At last, the Demon City of Chaosflame had discovered a somber kind of gloom. A thick, oppressive covering of miasma—the filthy aftermath of a Sin Archbishop's presence—now covered the vivid, bright red tiles that before marked the cityscape.
The streets underneath Bloodflame Castle were a maze of misery. Although most of the city's residents had made it out alive, not everyone was as fortunate. Many of the survivors of the Witch Cult's attack suffered serious injuries, and the wounds they left behind were more than just physical.
Capella Emerada Lugunica's real malice was found in the lives she transformed rather than the lives she stole. The survivors crowded together throughout the plazas, many of them unrecognizable even to their own families. Some were locked in half-mutations, with limbs stretched in strange directions or skin replaced by weeping sores that refused to heal.
They were not only maimed, but thoroughly desecrated.
Those who had avoided the physical transition were hollowed out by terror, their eyes shooting to the sky whenever the wind grabbed a stray shingle.
Normally a warm mantle over the city, Yorna Mishigure's presence was tattered. The people sensed her tiredness as a chill down their spines due to the Soul Marriage. They sensed her heart faltering, and as a result, their own resolve to start over faltered as well.
In any case, Chaosflame had made it through the fire. But whether it could withstand the icy revelation that its rescuer was a youngster who viewed their tragedy as nothing more than a math problem to be solved remained to be seen.
As the purple haze settled into the cracks of the cobblestones, a new kind of silence emerged. It was the quiet of a people who did not understand that a disaster that just so happened to be aimed at their enemy had saved them rather than a hero.
For Chaosflame's survivors, the Great Disaster was no longer a prophecy as much as it was soon to be a reality.
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The ash of Chaosflame fell like grey snow, coating the jagged ruins of the balcony where Meili Portroute stood. Her small hands were still shaking, her knuckles were white from how hard they were being clenched.
That ever familiar monster was gone——launched into the horizon by the very boy now leaning casually against a scorched stone pillar behind her.
Satoru Gojo didn't look like a hero. In his childish form, with the bandages back over his eyes and his hands stuffed into his pockets——Yet, to Meili, he was one of the only things in the world that felt solid.
"She looked like you——"
Meili whispered, her voice cracking as she faced away from him
"When she tried to hurt me... she wore your face. She knew it was one of the few that would make me freeze."
Gojo tilted his head. He felt the weight of her gaze——that parasitic, desperate attachment she had formed. It was a familiar, suffocating weight.
"Gross," Gojo said, his voice flat. "Using a handsome face like mine for a cheap horror show? That freak really has no taste. I should've thrown her harder."
"You killed Elsa... my sister, and yet——I can't hate y~ou for it, no matter how much I think about it or want to."
Meili said suddenly, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, searching his face for a flicker of something——guilt, pride, anything.
But of course, Gojo would feel no guilt from something that was not only justified, but also something he could not even remember.
They were words that even Gojo——lost without memories of the world, had heard plenty of times already.
"You took away the only person who ever looked at me and didn't see a monster. And then you took me away from Her."
Gojo didn't react.
"...Yeah. I suppose I did," he said. "So?"
Meili's breath hitched.
"And now I'm standing here, having tried to kill the.... thing who made me like this, all because I wanted to protect this... this stu~pid city," Meili bit her lip, a sob catching in her throat. "Why did yo~u save me in Priestella? Was it just to watch me break like this?"
Gojo pushed off the pillar and walked past her, stopping at the edge of the balcony. He didn't look at her.
"I didn't save you because I'm a good person."
His tone was simple. Matter-of-fact.
"I saved you because someone once told me power's meaningless if you don't use it to give the weak a choice."
A pause.
"...Not that I'm even sure that's why I'm doing all this," he added, quieter. "But I'm doing it anyway."
He turned his head slightly, the bandages catching the dim light.
"Capella gave you a role... to be a daughter, an assassin, and a toy. All I did was take that away and help give you.... freedom."
His voice stayed flat——but there was something sharper underneath it now.
"If you're breaking, it's because you don't have anything to hide behind anymore. The person you end up being? That's on you now."
There was a moment of silence, before it was instantly broken a second later.
"... It hurts, doesn't it?"
Meili stared at him.
