No Game No Life - Volume 8 - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2 
HANDOVER 
 
Nestled away within a corner of the island of Kannagari, capital of the Eastern Union, was the Chinkai Tandai District. And in its reception chamber… 
A sinister, glittering apparition beyond description, which one might even call vaguely human-shaped. Ino Hatsuse and his ghastly fluorescent muscles loomed atop the balcony. He was now a specter who had dropped out of the game, a stranded soul who glimmered, swaying in the wind. If one were to avoid direct eye contact with this strange phenomenon and look into the distance, a giant landmass could be seen swirling in the heavens. And behind him— 
“…For goodness’ sake! What in the world is happening…?” 
“Eheee, Chlammyyy, your short stature must come from your temperrr.” 
The black-haired Immanity Chlammy Zell clicking her tongue in annoyance, and Fiel Nirvalen the Elf goading her, apparently drunk. They had pounced on the Shrine Maiden’s absence to force a game on the Eastern Union, but now they were out of sorts. 
“…What I want to know is how long this will go ooon. This is boooring,” grumbled the Dhampir girl—actually, a boy who looked like a girl—Plum Stoker. Thanks to his intrusion, even if the Eastern Union won, they would have to offer an Ixseed sacrifice. Win or lose, the game could not end without one—for both the challenger and the challenged. But they all looked up at the same sky and murmured much the same complaints— 
!!! went another shock, a sound outside the range of hearing, spirits pulsating through heaven and earth. With it— 
—Poof. 
“Again?” Ino sighed. 
The Chinkai Tandai District reception chamber had lost all light and fallen into darkness. No, not just the CTD—the whole city, all of Kannagari, was enshrouded in a blackout. 
The land spiraling into the sky was the Old Deus’s game board. These shocks had been shaking the Eastern Union over and over for two days, beyond all normal reckoning. Under these conditions, it was no wonder their games wouldn’t work, as they relied on the power of the Shrine—the power of the Old Deus. Even streetlights and candles were extinguished by the massive spiritual disturbance. Fiel herself was disturbed as well. 
“Ehhh-hehhh, I’m quite fiiine. Oh, how about I partake in some finger food? ?” 
“…Hey… Fi. I’m not sure what you’re trying to do, but…” 
Fiel was holding Chlammy, grabbing her breasts. Chlammy continued in a slightly chilly tone. 
“If you’re saying these are small enough to hold in your fingers, I’ll lose it!” 
“…………Hic, Chlammy was mean to me! Hic, sniff!” 
“Whaaa?! You’re seriously crying? Fi, Fi! You’re way too drunk—” 
Fiel, not only an Elf, but moreover a hexcaster, had an overwhelming magical aptitude that in this case might have worked to her disadvantage. The roiling flood of spirits had made her drunk with spirit sickness. No, that didn’t even… 
“Chla-Chlammy, hic…doesn’t, like me anymore, hic, eaaagh…” 
“Th-that’s not true! I’m sorr— Wait, why must I apologize?!” 
Then suddenly, whoosh, Fiel’s smile shone from the darkness: 
“Ohhh, Chlammyyy, I know you love me! You needn’t speak! ? ” 
“Someone! Someone do something about her! Is there a cure?!” 
Now Fiel was rubbing her face against Chlammy’s. Nasty drunk. 
“……” 
What was happening was uncertain. But for Ino Hatsuse, it was a lifesaver. He considered silently as he looked up at the board presumably born of the Old Deus’s power. 
Each time the heavens roared, all of Kannagari experienced a blackout before the lights were eventually restored. Whenever this occurred, these crooks couldn’t use the VR game they so desired. In fact, it must have been due to the flood of spirits blocking their rite. Neither Plum nor Fiel were in any hurry to start the game, so— 
…I can only hope that this situation will continue… 
Ino prayed for the Holy Shrine Maiden’s swift return. But— 
“D-Diplomatic Commissioner Hatsuse! E-excuse me, but this is urgent!!” 
A woman smashed through the door of the reception chamber. She was a Werebeast woman with a squirrel’s ears and tail, panting, out of breath… 
“First-Class Secretary Chitose Kanae… I thought I gave notice that I must decline all inquiries for a time?” 
