Lyon, France
"You just love a dramatic entrance, don't you?" Jeanne Alter sneered, arms crossed and eyes blazing. "What's next, Jester? Planning to challenge me with a pie and some sparkles? You and your ragtag band of misfits don't stand a chance against my army."
Satria grinned, completely unfazed. "Not really. The theatrics pair nicely with the genius, billionaire, brave, and philanthropic thing I've got going on."
He raised an eyebrow, smugness radiating off him like a golden aura. "And hey, congrats on that army. But lucky for us… we've got a God of Hope on our side. He's more than enough to handle your drama club."
"Shitty brat! Stop throwing me under the bus!" Naruto snapped, clearly within earshot.
Jalter's confident smirk faltered just slightly. "A... God of Hope?"
Satria casually nodded, arms crossed. "Yep. Blond guy, spiky hair, obsession with talking people out of evil. Remind you of anyone? Spoiler alert: this isn't going to end well for you. Oh, and just so you know—"
He snapped his fingers. Two golden portals swirled into existence beside him, glowing with divine energy.
"—I didn't come unprepared. What do you take me for, Emo Girl?"
A deep rumble echoed through the battlefield as the portals widened, revealing the sound of galloping hooves and heavy armored steps. From the golden light emerged a disciplined force, shining like a beacon of hope against the gloom. At the helm were two imposing figures: Saint George, the dragon-slaying knight, and Gilles de Rais, redeemed and resolute at Jeanne's side once more.
Mash gasped in awe. "Reinforcements…!"
She raised her shield high, voice ringing with hope. "They're here! Saint George and Sir Gilles have arrived!"
Riding proudly at the front, Georgios's voice boomed with unshakable conviction. "Stand tall, comrades! We ride not in fear, but in purpose! Let darkness feel the edge of our resolve!"
Beside him, Gilles rode fiercely, eyes steeled with unwavering loyalty. "Hold your ground! Today, we carve hope into history!"
From the skies above, a swarm of wyverns screamed down, claws slicing through the air. But neither knight flinched.
"Let them come," Georgios declared. He raised his lance to the heavens. "Ascalon—awaken!"
A blinding surge of holy light burst from his weapon as it transformed into the radiant blade of legend. With one mighty swing, he cleaved through a wyvern mid-flight, sending it crashing to the ground with a thunderous thud.
Gilles wasn't far behind, brandishing his weapon with righteous fury as he charged the monsters, his battle cry echoing across the plains.
Naruto, watching from the rear line beside Jeanne, let out a low whistle. "Man… those guys are tough. I think they've got the lizards covered."
He glanced at Jeanne, his usual grin returning. "Now let's take care of the real problem, yeah?"
Jeanne's eyes softened with gratitude as she gazed at the two knights. "Saint George… Gilles… I knew you'd come. Their courage has bought us the opening we needed."
She lifted her flag, eyes fixed ahead on the darkened castle. "Now, we finish this."
•
Two legendary knights faced each other beneath a clouded sky. On one side stood Artoria Pendragon, the once and future King of Knights, clad in shining silver armor, Excalibur gleaming with golden resolve in her hand. Across from her loomed Lancelot, twisted by madness, his darkened armor pulsating with corrupted mana. In his grip, he held Arondight, now jagged and warped by the torment within him.
"Lancelot…" Artoria's voice was soft, trembling with sorrow. "Even in this broken form, I still see the knight I once called my dearest companion. Please... let me end your pain."
Lancelot growled—low, feral, and guttural. "Artoriaaa!" The cry was not of a man, but a beast gripped by guilt and fury. Without hesitation, he charged forward, his blade crashing down like a bolt of wrath.
Artoria braced herself, Excalibur rising just in time. Their swords met with a thunderous clang that echoed across the desolate field, sending sparks and shockwaves into the wind. The impact pushed her back, boots digging furrows into the earth.
"His strength…" she thought, her eyes narrowing, "it's monstrous. His madness has turned guilt into power."
Lancelot pressed the attack, his strikes relentless. His swings were wild, savage—but each one carried deadly precision born of a knight who once stood as one of the greatest. Artoria dodged and parried, her blade singing as it deflected blow after blow.
