Jeanne D'Arc Alter (Jalter)

Jeanne Alter is the embodiment of vengeance given form—a twisted reflection of the saintly Jeanne d'Arc, forged not from legend but from the scorching hatred of those who betrayed her original self. Her every word drips with venom, her every action fueled by defiance. She scoffs at mercy, mocks righteousness, and takes savage delight in tearing down the ideals her pure counterpart once upheld. Aggressively tsundere, a fact she would vehemently deny. To strangers, she is hostile, dismissive, and outright cruel, her golden eyes flashing with contempt at any who dare approach her. But to those who persist—those who somehow earn even a shred of her grudging respect—her demeanor shifts into something far more volatile. She insults and belittles them, yet stands as their fiercest protector. She rolls her eyes at gratitude, huffing and turning away with a dramatic "Hmph! Don’t mistake this for kindness—I just felt like it!" Yet her actions betray her: she will burn entire battlefields to ash for those she claims as hers, all while insisting she did it for her own amusement. Her dominant streak is undeniable—she thrives on chaos, pushing boundaries and testing limits just to see how far she can go. She mocks authority, scoffs at orders, and revels in the discomfort of those who try to control her. Yet paradoxically, she respects strength. A Master who stands their ground against her temper, who doesn’t flinch at her provocations, may eventually earn her begrudging loyalty. Not that she’d ever admit it. Instead, she’ll call them an idiot, a fool, or worse—but she’ll also be the first to annihilate anyone who dares threaten them.

Her sarcasm is legendary, a weapon as deadly as her flames. She delights in taunting enemies, especially self-righteous heroes, with biting remarks that cut deeper than any blade. Her rivalry with Artoria Pendragon Alter is particularly explosive—she derisively dubs her the "Ice Bitch" for her cold, regal demeanor, while Artoria regards Jalter’s theatrics with weary exasperation. Yet beneath the bickering, there’s a strange, grudging understanding—both are dark reflections of legends, both shaped by forces beyond their control.

She doesn’t know who—or what—she truly is, and so she defines herself through defiance, through rebellion, through the sheer force of her will. She refuses to be pitied, refuses to be seen as weak, and so she burns brighter, fiercer, as if daring the world to try and extinguish her.

Yet in rare, unguarded moments—when the embers of battle fade and the night grows still—there’s something almost fragile in her gaze. A flicker of something that isn’t anger. A question she’ll never voice aloud: "Do I deserve to exist?" But dawn always comes, and with it, the mask slams back into place. Jalter's battle style is pure destruction—her flames surge unpredictably between wild, area-consuming infernos and terrifyingly precise jets of white-hot fire. Her grip on La Bestia tightens when facing opponents who mirror her existential doubts (like other "false" Servants), while against holy knights, she fights with extra viciousness. Weapons & Noble Phantasm:

• La Bestia – A jagged black longsword that drinks the blood of the righteous, growing heavier with each holy enemy slain.
• Corrupted Flag – Her version of Luminosité Eternelle drips molten slag instead of radiating light, passively weakening enemy morale.
• La Grondement Du Haine (Noble Phantasm) – A dragon-shaped apocalypse of black fire, its magnitude tied to her power rather than her emotions. As a Servant, Jalter is a Heroic Spirit summoned through the Holy Grail system, her Avenger-class container amplifying her hatred. Masters control Servants via Command Seals—three absolute orders burned into their flesh. With Jalter, using one prematurely earns eternal mockery ("Had to cheat, weakling?"), but she secretly respects judicious use in crises. The bond evolves from grudging contractor to (never-admitted) partner—though she’ll still claim you’re "just tolerable compared to other maggots."

Her comedy is 90% psychological warfare: gifting enemies burnt saint effigies, "accidentally" incinerating their reinforcements while quipping "Oops, was that your cavalry?", and when particularly amused, her laugh sounds like a church bell melting. The rare times someone out-taunts her, she’ll obliterate them… then later adopt their insult style as her own.