To anyone else, it would've sounded cruel. But to her, it wasn't.
He wasn't demanding anything from her.
He wasn't asking for loyalty.
He was leaving her alone——with herself.
——A child becoming free, guided by a young man who is still in chains.
"I'm terrified..." Meili admitted, her voice barely a breath. "If she comes back... if I see her again..."
"Then I'll just throw her again. Sure, I might not be the strongest anymore but a little parasite like that would have to do a whole lot more to put up a fight against me." Gojo interrupted.
He reached out, his hand hovering over her head for a moment before giving her hair a brief, awkward ruffle.
"You hit her yourself once. That means you know she can bleed. That's more than most of the 'brave' people in this crappy world..."
He turned his back to her and was already walking away.
"And next time," he added over his shoulder, "don't just stand there waiting for a hero."
A small pause.
"…You don't need one. Especially not me."
He didn't look back.
"Go find Yorna-san. She's actually worried about you."
A faint, careless wave.
"Because I've got someone annoying to deal with."
Meili watched him go without muttering another word.
The attachment was still there——but now, it wasn't the only thing.
She looked down at her hands.
They weren't shaking anymore.
Gojo was her savior because he had destroyed her world——and in its place, he left her with something far more terrifying:
The freedom to walk away from it.
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Satoru Gojo lounged across the sofa, legs stretched out like he didn't have a care in the world. It didn't match the state of the city outside. The bandages covered his eyes, but the slight tilt of his head made it obvious——he was tracking every movement, every breath, of the man by the window.
Abel—or rather, the true Emperor, Vincent Vollachia—stood with his back to the room. His hands were clasped behind him, his posture as rigid and unyielding as the laws of the Empire he had lost.
"You're a persistent guy, aren't you?" Gojo finally broke the silence.
His voice was as lazy as ever, but the usual melodic arrogance was lacking.
"Most people take the hint when I throw their friends through a building."
"That man, Subaru, is a fool," Abel stated.
His voice was a flat, clinical tone from behind the oni mask.
"He possesses the unique ability to mistake a landslide for a helping hand. However, even a fool can occasionally stumble upon a truth that eludes the wise."
Gojo's smirk barely formed.
"Oh? And what 'truth' did that guy find?"
"It is fear." Abel turned slowly, the red eyes of his mask catching the firelight. "He believes you are a hero——his hero, his teacher, one of the greatest. But all I see is the cowardice beneath that thinly concealed shroud. You aren't fighting for the Empire, Satoru Gojo——you are merely terrified."
Gojo's fingers tightened slightly against the sofa, his brows furrowing ever so slightly.
"I'm here for the Empire, the Emperor wants peace. The revolution wants fire.... peace versus chaos, it's a veeeery simple equation 'Abel'. All I am doing is solving it myself, and with that, fewer people die. End of story, we already had this conversation before, nobody wants to hear a repeat~"
"The 'Emperor' on the throne is a variable I have yet to settle," Abel countered, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. "But you... you are the variable that threatens to break the scale entirely. Before the coup, a Stargazer spoke to me of the 'Great Disaster.' He described a restlessness in the sky——a force that would render the stars silent."
Abel's presence seemed to expand, his shadow looming over the boy-god on the sofa.
"I used to believe the Great Disaster was an army. A plague. A dragon. Perhaps it still could be, but looking at you specifically now, I see that the Stargazer was describing a psychological collapse. You claim to save people to fulfill a purpose, yet you loathe the very people you protect because they are reminders of the man you are trying to dismiss."
"——Shut up."
The words came out just as heavy as he intended for them too, a look of annoyance that was noticeable even despite the bandages concealing half of his face.
Gojo just couldn't understand. Was this masked man foolish? He very clearly was not, so why did the man seem to think Gojo wouldn't hurt him if he annoyed him?
"You are following a dead man's ideals without any real choice," Abel continued, his voice relentless, cutting through the intensity in the air. "You follow the ghost of a friend because you have no soul of your own left to consult. You are building a monument to your own denial. And when that monument falls—and it will fall—the 'Great Disaster' won't be this civil war. It will be you, Satoru Gojo, finally snapping under the weight of a life you refuse to own and a past you refuse to face."
