CHAPTER 5
Playing the Violence Card
The witch had unveiled her true might, and its effects were felt even on the surface, in the streets of the Labyrinth City itself.
“This quake… It isn’t like anything else we’ve felt so far!” exclaimed Asfi, pausing in the Casino and looking at the floor.
“Was it the adventurers, or the monster?” muttered Falgar. “Or something else entirely…?”
Shakti felt it, too, over at the home of Ganesha Familia. “Did the enemy manage to break through?” she pondered. “Alize, Leon…!”
The quake was much shorter than the rumblings of the Dungeon monster that had rattled the city before, but this one came at a troubling frequency that alarmed any trained and experienced adventurer, even if they didn’t fully understand why.
While adventurers and Evils alike looked to the ash-laden sky for answers, the roar of monsters continued to echo in the streets.
“Sounds like things are gettin’ pretty lively down there,” sneered Valletta, the only one in the city with a smile on her lips. “Guess it’s all going accordin’ to plan, right, Lord Erebus?”
She looked out across Babel. Just then, a frightened subordinate raised their voice.
“L-Lady Valletta, what was that?!”
“Don’t get cold feet now. That’s the countdown to victory. The more the city shakes, the closer we are to winnin’.”
Valletta took little pains to ease the soldier’s fears. Instead, a ferocious glint twinkled in her eye.
“Still, if you guys are scared, then the adventurers must be shittin’ their pants. Their morale should be droppin’ like a stone right now.”
The tide of war was constantly in flux. Every tactic, every bead of sweat on a soldier’s brow, every external factor—all of these tipped the scales of battle one way or the other. Valletta was not too ignorant to realize that these quakes shook the hard-earned faith that Finn’s plan had won.
“Now’s the time!” she howled. “Finn’s made his move—now let’s make ours! Hey, you! Get in contact with Jura’s people!”
“Th-the tamers…? Y-you mean…?!”
All the blood drained from the cultist’s face. Valletta’s cruel smile confirmed his darkest fears.
“Yeah. We’re gonna play our card. Let the rest of the monsters loose!”
Clang-a-lang-a-lang-a-lang!
The harsh sound of an alarm bell rang throughout the city.
“The watchtowers!” cried Asfi. She and Falgar dispatched their opponents at the same time and turned in the direction of the sound.
“Enemy reinforcements?” the war tiger bellowed. “It can’t be! There’s still more of them?!”
At that moment, a scout ran over. “A large horde of monsters is approaching from the southeast, sir! Including several large species that we haven’t seen in the battle so far!”
“Tch! Nothing that should pose a threat. Let’s move to intercept before their numbers grow too great!”
Returning his greatsword to his back, Falgar set off at once.
Until now, hordes of monsters in the streets below had forced the adventurers to conduct their battles on the rooftops. However, Mind and arrows could only last so long, and so at Finn’s urging, the adventurers focused on culling these creatures. Now, at last, they could take to the streets again, eager to take back their city and force the monsters out.
However, in the midst of all this, Asfi paused.
“That’s strange,” she muttered. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
The Evils were acting odd. They were strangely cooperative, opening a path for the adventurers. Instead of fighting, they focused all their efforts on shoring up their own defenses.
The reason soon became clear.
“Take this, you fiend!”
“Roaaaaaaaahhh!!”
A cleanly severed arm flew past Asfi’s eyes—the arm of the upper-class adventurer who’d shot past the front lines to engage the enemy by himself.
“Huh…? Aaaaaaaghhh!!”
The next moment, he was crushed between a monster’s jaw. His dying screams were only the first as adventurers all around them started crying out.
“What?!” exclaimed Falgar as he deftly blocked the attack of a lizardman. The force of the blow was unbelievable, as was the number of wounded allies littering the battleground. The newly arrived monsters were already dominating the area around the Casino.
“They’re overwhelming us!” cried Asfi, looking down from the rooftops alongside a contingent of terrified mages.
They’re nothing like the monsters we’ve dealt with so far… What’s happening?!
All across the city, the adventurers were in a panic. Screams issued from each of the five strongholds, including the home of Loki Familia to the north. It was there that the dwarf Dyne came to his ally with news.
“Noir! The monsters have stepped up their assault! We can’t hold them off!”
“What?!” Noir wheeled around in surprise. Just then, the Amazon Bahra spoke up as well.
“They’re tearing through our defensive garrison!” she said. “At this rate, the stronghold will fall!”
“Grh…!”
Noir trembled in impotent rage, but the monsters marched on unimpeded. It was over at the home of Ganesha Familia where one scout first realized the true nature of the assault.
“W-we’ve spotted tamers at the rear of the charge! They seem to be controlling the monsters!”
Ganesha himself stood at the battlements, surveying the carnage below.
“From the monster’s behavior, these tamers clearly aren’t as skilled as Shakti and her crew,” the god reasoned. “So why are the monsters so powerful?!”
He gazed off in the distance, where he could clearly see the Evils tamers cracking their whips. One didn’t have to be a god to see that their skill was somewhat lacking.
Monster taming was one of the most dangerous professions, and unskilled practitioners usually met a grisly end in the jaws of their targets. Strangely, however, these powerful monsters were not rebelling against their amateur masters, and instead appeared oddly docile, as if they had been entranced.
Shakti was doing her best to respond effectively.
“Grr…! Send out our troops! Do not let those beasts come near the fortifications!”
Then, after hearing the screams of her allies, she shot off toward the monster horde.
Meanwhile, among the Evils, and especially the tamers, tensions were high.
“Damn you, Valletta, makin’ me do this shit…”
Despite the heat emanating from the red dragon he rode, a cold, anxious sweat had broken out on the brow of the Rudra Familia tamer, Jura Harma. His animal ears twitched each time the dragon looked up at him with cold, lifeless eyes.
He felt like he was another beast in a cage, just like the rest of them.
“Argh! Let’s just get this over with!”
The animal person tamer cast aside his misgivings and cracked his magical crimson whip. The red dragon wearing a collar around its neck roared and began its charge, while dozens of winged lizards took to the skies.
“They’ve got wyverns, too?!” exclaimed Falgar in surprise, seeing the flock approach the Casino. “Did they bring them all the way from the Valley of Dragons?!”
The mages on the rooftop began launching their spells at the airborne attackers. Asfi had been watching the battle unfold alongside Falgar and had initially come to the same conclusion, but…
If so, they’re too strong! They shouldn’t be able to break through a defensive line held by upper-class adventurers!
She defended the mages with explosives and her blade, but she still couldn’t figure out how this was happening.
That was when a fireball from one of the beasts exploded on the main street.
“Gaaaaagh!”
“Somebody heeelp!!”
