apocalyptic chorus, people ran with all their might every minute, every moment, throwing themselves through debris and clouds of dust, escaping unprecedented disaster and destruction. Panic and despair spread among them like poisonous fumes, sowing doubt and fear, poisoning souls and engulfing every action in the darkness of doubts.
But among them was one possessing boundless superpower and incredible endurance – the Hero with the Nameless Visage. Moving through the battle, his mighty torso emanated a menacing aura, like a glowing shield capable of deflecting any enemy attack. He never stopped, tickling and cleaving the air around him.
While bridges collapsed under the weight of destruction, the Hero with the Nameless Visage, like a thunder god, cleared his path through the wasteland of debris with furious aggression, causing panic among the enemy forces. His movements were so swift and deadly that it seemed as if his victims were not only the crumbling buildings but also reality itself, if it still existed at all.
He was created from ruins and possessed by the power of madness, like a dark god from other worlds breaking free from the canons of rationality and bending space itself. Each word he uttered with his clenched fist, like the hammer of ancient gods, faced hopeless resistance emanating a corrupt darkness from within.
Ah, if only his being could penetrate the depths of the abyss that embraced the remnants of the city, perhaps there, in the cold abyss of darkness, he would rediscover his purpose, his true strength, and greatness. But for now, he remained tethered to this torn reality, the Hero with the Nameless Visage continued his mad battle, ruling over rubble and decay with a terrifying relentlessness of the impending End.
In the blink of an eye, Hercules appeared in front of Jeanne, raising his mighty arm to shield her from Mordred with unwavering determination. But Jeanne's tactics were cleverer; she managed to divert Hercules's attention, distracting him for a few seconds and forcing him to step back. She didn't even notice how it all happened. Then came a powerful blow, and her ears were filled with a terrifying crash - Hercules forcefully struck Jeanne's torso with his fist and, like an extraordinary artillery projectile, shot her towards a tall building with unstoppable force.
Immediately after the blow, Jeanne found herself in the grip of a powerful whirlwind, which inexorably carried her through the city limits. Time stretched and contracted, and her eyes only caught fragments of unfamiliar people's lives. With each pass, another building crumbled before her eyes. White cracks formed around Jeanne, and sparks and fragments landed with recognizable sounds.
Flying over the towers and houses of London, Jeanne involuntarily immersed herself in scenes of the local residents' daily lives. She saw kitchens where families prepared meals, children's rooms where kids played, and bedrooms where lovers rested and dreamt. The outlines of familiar and unique lives merged and passed before her eyes with the swiftness of lightning.
The people on the streets, stunned by the sudden destruction, fell into a trap of fear and disbelief. They froze, their eyes glazed over, watching Jeanne's powerful flight as her body broke through bricks, glass, and everything in her path. Among the witnesses, one could notice screams, panic, and astonishment.
People who were inside buildings at the moment Jeanne flew by experienced overwhelming horror, bewilderment, and an instant threat to their lives. Astonished faces slipped past Jeanne, but there was no time for eye contact or frightened despair.
For a few moments that seemed like an eternity, Jeanne managed to notice happy families through windows, preparing dinners or spending time in front of the television. Lively children playing outside, hot tea splashing against the sides of glasses. She became a witness to the cozy moments of other people's families, forcefully slipping into her own fate through shattered mirrors.
The traces of destruction around Jeanne were like the wings of a titan, mesmerizing and astonishing. But with the rubble of buildings and scattered dreams also came the pain and sadness in the eyes of people whose worlds were instantly destroyed and seized by this all-devouring storm.
Jeanne herself felt the consequences of her flight, seeing the burning eyes of people, their horror and incomprehension. And every shattered fragment that hit her penetrated her soul, filling her with a painful awareness of the unintentional suffering of those around her.
When Jeanne, crashing into another wall, finally stopped several blocks away from the site of the bloody battle, she first caught her breath, trying to focus in this chaos, and contemplating her next move. The air was filled with the smell of smoke, a haze of dust, and the madness that prevailed everywhere. In this battle, she saw explosions that reached up to the sky like fiery flashes, and hungry flames that invariably made the earth tremble under their pressure. And she knew that all of this was the work of Mordred's hands. She was his unwilling partner, and she needed assistance as soon as possible.
Jeanne stood up abruptly, as if shaking off the weight of the world, and without a moment's hesitation, she leaped forward, like a grasshopper, confidently pushing off the ground with her feet. With one leap, she covered a distance that seemed no less than thirty meters, and with a determined gaze directed ahead, Jeanne continued her unwavering urban escapade. After pushing off once again, she nearly soared to the level of rooftops, such was the power of her abilities, and after another jump, she was already at the location where the battle fire still burned, ready to decide Mordred's fate.