"Why, Lancelot?" she called out between the flurry. "Why do you turn your blade against me? Is this the justice you believe you deserve? The penance for your sins? If that burden is too great… then let me bear it with you."
But no words came from the Black Knight—only another furious roar as he raised Arondight high, the air around it turning black with swirling cursed mana.
"Arondight… Overload!"
The cursed blade erupted with shadowy power, its energy crackling like a thunderstorm of anguish. A deadly wave of destruction surged toward her.
Artoria's grip on Excalibur tightened. Golden light began to radiate from her blade, pure and unwavering, as she stepped forward.
"If you won't stop… then I will give you all I have!" she cried, her voice ringing with both sorrow and resolve.
"Excalibur!"
Light and shadow collided in a blinding explosion. The earth cracked. The skies lit up. The very air screamed under the weight of their Noble Phantasms.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze.
And then… light triumphed.
Excalibur's golden beam pierced through the darkness, cutting straight into Lancelot's attack and striking him head-on. His armor shattered like glass. The black mana surrounding him burst and scattered into nothingness.
He collapsed to his knees, the fury in his eyes fading, replaced by something tragically human: regret.
Artoria approached him slowly, Excalibur lowered. Her breath trembled. Her voice gentler now, barely above a whisper.
"Lancelot... it's over. You've carried this torment long enough. Rest now, my knight."
Lancelot looked up at her, eyes clearer than they'd been in centuries. "Artoria…" he murmured. "I… failed you."
She knelt beside him, resting a hand on his scarred shoulder. "No. You were always loyal. Even when you faltered, your heart never strayed. You are forgiven."
A faint, peaceful smile curved Lancelot's lips. His body began to glow, spirit returning to the Throne.
"Thank you… my king."
And then, he was gone—vanishing in the wind like a memory.
Artoria remained still, her heart heavy yet steady. She sheathed Excalibur, standing tall as the sun broke through the clouds above.
"Sleep well, Lancelot," she whispered to the breeze. "I will carry your honor… until the very end."
•
The battlefield hung in heavy silence as Marie Antoinette and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart faced the manifestation of her darkest memory—the Shadow Executioner. Clad in blackened armor, his towering frame gripped a monstrous blade pulsing with the weight of judgment and sorrow. The air around him was thick with dread.
Chaldea's allied soldiers held their breath, rooted in place by the executioner's oppressive presence.
Marie stepped forward, her elegance now sharpened by unyielding courage. "You are nothing but a relic of guilt—an echo of a time long gone," she declared, chin raised. "I have faced the blade once. I will not do so again on my knees."
Mozart chuckled dryly beside her, the keys of his piano-staff humming beneath his fingers. "Ah, the queen speaks with fire. And as always, I shall compose the overture to her victory."
With a silent burst of motion, the Executioner lunged forward. His blade swung in a cruel arc, dark energy trailing behind it like a storm. Marie spun gracefully, her crystal shield intercepting the blow with a burst of radiant force. She retaliated with a flash of divine light, her expression calm and fierce.
"I am no longer the fragile figure caged in Versailles. I fight now for hope—for those who still believe in me!"
Mozart's fingers danced over his keys, unleashing a sweeping aria that rippled through the air like a shockwave. The executioner faltered, his balance thrown as harmonic resonance clashed against his darkness.
"You lack rhythm, mon ami," Mozart taunted with a theatrical bow. "Try to keep up. We're performing a symphony of defiance."
But their duel was suddenly overshadowed by a violent quake that shook the ground.
"Something's coming!" a soldier cried.
A guttural roar pierced the heavens, and the sky seemed to tear apart. Descending from above like a demon of legend came Fafnir, the corrupted dragon, his wings spread wide, eyes glowing with bloodlust. Each beat of his wings stirred gales that knocked soldiers off their feet.
With a mighty bellow, Fafnir raised his claw, poised to bring ruin upon the defenders of Chaldea.
"No!" Marie gasped, her voice trembling with both fear and fury.
Mozart's melody halted mid-note, his breath catching in his throat. "Not good... not good at all..."
