Chapter 16: The True War Begins
The ground rumbled.
From the eastern hills, an army approached — the Red Faction, led by Shirou Kotomine himself.
At his side marched his stolen Servants — Karna, Arash, Achilles, Shakespeare — and towering above them all, the Grand Servant, Tezcatlipoca.
And behind them, an endless sea of pale bodies: Einzbern Homunculi, bought and repurposed for war.
The Black Faction had answered the challenge in kind.
Golems, crafted by the hands of Avicebron.
Homunculi, born in the labs of Castle Yggdmillennia.
And, of course, their five remaining Servants — each ready for blood.
The Holy Grail War had truly begun.
The first clash was a storm.
Arash and Karna struck like twin meteors, hurling themselves at the heart of the Black defenses.
Their movements blurred with godlike speed — Karna, cloaked in flames, his spear igniting the air; Arash, nocking arrows that burned with divine power.
They moved in perfect sync, a dance of death tearing through golems and homunculi alike.
There, waiting for them, was Vlad III — spear in hand, armor glinting in the blood-red dusk.
Even facing two legends, Vlad stood firm, the prince of Wallachia refusing to give even an inch.
He moved like a phantom, intercepting Karna's blazing spear with a sweep of his own, forcing Arash to dodge instead of fire.
For every blow Vlad blocked, he delivered one of his own.
A crack of his spikes dented Karna's armor.
A lunge drove Arash to his knee.
The two-on-one advantage seemed to melt beneath Vlad's ruthless, regal precision.
But even he couldn't keep up the defense forever.
The terrain cratered around them, earth torn and shattered with each clash.
Nearby, Achilles laughed as he collided with Beowulf.
The two warriors met in a devastating charge — Achilles' chariot smashing through the field as Beowulf hurled a massive slab of stone to block it.
The impact sent a shockwave through the field.
Their fight was brutal, primal.
Fist met shield.
Sword met spear.
Beowulf's savage strength kept pace with Achilles' divine agility.
Each strike sent echoes across the battlefield.
Achilles spun, landed a kick that cracked Beowulf's rib.
Beowulf roared in response, slamming the pommel of his sword into Achilles' jaw.
Neither relented.
High above, Astolfo mounted his Hippogriff, charging recklessly toward Tezcatlipoca, a controlled Spartacus at his side.
The wind screamed around them as Astolfo grinned wildly, his lance leveled.
They struck — and were repelled.
Tezcatlipoca barely moved.
The Grand Servant's obsidian skin shrugged off the blow, his massive hand swatting Spartacus aside like a toy.
Astolfo's lance left a scratch — no more.
Spartacus bellowed, charging again.
Tezcatlipoca met him with a blade of pure shadow and flame, cleaving through Spartacus's defenses with terrifying ease.
Still, Spartacus rose — again and again.
His Mad Enhancement refused surrender, his resolve bordering on divine madness.
Even so, the Grand Servant's power was too much.
In the chaos, Riya and Muramasa arrived at the battlefield's edge.
Riya cursed under his breath.
"Seriously? You call this a war? It's more like a damn apocalypse," he muttered.
Before they could even advance, they were surrounded — dozens of Einzbern Homunculi closing in like a white tide.
Muramasa clicked his tongue and drew his blade.
"Tch. Figures."
Riya rolled his shoulders.
"Well... no point whining about it now."
Together, they plunged into the fray.
Muramasa became a whirlwind of steel, blades flashing as he danced through the homunculi.
Riya channeled bursts of borrowed strength — the power of jeanne — cutting down enemies with brutal precision.
They fought back-to-back, two storms of death against an endless tide.
Meanwhile, not far off, Sieg stood among the carnage.
He cradled a wounded Homunculus girl, her pale body trembling in his arms.
"It's okay," Sieg said softly. "I'll help you. I'll help all of you."
He looked toward the looming silhouette of Castle Yggdmillennia.
His path was clear.
Just as Astolfo and Siegfried had once saved him, he would now save others.
No matter what it took.
Above it all, the clash between giants reached its brutal end.
Spartacus, bloodied and broken, roared one final time before Tezcatlipoca's obsidian blade tore him in half.
The impact shook the ground.
Astolfo, battered and bleeding, watched in horror.
There was nothing he could do.
With a strangled shout, he turned Hippogriff around and retreated into the night sky, trailing smoke and blood behind him.
The battlefield fell into chaos and fire.
And in the distance, the night deepened — heavy, silent, and merciless.
The true Holy Grail War had begun.