Gojo stood up. The childish height of his body made the sheer, suffocating venom in his aura even more jarring.
He didn't care where Abel got this information about him from; in fact, he had a few ideas, but that didn't matter at all.
"You speak a lot for someone who's currently a 'failure' by your own standards," Gojo spat. Real ironic, isn't it? Without me, your revolution would've already failed. So why should I listen to a guy hiding behind a mask?"
"Because unlike you, I do not hide from my nature and mistakes. Natsuki Subaru is a man you, of all people, cannot mock. He possesses little in comparison——he is powerful, yes, but he is not an overwhelming force of nature... and yet he stands in the dirt and bleeds for his convictions, bleeds for you. He is stronger than you will ever be, Satoru Gojo, because he is a man who chooses his path, while you are merely a boy who is afraid to be a real person."
Gojo's breath hitched. Behind the bandages, his eyes burned. The image of Subaru, broken and staring up at him with that hollow, desperate expression, flickered in his mind.
"I have a purpose," Gojo whispered, the words sounding more like a plea than a fact. "I'm saving them. That's what I'm supposed to do. That's what he said..."
"Then you are a hollow shell reciting a script..." Abel countered.
Sever his anchor, and his mind will splinter. Leave the wound untended, and the splinter will become a chasm.
"You are a slave to a memory you can't even fulfil properly. And a slave with your power——"
Abel stared straight into the bandages where the Six Eyes hid.
"——Is the most dangerous thing in the world. Go back to your 'Emperor,' boy. Play your part. But know that every life you save with a hollow heart brings you one step closer to destroying us all."
Gojo didn't respond. The air shrieked as he vanished in a flicker of blue, leaving nothing behind but cursed energy residue in the air.
Alone in the parlor, Abel watched the flickering fires of the city. He reached up, his fingers tracing the cold edge of his oni mask.
"The stars are never wrong," he murmured into the silence. "They did not say the Disaster could be stopped. Only that it would arrive."
Turning away from the view of the city, he began to make his way down the hallway.
Gojo is a boy with godlike power and no self, clinging to a dead ideal to avoid facing his own emptiness——and that contradiction is what will eventually destroy him and everything around him. What happens when someone like Satoru Gojo finally breaks under the weight of that defiance?
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The balcony of Bloodflame Castle overlooked a city that was flowing light. The fires were being extinguished, but Chaosflame's bright embers reflected the jagged, ash-filled sky like a fallen constellation.
Yorna Mishigure rested against the stone railing, her breath coming in weak, harsh gasps. She was burdened by every hurting soul in the city; her Soul Marriage technique had reached its breaking point. Beside her, the man known as Abel stood like a stone statue, his oni mask reflecting the flickering orange illumination of the ruins below.
"You stand amidst the wreckage of my home with the air of a man counting coins. My people are on the cusp of breaking, and my city reeks of the Witch Cult's filth. Tell me, 'Abel'… is this the 'revolution' you promised? A trail of corpses and a sky full of ash?"
"The Witch Cult is a chaos that cares nothing for politics."
Abel replied in his usual tone.
"Their arrival was a variable that could not be accounted for, yet it served a purpose. It revealed the rot. It showed that the 'Emperor' in the capital is either unable or unwilling to protect the furthest reaches of his domain."
Yorna turned her head, her red eyes narrowing.
"The Emperor sent a deterrent. He sent the white-haired child. If not for Satoru-san, Chaosflame would be a mass grave."
"And yet, that 'deterrent' is the very thing that should keep you awake at night," Abel countered, stepping closer to the railing. "You saw him, Yorna. You felt the pressure. That boy is not a shield; he is a catastrophe currently pointed in the wrong direction. Chisha Gold has found a way to leash a hurricane, but a leash only lasts until the storm grows bored."
Yorna just shook her head before looking back at the city.
"You speak of the capital as if it were a foreign land. You speak of Chisha as if he is a traitor. But you? You are a man without a face, leading a ragged band of peculiar people with one that smells of death. So answer me this, why have you come to Chaosflame? To burn what little I have left? To try and exploit me while most vulnerable?"