"Hold the line!" came the voice of Saint George, unwavering in the face of doom. He raised Ascalon, standing firm as a bastion between the soldiers and the descending beast. "Our strength lies not in size, but in purpose!"
Fafnir roared, plummeting toward the army like a meteor of death—until a sudden blur cleaved through the sky.
CRASH!
A sonic boom tore through the battlefield as a sleek, obsidian-scaled dragon collided with Fafnir mid-air, sending shockwaves across the field. Fafnir was flung backwards, his massive body gouging a trench in the earth as he tumbled to a halt, snarling.
All eyes turned to the newcomer—Crom Cruach, her true form radiating raw, ancient power. Her golden eyes narrowed in disdain as she stepped forward, wings spread wide in defiance.
"Is this the best a corrupted dragon can offer?" she sneered, her voice resonating like thunder.
Fafnir roared, scrambling to his feet, flame boiling in his throat. But Crom stood unmoved, tail swishing like a whip of wrath.
"Why is that dragon… protecting us?" one of the soldiers whispered, barely audible over the crackling flames and distant cries.
Saint George narrowed his gaze, the aura surrounding the black-scaled newcomer familiar yet ancient. "That's no ally of Jeanne Alter. This one… walks a path all its own. Unshackled. Primordial."
Crom Cruach turned her golden eyes toward the knight, voice a low growl laced with disdain. "Stay your blades, little knight. You and your men are mere kindling to this beast. I'll deal with him."
George didn't argue. The air around Crom radiated overwhelming pressure—too heavy for mortals to contest. "Understood. All units, fall back! Tend to the wounded!"
As the soldiers scrambled to safety, Fafnir, his body heaving with corrupted fury, let loose an earth-shaking roar. Black fire pooled in his maw as he lunged at Crom, claws cleaving the ground. But Crom met him head-on, her movements precise and devastating. Each blow from her tail and claws countered Fafnir's brute force with terrifying grace.
"You were once a symbol of greed and pride," Crom sneered mid-strike, "and now you're just a dog chained to a counterfeit saint. You disgust me."
Suddenly, Fafnir twisted and spewed a torrent of cursed flame—not at Crom, but toward the retreating soldiers.
George's heart clenched. "They won't make it!"
But Crom moved, vanishing and reappearing between the fire and the soldiers. Her scales shimmered as the flames splashed harmlessly against her frame. She didn't flinch. Her voice thundered across the battlefield:
"Oi—Dragon Slayer—this is your cue. Don't keep me waiting. Impress me… or don't bother showing up at all!"
Siegfried, standing just behind Crom, gritted his teeth. He looked toward his Master.
"Master?" he asked, voice steady but weighted.
Jeanne stepped forward, her expression calm but firm. "You are Siegfried. This fight—this dragon—is yours."
He turned back, nodding with silent conviction. Then finally, his gaze found Gudako, his Master.
She met his eyes, a quiet resolve in hers. "You have my trust. Balmung is yours to unleash."
Siegfried's hand moved to his blade. The world seemed to hold its breath. With one smooth motion, he unsheathed Balmung. The dragon-slaying sword ignited with radiant power, the very air around it warping from its presence. Thunder rolled through the sky.
He stepped forward, the aura of a hero reborn radiating from him.
"Fafnir… your time is over!"
He raised Balmung high above his head, the sword glowing with brilliant light. Energy spiraled upward, cracking the sky.
"By my legend, by my vow… let the flames of tyranny be cut down! BALMUNG!"
The energy exploded forth in a colossal beam, a lance of pure justice screaming toward Fafnir.
Unfortunately, someone ruined the historic moment.
[Chemy Ride!!!]
"Henshin!"
[L-L-Legend!!!]
A brilliant flash erupted across the battlefield as a figure stepped forth, his very presence causing even Fafnir to blink in confusion.
Clad in gleaming, myth-infused armor, Kamen Rider Legend made his grand entrance. Sleek and radiant, his form pulsed with power drawn from myth, legend, and whatever anime logic kept him upright.
He brandished a glowing deck of cards—each one a symbol of ancient heroism—and raised one high.
"Final Form, Legend!" he declared.