The monsters were slaughtering her allies. The color drained from Asfi’s face as the tide of war steadily shifted against them.
“Could it be…? Are all these monsters…irregulars?!”
“Nope, wrong!” Valletta said to no one in particular, gleefully addressing the terror and confusion she knew the adventurers all felt. “They’re just plain old Dungeon monsters! I mean, I guess we’ve been trainin’ ’em in Knossos, but what difference does that make to you guys?!”
Now that her hidden card had been revealed, Valletta flashed a sinister grin. Everywhere she looked she could see monsters preying on adventurers, bathing the streets in blood. She was loving it.
“Good thing I told Ikelos’s goons to get all these monsters together. Some of them came all the way from the deep levels!”
Valletta had tasked Hazer and other hunters of Ikelos Familia with capturing monsters from the Dungeon, while Jura and the rest of Rudra Familia were asked to tame and control the more powerful specimens. To facilitate this, Valletta had also strong-armed a hexer possessing the advanced ability Enigma into creating a prototype magic item—a crimson whip that allowed any monster to be tamed, regardless of the tamer’s skill.
It was a triumph of teamwork, coming from the diverse familias that made up the Evils conglomerate.
“Kill, my monsters, kill!” Valletta howled, “Make that Finn cry!”
“C-Captain! The monsters keep coming! They won’t stop!” came Raul’s report, half screamed across the rooftop of Guild HQ.
Finn stood at the building’s edge, grimly surveying the city. He could see the truth of Raul’s words, but he couldn’t show despair lest it spread among his allies.
“Situation report!” he barked.
“Our scouts all across the city have been wiped out! The stronghold garrisons are down to their last defenders! We had the Evils surrounded, but now we’re struggling to hold the line!”
“Grh…! Fall back and defend the strongholds! Use magical bombardment, even if it causes damage to the city!”
A Loki Familia member hurried to transmit Finn’s orders, but his fingers were shaking. He didn’t need to be a general to see that things were very quickly going from bad to worse.
“These monsters have the power to turn the tide of war in an instant,” grumbled Finn. “Did they really gather this many enhanced species? No, that’s impossible! There’s still something you’re hiding from us, isn’t there, Valletta?!”
Finn Deimne was far from omniscient. He couldn’t read minds or pull facts from thin air. All he could do was rely on the reports of his subordinates, his own observations, and his uncanny instinct for detecting danger. Although he was vaguely aware of other entrances into the Dungeon, he could not have fathomed the Evils had a way to safely extract a large horde of dangerous monsters, especially at a time when the existence of Knossos was not publicly known.
Whatever secret made this feat possible, Valletta had managed to keep it hidden all this time. Finn grimaced…and just then, the impossibly loud sound of clashing blades shook the skies above Orario.
“Oh no… It can’t be!”
Everyone heard it, adventurers and cultists alike. And so did Valletta.
“Hee-hee-hee!” She chuckled. “Sounds like the other fight is already over!”
She looked toward the city’s center—toward Babel and the thick wall of ice surrounding it.
There, in Central Park, a duel had just reached its conclusion. The boaz man fell to one knee, his armor and flesh both ruined.
“Grh…!”
“You lasted longer than I expected,” said his opponent, the conqueror. In contrast to Ottar, his plate armor was unscathed. Zald shouldered his greatsword and peered down at the broken man.
“Grh… Hrh…!”
The roaring flames on the Dungeon’s eighteenth floor virtually drowned out the groans of someone trying to stand. To the north, Aiz fought madly against Delphyne, while here, the girls of Astrea Familia were lying on the ground.
“…Hey… Any of you still alive…?” Lyra croaked. It was Neze who answered her, one foot in the grave.
“I am…” she said. “But I don’t have a clue why. How are we not dead after that?”
Alfia’s magic had hit them head-on. That level of power should have far outstripped the meager defense granted by Asfi’s accessories.
“It was Riveria’s magic…!” exclaimed Lyu. “Without it, we would have been obliterated!”
She looked down at her palm, where the green glow of Riveria’s magical protection had completely vanished. It had saved Astrea Familia from destruction but faded in the process.
“I see you are all still in one piece,” said Alfia. “Has my magic waned that much? …No, it is that high elf who deserves the credit. She has grown strong.”
“Grh…!”
Lyu screwed up her face in disgust as Alfia drew closer without a sound.
“However,” the witch said. “That protection will not avail you a second time.”
But just as she prepared to finish them off, the dragon roared, and Alfia calmly glanced in its direction. What piqued her curiosity most was Aiz.
“So their battle continues,” she said. “That little girl fares well against a god-slayer who calls the Dungeon home.”
Her form, clad in wind, moved like a storm.
“This may only be a prelude, but it is worthwhile nonetheless.”
The beast belched fire, burning away the wind’s shackles. The earth convulsed beneath its feet, and everything it touched turned to ash and dust. Watching it was like witnessing the end of the world.
Lyu trembled. There was no room for doubt after seeing it with her own eyes. The dark god’s prediction—the destruction of Babel and the manifestation of the underworld—was all too real. It made her heart pound and turned her blood to ice.
Kneeling on the ground, unable to lift a finger, she instead peered up at Alfia.
“Do you feel nothing?” she asked her.
“About what?”
“All this. Do you see it and feel nothing?!”
Fire flickered against the witch’s face, but she showed no emotion whatsoever, as if regarding nothing more or less than the ironclad rules of nature at work.
To Lyu, Alfia’s callous disregard was more than she could bear…or comprehend.
“Your allies are slaughtering people! They revel in death and destruction! They summoned that…that thing…to destroy hope! Doesn’t that make you feel something?!”
“The noise irritates me,” the witch answered, “but that is all.”
Lyu could scarcely believe the emptiness in her voice. “Wh-wha—?” she stammered. But Alfia went on.
“A slayer of gods. The end of justice,” she said. “There is no doubt this is the incarnation of evil. But if it can erase my disappointment, then so be it.”
Alfia looked down at her palm.
“For my disappointment is the one thing I truly cannot bear.”
In the distance, the wyrm roared. The wind bellowed. But Lyu didn’t hear any of it. The battle faded to silence. What Lyu wanted to hear, more than anything else, was the witch’s answer.
“…What… What is your disappointment…?” she asked. “What could be so disappointing to make the city’s greatest protectors side with evil?!”
At first, Alfia held her silence. Before long, all of Astrea Familia—Alize, Lyra, and everyone else—were waiting for her answer. Then at last, and perhaps on a whim, she spoke.
“Very well,” she said. “Since you have made it this far, I shall tell you.”
She peered upward through the cavernous stone roof to the battlefield of her fellow conqueror and the apocalyptic skies that lay above it.