…Ino had a guilty look on his face as he admired her heaving, bulging melons. Chlammy shot her a lethal glare, but Chitose pressed on: 
“I—I am aware, sir! H-however, there is a guest who has insisted on being seen before you begin the game!” 
. 
“…Huff.” 
At Chitose’s report, Ino let out one short breath, and then: 
“Who the hell is it now, huh?! Which asshole’s betrayed us now?!!” 
The fluorescent meathead’s booming voice was enough to send a tremor through the entire fifty-floor building. Chitose and Chlammy shrieked as Ino finally reached poltergeist status. 
Oceand? Or Avant Heim?! Who cares? Why not just forget it all and kill them? was Ino’s immediate thought—but no… 
“?……Wha…?” 
It wasn’t just Ino. It was Chlammy, the drunk Fiel…even Plum. They all gaped at the figure putting down a heavy pack; their thoughts froze. Water spilled from the pack as she emerged messily— 
“Ta-daaaa! Where’s my daaarling?! His beloved Laila has come all the way from deep beneath the sea to see him! ? Pun intended, of course. ? ” 
—the queen of Siren, Laila Lorelei. She ignored the dazed assemblage and took in her surroundings as she spoke. 
“But just what is this? I’ve been in that knapsack for two days, and— Oh, I see, kinky.” 
The blackout should have taken out the infrastructure. Yet Laila had arrived despite all forms of transit, even elevators, being repeatedly paralyzed and restored. The group was speechless; what was the queen of Siren doing here? No—never mind that—!! Ino screamed to himself, and he looked up—at the Old Deus’s game board. 
“—Impossible… Then what is that ??!” 

 
It began with a pledge that took just shy of fifteen minutes of in-game time. In real time, though, it finished in less than a thirty-second of a second. 
The Phantasma Avant Heim faced the Old Deus Artosh and the Flügel, together the most powerful faction in the world. Amidst the hail of the flame of the Union, his voice reverberated out of the blue. 
“Once, I inquired of my brethren… Thus:” 
That voice, which thundered across the entire planet, was neither in the tongue of Elf nor Dwarf. Rather, it was in the tongue of no one at all. Yet, strangely, everyone who heard it grasped its meaning immediately. 
“‘Why were we able to survive this war?’” 
The product of Phantasma—it was the universal tongue. 
“‘We lack superior physical prowess. We have neither magic at our disposal, nor do we possess any longevity. And yet, in spite of all this, we were able to survive this war—and why?’” 
The speaker was clearly someone other than Avant Heim, so they sought the source behind the words of the Phantasma— 
“I answered our brethren: ‘It is because we are the weaklings.’” 
—and the battlefield went silent. 
“‘We, as powerless weaklings, devise ways to flee like cowards!! We fools, so lacking in wisdom, hence learn the means to survive in subservience!! The methods and teachings we continue to amass, one after the other, are the wisdom that allows us to survive!!’ …Thus was mine answer.” 
The battlefield—strafed by weapons and magic from this direction and every other, crushing heaven and earth to dust—now went cold like an unlit furnace, with this voice alone resounding throughout the silence. 
“…I now recall those words—with bitter shame.” 
Everyone foresaw it. Smelled it. Sensed it. Something would happen… Something was about to happen—or could it be…? 
“They were the ravings of a fool! A lack of imagination! But then, how could we have imagined this?! Surely, we failed to even entertain the thought! To put it simply—” 
Yes—could be it be, they’d wondered? It was. 
“—you peons were incompetent beyond belief.” 
It had already happened. 
As if to prove it, a majestic shaft of light erupted to plunder heaven and earth of their horizon. A massive, unthinkable power had been launched—or released? All who had spirit corridor junction nerves could not help but understand. 
There was no room for doubt. It was a demonstration that the god of war, the most powerful of the gods, the Old Deus Artosh—had been blown clean of his ether. What had happened—no, what was happening—lay beyond anyone’s comprehension as the one who seemed to have slain Artosh continued. 