In a cascade of light and energy, his armor shifted. Dragon motifs wrapped around his limbs, knightly flares gleamed from his shoulders, and a swirling cape of shimmering stardust unfurled behind him. His transformation was smooth, flashy, and unnecessarily dramatic—as if the universe paused to admire him.
Cue the over-the-top orchestral soundtrack.
He slid another card into his driver.
"Final Form, Blade!"
Golden energy flared as his form evolved once more—sleek and regal, adorned with crimson and gold accents. His shoulders bore sword-shaped pauldrons, and a long, ethereal blade shimmered in his hand, radiating power meant for gods, kings… and apparently, dragons.
Then he turned… and shocked everyone.
"Don't worry!" he shouted heroically. "It is the Emperor's duty to protect his people! I will protect you, Fafnir! Just like I protect my nakama!"
The battlefield froze.
Martha nearly dropped her weapon. "What are you doing?! That's the dragon that nearly destroyed half of France!"
"Are you mad?!" George shouted. "This thing is an abomination!"
"Satria!" Gudako snapped. "This is no time for a redemption arc!"
But Satria had already raised his hand dramatically.
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT FRANCE!!!" he yelled with the passion of a Saturday morning protagonist. "This dragon is not evil. He's just misunderstood! And I—Satria—will be the one to save him!"
He pulled his final card. "Royal Straight Flush!!!"
A beam of incomprehensible power burst from his blade, colliding head-on with Siegfried's Balmung.
The earth shattered. The air cracked with force. Two legendary powers clashed—one born of ancient myth, the other… sheer chaotic idealism.
The impact sent a tsunami of light and debris across the battlefield. Both beams shook, but Balmung's divine radiance began to falter, overtaken by the absurd strength of Satria's final attack.
Siegfried's eyes widened. "Impossible…! My ultimate attack… being overpowered by this guy?!"
Satria stood tall, chest puffed with self-righteous pride. "You all just don't understand! This creature isn't evil—he's just hangry! I mean, look at him! Big body, big energy needs! He probably just needs a full-course meal and a nap!"
Even Fafnir tilted his massive head. It let out a confused, rumbly hrrrhhh?
Marie blinked. "He destroyed entire villages!"
"Exactly!" Satria said, nodding. "Villages filled with food! Feeding a body like that must be tough! I mean, I get cranky if I miss lunch and do you forget he does this because it is controlled by that evil woman."
"Well... he's not wrong, Satria always acts like an obnoxious child when he's hungry." Crom spoke from experience.
Jeanne, face buried in her palms, whispered, "I regret every life choice that led to me witnessing this."
Satria turned back to the dragon, patting its massive snout as though it were a harmless puppy. "See? Look at those big eyes. This guy's just a misunderstood animal. He doesn't need to be defeated—he needs to be adopted!"
Gudako's eyes twitched. "You want to ADOPT him?!"
"Of course!" Satria beamed, reaching up and patting Fafnir's giant snout like it was a neighborhood dog. "With enough food, love, training, and maybe an understanding the power of friendship—he could be the best nakama ever!"
Several heroes are speechless by his weird declaration.
Artoria muttered, "This man… badly needs therapy. Immediately."
Jeanne Alter, somewhere in the distance, probably screamed in existential confusion.
Even Fafnir looked unsure whether it was flattered, insulted, or moments away from sneezing on him.
And thus… a new, ridiculous chapter began. One not written in the scrolls of history or sung by bards—but whispered across taverns and battlefields alike as a tale of legend, foolishness, and one man's unwavering belief in friendship.
...Mostly remembered as a cautionary tale of what not to do in a battle between gods and monsters.
•
Naruto stood amidst the wreckage, his orange cloak gently billowing, aglow with the residual power of the Nine-Tails. The battlefield around him was quiet now—smoldering ashes and fractured earth the only remnants of the fierce clash that had preceded. Across the ruined field stood Jeanne Alter, defiant and alone. Her black armor bore the marks of battle, and her once-proud banner fluttered weakly, stained by ash and grief.
Her golden eyes locked onto Naruto's. They burned with fury—but behind that fire was something rawer. Something aching.