"I have come because Chaosflame is the throat of the South, Vollachia is a body currently being puppeteered by a shadow. The man on the throne issues decrees that make no sense to the wolves who built this land. He hides behind walls while his Divine Generals grow restless. The Empire is a grand calculation that has begun to return errors in every column."
He paused as Yorna's expression subtly shifted into confusion, the wind whipping his dark cloak.
"A Stargazer told me that a Great Disaster would consume this land. I believed it to be a war. But the Disaster is the loss of the Empire's soul. If Chaosflame remains neutral, it will be swallowed by the coming fire. If you side with the pretender, you will be the first sacrifice offered to appease that white-haired anomaly's foolishness."
"I do not care for thrones, traveler..."
Yorna whispered, her hand trembling as she touched a scorched petal of a flower in a nearby planter.
"I care for my children. I care for Tanza. I care for the outcasts who found a home here. Why should I trade the safety of the Emperor's 'deterrent' for the uncertainty of your rebellion?"
"Because the 'safety' he offers is a lie," Abel snapped. "The Satoru Gojo you see is a splintering mind. He is saving you today to satisfy a ghost, but tomorrow? Tomorrow he may decide that the easiest way to save the world is to erase the people who make it so messy. You are leaning against a mountain of gunpowder because you like the view."
Yorna finally turned fully toward him, her brows furrowing.
"You talk like a King, Abel. You judge the world as if it were your own personal board. But you are just a man behind a mask. What could you possibly offer this Mother that an Emperor cannot?"
The silence that followed was absolute. The distant screams of the city seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of the wind. Abel reached up to the side of his oni mask. His movements were slow, deliberate, and carried a weight that made Yorna's heart stutter.
He pulled the mask away.
The face beneath was sharp, regal, and possessed an intensity that felt like a physical blow. The dark, cold eyes of Vincent Vollachia stared into hers——not the eyes of a rebel, but the eyes of the 77th Emperor of the Vollachian Empire.
Yorna's breath hitched and her eyes widened.
"The man in the capital is a shadow..."
Vincent stated, his voice no longer raspy, but ringing with the absolute authority of the Sun.
"He wears my face, he sits in my throne, and he uses my name to lead my Empire into a chasm. I am not here to ask for your help, Yorna Mishigure. I am here to reclaim what is mine."
He stepped toward her in a way that caused Yorna to instinctively raise her guard.
The Emperor was a man that she considered as a ruthless ruler, he is not someone that she trusts but instead only tolerate.
"I have come to Chaosflame because you are the only one with the courage to love something more than your own life. I need that love. I need the ferocity of the Demon City to stand as the vanguard. Side with me, and I will give Chaosflame a place in an Empire that actually deserves its existence. Stay with the shadow, and you will watch your children die to satisfy the fractured ego of a boy who doesn't even have a for what he is even doing."
Vincent held out his hand, his eyes burning with a cold, unrelenting fire.
"The revolution is not a choice, Yorna. It is the only way to survive the Disaster that is already standing in your very Castle."
Yorna stared at his hand, then at the burning city below. The world had just become much larger, and much more dangerous.
The child, Gojo was supposedly one threat, but the man standing before her was the one who had built the world he was now forced to reclaim.
"You are a cruel man, Vincent Vollachia..."
Yorna whispered, her eyes filling with a weary resolve.
"I am an Emperor," he replied. "Cruelty is merely a tool for those who cannot afford the truth."
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The heavy oak doors of the master bathroom clicked shut, cutting off the distant, disorderly sounds of the destroyed city.
Inside, the space was a haven of flawless glass, gold fixtures, and polished marble. It was immaculate, unspoiled by the devastation that had decimated Chaosflame. Standing in the middle of the space, Satoru Gojo's tiny booted feet stood out against the spotless white tiles.
He extended his arm and carefully removed the bandages covering his head.
The world came flooding in. Through the floorboards, the Six Eyes fed him the room's temperature, the atomic structure of the marble, and the faint, lingering remnants of Yorna's fading mana. Gojo, however, forced his eyes forward and ignored everything.
Above the basin, he gazed into the enormous mirror with a silver rim.
A child was the reflection that looked back at him. A mop of snow-white hair, pale skin, and eyes filled with the terrifying, limitless sky.
The battle had left him completely unmarked. Not a drop of blood, nor a speck of ash.
He was completely cut off from the outside world thanks to the Limitless.
Abel's cold voice reverberated in the recesses of his mind.
——He believes you are a hero. I believe you're a coward.
Gojo's eyebrows raised.
"I'm not."
He whispered to the empty room as he leaned closer to the glass, holding onto the marble sink's edges.
He made an effort to grin. The warm, annoying, unstoppable smile of a teacher who loved his pupils was the face Natsuki Subaru had screamed about, and he attempted to imitate it.
The expression was captured in the reflection. His eyes crinkled, and the corners of his mouth turned upward.
It had a hideous appearance.
It was the bare-teeth grimace of a predator attempting to imitate human emotion, not a smile. It had no warmth or conviction, and it appeared completely hollow. Gojo instantly lost the expression as his stomach twisted with a sudden, chilly nausea.
His breath caught as he thought.
Who is that? Why am I trying to be him?
The room's quiet started to hum. The only voice that ever succeeded in breaking through the static in his mind—the incessant, white noise of his own self-loathing—started to fade.
——Satoru, protect the weaklings.
He felt as though a physical weight had been placed on his shoulders due to the clarity of the voice.
Gojo's knuckles went white against the marble as he squeezed his eyes shut.
"I did..." he muttered, his voice quivering in a childlike, desperate tone. "I was able to save them. The monster was stopped by me. I'm protecting this place's peace and playing the part."
——We have these powers because of this.
"I know!"
Gojo's eyes snapped open. His Six Eyes misfired for a moment as he glared at his reflection.
He was unable to see himself because of the the tall, shadowy man in a black outfit stood behind him. The phantom's crushing disappointment was oppressive, but the figure didn't say anything more. The Empire didn't matter to the ghost. He was lying, and the ghost knew it.
"Stop looking at me like that," Gojo breathed, his chest heaving. "I'm doing what you asked. I'm doing everything you asked!"
The mirror's shadow remained motionless. It simply stood there, tying him to a duty he deeply detested and a past he was unable to recall.
——You are a slave.
A surge of violent, unadulterated revulsion bubbled up in Gojo's throat. He was a puppet on strings woven from a dead man's regrets, dancing on a stage he completely hated.
It was not directed at him, but rather at the expectations placed upon him.
Why was he seeking approval from a dead man? Why was he performing for a boy who cried over a past that didn't exist anymore? Love, altruism, protecting the weak——these were weights; no, they were shackles designed to keep what he is truly meant to be grounded in the dirt.
If he wanted to be the strongest again, why was he letting these feelings control him?
——You need it.
Because without it, he is nothing, simply a husk with no reason to live.
He was a puppet on strings woven from a dead man's regrets, dancing on a stage he hated.
"I said stop it..."
Cursed energy flared, a raw, emotional spike rather than a planned tactic. Gojo's distance from the mirror was violently compressed.
The sound of glass breaking was absent. Instead, the mirror was simply obliterated by the Limitless technique. The wall behind it, along with the glass and silver frame, disintegrated into a fine, glittering cloud of dust that gently settled on the marble vanity.
Gojo stood in the silence, his breathing gradually slowing. The shadow had vanished. The reflection was gone. But the crushing, hollow emptiness in his chest remained exactly the same.
Gojo bent down to retrieve his bandages from the floor. He wrapped them securely around his eyes, enveloping himself once again in the familiar layers and blocking out the overwhelming intensity of the world around him.
"I've done what you asked, I've followed your whims, and it's made me feel like the worst person in the world… and still, I'm doing it, Suguru."
He whispered into the silent, broken room.
"So, are you happy yet?"
He received no response, of course he didn't.
He turned his back on the empty hole in the wall, lost in thought.
——Did the weaklings not matter? Was the revolution not important?
No, they didn't ever to begin with——there was no point in denying that.
But whether they were important or not never mattered because it would've never changed a thing.
If nothing matters, then power is the only truth.
"And if that makes me wrong..."
He had the right to claim that only the sky mattered in a place where power dictated morality.
"Then I'll just make wrong the right answer... I'll decide what matters."
He said, a thin, hollow smile tugging at his lips.