“You are not fools! You lack any thought at all. You are not weaklings! You don’t learn. ‘Then what shall we call you?’ I wondered… Even beasts possessing only instinct cannot bear droning on about their own wisdom. And so I pondered… And indeed, I decided to grant you a name.” 
Specifically: 
“You pitiful, meek—pigs.” 
Then once more, as if prompted by the voice, the light burst. 
“I applaud you all for your hard work. It took some time giving you a name.” 
As Avant Heim fell to ruin, at last everyone understood. The ones who had vanquished the almighty Artosh, the Flügel, and Avant Heim had used them, opposed them. They introduced themselves as they heralded death. 
“We who pledge to annihilate you…are Immanity.” 
Then came the last words from tumbling Avant Heim before the reverberations of its impact ceased: 
“Come, pigs—dance. Dance in our palms. Dream of being able to one day escape.” 
The ensuing flashes crushed heaven and earth to dust, and then… 
 
The entire incident took less than two hours in-game. But to those watching— 
“……Wha—…?” 
—Sora, who had deposited the command, and the rest, glued to the map projected in the air, it was all but instantaneous, lasting less than a quarter of a second. They saw the Union that had faced Avant Heim perish completely, down to the last. Only Sora and Shiro understood they had been annihilated. 
The Elves had used Áka Si Anse, the Dragonias their Far Cries, the Fairies their Sprite Tunes. The Dwarves had used the E-bomb, the Phantasmas their Arma Qualia, the Demonias their Bloodbornes, and so on… Every race in the confrontation, every unit, played its respective trump card. When all were played at once—everything returned to dust. The shattering force of the exchange and the ensuing collision took half the continent of Ariela along with it, thus leaving behind a storm of death—a whirlwind of dead spirits—over Avant Heim’s corpse. It turned Sora, Shiro, and Jibril’s Capital into a natural fortress that would turn away anything. 
Just as planned. Sora and Shiro smirked as they watched. 
“M-Masters… Just—what did you just do?!” 
They’d incited friendly fire. That much should have been obvious, in which case, Jibril’s shriek of consternation must have been asking, How’d you do it? The Union—the common front of the Elven and Dwarven Alliances. The two Alliances had indeed originally been enemies. But they were deadlocked, each possessing weapons of instant doom—mutually assured destruction. For them to engage would require a preemptive strike from one side. So how and from whom had Sora and Shiro incited a strike? That was Jibril’s question. 
“…We didn’t do anything. It was…you, Jibril. Right?” 
Sora answered ironically. 
“The erofus were battling over their lust for orcs—and you interrupted them.” 
Yes, the conflict between Demonia and Elf had sparked the division of the world into two. It precipitated full-scale combat, a quagmire of attrition. 
“…And it’s not like their primary target was you—or Flügel.” 
Indeed, Jibril—the Flügel—had merely interrupted them. So Demonia and Elf temporarily joined forces to bring down the Flügel… 
“If nothing had gotten in their way, they’d have gotten back to it. Those two races were each other’s original enemies.” 
Sora swiped his fingers over the map. “To begin with,” he said, projecting the corpse of Avant Heim—the environs of their Capital—into the air. 
A “death storm.” Apparently, it was a sort of glowing blue whirlwind of dead spirits produced by a reaction within the black ash. In this case, the collision of forces had produced a fusion reaction among the dead spirits that thundered like clouds. Flashes of light like lightning, one after another, gouged the planet’s crust. 
…Stone-faced, Sora asked: 
“…So everyone possessed these crazy weapons that would freak out even the lowest circle of hell. If they were really gonna go all out— Just checking, but you Flügel would have something even crazier than that?” 
Not that comparisons even mean anything at this point, he added to himself. Jibril answered: 
“…I believe that, with the combined power of Artosh and Flügel—that is, with the Godly Smite—we would be able to hold our own…just barely.” 
But would they? It was becoming more and more mysterious how this planet had managed to maintain its shape… Anyway, so Flügel also had held firepower capable of instantaneous doom. Then what if the Union had instead deployed their arms strategically and cornered Flügel before crushing them? 
“They must have been biding their time—and thinking about what would happen after they took down Flügel.” 
