MMMS 88

“…S-So strong…?” Irisviel couldn’t even feel relieved—only stunned. She stared, frozen in place. Ryuuto had dropped a Berserker with stats that outclassed most Knight Classes… using a single punch. A clean one-hit knockdown.

Servants were supposed to be the pinnacle of spiritual combat, built from the legends of Heroic Spirits. Their bodies alone rivaled Phantasmal Beasts, but their real strength came from their Noble Phantasms. Weapons and skills shaped by fame—swords, spears, divine armor, sorcery, archery, even miracles turned into form.

But Ryuuto didn’t need any of that. He didn’t channel legend, didn’t call on artifacts. He shattered that wall of myth with brute force.

The mana in the air, thick enough to choke on—so dense it felt like the Age of Gods had returned—wasn’t caused by a spell. It was just the pressure left behind after Ryuuto threw that punch.

“You’re really tough, huh.” he looked down at the fallen Berserker, voice calm, almost bored.

Jack wasn’t dead. That punch had wrecked him, but not enough to finish the job. In reality, Berserkers didn’t go down so easily. If you were going to abandon your sanity, the tradeoff should at least be a body that just wouldn’t quit—otherwise, what was the point?

“Guh… grr…” The monster groaned. One trembling arm reached out toward Ryuuto’s leg. His fingers barely curled. That was probably all he had left. He couldn’t rise, couldn’t strike. But his eyes—those burning, feral eyes—still locked onto Ryuuto, unblinking.

No fear. No hesitation. Just raw hatred. Still ready to fight, even if his body had already given out.

“…”

Just as Jack began to charge another heat ray, Ryuuto lifted his foot and brought it down on the demon’s back—calmly, without pause.

Crack.

The sound was sickening. Bone, muscle, and whatever passed for organs under that twisted form—everything crumpled under the force. The demon’s chest caved in. Its spine folded in on itself. And Ryuuto’s face didn’t even twitch.

Then—

“Lord Ryuuto! Behind you!”

Irisviel’s voice cut through the silence.

He turned.

Another demon hovered in the air, identical to the one he'd just crushed. Its aura was weaker—maybe a third of the original’s strength—but there were more. A lot more.

Twenty at first.

Then the sky opened.

Dozens more. Then hundreds.

Irisviel's breath caught in her throat.

They were everywhere. A storm of demons poured from above, blotting out the clouds. Each one a twisted echo of Jack the Ripper.

“This is humanity’s punishment,” one of them spoke, voice cold and dry. “We were born from both its ignorance and its brilliance.”

They descended in waves.

Jack’s Noble Phantasm—From Hell—was unfolding before them. It drew from the idea that Jack wasn’t just a man, but a monster birthed by London’s shadow. That infamous line, “From Hell,” scrawled in a letter supposedly sent by the real killer, had become the core of this Noble Phantasm.

But that was only half the nightmare.

He’d combined it with Natural Born Killers—a Noble Phantasm formed from every theory about Jack’s identity. A single man. A group of murderers. A cabal. A cult. A demonic presence. Every possibility had taken shape.

And now, all those legends had been given form.

Two hundred bodies. Two hundred demons. Each one able to exploit a different piece of humanity’s weakness. Hatred. Despair. Madness. All sharpened into weapons.

They wanted to see if Ryuuto could survive this.

The boy who had once erased all of Gilgamesh’s treasures in a single clash—

Could that strength endure against a flood born from humanity’s darkest thoughts?

“…So far, everything’s going according to plan.” Ryuuto’s voice was calm, steady—nothing like Irisviel, who was barely staying upright behind him.

“Jack, you’re strong. More than strong. You’re the kind of threat that would’ve been my natural enemy… back when I was still human.” He glanced at the swarm circling above. “Honestly, it’s a little tragic. If Tohsaka Tokiomi had sent you after me during the King’s Banquet… I might’ve actually lost.”

“…What are you talking about…?”

The words came out hoarse and uncertain. Somewhere deep in that twisted mass of demons, a spark of unease stirred.

Ryuuto smiled faintly and rolled his shoulder. “Let me put it simply. Back then, maybe. But now?” He stepped forward. “There’s no version of me that would lose to a bottom-feeder like you.”

Without another word, the Noble Phantasm in his hand began to stir.

Ea growled to life. A low rumble that swelled into a roar, shaking the sky and earth alike. The air trembled. Space itself twisted.

Jack’s army paused midair, a ripple of fear moving through the swarm.

And Ryuuto, still calm as ever, raised the blade with one hand.

The sky, once choked with demons, suddenly cleared.

One by one, the creatures lost their flight and reverted into powerless human forms. Dozens of Jacks dropped from the air like broken dolls, crashing into the ground below. With a single swing—not even calling out Ea’s True Name—Ryuuto had cut straight through the illusion that held their false world together.

That hellish dream shattered like fog in a storm.

The sky returned. The broken land pieced itself back together. Reality reasserted itself with a quiet finality. And amid the fading echoes of that long night, only the sword in Ryuuto’s hand still glowed, humming softly with power.

“…Heh. Didn’t think I’d go out thanks to a comrade’s Noble Phantasm.”

Berserker’s voice drifted faintly from the corridor, barely more than a breath. “Funny. That bastard Archer said he’d kill me someday… I guess if it was his Noble Phantasm that did it, technically he kept his word.”

Ryuuto stepped over the rubble, stopping beside what remained of Jack. “Any last words?”

“Hmm… not really,” Jack muttered, sprawled across the stone. “Fading out quietly like this kinda suits me… Oh, wait!”

His expression lit up, unexpectedly bright.

“O King—just now, you said that if we’d fought before you had Ea, the result might’ve been different. Did you really mean that?”

Ryuuto nodded. “Yeah. I did. You’re strong, Jack. Really strong. Without Ea… that fight might’ve gone either way.”

Jack let out a long breath. Almost a laugh.

“…I see. Even if my face changes… even if every version of me fights a little differently… I guess some things stay the same.” He smiled, bitter and tired. “Jack’s Luck stat is always E, huh…”

The murderer’s aura faded without a trace, leaving only a tremor lingering in the air.

“Farewell, my king… Oh, and be careful of—”

He never finished the sentence. Jack’s body scattered like dust, carried off by the silence.

“…You could at least finish your damn sentence before dying.” Ryuuto muttered, glancing around the corridor with an awkward grimace.

Then, his expression shifted. “Sorry, Jack. I lied. Even without Ea, I wouldn’t have lost.”

Thud.

A dull sound echoed behind him. He turned sharply—just in time to see Irisviel collapse like a marionette whose strings had been severed.

“Iri!”

He rushed to her side and caught her before she hit the floor, gently pulling her into his arms. Her skin felt cold. Her face had gone pale. Sweat clung to her hair and soaked through her clothes.

“What’s wrong, Iri? Did Kirei do something to you?”

But then he stopped. There were no injuries. No signs of poison, no wounds. He already knew what this was.

It was Jack.

His soul had returned to the Lesser Grail. That was the price she paid—every time a Heroic Spirit was absorbed, more of Irisviel’s human functions faded away. Slowly, piece by piece, she was being hollowed out.

Jack might not have been on the same level as the King of Heroes, the King of Knights, or the King of Conquerors when it came to raw firepower. But his soul was something else entirely—a chaotic mass made from countless identities, each carrying its own weight, its own hatred. That made him dangerous in a different way. A way the Grail couldn’t purify.

Ryuuto had done what he could. Reinforcing her body with his mana, even going as far as exchanging saliva to stabilize the vessel. But Jack’s presence had shattered every prediction.