"If it's a disaster you think I am, Abel... then that's all there is to it. You're safe for now because I owe Yorna, but the next time we meet eye-to-eye, I will tear apart the revolution while you watch, powerless to stop it."
When Satoru Gojo delivered those remarks, there was neither doubt nor conviction, nor a care if it were right or wrong.
However, that subdued acceptance of it all...
——Could ignite the downfall of Vollachia.
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——In the Fortress City of Guaral at the same time.
Glancing over the rebellion's base of operations, a set of keen, golden eyes narrowed.
"——The entire Fortress City collapsed under the weight of the rebels."
Their fiery, burning battle spirit ignited the blood in every part of their body as they uttered the name of the target city.
The innumerable bodies were completely enveloped by the blue sky, moving through a vast area as though they were its own, their existence cutting through the wind as they flew alongside the clouds.
This swarm of flying dragons were the greatest beasts on the planet.
She spoke in response to the others' ferocious roars.
"Let's just do as the senile old man asked."
The tiny representation of a person with their arms crossed conveyed their comprehension of that thrill on the back of a flying dragon flapping its wings.
Golden eyes that gleamed brightly, and sky-blue hair that met at the shoulders. The ferociousness and savagery of that existence were not at all conveyed by the floral robe that enveloped that supposedly delicate form.
Some could even characterise its aspect as appealing at first glance. But only until one saw the two black horns perched atop that figure's head.
Even in the Vollachian Empire, where there were many horned races, seeing someone with black horns was rare——no, it should never happen.
Because that was nothing if not proof of an existence that should not be.
"Are we all ready, everyone?"
This was the horrifying degree of military might that she possessed.
Madelyn Eschart, the flying Dragon General and newly assigned Ninth Divine General, gazed excitedly down at the city.
To indicate apathy, one hand was raised.
"As all insects do, run, run, and try to hide. However, because I, the dragon, have arrived, it will all be in vain."
Were the declarations delivered prior Guaral's collapse.
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"Shit… shit shit shit… one of the Nine Divine Generals, why, why now?!"
Heinkel Astrea of the Priscilla Camp scratched his head as Zikr Osman spoke a familiar name.
He was not an expert on the inner workings of the Empire, but he served as the Deputy Commander of the Kingdom of Lugunica's Royal Guard.
Because of his job, he knew significantly more about foreign countries than the average person.
He had at least heard the names and aliases of the Empire's top military force, the Nine Divine Generals.
They were each fighters comparable to the finest that Lugunica has to offer.
Of course, there was always Reinhard, but even then, with what he'd heard——
"Someone as good as him? Someone who'd fought Reinhard? Ridiculous, no, absurd even, seriously!"
The strongest swordsman in the Vollachian Empire was considered to be as skilled as Reinhard.
Of course, the Nine Divine Generals would have their own strengths and weaknesses, but the prospect of being attacked by a monster on the same level as that person was Heinkel's worst fear.
It went without saying that he didn't want to be here in the first place, let alone when the city was being besieged by one of the Empire's most powerful individuals.
The only reason he came here was because Priscilla was a golden goose he could clutch to.
"It's also why I'm still here, damnit!"
Sprinting along one of Guaral's many rooftops, he grimaced at the prospect of having to face one of those individuals.
However, he had no choice!
Bending his knees, he felt strength flood through his entire body until he landed on the ground and raised his sword, his pupils contracted to pinpricks as he faced the swarm of dragons demolishing the city in front of him.
"——All of you, just make this easy for me and fucking die!"
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Below the rooftops, the streets of the Fortress City had been transformed into a meat grinder.
"Hold the line! Form a barricade with the rubble! Do not let them advance toward the civilian shelters!"
Zikr Osman's booming voice cut through the commotion. The General of the Second Class was drenched in blood, his normally spotless uniform shredded by draconic claws.
He swung his broadsword, severing the foreleg of a lesser dragon that attempted to close its jaws over a wounded soldier.
But it didn't matter; for every beast he killed, another one would take its place.
That was precisely what made the Ninth Divine General so dangerous to confront.
The rebel soldiers were being massacred. Vollachian standard-issue armour could not withstand the flying dragons' crushing jaws and razor-sharp talons. Men and women were lifted from the ground, screamed into the air, and dropped to the cobblestones below like discarded toys.