That was a staple of war in the history of Sora and Shiro’s old world. The warring parties didn’t think about how they could win the current war, but rather its aftermath—how they would win the next. Yes, after the strongest were laid low, it was a lottery for who would follow suit. 
“Okay—but then suppose out of nowhere, Artosh and Avant Heim were defeated.” 
Both camps would be freed of their hypothetical enemy and left with power to spare. They’d both realize the following: 
“Someone had beat them to the punch and destroyed Flügel—a traitor.” 
“…And…it couldn’t…possibly…be themselves, right…? ?” 
Who struck first? 
It didn’t matter. It made no difference. Anyone could have fired the first shot. From the start, both sides had joined forces, anticipating betrayal. So one needed only give a veneer of evidence to their faith in doubt. 
For example, what Sora’d done: One could use Jibril’s map, Jibril’s command sheets, and Jibril’s mailbox to issue commands to two of Jibril’s units—Avant Heim and Artosh. Just give those two a little message ordering them to kill themselves. Yes, in short— 
“—Ready? Fire!! …That sorta thing. ?” 
A message to all the morons that it was time for them to get back to killing one another. 
“…Looking back to the root cause, I suppose this was all because of your erofu kink, yes?” 
Steph seemed to have collected herself, as she cast an icy glare at the ringleaders of this disaster, Sora and Shiro, recalling their absurd motive. 
“Heh, that’s what I’m talking about. The Elves in this world are too damn prissy. A real Elf should be covered in viscous fluids, gasping for more as her face screws up in ecstasy.” 
“Brother… You’ve read…too many, doujinshi… And way too much, hardcore stuff…” 
Steph rolled her eyes, but Sora and Shiro, the criminals responsible, were busy bashing out commands and added frivolously: 
“Besides… We just gave ’em an excuse, that’s all. Come on, this is where it gets real!” 
“…The most powerful force…the Flügel camp, is gone… Both of the two great factions…have been crippled…” 
Then what would happen? Their map made it clear. 
“—Now, then. It’s time to see just who’ll be left standing once everyone else is gone.” 
Sora watched as all the races began to clash, grinning with the utmost contempt. 
…Wait. 
“…B-but, Masters, at this rate if they attack our Capital, we’ll be—” 
Jibril spoke up, finally recovered from her trance, snapping Steph to as well. 
“Y-yes, she’s right!! You said we’d be doomed if they catch wind of us, so why did you tell them?!” 
Indeed, should Immanity’s existence be detected or investigated—their Capital identified and invaded—they’d be goners. 
Avant Heim, whom they’d all made their capital, had self-destructed. Flügel had no units left and, without its lord, found itself incapable of production—which, of course, meant it couldn’t move to a new Capital, either. Practically speaking, the same went for Sora and Shiro. No Immanity unit could even get close to their Capital’s environs, now reduced to a murderous wasteland. Even if Sora and Shiro controlled their units remotely to establish a new Capital, they couldn’t leave Jibril behind. So here they were—in the hollow shell of a common Capital. Utterly defenseless. Someone could just walk in and immediately capture it, and as soon as it fell, they would all die. But… 
“They’re not gonna attack us… None of ’em.” 
Sora dismissed Steph and Jibril’s fears. 
“’Cos what they’re gonna do, how they’re gonna move, and where they’re gonna go is clear as day.” 
At least, it was to Sora and Shiro. They knew everything: where the enemy would go, where they’d strike, where they’d be waiting, where they’d fight. Steph looked puzzled as she shuttled their rapid-fire commands at a continuous sprint, but Jibril must have figured it out, because her eyes flew open, and she gasped. 
“Master… You don’t mean… Of all things—?!” 
Even given that Sora and Shiro were in charge, the map was filled out with unnatural detail. 
“Yeah. That’s how we start. Man, Plum’s ancestors really come through. ?” 
“Plum’s…ancestors?! You brought over Dhampir?!” 
Despite Jibril’s and Steph’s cries questioning his sanity, Sora smiled and kept writing. 
