Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

"Dream Incarnation? Nightmare Manifestation? Nightmare Larva?"

The situation was far too urgent now for Gawain to leisurely read through the mission description. He barely had time to skim it, catching the gist: their next objective was to find a way to defeat the current version of Little Jack—the so-called "wrathful manifestation of an innocent death."

Gawain didn't hesitate. He charged forward with his sword, eyes locked on Little Jack as she was slowly lifted into the air, wreathed in thick black smoke.

But the moment he stepped forward, all the infant faces coiled within the dark smoke around Little Jack suddenly let out a synchronized wail. Gawain's charge instantly felt a hundred times heavier, as if gravity itself had multiplied.

Then, the baby faces launched themselves out of the fog, turning into ghastly floating infant heads made of black mist, soaring toward him.

Without thinking, Gawain swung his sword at them. But his blade simply passed through—utterly ineffective. The heads kept coming.

"Shit!"

He cursed under his breath. These baby heads were just smoke—they couldn't be hurt by physical attacks!

One of them slammed into his face. He tried to dodge, but it turned midair and tracked him, crashing straight into him and exploding into black vapor.

Realizing he absolutely couldn't inhale any of the mist, Gawain clamped his mouth shut, pinched his nose, and held his breath.

It was pointless.

The mist flowed straight toward his eyes, into the cracks of his mouth, even his ears. It invaded everything.

In an instant, the hallucinations and voices that had previously been absorbed by the playbook of The King in Yellow came rushing back, and the halted process of mutation began again. But this time, the yellow booklet that had once saved him was unresponsive—like it had run out of strength.

Just as his vision began to blur and his body froze up, a hand reached out from behind and yanked him out of the fog.

It was Mordred. She had rushed over the moment she saw the wraiths swarm Gawain.

The baby heads attempted to follow, but Mordred slashed with her sword. Crimson lightning exploded from her blade, obliterating them in a single swing.

But the battle was far from over.

As the baby heads were cleared away, Little Jack slowly raised her head and stared directly at them. Her once-innocent eyes were now entirely white, and the thick black mist swirling around her made the sight utterly chilling.

Then, the black mist began to shift again.

Three masses of fog separated from her and hovered in front of her body. Her surrounding smoke surged into them, feeding them some strange mixture of miasma and hate.

As the charging completed, the forms they took made Gawain blurt out:

"What the hell?!"

They looked exactly like three versions of Jack the Ripper—identical to her real-world appearance, only their clothes differed.

"Three Jack the Rippers?!"

Worse still, the outfits they wore mirrored the First Ascension, Second Ascension, and Third Ascension designs from the Fate/Grand Order game.

As soon as they materialized, the trio lunged straight at Gawain and Mordred.

The third-ascension Jack arrived first. She was slightly faster than the others. Her dagger carved a sharp arc in the air, aiming straight for Mordred's throat.

But Mordred's sword was faster.

Her crimson sword of royal light crashed down like thunder. Jack evaded to the side just in time, but before she could react further, Mordred's free hand punched her squarely in the chest and sent her flying.

"Eh?"

Mordred blinked at her own left fist, stunned.

"That felt weird… it was like hitting a real person."

But there was no time to dwell on it. The other two Jacks were already upon her. Four daggers came at her from different directions, targeting vital points. Mordred blocked three but could only twist slightly to avoid the fourth, which slashed across her shoulder, drawing blood.

"This isn't working! I can't fight three at once!" she shouted back at Gawain. "Help me take one!"

"I can't even handle one!" Gawain shouted back, face twisting.

By now, he'd seen enough to guess the truth: these shadow Jacks summoned by Little Jack were nearly as strong as the real one—just lacking skills and Noble Phantasms. But even that was too much for Mordred right now.

Still, in a way, that was good.

Servants draw most of their power from their Noble Phantasms and skills. Without them, the Jacks were significantly weaker.

After all, Jack's Noble Phantasm, "Maria the Ripper," could instantly kill female targets under certain conditions. If she could use it now, this fight would've ended in a blink—Mordred dead, and Gawain a sitting duck.

But since they lacked their full arsenal, things were different.