“Tell you the tale…of our disappointment.”
“Nine hundred and forty-seven,” said Zald, counting the strikes that had been dealt. “More than I expected, but not enough.”
His weighty voice echoed throughout Central Park.
“Mewling brat. Draped in the finest adornments this city can offer, and still you are no match for me.”
“Grh…!”
Ottar was beaten black-and-blue. Cracks ran through every plate of his armor, including the golden pauldron atop his shoulder. All his weapons had been destroyed, leaving only a single greatsword.
His armor aside, the man had taken heavy punishment, too. The conqueror’s sword had left deep gashes in his rocklike skin, and even Ottar’s ace in the hole—his transformation ability—had not been able to save him.
He looked up into Zald’s eyes. They were weighty and discouraged.
“Pathetic,” said the conqueror. “Truly pathetic. If you are the greatest defense this city can muster, then there is no other choice.”
Strangely, miraculously, as though tuned in to his fellow conqueror far beneath the earth, Zald raised his eyes to the sky as well. To the ash-gray clouds that blocked out hope and smothered the city. Far off to the north, and what lay beyond.
“Orario needs to be destroyed. There is no avoiding that.”
Ottar struggled to his feet, but at those words, he froze.
“What…do you mean? No avoiding it? What are you talking about?!”
“I am saying there is no other way,” answered Zald. “We must tear down the Dungeon’s gate, release the monsters within, and cull humanity’s numbers. I had sorely hoped it would not come to this.”
“Our disappointment,” said Alfia, “is weakness. Powerlessness. A feeling you must all know well.”
“Weakness? Powerlessness? Whose weakness?!” asked Alize.
The witch’s ashen hair was framed against the sparks. “Orario’s,” she said. “This whole world’s. And above all, our own.”
For a moment, a trace of pity almost seemed to cross the witch’s face.
“What’re you talkin’ about?!” groaned Lyra, barely able to stand. “Explain it like we’re a bunch of babies!”
“Explain our weakness?” Alfia replied. “Is it not painfully obvious? We slayed the Behemoth. We felled Leviathan. But against the Black Dragon, we were powerless.”
Lyu gasped. “The Three Great Quests!”
Alfia did not deny it. “So mighty were we that even the gods recognized our strength,” she said. “Yet we were nothing compared to that foul beast. It was a massacre—I have never witnessed one like it, before or since.”
“Grh…!”
“The Black Dragon tore us to shreds and devoured us. Those of us who lived recall only the rivers of blood merging into a single crimson sea.”
It was the battle that ended Zeus Familia and Hera Familia. Just hearing of it was enough to render the girls of Astrea Familia speechless. Even though a survivor was recounting it firsthand, it didn’t feel real. This witch had brushed off the girls’ attacks like it was nothing, and now she spoke of the powerlessness she felt before the dragon’s might.
“In the end,” she said, “we fled. Those of us who did not die.”
For the first time, Alfia looked angry. Angry at herself and the other so-called heroes who deserted their task.
“It was then that I realized something,” she said. “These methods can never succeed.”
“…What do you mean?”
Alize was only barely able to speak, but Alfia ignored her. Her words burned with a righteous, indignant tone.
“Adventurers. You cannot handle true despair. Your hope is a lie—to yourselves, and to the world. We cannot escape the end! Not while we cling to our gods!”
“The world needs heroes,” said Zald. “But how are heroes born, and how do they grow?”
“What are you…?” asked Ottar, stunned.
“Is it even possible while the gods still walk this earth?”
The conqueror posed his questions. But it wasn’t long before he also offered what he believed to be the answers.
“It was not our intention,” he said, “but we proved that it is not possible. We proved that our current heroes are doomed to failure.”
Beneath his helmet, the warrior narrowed his eyes. His lips curled in rage as he declared the source of his resolve.
“No hero of the Age of Gods can slay that beast! Thus, we are left with only one choice!”
“We must go back! Back to the Age of Heroes spoken of in myth and legend!”
Ottar’s eyes widened in terror.
“You…you can’t mean…!”
“Yes! We must reverse the wheel of time! Return to an age when true legends walked the earth!!”
Zald raised and clenched his fist. His own words elevated him past his grief, toward a cruel and barbaric solution.
“When monsters roamed free and fear ruled the hearts of men! When humanity stood on the brink and still chose to fight!”
The age Zald spoke of was from at least a thousand years ago. Before Orario, before adventurers. Before even the gods came down to wander the mortal realm. When all races lived in darkness, and natural selection separated the weak from the strong.
“They chose to be the predator! They refused to be the prey! They tore through despair and went beyond what others deemed possible!”
Several brave men and women stood up to change all that. Men and women still spoken of in legends to this day.
“They were fierce! They were brave! They earned their place in history! And no one alive today can claim to be their equal!”
The great blaze in the Sanctuary. Exterminating the bullmen in the capital. Guarding the continent with spear and hunting hound. Recapturing the Lonza Mountains. Uniting the animal tribes. The revival of Orland. Leaving hoofprints throughout history. And the ultimate hero: the man who plucked out one of the great wyrm’s eyes.
These were all feats that people of today could never dream to match. Even now, they were considered the crowning achievements of mortal beings everywhere.
And so, after they confirmed what they believed to be the hard limits of the Age of Gods, Zald and Alfia came up with a solution. When Ottar realized what it was, his voice trembled.
“You wish to take us back to ancient times?!” he demanded. “And to do that, you would release monsters from the Dungeon? Destroy the peace our heroes strove to uphold?!”
“I would,” said Zald without hesitation. “The world has grown soft. Only in chaos can a true hero be born. It is the only way!” he roared, as if the fires of his own failures were burning him up inside. “This is the only path forward! If we do not change course, the apocalypse will come for us all!”
This was Zald’s wail of despair. This was what had driven the old heroes to the dark side.
“We must pay the price of millions to produce the one! The one hero capable of overcoming the Black Dragon!”
“A thousand years,” said Alfia as she let her thoughts drift to the past. “A thousand years since the gods came to earth and gave mortals their blessings. A thousand years to devise a course of action against the ancient beast, and what do we have to show for it?”
Her words were a confession. Hollow guilt wrapped in a cloak of silence. All the girls of Astrea Familia bore witness.
“Everything our familias wrought… Everything our gods wrought… It was all for nothing!”
Lyu, Alize, and Lyra had no words. They had never seen the witch show such emotion before.
“Never had there been a man of such majesty as him! Never had there been a woman so fearsome and noble as her! Yet I watched their blood spill! Their limbs fly! I listened to their death cries! All of it, gone in an instant, leaving me with nothing but despair at this world and everyone in it! Even ourselves!”
By this point, there was no stopping her. The words spilled forth uncontrollably, fiery with hate, and Alfia spat them at the ground as though she could burn away all the sins of her past.
After a while, she regained her composure and lifted her gaze.
“But all is not lost,” she said, calm again. “A heroic tale can still be written.”
Mired in despair, the witch spoke of the same idea her fellow conqueror had described.
“In ancient times, there were no Falna. Though the spirits aided them, humankind repelled the monster threat with nothing but their own skills. Is that hard to believe?”
It was the truth. The people of old laid the foundation for the modern day, including the city of Orario itself.
“Starting with the first hero, a line of great men and women performed impossible feats…culminating in the robbing of the Black Dragon’s eye and the removal of monsters from the surface world.”
Their tales were still told today. An unbroken tapestry of heroes stretching all the way back to antiquity. They had even managed to drive off the very beast responsible for Zeus and Hera’s downfall.
“Those heroes did what we could not. That alone speaks volumes.”
When Alfia finished her tale, the girls of Astrea Familia just stared at her in shock. None of them could find it in themselves to say a word. The roar of flames continued in the distance, and in the end it was Lyu who spoke up.
“Then what you’re saying…” she said through trembling lips. “Your despair… Your goal… It’s…!”
“No hero born of gods will ever suffice,” Alfia answered. “We must cast them off and raise a true warrior. We must return to the Age of Heroes.”
“Wh-what…?!” stammered Neze. “Then the reason you’re trying to destroy Orario…”
“It is to save the world.”
This was the reason Alfia had returned. This was why she conspired with evil to bring death and destruction. This was why she and Zald joined Erebus, obeyed his commands, and sullied their own hands. They had made up their minds. They had decided that the fate of the world outweighed everything else. For the mortal realm to truly thrive…Orario needed to fall.
The girls of Astrea Familia were stunned. None of them could find the right words. In the end, it was Lyra who spoke.
“So you guys are after peace as well! Why not team up? We both want the same thing, don’t we?!”
“We could not be more opposed, prum. You have not seen what we have seen, nor felt the despair that we have felt. The threat of that beast is far greater than any of you can possibly imagine.”
Alfia remained resolute. Fear of the Black Dragon dominated her mind.
“Our views are hopelessly incompatible,” she concluded. “For Zald and me, there is no other way.”
“Grr…! You can’t—!!”
Lyu began to argue back, but then it happened. The wind howled, and the air shook.
“Wh-what was that?!” cried Neze.
“Look over there!” yelled Iska, pointing to the center of the floor. There, some mysterious force caused the winds to swirl at an incredible pace.
“A tornado?! Here in the Dungeon?!” cried Lyra, her voice barely audible over the noise. “What monster’s doin’ that?!”
The whirling winds stretched all the way to the cavern roof, taller still than Delphyne itself. All of Astrea Familia turned and stared. They had never seen anything like it in their lives.
“None of them…” said Alize at last. “That’s no monster!”
I hate you.
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!
Why are you here? Just to kill people? Just to destroy things? Just to make us sad?
Can’t you see you’re making us cry? Can’t you see the world would be better off without you?
Die. Go away.
Or else…I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!!
That was her cry. A cry of vengeance. Of grief turned to anger, and then hate.
It was the darkness in her heart made manifest.
“Tempest!”
A cry.
“Tempest!!”
A howl.
“Nizelle!!”
A violent rampage.
There was a flash of light and a deafening roar as the wind turned black as night.
“No…it can’t be!!” growled Gareth.
“It’s Aiz!” said Riveria. “She’s combining her magic with her skill!”
The huge tornado that took up the entire space contracted down in an instant, shrouding the young Aiz in a fearsome wind. The next moment, she threw herself at Delphyne.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaghhh!!”
Clad in jet-black wind, her weapon sliced the great wyrm’s flesh, spilling blood as hot as boiling magma. The girl’s armor of storms kept her safe, however, and each slash produced six sharp blades of devastating wind that tore at the beast’s hide.
“Rooooooooaaaaaaaaaghhh?!”
Delphyne howled in agony, experiencing true pain for the first time. All the while, the black wind continued eating away at the dragon’s flesh so quickly that its regeneration could not keep up.
“She’s…she’s winning!” cried Riveria. “But…!”
As if to confirm her fears, at that moment a magnificent crack rang out, and a split appeared down the length of Aiz’s sword.
“Desperate got damaged?!” bellowed Gareth in disbelief. “That beast’s hide is stronger than a Durandal weapon?”
The pair from Loki Familia knew all about the darkness that lurked in the Sword Princess’s heart, but this was their first time seeing it manifest. Riveria’s eyes trembled in fear.
“Stop it… Stop it! You can’t keep this up! You’ll die!” she screamed. But Aiz did not answer her. Her eyes were dark and hollow, and she could not be stopped.
As if feeding on her hatred, the black wind grew in volume and intensity.
“Aiz!!”
Up until a few moments ago, it had been fire and infernos that ruled the eighteenth floor. Now, in the blink of an eye, the ominous black wind replaced it all. All of Astrea Familia could only watch in terror.
“The Sword Princess…” muttered Lyu. “She’s fighting that thing by herself!”
“She’s just one human!” yelled Lyra. “How the hell’s she doin’ that?!”
Meanwhile, Alfia looked on in admiration.
“Exceptional,” she said. “The black wind. Unparalleled power. No wonder Hera wanted it.”
Despite her distance from the raging battle, the winds emanating off it extinguished her voice. They scattered the flames and sundered the earth. Alfia needed to shout for the girls to even hear her.
“See that?” she cried. “That is the power of loss! Of fear and despair! That is the pinnacle of mortal strength, which can only be achieved by those who walk the darkest path!”
“Hrh…?!”
“Those are the heights our ancestors attained! That is the peak they gazed upon! Like her, we must know sacrifice! Like her, the many must die so that the chosen few can ascend higher! Only then will we find the strength to slay the Black Dragon!”
This was the reasoning behind the conquerors’ choice. Aiz was living proof that their quest would bear fruit, and that a return to the Age of Heroes was the only way.
“No! That’s not right!” yelled Alize.
“Is it not? Then show me.”
Alfia turned and addressed the girls. Unlike her dark master, debates and philosophy did not interest her. What she wanted was very simple.
“Show me a greater power. Show me proof I cannot deny.”
“““!!”””
The black wind was born of rage and despair. It was Alfia’s argument made manifest. To dissuade her, the girls needed to surpass it.
“Justice! Determination! Willpower! If these are so important to you, then show me why!”
The woman who had been defeated by the Black Dragon stood firm, defying the girls to answer.
Elsewhere, Erebus listened to the witch’s cry.
“Hmm. I like the sound of that. That’s a scream only a woman who’s known despair can make.”
A grin formed on his lips.
“Now, Leon. And the rest of you adventurers. Can your justice measure up to that?”
The god wore Eren’s smile. He spoke aloud, though the storm hopelessly obliterated his words.
“Let’s pick up where we last left off,” he said. “With absolute evil awaiting justice’s answer.”
He tore his eyes away from Alfia and the girls to look at the other battlefield, cloaked in sparks and flames, where a single warrior fought a faceless man.
“That woman’s insane!” Kaguya yelled after she heard Alfia’s declaration. “She wants to turn back time and plunge us into the Age of Heroes?!”
But the expression of her opponent, Vito, was calm.
“Is that so wrong?” he asked. “I, too, was surprised at first, but her reasoning is sound, no?”
“Sound?! She wants to bring death and destruction to us all! How could that ever be right?”
“Because her desire is grounded in reality. It’s based on fact.”
“!”
Kaguya inhaled sharply. Vito opened one eye a sliver and continued.
“Facts of which you know nothing, may I remind you? To you, their actions may seem evil, but Glutton and Silence have no doubts their cause is just.”
“Wha—?!”
“They fight to save the world; to protect it. Is that not the same cause you uphold, even though your methods may differ?”
“Grh…! That’s not…”
Kaguya could insult their plan. She could call it foolish and inefficient. But the one thing she couldn’t do was deny the reality that Zald and Alfia knew. The conquerors believed the only path to victory was a path of torment and suffering. Even if Kaguya felt otherwise, she could not dispute the validity of that choice.
“Don’t you people say it all the time? Good and evil are just two sides of the same coin. We all possess our own facts. Our own truths. Each of which persuades the coin to fall one way or the other.”
As Kaguya stood speechless, Vito’s grin widened more and more.
“Let me ask you a question, fair maiden. How do I seem in those eyes of yours? …Oh, don’t give me such a horrid look. I’m all ears.”
“You’re a bloodthirsty, blood-crazed maniac. All you know how to do is murder.”
“I see. You certainly don’t hold back, do you? However, while my murderous habit may be a fact, it is not my truth.”
Beneath Kaguya’s scornful eye, Vito offered a shrug. Then he raised his hand and ran a finger along his eyelid.
“To my eyes, young lady. You are nothing but a loathsome gray.”
“…What?”
Vito fixed his scarlet eye on Kaguya. The red was the red of fresh, still-slick blood, while the light seemed fake, like an empty window.
“I was born with a peculiar defect,” he explained. “Everything I see is colored the same ashy gray.”
“…!”
“Similarly, people’s voices sound like a rasp to my ears. The finest food and drink taste like foul, rotten waste. Never once have I smelled a scent I would call fragrant.”
Vito was not only colorblind—each of his senses was hopelessly impaired, save touch. He was forced to live and experience a different world from everyone else.
“Ah, but if only that were the end of it,” he went on, ignorant to Kaguya’s surprise. “You see, one day, I discovered something.”
Vito still wore the same scornful smile. Only now, his disdain seemed turned upon himself.
“In my canvas of eternal ash, only one color shone true: the vivid red of other people’s blood.”
“!!”
That was Vito’s past. His truth.
To the young Vito, the world was a cold and barren place. His parents spoke of beauty that did not exist to him. His fellow boys wore smiles, but he didn’t understand why. Their happiness was lies. Their love for the world was fake. It had to be, because all he knew was gray.
It was all bland. Tasteless, scentless. Every noise sounded like the wailing of a chained beast.
It was ironic, because Vito’s life was not otherwise a troubled one. The folk of his village were merry and kind, and appreciated the world they lived in. Meanwhile, the mind of that young boy grew more twisted by the day.
The young Vito, however, was shrewd, and canny enough to conceal his defect. He lived a false life among his peers, pretending that he was one of them. An act that only deepened his sorrow.
“The world is filled with light,” they would say. To Vito, those words were nonsense. But fearing ostracization, he played along. He lived as though he believed it, while inwardly cursing his kinsmen’s lies.
The smile on his face and the thoughts in his mind were ever at odds, grinding against each other like sandpaper, whittling down the young boy’s sanity until one day, he’d had enough.
He turned his fists on a girl of his village—a sweet young thing who greatly admired him.
In his rage, he spilled her blood—a sight the peace of his village had so far denied him.
For the first time, Vito beheld the nectar of the gods. A fresh wine that surpassed all others in its sweetness.
“Never shall I forget that day! Oh, how I wished to see it once more!” howled Vito, giddy with reminiscence, before his voice strained in grief. “Alas, no matter how much of my own blood I shed, that vibrant hue would not reveal itself.”
He locked eyes with Kaguya.
“For as twisted luck would have it,” he said, “only the blood of others suited my needs.”
The Far Eastern girl could not believe what she was hearing.
“You see, I tried everything,” Vito went on. “Yet without fear, without grief, without pain and despair—without any of these negative emotions, the blood looked just like everything else.”
“What…?!”
Kaguya’s eyes went wide. She searched his expression for some trace—anything—that would expose his tale as a twisted joke, but she failed. The look in the man’s eyes told her everything he said was the truth.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha! And once I realized that, I couldn’t help myself! What if I cut someone, I thought? What if I beat them with a stone? What if I kill them?!”
Heinous acts beyond description.
“From that point on, my world had color! Life returned to my withered heart, and I gave myself over to the demands of my broken mind!”
Passion gripped his voice.
“When people screamed, I heard it! When people bled, I saw it! When people burned, I smelled it! Oh, and the smell! It was like nothing else!”
Passion, and a disgust for the flaws that made him who he was.
“Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh! How could the world be this way? How could I be cursed only to gain humanity through inhumane acts?!”
“!!”
“What is this, if not a paradox of creation? What is this, if not some divine comedy of errors? Should I be expected to kill myself and erase the gods’ mistake?”
Vito paused, as if lending the conundrum ample thought. But soon, any semblance of sorrow was washed away and replaced with anger.
“No,” he said. “That cannot be the way! The people of this world don’t know their privilege! They go ignorant about their lives, experiencing pleasure, while I have to kill for it! Is that not an injustice that ought to be addressed?! If I am a defect this world produced, then is this world not at fault for producing me?!”
The man weaved his indignant tirade, arriving at last at his noble conclusion. He threw his arms wide and bared it for the world to see.
“There is only one way to strike back at this imperfect universe,” he said. “And that is to destroy the world of mortal men! The great error must be corrected! That is my purpose!”
Kaguya shot the man a dirty glare.
“…And that is why you stand with evil?” she asked.
“Yes. Because to proclaim my truth, I must first disprove what you girls call justice. Then, in order to stop this world creating any more poor victims like me, it must be remade.”
The winds of war carried the words of the dark follower’s quest to his master’s ears. Sitting atop his precipice, Erebus listened in silence. Vito turned and shot him a smile both loving and scornful.
“Those detestable gods shall see their creation destroyed, and I can only hope a new and perfect world will be born in its place.”
But Kaguya was not convinced.
“So what? You expect me to pity you?” she spat.
“Not at all,” said Vito dismissively. “I simply wanted you to understand the difference between facts and truth.”
He flicked his wrist, and his bloodstained knife appeared once more in palm of his right hand.
“Who knows, maybe some small part of you will agree with me…and make you stand still while I cut you down!”
He flew toward her without warning. Kaguya blocked his brutal blade with the steel of her own sword.
“You cannot become good just by willing it! You cannot be a hero through intent alone!”
“Grh…?!”
“I am living proof! I am cursed to be reviled! That is why I must kill you!”
This was his truth. His ash and his defect. Anger and ironclad faith drove his blade. His strikes rained down on Kaguya without mercy, forcing her to give all she had just to block them. Her clothes, her skin, all grew ragged with cuts.
“This is my evil!” he roared. “This is my justice!!”
“Good or evil? Right or wrong?”
Beneath the gray skies, Zald spoke.
“It matters not how future generations will remember us. All that matters is the oath I swore to uphold.”
He stared at the boaz man before him, beaten to the knee, wearing a look of pain and frustration, and carried on regardless.
“That alone I can never go back on. I must complete my duty.”
“Grh…!”
“And so I must devour all that stands in my way.”
A quiver began in Ottar’s hands and worked its way up his arms. Zald couldn’t tell if it was pain, or anger. Perhaps it was fear of what he knew was coming. Either way, the conqueror showed no interest in a man who could no longer stand.
“We’ve spoken for far too long,” he said at last. “I will not wait for the witch. I shall oversee Orario’s demise personally.”
His long, crimson cloak fluttered as he turned and strode over to the white walls of Babel.
“With this sword…Babel will fall.”
However, just as he passed the fallen Ottar…
“…Wait!”
He heard the flagstones crack, beneath the weight of a foot that was not his own.
“…You stand?”
Zald turned to see a shell of a man, his knees crying out in agony. Yet more than any vengeful spirit or enraged animal, Ottar looked to him like a newborn fawn.
His legs quivered. His entire body dripped with blood. His jaw hung open, his breath ragged and hoarse.
Zald turned and took in the grim and pathetic sight.
“What do you expect to do now, stubbornly clinging to life?” he asked. “Do you really think you can stop me like—”
But Zald never finished his sentence. There was a flash of steel.
“!”
A silver streak traversed his sight from right to left. Reflexively, Zald pulled his head back, but not fast enough. The blow caught his plate helm, stripping it from his head and flinging it high into the air.
“My helmet…!”
Humiliation further twisted Zald’s bare, scarred face. Was it a sneak attack? No. From the moment Zald laid eyes on his foe, such a thing was impossible. This was a swing so mighty even the ever-vigilant conqueror could not move out of the way in time. Its source was none other than the very last sword that Ottar possessed.
The boar man huffed in exhaustion, but leveled a fiery gaze at Zald’s exposed face. Time seemed to stop, and it only restarted after the helmet hit the ground with a loud clang.
“What…was that?” said Zald. “On second thought, you need not answer… I can smell it. I know what that is.”
“Grh…?!”
“It’s anger. You are more furious than any man I have ever seen.”
The source of Ottar’s trembling was obvious to him now. It was not fear or pain, but unbridled rage.
Ottar burned with flames of indignation. Like an engine, they drove him to stand and granted him unrivaled strength.
“Do my words touch a nerve?” Zald asked. “Or do my actions incur your righteous fury?”
Zald remained unblinking in the face of Ottar’s fearsome scowl. He peered into the boar man’s rust-colored eyes and scoffed.
“It matters not what you think,” he said. “My path remains unchanged. To save this world…we must destroy it.”
“Enough.”
Ottar’s single word cut through the man’s farce.
“What did you say…?”
“I said enough. Your excuses mean nothing to me.”
“My excuses? What do you mean?”
“I mean, I couldn’t care less about your self-righteous words!”
Ottar listened to the cries of his own aching muscles, the curses of his own crumbling body. They spoke in Zald’s voice on the night of Ottar’s defeat. You are weak. Pathetic.
Ottar allowed those words to fuel his anger, and with trembling lips, he spoke.
“There is only one thing I wish to ask you, Zald, and it is this.”
His line of sight drifted down to the plate mail that covered the rest of Zald’s body.
“…How far has the sickness spread beneath that armor of yours?”
“!!”
For the first time, Zald showed pure shock, just like the witch when her trickery was revealed.
“When I fought you, I felt nothing of this duty you claim,” said Ottar. “All I felt was a burning desire!”
Ottar was not a man of learning. He didn’t have the knack for cunning like Finn did. All the boaz man knew was combat. Only in the heat of battle could he find enlightenment.
“That night when you bested me… I was afraid of you…!”
He cast his thoughts back to the events of six days prior. To the night of the Great Conflict, when he tasted complete and utter defeat at Zald’s hands.
Ottar had been forced to confront the embodiment of his limitations, a wall he could never cross. It was only now he realized how fearful he had been of it.
“That was why I didn’t see it back then. But I do now!”
Thinking back to how he had been that night, eyes clouded by despair, Ottar could only curse how low he had allowed himself to fall.
“You want to be a mountain for us to scale! That is all that drives you! You wish to propel us forward, just as your heroes did eight years ago! Just as Maxim did!!”
His roar rang throughout Central Park. It carried beyond the wall of ice and the mages’ barriers. To many adventurers, it was just a meaningless string of words. But a single goddess at the peak of Babel recognized their significance and narrowed her silver eyes.
Zald, on the other hand, only laughed.
“…Heh.”
He stood before Ottar like the devil himself, defiant and grinning.
“That’s a fanciful theory you’ve concocted, mewling brat. I’m not sure that I follow it, myself.”
“Grh…!”
“But let’s suppose for one moment you speak the truth. Why would that provoke you?”
“Because you have put me to shame!”
Ottar’s answer was simple, and full of raging fire that roasted his flesh from within.
“You’ve made a fool of me, each time I misjudged my strength! You’ve taught me only what it’s like to suffer in defeat and wallow in despair!”
These were Warlord’s bitter memories. This was his truth. Time after time, he fought for the glory of his goddess, only to be humbled at the hands of Zeus and Hera. Though today he was known as the city’s mightiest warrior, Ottar’s road had been a tumultuous one, marked not by triumph but by defeat.