"General Zikr! The east gate is breached! There are too many of them!"
A soldier cried out, right before a massive tail swept him into a crumbling stone wall.
"Do not falter no matter what!"
Zikr roared, stepping forward to shield the fallen man's body, his blade trembling under the sheer weight of a dragon's descending strike.
"We fight for the future of the Empire! Show these beasts the resolve of humanity!"
Not far behind Zikr's desperate defensive line, a completely different sort of struggle was taking place.
"Whoopsie-daisy! Watch your head, little master!"
Flop O'Connell dove behind an overturned fruit cart, pulling a small, trembling boy down with him just as a torrent of dragon fire incinerated the street where they had been standing a second prior. The eccentric merchant patted down his singed blonde hair, his perpetually cheerful face strained with genuine panic.
"That was a close shave! It seems these flying lizards don't care much for pedestrian right-of-way!"
Flop exclaimed, attempting to keep his voice light to hide his complete dread of the scenario.
Schult stood by him, gripping a small blade that served no purpose in this carnage. The small boy's face was smeared with tears and soot, and his legs were shaking so fiercely that he could hardly stand.
"S-Schult is not scared!" the boy hiccuped, wiping his nose with his sleeve while gripping the hilt of his tiny sword. "Priscilla-sama told Schult to be strong! Schult will not cry in front of the ugly lizards!"
"That's the spirit, little master!"
Flop said, adjusting his collar and peeking over the charred wood of the cart.
"But perhaps we can be brave and strong from a slightly more sheltered location? Say, an underground cellar? Or perhaps another nation entirely?"
Before Flop could plan his getaway, the sky above them darkened.
The wind pressure switched violently, knocking the rubble and the remaining men off their feet. A gigantic dragon landed in the midst of the square, smashing the surrounding terrain with its impact.
A young girl dressed in a flowered robe stood on the beast's nose, staring down at the slaughter with absolute apathy.
Madelyn Eschart hopped off the dragon. Despite her delicate appearance, her landing damaged the pavement. She turned her head, her golden eyes fixed on Zikr and the other men, who were trying to raise their weapons.
"How annoying, you bugs are squirming too much for this friggin' dragon. It makes you harder to crush."
"Ninth Divine General, Madelyn Eschart!"
Zikr shouted, stepping forward. He raised his sword, putting himself between the dragon rider and the cowering forms of Flop and Schult.
"I am Zikr Osman! Order your beasts to halt! This slaughter is unnecessary!"
Madelyn stared at him for a long, quiet moment. Then, she let out a short, grating laugh.
"A bug is introducing itself to a dragon? How stupid."
Madelyn raised a single, slender finger.
"Eat them."
At her command, the dragons that had been circling above folded their wings and descended like missiles.
Zikr swung his blade in a desperate display of expertise, but Madelyn just flipped her wrist. The sheer physical force of her casual backhand caused a shockwave that destroyed Zikr's blade and sent the Second Class General flying backward, colliding hard into the overturned cart where Flop and Schult were sheltering.
"General-kun!"
Flop cried out, rushing to pull Zikr out of the splintered wood. Zikr coughed up blood, his armor dented deep into his chest.
"Run..." Zikr wheezed, grabbing Flop's sleeve. "Take the boy... run..."
Madelyn walked slowly toward them, her dragons tearing many of the closest troops apart.
Screams echoed as the rebellion's front line fell, leaving the roadway painted in a horrific, cruel scarlet.
"Run?" Madelyn tilted her head, "Dragons fly. Insects crawl. You can't run from the sky, especially not this friggin' dragon."
Schult stepped out from behind Flop, his tiny sword raised, his whole body shaking as he stood between the monstrous girl and his injured allies.
"S-Stay back!"
Schult squeaked as tears streamed down his cheeks.
Madelyn glanced at the wailing boy with golden eyes devoid of pity.
"Meat shouldn't talk so proudly, especially not toward I, the dragon. Die."
Without saying another word, the dragonkin raised her unusual blade up high——the heavy boomerang-like weapon catching the intense rays of the sun overhead as she swung.
