Chapitre 33: Monet-kun and the Greatest Impression
The Minotaur turned around and swung its arm at them, however, its movements were now significantly slower. Still, it clapped its hand, raising a mountain of sand and rushed towards the painters' squad.
Before the beast could reach them, they created a bunch of tables and chairs that made the monster trip and fall down, and it stayed down long enough for them to shoot it several times and throw stones and knives at it. This, however, only helped in pissing the Minotaur more.
After all, if one could defeat a Heroic Spirit just by throwing random stuff around, then perhaps that guy was never meant to be a Heroic Spirit in the first place. On the other hand, the Minotaur was certainly built like that, like something that no sane person would ever want to face.
However, how sane could a group of drunk painters splashing colours around in front of others and revolutionising the way the world viewed art be?
Needless to say, the Minotaur was now incredibly furious. It didn't just want to kill those buffoons. Torture them, shred them, terrify them, defile them, hunt them. It didn't wish for anything more than making them suffer as much as possible.
In the only way that monster had been known to make people suffer.
DEDALUS LABYRINTHOS
The Labyrinth appeared once more, ensnaring new victims inside it like the digestive system of a hungry beast. The landscape, the landmarks, directions, left and right, up and down, position, everything lost meaning, swallowed by the Labyrinth.
"What the hell is this?"
"Calm down, Gustave, we're just inside his house."
"That's a pretty weird way of describing this place..."
"Well, this was to be expected, Alfred."
"Yeah, Berthe is right. After all, we are facing... the Minotaur. It should be pretty obvious that he had something to do with the labyrinth."
"Wow, Camille, you're such a great detective..."
"Shut up, Edouard."
"Well, Claude, what do we do now?"
"First of all, this place gives me the creeps, and if we stay here we're definitely going to die. We need to create a stronghold."
"You're thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I bet I am, Pierre."
"Let's do this, then!"
Monet and Renoir lifted up their brushes and swirls of blue and green started spinning above their heads, faster and faster.
La Grenouillère
The entire section of the Labyrinth around them disappeared, as it was physically replaced by an idyllic vision: a small lake, with an island covered in grass and trees at the centre, with a small boat close to it. A memory of that time Claude and Pierre had gone to paint the Lake of Frogs together.
"Ah, so beautiful... shall we have lunch here too?"
"This isn't the right time for jokes, Claude! That beast can still appear and simply jump on this island and kill us all without a struggle!"
"No, I don't think so, Edgar. He's probably still stunned from the shock we gave him earlier, so I doubt he's in top physical condition. Having said that, I doubt we can win against such a monster. We were lucky to get a few hits on him, but he wasn't really trying."
"Exactly! On top of that, we were supposed to come and rescue the young British lady, but we were late! She's probably around here, taking her last few breaths."
"Yeah, that's my fault, sorry guys... however, we can still save her and help her defeat this monster."
"How?"
"You know how... by using... that."
"T-That? You mean... you mean... that that?"
"Yes, I mean that that."
"B-But Claude... in your current state... if you do that... you won't have enough mana to..."
"I know, I know. No need to remind me, guys. Everyone, these days we spent all together, reminiscing about old memories, creating new ones, and rekindling our bonds, they were some of the best I have ever experienced, and if I had a choice to go back a billion times, I would choose the same thing over and over again.
However, let's face reality for a moment: I will soon vanish anyway in just a couple of days, and there's this young lady, who dreams and strives for a new life, new friends, a new love. Just like we all did when we first came to Paris. And so, it would be pretty fitting to assist her in her quest. And also the right thing."
"Well, this is the first, hearing you talking about doing the right thing."
"That's not true, remember when I paid for all your drinks?"
"Wasn't it because you lost a bet?"
"N-No, not at all."
"Yes, you lying Breton! You said you were going to get laid with that waitress, but you just drew her naked."
"That was after we got laid!"
"That's crap, her hair is not messy at all in the painting!"
"I'm a gentle lover!"
"I'm sorry guys, but whatever we want to do, shouldn't we do it quickly?"
"I guess that's what Claude said to the waitress."
"Haha... I'm going to miss you, guys. Thank you for everything."
"No, thank you, Claude. Let's do it now."
"Yes, let's create the greatest painting, no, the greatest impression ever!"
"Wait!"
"What is it, Edgar?"
"Shouldn't we make a preparatory sketch before?"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"... I guess not, very well, let's do it your style, en plein air!"
"Everyone, raise your brushes! The image of life is sculpted in my mind, nothing can erase it, as I transfer it to my colours and my light, my delight, and I behold a new masterpiece, and I get reminded of the past that has gone by, but that it shall be eternal in my artwork. Time will pass, age will erase, but my art will remain, my heart will remain, my soul will remain.
And this moment... will live on forever!
Paint the past anew,
IMPRESSION: SOLEIL LEVANT!"
Their brushes shot out a thousand colours that rose into the sky and went on to form a giant glowing sun, and it slowly unravelled and transformed into something different. A memory of the recent past.
Because that was the power of Impressionism, a movement capable of capturing the image, the perception of a single moment in time, the ability to make the witness the god of that instant, the will to retain and preserve that one second forever through creativity and art.
The desire to remember. That is what it truly meant to be an Impressionist: to be willing to not forget the little details but to maintain the remembrance of that certain time. Forever and ever.
And so that was what that move, that miracle, their Noble Phantasm was, the greatest painting, the most blinding masterpiece, the ultimate impression of an instant, so accurate and close to reality, that it fooled the World itself into believing that that was the correct past they had experienced. And so, with one movement of their brushes, they had changed what was perceived as the past and were now back in that exact moment, having successfully fooled the very fabric of spacetime.
So they were back, back to the moment they had wished to go back to.
The moment of the first charge of the Minotaur, as the beast was ready to rush forward and Salter was starting to charge her sword.
"We did it! Now quick, guys! Throw everything you have against him!" Monet encouraged the others as they all created chairs, tables, wardrobes, dancers, poor and rich men, women and trees.
"Artoria! Charge Excalibur up and use it now! Quickly!"
Salter heard those words and decided that they held enough resolve to be listened to and followed, so that is what she did, she concentrated all her mana into charging up her ultimate attack.
KRITIKOS TAVROS
The Minotaur sprang forth with incredible speed, enough to create glass from sand. However, inevitably, all those obstacles in its way slowed it down, just a little bit, but just enough.
It was, at most, a one-second delay. However, that's all it took. Sometimes one second, one single moment can decide whether or not someone lives or someone... dies.
And in this case, one second is all it took.
"EXCALIBUR MORGAN!!!"
Salter was capable of unleashing her finishing move, this time straight on, with no interference and nothing to stop it midway. The Minotaur was barely a metre from her, and yet her resolve did not falter, as she had simply released her Noble Phantasm right against the Minotaur that was charging head-on.
Before it could reach the intended target, the creature was split in half and, finally, completely eradicated from the face of the world, leaving no trace behind of what once was a worthy foe.
This is all it took to bring down the avatar of Nature's fury. One single accurate swing of Excalibur, and a group of creative, excentric and...probably crazy painters.
And yet, they had done it. They had defeated the beast.
Impressions had won.
The Minotaur VS Salter
Winner:
Salter (and Monet!)
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone