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Muramasa

Muramasa's scream sounded, piercingly loud and clear, as if coming from right next to the ear of everyone in the room. But it was not a Berserker's scream. Rather than wild and untamed, it seemed surprisingly intelligent and controlled.

It was still loud enough that Nicole, many meters away, had to clasp her hands over her ears.

Dozens of Muramasa blades rose into the air behind her. Then, they flickered, multiplying. They flickered again, exponentiating. Scores of bristling weapons, each as impressive as a noble phantasm, momentarily became hundreds, and then thousands.

Muramasa, triumphantly, planted her own blade into the ground, allowing it to sink deeply into the snowed earth. As if in response, the first shades began to appear.

Perhaps it was because of the strange light, but it was impossible to tell whether their armor was red or black. Perhaps it was somewhere in between.

The army now began to manifest en masse, each armed with a deadly sharp weapon. Although each weapon was perhaps slightly different, all were instantly recognizable as the works of the legendary swordsmith Muramasa Senji.

At a broad gesture from Muramasa's right arm, the army charged forth.