“And even now, I am weak! Even now, I allow the two of you to block my path!”
Ottar never directed his hate at others. Not his goddess, whom he loved and respected like no other. Not Zeus nor Hera, who constantly stood in his way. Not even Zald and Alfia, who laid waste to the city he called home.
Ottar’s hate always circled right back to himself. When adversity, injustice, or calamity got the better of him, he always blamed his own weakness first.
“I am weak,” he roared. “I am pathetic! That is what I curse, not your disappointment!”
Zald grinned.
“And so?”
“Nothing you say can change my mind! There is only one thing I must do!”
“And that is?”
“I must defeat you!!”
“Just try, if you think you can, mewling brat!!”
As Ottar made his passionate declaration, wildness filled Zald’s eyes.
“You have never beaten me, child! What makes you think this time will be any different?!”
His temper flared, like a mirror reflecting Ottar’s own rage.
“You’re a loser! You always have been, and you always will be!! I’ll put you right back where you belong—in the mud!”
“Then I will turn that mud into bricks, and use those bricks to build my kingdom!”
Ottar was not afraid. His strength came from both his oath to his goddess and his own determination. This was his truth. His mud and his bricks. Humility and failure were his bread and water, sustaining him on the way to the mountain’s peak.
Zald raised his slab of steel and swung it, greatly amused by Ottar’s fire.
“If that’s your game, then prove it to me! Let me hear you roar! Show me that in the heart of every loser, there’s a winner yearning to be free!”
These were the words of his god, repurposed to provoke Ottar’s ire. To rekindle his spirit. To revitalize his bones and sinew.
His oozing blood became a coat of red-hot armor. His eyes took on the wildness of a fierce beast, and the boar growled.
“Roooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!”
The melody of blades. The song of war. It could be heard all across the city. It was the anthem of a man who refused to stay down, no matter how many times he was beaten.
It rattled eardrums and shook the air. Atop Guild HQ, Raul couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“The noise coming from Central Park…it’s started up again!” he cried, the blood returning to his face.
“Ottar still stands…” agreed Finn. “The battle’s not over yet!”
Clenching a fist as if he could physically secure his victory, the prum hero handed down his orders to a Loki Familia aide standing nearby.
“Raise the flag!” he yelled. “Rally the strongholds! Let this cry fuel the flames of war!”
The subordinate ran to the flag of the trickster god, raising it high and waving it for all to see. Before long, the other strongholds responded in kind, flying their colors from the parapets.
Over at the home of Ganesha Familia, their patron god saw the signal and bellowed with pride.
“It’s Warlord! He has not fallen!”
Shakti commandeered this reversal of fortune to rally her struggling allies.
“Stand up! Listen to that chime! Orario will not fall while that bell tolls! Add your voices to the chorus!”
“Raaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!”
The adventurers’ cries shook the earth, transmitting their willpower across the city. Loki, Freya, Ganesha—all of Orario’s top factions took to the frontlines to howl in the face of adversity.
These were the cries of the weak—of those who strove for ever-greater heights. Wild beasts yearning for their time in the sun. Even those who could not fight could sing, could aid, could bolster, could heal. For justice dwelled within each and every one of them—a powerful light to burn the darkness away.
With the song of war to lead them, they drew their swords, raised their shields, and gripped their staffs.
“Graaaaaaahhh!”
“Stop it, Bete, you’ll die!!”
“Like hell I will!! You think I got any business dyin’ out here?!”
Ignoring Selenia’s cries, the gray wolf allowed the beat of the boar man’s war drums to flow through him, driving him on while the weak kneeled, subdued, behind him. Seeing him fight so hard in the flames of self-destruction irritated a certain follower of Ishtar standing nearby.
“Samira! Izaila! Don’t let that beastman’s group outdo us!!”
“Ge-ge-ge-ge-geh! Stop right there, uglies!”
“Whoa! It’s the toad!”
The sound of Aisha’s sword, Phryne’s charge, and Samira’s wild blows all combined into the song of the Berbera, laying waste to any monsters that stood in their way.
Meanwhile, a horde of magic swordfighters attacked a lone group in unison.
“Four o’clock! Attack incoming!”
“Filvis! Watch our backs!”
“Dio Grail!”
The proud elf’s chant produced a barrier to protect her friends. As the fires beat against it, the barrier creaked and groaned, but held firm.
“Ersuisu! Hurry! Run, run, run!!”
“Shut up! I’m the one who has to carry you! Just chant already!”
“In the name of all that is holy—I heal you! Dia Frater!!”
With Nahza handling all her other functions, Amid sat atop the animal girl’s shoulders, casting her spells.
“Captain Tsubaki! Don’t do it! Those spirit warriors’ll grind you into paste!”
“If Freya Familia falls, we all fall! So fight! Kill! Any man or woman who holds back is an embarrassment to their craft!”
Tsubaki ignored her underling’s cries, flying into battle with a sword in each hand and her whole body red with blood.
“Isn’t that right, Mia?!”
The dwarven proprietress swung her shovel, taking out not just a deep level monster, but also two spirit warriors in a single blow.
“You really need to ask? It don’t matter whether you’re an adventurer or a blacksmith, all that counts is you’re the last one standing!! So give him a good kick in the rear, boar boy!!” she yelled toward Central Park.
Spirits were burning. The city was on fire. The cries of adventurers, the verses of mages and healers, the hammer-song of blacksmiths—they all combined into a flaming inferno capable of banishing the darkness from every corner. All directed their voices toward the center of the city, where two great men warred. The people grasped at victory, just as that boar did.
“Look, Ouranos… This is the city of heroes.”
Fels paused amid his tireless errands and looked out over the city. Listened to its wild yet noble voice. And, lacking eyes with which to cry, chose to add his own voice to the cacophony.
“So will it ever be, even now that Zeus and Hera are gone!”
The city believed in heroes. It believed in the lights that lay beyond ash-gray skies. Its people combined their strengths, their skills, their wisdom, and their magic, to ensure that good triumphed over evil.
Asfi, on the verge of exhaustion, heard the cries of the city, and a flame lit anew in her heart.
“Falgar! Move our front lines forward!!”
She leaped at the monsters attacking her allies, thrust her dagger, and bathed in their ash. Wiping it, as well as her own blood, with her arm, she did what needed to be done.
“We can’t waste this flame Warlord has lit! When it goes out, our city falls!”
“Grh… Understood! Move out!!”
Willing his battered body to move once more, Falgar did what needed to be done.
Over in the casino area, the city’s song breathed new life into the war zone. Adventurers were a wild breed; people who spent all their time in an underground labyrinth infested with hideous creatures. It hardly came as a surprise that they had determination and drive. Nobody knew more about surpassing one’s limits than they.