Naruto stepped forward, his movement deliberate and sure. The other Servants and allies hung back, understanding that this confrontation wasn't just another fight. It was something deeper—more human.
"Jeanne Alter," he called out, voice firm but gentle. "It's over. The dragon's gone. Your army's fallen. There's only you now." He stopped a few steps away. "So, tell me—what do you really want?"
Jeanne Alter's jaw clenched, her grip on the flagpole white-knuckled. "What do I want?" she repeated bitterly. "I want to watch this world burn. I want them all to feel what I felt—the betrayal, the pain, the fire they put in my heart!"
But even as she shouted, her voice cracked.
Naruto's eyes softened. "You're still hurting," he said, gently. "You think revenge will fix that. That if you burn it all down, the pain will finally stop. But that's not how it works. It just leaves you empty."
"Don't talk like you understand me!" she snapped, her voice rising. "You, with your friends and your strength and your sunshine smile—you don't know what it's like to be abandoned by everyone! To be turned into a monster!"
Naruto's expression hardened. "You think I don't?" he asked, voice low. "My whole childhood, people looked at me like I wasn't human. I was the Nine-Tails' container—the 'demon child.' They feared me. Hated me. I was alone."
Jeanne Alter faltered, her fury shaken by the unexpected familiarity in his words.
"But I didn't let that hatred define me," Naruto continued. "I found people who believed in me. Who saw me, not just the beast inside. And when I did… I realized I could protect others from becoming what I almost became."
She stared at him, speechless, her flag lowering slightly.
"You're not just pain and hate," Naruto said. "You're still Jeanne d'Arc. A symbol. A fighter. You can change."
Jeanne Alter's lips trembled. "I… I have nothing else. This pain… it's all I've had for so long. Who would I even be without it?"
Naruto stepped closer. "Someone stronger than you've ever been," he said, his hand outstretched. "You don't have to carry this alone. Let us help you."
For a moment, Jeanne Alter's eyes softened. Her fingers twitched, almost reaching for his hand—but pride, stubborn and fierce, flared once more.
She jerked back. "Don't pity me," she growled. "I am Jeanne d'Arc Alter! Betrayal gave me life! Vengeance made me strong!"
Naruto didn't flinch. "I don't pity you," he replied. "I respect you. But I won't let you keep hurting people. Let me show you what I fight for."
Suddenly, the sky split open with a thundering roar. Chakra erupted around Naruto, shaping itself into an enormous, godlike figure. A radiant titan of swirling blue—a Perfect Susanoo—materialized above him, towering and majestic, its sword gleaming like a shard of divine justice.
Gasps echoed across the battlefield.
Jeanne Alter stumbled backward, her mouth agape. "That… that power…!"
Artoria and Esdeath stood side by side, their expressions unusually proud as Naruto revealed a sliver of the power he carried. The golden glow of the Susanoo reflected in their eyes—symbols of their acknowledgment, not just of strength, but of the heart behind it.
Satria let out a low whistle. "Showing off, huh?" He crossed his arms, eyes glinting with excitement. "But damn... it's bigger than I remember. Could this be... Hagoromo Susanoo?"
"It feels like a storm," Crom murmured beside him. Her usually confident voice was hushed, awed. "But it's not wild. It's focused. Steady… and unstoppable." Her hands clenched at her sides as a quiet smile spread across her lips. I can't deny it. This power... it's something I want to fight to test my limit. Thank you, dear, for bringing me into this incredible world." She returned to her human form and curled up affectionately next to Satria, her earlier excitement softening into warmth.
Satria looked down at her, a faint but serious frown tugging at his lips. "Yeah, but… don't go picking a fight with him without asking me first, okay? You could die."
Mash stood frozen, her shield limp in her hands. "T-That… That's not possible," she whispered. "What kind of power is that? It's like a god descended onto the battlefield..." Her voice trembled as her mind struggled to comprehend the scale of the entity towering before them.
"This power… it's unreal," Kiyohime breathed, her usually intense fire cooled into reverent awe. "Naruto-san is not just a hero... He's something far beyond that now."