Mordred fought against the mad Hercules, whose strikes roared like thunderbolts on the sword, exposing its most fierce and savage essence. Mordred wielded the legendary Clarint, a weapon that once belonged to King Arthur himself. The legendary sword, capable of withstanding the strikes of even the mightiest hero Hercules, now stood face to face with him. Stumbling but not falling, Mordred parried Hercules' sword strikes, and with each blow, forced him to retreat. Scrrrzzz! Ding! Clang! Mordred's teeth grated as the raging swords clashed, creating sparks and ringing amidst the madness of their battle. Now they felt that all that remained for them was to use their deepest and most mysterious Fantasms, to tap into the last particle of their strength, that invisible energy that engulfed the world in a fiery crucible of destruction and promise. They looked at each other, took a deep breath, and unleashed a wind that had been buried within their souls, in a massive stream that engulfed the entire battle.
Mist of fire and radiant light enveloped the field. The ground beneath Mordred and Jeanne's feet hardened, as if their collective energy had transformed it into an ancient rocky wall that could not be shaken. In this fire and golden resin permeating the air, the costumes of Mordred and Jeanne gleamed, as if showering them in falling diamonds, turning them into living heroes impervious to the onslaught of their attackers.
"Hear the roar of my soul, filled with hatred...," Jeanne spoke.
Beneath her feet, the ground cracked and split, hot volcanic lava rising from the unknown depths. Monstrous bursts of terrifying flames and waves of lava surrounded Jeanne, as she stared at Hercules with an unflinching gaze filled with contempt. This incredible fire spread farther with each passing second, consuming everything in its path and causing anyone who saw it to tremble in fear.
Lava, sparks, and flames spread across the ground, as if a branch of the sun's corona had triumphed over the world. However, Jeanne, exuding immeasurable strength, stood calmly, like a figure from a comic book.
Magical flames flowed from beneath her feet, as if fulfilling her darkest desires. The strands of her silvery hair transformed into blazing tongues, glowing white-hot, piercing the air with their scorching flames. Intense heat radiated from the boiling lake of lava beside her. All these elements merged harmoniously and impressively, overwhelming every creature that came under their influence.
Jeanne's eyes shone with the mysterious fire of a rising sun, as if she was absorbing all the darkness and soullessness of the world into her own soul. And then she uttered the mysterious words that had been dormant in her subconscious for centuries, awaiting their awakening. A wave of burning shards of ideas and thoughts engulfed her being, turning her into the embodiment of incredible retaliatory power.
"La Grondement du Heine!" she whispered in a commanding tone.
"La Grondemon du Heine!" echoed the flaming entity, and the roar of the monstrous flames thundered across the land, like the roar of a storm, piercing the hearts of all living beings in the vicinity.
And then all this merciless flame, the rising earth and stakes, brought to life by incredible and ancient magic, obeyed her slightest thought and directed themselves towards Hercules. The scene that stood before him left him speechless, as if his voice had been stolen by fear and trembling of this new ominous being.
"This is the treacherous sword that destroyed my father..." Mordred grimly uttered, raising her blazing blade above her head. "Clarent, Blood Arthur!"
A blinding beam of energy burst forth from her sword, comparable in power to a solar explosion, with the destructive strength of gods. The beam pierced through the frozen Hercules, atomizing his body.
Flaming whirlwinds followed Joan's command, guiding the spikes of ancient cults towards his mighty chest. Drenched in red fire, they sought to pierce his impenetrable skin and fill his body with unabashed pain that no one had ever experienced in this world. The great hero of ancient Greek myths, enchanted by a girl with a fiery essence, bore witness to a force that stood against everything he had ever known.
With a wide smile in her eyes, Mordred looked upon the flames that engulfed the legendary hero. She would prove once again that she was not just a mortal, but a great hero born of blood and fire. She would prove that she had the freedom to rule Britain and be recognized as a descendant of the great King Arthur Pendragon.
And yet, behind this dark power, behind all this infernal might, what happened to her soul? Her heart was filled with suffering and sorrow, as if thousands of wars waged in her mind during those mournful hours when she took on the burden of the entire struggle. Her soul became a victim of cruel internal conflicts and debates that tore apart her human essence and divided it into numerous fragments.
And now, nothing could stop these two. Only Joan doubted the victory they had achieved.