To the Evils, however, this mysterious resurgence was a terrifying mystery. The adventurers’ pluck threw their commanders for a loop.
“Curse you, adventurers!”
“Don’t they ever run out of strength?!”
After the deep-level monsters had begun to turn the tide of battle, now it seemed as though the adventurers stood a chance again.
The fight for the Labyrinth City was not yet over.
The song of battle went on for many more verses yet.
“What’s Zald doing in there?” snarled Valletta, watching the adventurer’s flags go up across the five strongholds. “Why does it take so long to kill one boar?! ’Cause of him, Orario’s gettin’ ideas again!”
It could not be said that Arachnia underestimated her foe. Orario had earned its name as the center of the world, and Valletta knew that better than anyone. She knew she had to curb this spike in enemy morale before it was too late, and so she turned to her subordinate and gave her next orders.
“Release all the monsters we got,” she spat. “Every last one of ’em!”
“A-all of them? But, ma’am, there aren’t enough tamers to go around! If we do that, the monsters will attack people on our side, too!”
The Evils squad captain spoke reason. There were barely enough tamers to keep the monster population in check as it was, and that was with every man and woman in active duty. But Valletta answered his concerns with only a cruel smile.
“We don’t need tamers! Let ’em die for all I care! If a monster gets ’em, that means they were too weak to help us in the first place!”
“Grh…! U-understood, ma’am!”
His face pale, the cultist hurried to carry out her request. He still had his misgivings, but wasn’t willing to die for them.
Valletta placed little stock in such niceties as “trust” and “comradery.” She ruled with an iron fist, and if that earned her the ire of those under her command, then so be it. In return, the strict hierarchy worked wonders for the speed and efficiency of her leadership.
To her, the men and women in her care were nothing more than pawns, to be used and abused as she saw fit.
“Run in front of the monsters and lead ’em to Central Park!”
There was only one way to stop Orario from reigniting its fighting spirit, and that lay at the center of the city—Ottar and Zald’s battle, the source of the ceaseless wails that the city took for hope.
Valletta lifted her twisted sword. Her fur-lined coat fell around her legs as she aimed its tip at the white-walled tower.
“I ain’t waitin’ for Zald any longer! We’ll trash that barrier and bring down Babel, then flatten that boar bastard as well!”
“M-more monsters spotted!! They’re heading…straight for Central Park!!”
That message was like a bomb dropping on the rooftop of Guild HQ.
“They’ve reached the barrier! They’re flooding in from all parts of the city, sir!”
Raul paled and stared at the hemispherical barrier in the center of town, which buzzed and sparked beneath the weight of the monsters’ claws. The horde filled the streets, converging on the barrier while preying on any adventurers who stood in their way.
“Grr… Valletta…!!”
Finn ground his teeth and cursed. He had already caught on to his opponent’s goal—to let loose every last monster they had and concentrate their forces in Central Park.
“Master Allen! The monsters are nearing Master Ottar and Lady Freya!”
“Grh…!! You guys stay here; I’m headin’ over there!”
“M-Master Allen?!”
Allen was reinforcing the front lines alongside Tsubaki and Mia, but the moment he heard the report, he wasted no time. He dashed off toward Central Park, leaving the poor messenger in the dust.
But he alone was not enough to turn the tide of war. A large monster approached the barrier and turned on the mages maintaining it. Asfi watched on in horror as it devoured one of them in a single bite.
“The mages!” cried Asfi. “The barrier will collapse!”
“Get away from them! No!!”
Falgar screamed in vain. He wanted nothing more than to run to their aid, but knew the moment he deserted his post, all the civilians’ lives would be forfeit.
In stark contrast to his grief, the nearby Olivas chuckled with joy.
“Heh-heh-heh-heh! I like the way you think, Valletta! I think I’ll join in the fun! I want to be there when this city falls!”
Leading his followers into the city center, Vendetta lent his own bloodthirsty hands to the cause.
It was a parade of death. Hordes of monsters coursed down the eight main streets, converging on the central barrier. A small collection of Evils troops watched the march from the rooftops and thanked their dark gods they weren’t down there in the thick of it.
Dragonfire, and the flames of magic swords, beat against the barrier, causing cracks to appear across its surface. Its fall was inevitable. It was only a matter of time. Nobody could reinforce the mages or so much as leave the strongholds to which they had been assigned.
Bete, Aisha, Phryne, and Samira clicked their tongues in frustration. Filvis, Amid, and Nahza gave in to despair. Tsubaki, Mia, Hedin, and Hegni, locked in battle with the sirens; the Gullivers, holding their own against Basram’s spirit warriors—all their faces turned sour. Fels watched on in horror as their crystal orb fell from their hand and shattered to pieces on the floor.
“No, stop… Stopppp!!”
There was nothing the adventurers could do but rock the gray skies with their screams.
“Hyah-hah-hah-hah! This is the end, Orario!!”
Atop her rooftop, Valletta laughed wildly, safe in the knowledge her victory was close at hand.
Evil rallied in triumph once more. The iron hammer raised, ready to come down and end the folly of justice once and for all.
The people were running out of prayers.
The adventurers succumbed to despair.
Even the gods looked on, powerless and ashamed.
All of them knew, deep in their hearts, that the end approached.
“………”
Among them all, one man stood still, looking out over the war zone that his home had become. Then, turning his back on his familia’s stronghold, the man called out to his allies.
“Dyne.”
“Yup?”
“Bahra.”
“You got it.”
The two other veterans of Loki Familia gathered at Noir’s side.
“You don’t have to say it,” the Amazon said. “We know what you’re thinking.”
“…Sorry. But let me say one thing anyway.”
The old man grinned a mischievous smirk.
“It’s been a real pleasure workin’ alongside you old dogs!”
The three shared a smile, evoking memories of the first time they ever strode through the Dungeon’s gates side by side.
“…Guys? Where’re you goin’?”
It was Loki who spotted them as they got ready to leave, as she watched the war play out from the mansion’s bridge. With her divine insight, she didn’t fail to spot the do-or-die attitude in each of their expressions.
Noir looked back over his shoulder and flashed her a smile.
“Loki… See you.”
“…W-wait! Noir!!”
But the three veterans turned and vanished on the wind.
Sorry, Loki.
It’s a real shameful way to go, defyin’ our mistress like this.
I hope you can forgive us.
Noir danced across the rooftops, carving his final regrets into his heart. The other members of Loki Familia watched on in shock as the three veterans shot off like arrows and disappeared.
Their destination…was Central Park. Noir’s lips curled up as he prepared to unleash his sword.
“In return, I’ll show you what an old dog can do!”
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