Realizing this, Gawain slapped his thigh.

"That's it! Mordred! Use your Noble Phantasm! If you fire it now, you could wipe out all of them—including the nightmare larva—in one blow!"

Mordred blinked, then gave him a puzzled look.

"What's a Noble Phantasm?"

"…Shit."

Gawain's hopeful grin froze on his face.

Wait. The enemy doesn't have Noble Phantasms… and neither does she?! What kind of half-baked Servant brawl is this?

His expression turned to dread.

Hold on—if Mordred can't take all three, then I really do have to fight one myself?!

"Please!"

As the three Jacks attacked again, Mordred swept up the second and third ascension versions, leaving the first-ascension Jack to charge at Gawain.

Her shadowy dagger came down in a flash.

Gawain raised his sword instinctively to parry.

The moment their weapons clashed, he could feel the massive difference in power—and cursed aloud:

"I'm screwed!"

Her raw stats were overwhelming. He swung wildly, but every time their blades collided, his hand went numb. After just a few exchanges, his grip was only held together by sheer willpower.

He was no match.

If not for the windmill sword technique he had refined over ten thousand simulated battles—enough to count as its own skill—he'd already be dead.

Not everyone's a walking legend like Shirou Emiya.

Right now, he could only fall back on that technique to hold her off, praying that Mordred could finish her side quickly and come help.

But when he stole a glance at Mordred's side—

His heart sank deeper.

She was struggling just as badly against the two Jacks, barely holding her own.

Why were these Jacks stronger in a dream than in real life?! And why was Mordred floundering here?!

As he cursed his unreliable teammate in his head, his eyes scanned the area for anything—anything—that could turn the tide.

Then, something clicked.

He remembered that aside from the famed Meyer School of the German sword style, there was another lineage—taught by a sword saint named Michael—who passed down a hundred forms of swordsmanship.

The final form of that lineage… was what Gawain would now unleash.

When the first-ascension Jack came at him again, she found him breaking from defense and going on the offensive.

He swung his greatsword with wild abandon, full force, straight at her head.

But Jack, being a mindless wraith driven by the urge to kill, didn't question it.

She simply raised one dagger to block—and aimed the other at Gawain's exposed chest.

Then—

BANG.

Her dagger froze mid-air.

A smoking hole appeared in her forehead.

"Sorry," Gawain muttered, lowering his flintlock pistol. "Times have changed."

Mordred's earlier comment had tipped him off.

These shadow Jacks weren't like the invincible baby heads. They were vulnerable.

Otherwise, why would she bother to block his sword?

Still, he wasn't sure his bullet would work—it was just smoke, after all. But with his passive skills enhancing firearm power and accuracy, he bet on it.

And won.

He turned to Mordred, who was still locked in a frantic battle.

Bang. Bang.

Two more shots. The remaining shadow Jacks burst into mist.

"In some ways, this thing really is better than a sword," he quipped.

Then his gaze returned to Little Jack's real body.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you… But I can't save you."

He raised the pistol.

"So… goodbye."

He pulled the trigger.

But the bullet didn't pierce her skull as he expected.

More smoke erupted from her body, forming a dense wall that blocked the shot completely.

—What the hell?

Before he could react, Little Jack began to cry—loudly.

An endless black fog surged outward, engulfing everything.

It was so fast, Gawain didn't even have time to blink before he and Mordred were swallowed whole. Darkness consumed his vision.

When his sight returned—

He found himself on a different street.

The fog here was thinner, but the darkness of night was far deeper. The only light came from a flickering streetlamp in the distance.

In front of him stood Jack the Ripper, just as she appeared in his memory. She tilted her head and stared at him with feline curiosity.

"…Mommy?"

"You're a real piece of work…"

And when Gawain heard the voice from his mouth, he froze.

It was a woman's voice.

He looked down—and realized he now inhabited the body of a grown woman, dressed in revealing clothing.

A prostitute's body.

"I see… this is a re-creation of the victims you killed in life, isn't it?"

He glanced at Jack, then at the mission log, where "Defeat the Nightmare Manifestation" still remained.

And muttered,

"…Are you a Dark Souls boss or something? Three phases?!"