"Mon Dieu…" Marie murmured, pale-faced, her eyes wide with wonder. "It's… magnificent. But it doesn't belong here. It's like something from a different plane entirely." She turned to Mozart, who stood speechless beside her.
"I've never seen anything like this," Mozart said at last, the sheer majesty robbing him of his usual flair. "This isn't merely power. It's the will of a world made manifest. It's... beautiful."
"I've fought dragons. But this?" Siegfried said with growing admiration. "This isn't just strength—it's the embodiment of a bond so strong it defies time and death."
"This is the Susanoo," he said. "A gift left to me by a friend who died helping me defeat a threat that destroyed my world. His power, his spirit… lives on through this."
The Susanoo lifted its colossal blade, the light dancing along its edge like a divine flame. Naruto pointed it toward Jeanne Alter—not in menace, but in purpose.
"This isn't a weapon of destruction," he said. "It's a promise—to protect, to endure, to honor the people who believed in me. I'll use it if I have to… but I don't want to."
Jeanne Alter's knees trembled as she stared up at him. The fire of vengeance flickered inside her… and dimmed.
"Why?" she asked, voice trembling. "Why do you still fight for others after everything you've lost? Why not let the world burn like it burned you?"
Naruto's eyes softened, though his gaze remained firm. "Because giving up would mean forgetting everyone who gave their lives for me. I won't let their hopes die with them."
He stepped forward, voice clear and steady. "You don't need to destroy everything to find peace, Jeanne. You just need to believe there's still something worth saving."
Slowly, the Susanoo knelt, its divine energy no longer oppressive but calm—like the eye of a storm.
Naruto extended his hand toward her.
"So what's it going to be?" he asked. "Keep drowning in pain… or let us help you rise from it?"
The battlefield held its breath.
Jeanne Alter stared at him—torn, her soul waging a war louder than any she had ever fought. Her grip on her flag finally loosened. Her eyes shimmered with something fragile… something new.
Hope.
Unnoticed by the others, a new disaster was brewing—one that would affect only two souls.
Without warning, a strange force tore Naruto and Satria from the battlefield, casting them into a realm beyond comprehension. The world around them faded into a surreal void, where time held no meaning and space bent like glass.
Before them appeared a radiant figure, her form flickering as if made of light and thought—neither fully divine nor mortal. She stood as the embodiment of something far older than any god: humanity's collective will to survive.
Her presence, though fragile compared to their divine might, carried the weight of countless lives.
"You two," she spoke, her voice resonating like overlapping echoes of a billion souls, "do not belong to this world. You are... something more."
The Golden Emperor stared her down, his crimson gaze piercing into the very core of her being. "And who are you," he asked calmly, "to summon me?"
"You are anomalies," she replied. "Fragments born outside the weave of this world. Your existence defies this reality. Tell me—what is your purpose here?"
Naruto stepped forward, a curious brow raised. "Purpose? I'm here to save the world. Kinda my thing. What's the issue?" His tone darkened. "And what's with calling us 'anomalies'?"
She continued, unmoved. "You were never meant to exist here. Your power is foreign, unbound by this world's laws. You are not a part of its destiny—you are a threat to it. Your very presence distorts the balance. For the sake of mankind's survival… you must be purged."
The Golden Emperor narrowed his eyes, his golden armor radiating light as if in defiance of her claim. "You are no God," he said. "You are fear given form—a hollow avatar of humanity's dread of the unknown. Do you truly believe you can judge us?"
Naruto clenched his fists, the chakra around him surging like a tidal wave. "So what—you think you can erase us just because we don't fit into your precious system? I've faced worse, and I'm still standing. If you want to test me... go ahead. I won't back down."
Her eyes dimmed slightly as she raised a hand—and the realm itself trembled.
From behind her, dozens of figures emerged—each cloaked in mystery, glowing with deadly power. They were Heroic Spirits, forged and twisted into instruments of preservation.
"The Counter Force," she declared. "Guardians of balance. Champions of humanity's survival. My will made manifest."
Her voice grew thunderous.
"I am Alaya, the collective unconscious of mankind. The last line of defense. And I will not allow anomalies like you to unravel everything."
She raised her arm—and with it, the Counter Guardians surged forward like a divine storm.
To be continued...