"OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT!!"
Angra was running in pure panic, clutching two strangely designed knives in his hands.
He was running very fast—too bad his Master was so weak that his proud stats had been dragged down to B+.
And the one chasing him was an extremely, extremely powerful Servant with all four parameters at A-rank, including Speed.
Flames erupted from nowhere and spread, overtaking him in an instant. Angra clicked his tongue—he was already well within range of her Noble Phantasm.
Right after that, spears shot up from the ground, racing toward him with the clear intent to finish him off immediately.
He absolutely did not want to get stabbed by those things. He had a very bad feeling they'd go straight for his ass.
'I'm really hoping my E+ Luck does something here!!'
Whoosh!
"…?" Angra opened his eyes. He wasn't hurt. The spears had stabbed right next to him instead.
Even the woman attacking him froze in shock.
"…" The two stared at each other. Her face quickly twisted into something even more ferocious.
"You're pretty damn lucky, huh? Loved by God or something? Then there's no reason for me to hold back anymore!"
What the hell?! Where did she pull that reasoning from?? How does she look at me and think I'm loved by God??
She leaped into the air, gripped her flag tightly, and swung it straight down.
If he were a real man, he might have blocked it. But Angra could NEVER blocked it, even with faith or some power of friendship. So instead he quickly dodged to the side.
And a sword came flying straight at him!!!
"Oh wonderful—"
Slash!
From his chest to his shoulder, he was cleaved open. Blood sprayed everywhere instantly.
After the slash, she narrowed her eyes and stepped back.
Angra panted heavily. Thankfully his spiritual core wasn't shattered, but his body definitely couldn't take another hit.
"You… are even more disgusting than I thought," she said bluntly, her expression like she was looking at something filthy.
"You're hurting my feelings," Angra smiled, even though he was sweating buckets.
Her sword carried the curse that caused burning. Yet when it cut into Angra, that curse was overridden by another curse.
In other words, she had just been fighting someone whose body contained tens of thousands of curses or even more.
"I don't know whether God favors a wretch like you, or turned you into the perfect sacrifice for every curse in existence. Should I call you pitiful or disappointing?"
"I don't know. Either way, I'm not religious. At least I don't have faith to something that promises salvation before death."
"You're hilarious. Want me to sew that mouth shut?"
The situation was very, very bad. He had zero chance of winning—not even a little.
And what made it even worse?
The person in front of him… he could sense it—she wasn't a Servant!
Servants, when they were alive, were usually ridiculously strong—except for a few heroic spirits who only became powerful after becoming Servants, like that certain red Archer.
So the current situation was basically him fighting a powerful, brutal dragon. And he was just a pathetic boy who liked anal and being lazy!! (Fact?)
"Why so quiet? Already accepted your fate?" She smirked and walked forward leisurely.
"Hehe… I've got an early Christmas present for you. Hope you like it…"
Suddenly Angra's body transformed into something bizarre.
"Verg Avesta!"
Her eyes widened as she watched Angra activate his Noble Phantasm.
Instantly, the same sharp, searing pain exploded from her chest to her shoulder, shocking her for a split second.
It was a Noble Phantasm he could spam without spending much mana—the tradeoff being that Angra had to endure constant pain to keep spamming it. The damage it dealt would carve itself deeply into the enemy's soul.
It sounded strong, but the problem was Angra's endurance was trash. So the pain he inflicted… didn't do much against an enemy with higher endurance than him.
The moment Angra reverted to normal, he used every ounce of strength for a tactical retreat.
The instant she realized he was running away again, her rage hit its peak.
"You bastard… running like a damn rat!"
Then, a barrage of weapons appeared above Angra's head. They radiated purple flames capable of burning everything to ash.
Yeah, this was it. Angra was definitely going to die here.
Honestly, surviving this long was already impressive—given how weak he was, most Servants could one-shot him.
However, E+ was still better than E. Specifically, that little plus sign.
"Angra!" A familiar voice rang out, instantly changing the expressions on both the girl's and Angra's faces.
"MASTER!!!" Angra immediately rushed over and clung to Vincent's leg, startling him.
"What the hell are you doing looking so pathetic?! And what's with that wound?! Your blood's all over my school pants!"
The weapons that had been hovering in the air, aimed at Angra, all froze in place.
"I knew it! Master is super important to her!" Angra let out a huge sigh of relief.
"What do you mean?" Vincent asked, confused. Then he looked straight ahead—and his eyes widened.
She stood there, her expression frozen in complete shock.
"J-Jean?"
He stared at her outfit—it was exactly the same as when they first met.
She looked at him, then at Angra, then back at him.
"Didn't expect… your Servant to be this pathetically weak."
"Huh?"
She scratched her head in irritation, sighed, then glared at Angra.
"You're lucky."
The short sentence carried heavy menace.
"Sis… you're a Servant?" Vincent asked cautiously.
"No."
"Oh, okay then. Nothing to worry about. Angra, get up already."
Holy shit, he flipped the mood faster than a rollercoaster!
"Also, you better explain this to me," Vincent said, glancing at her—she had already changed back into casual clothes.
"No way. I'm not explaining shit unless you tell me first."
"You're the one who needs to explain more!"
"I dare you to make me say a single word."
Watching Vincent and Jeanne Alter argue—but clearly full of care for each other—Angra finally let out a long breath.
'Damn it! Next time I'm never getting involved in any of this bullshit fighting ever again!'
He silently swore to himself.