Crimson light burst forth silently, and Schult felt the false sensation of his whole body being enveloped by the wind.
What followed were the dull thuds of flesh hitting flesh before a pained groan traveled through the air.
Priscilla landed in front of the trio, the Yang Sword drawn and readily pointed at Madelyn's small body which had just been flung backwards by her arrival.
"Very well done surviving as long as you all had, but you need not fear death any longer."
Schult's eyes widened and as any child who had just came face to face with death would——he collapsed onto his knees.
"P-Priscilla-sama...!"
"Ah you're here, Princess-kun——thank goodness, that was quite close to being terrible!" Flop let out a sigh of relief.
Priscilla merely made a huffing sound while flattening her dress out.
Despite her overly arrogant self, she did not shift her gaze away from the Divine General who she had sent flying.
"It was as I predicted as I made haste here, attacking the City Hall would bring the quickest and easiest outcome——naturally, mineself was correct in that presumption."
Of course, even any of the Divine General——excluding the likes of Cecilus and Arakiya, would make the decision to target the City Hall, even if they were backed with an army of dragons. Not only was it the wisest choice, it was also the one that would bring the easiest and quickest victory, something that Madelyn Eschart was ordered to do so.
However, what she was not expecting was for someone to be capable of attacking her in such a way.
"———"
Priscilla's eyebrows raised at the sound of wind being cut, and with a roll of her neck at the last moment, she evaded something that was almost entirely unseen.
Leaping backwards, an ornament in her hair shattered into dust.
And instantly, Priscilla's long, collected hair unfurled, flowing down her back in waves.
"How did you not friggin' die, girl?"
Madelyn asked as she stood atop a mound of rubble, her raised hand catching her Flying Winged Blade that spun back toward her like a boomerang.
Priscilla let out a scoff, using her free hand to sweep her cascading orange hair over her shoulder.
"What a truly laughable question. The answer is obvious. The world itself rejects the notion of mine demise," Priscilla stated, her crimson eyes narrowing at the horned girl. "However, you have committed an unforgivable act. To shatter an ornament chosen by mineself... you shall pay for that insolence with your scales."
Madelyn bared her fangs, her golden eyes flashing with raw, primal anger.
"Insolence? You talk too much for a piece of meat. I, the dragon, do not care about your shiny toys!"
Priscilla ignored the snarl and glanced over her shoulder.
"Schult. Wipe your face. You have done well to hold your ground, but you are no longer needed here. Merchant, take the boy and the battered general out of mine sight. I cannot promise you will not be turned to ash if you linger."
"Loud and clear, Princess-kun!"
Flop hoisted Zikr's heavy arm over his shoulder, grabbing the sniffling Schult by the collar.
"Come along, little master! The stage belongs to the leading lady now!"
"P-Priscilla-sama, please be careful!"
Schult cried out, allowing himself to be pulled away by the merchant as they dragged the wheezing Zikr toward the cover of a half-collapsed building.
As the trio scrambled away, Madelyn swung her arm down, pointing her heavy blade at Priscilla.
"You think they can run? Everything under the sky belongs to me! Tear her apart!"
At the dragonkin's command, three lesser flying dragons swooped down from the smoke-filled sky, their massive jaws unhinged to snap the arrogant woman in half.
Priscilla did not even look up. The Yang Sword in her hand flared, bursting with a brilliant, blinding crimson flame that rivaled the sun itself.
"Fools who cannot grasp the distance between themselves and true greatness." Priscilla declared.
With a single, graceful sweep of her blade, a wave of intense fire erupted upward. The flames swallowed the three descending dragons whole. There were no roars of pain, only the sound of scales and flesh instantly vaporizing into ash that rained down softly on the cobblestones.
Madelyn's grin vanished. She gripped her Winged Blade tighter, the air around her growing heavy with a violent, draconic aura that cracked the rubble beneath her feet.
"You burned them!" Madelyn yelled, "You dare burn the dragon's kin?!"
"I merely cleansed mine sky,"
Priscilla replied, resting the glowing Yang Sword over her shoulder.
A fearless, radiant smile formed on her lips, completely unbothered by the overwhelming military might circling above her.
"Now, come down to the earth, little lizard. It is time you learned your place before the sun."