There were few races with whom they could negotiate, and hoping for cooperation was out of the question. But there was, at least, one race they could count on until they started to lose. A race that, even if aware of Immanity, would see no value in it and pay it no mind. With Sora and Shiro’s intel, though, they’d be able to steer clear of the ravages of war and scavenge the spoils. 
A race glad to have its fill of Elven, Dwarven—any kind of blood they wanted—would come through. 
“With Dhampir’s intel, it’s as if everything was outlined for us. Plus—” 
Their enemies’ secrets were bare; everything was practically in the palms of their hands. What’s more, they’d be able to clearly predict the other races’ next moves. It was simple. After all— 
“All their doctrines, all their strategies… They’re allll the result of our teaching! ?” 
Yes, Sora and Shiro could just tell them what to do. Sora and Shiro were the only ones grinning, as Steph and Jibril stood speechless. 
To Immanity, modern military theory was useless at best. It was worthless if they lacked the weapons and technology, and in any case, they couldn’t count on theoretical knowledge without experience. On top of that, with these monsters as their opponents, they could gather all the firepower on Earth, and it wouldn’t make a difference. 
“All our military strategies assume they’ll be used on other humans.” 
None of the theories from their old world anticipated these nutcases, in which case— 
“—These strategies only have value for other nutcases.” 
They’d provide the Elves, who excelled in individual ability, with elastic defense and mixed formation techniques. To the Dwarves, proficient in armored weaponry, they’d provide the techniques of land and air infiltration and blitzkrieg strikes. They’d supply the shit and the fan—and watch what happened. 
“…It’ll be a full-on quagmire, won’t it?” 
A back-and-forth struggle—the world map plunged into a war of attrition, and inevitably— 
“H-hey— Sora?! The Werebeast city— It’s under attack!!” 
The Elven stack was now descending upon the city Sora and Shiro had made the Werebeasts build. Without thinking, Steph stopped rushing back and forth to the mailbox and let out a panicked shriek. 
After all those full-scale clashes and battles of attrition, it went without saying that food would start to run scarce. The Elves advanced to seize what was now the world’s greatest breadbasket. 
“Huh? Uhhh, yeah, I know. So?” 
“…That’s why…we had them…build it.” 
Without so much as a glance back at Steph, Sora and Shiro wrote commands and recited aloud as if some sort of prophecy. 
“August 8, year ?2 BT: Food shortages escalating, Elf moves to secure agricultural land.” 
No. They mumbled them indifferently as if reading off past events. 
“Seven mixed divisions accompanied by four Dragonias approach from the northern mountains to subdue the agricultural city.” 
“…For the same reason, Dwarf…intercepts from, the same mountains…and they engage for, nine days.” 
Sora had a thought as he kept on writing without pause. 
The d00ds in this world—no, this age—sure do have some awesome tech and weapons. Enough to kick modern Earth’s ass. Their tactics, though…are pathetic. 
…Then again, they were fighting nutcases with equally nutty weapons. It was understandable that they’d have trouble formulating cohesive strategies and fall back on raw numbers, mass, and force. 
But that won’t do. Sora smirked. Button-mashing was actually the hardest tactic to read. So they’d have to teach them. 
“…The Dwarves are unable, to exercise their mobility, in the mountains…and lose forty-two point seven percent, of the forces they invested.” 
“And the Elves, with five divisions left, resume their march upon a strategic victory—” 
Once these n00bs got their hands on some half-assed intel and wielded those pretentions… 
…everything would be in the palms of their hands. 
“But they end up in a strategic defeat. Why, you ask?” 
With that, the corners of Sora’s and Shiro’s lips twisted into creepy smiles. 
Flashes burst across the map. The Elven forces in the northern mountains—along with the surrounding terrain—had suddenly been wiped clean off. Sora grinned wickedly. 
“…Because Áka Si Anse detonates. All five remaining divisions get blown to smithereens.” 
Incidentally, this also cut off the land invasion route for Elf. Steph and Jibril were dumbfounded. 
“M-Mas-Master… Why would Elves fall to an Elven weapon?!” Jibril cried out, confused as to why the Elves’ own weapon had been used against them. 
“Well, that would be because I made them do it.” 
Steph and Jibril froze at Sora’s casual, preposterous remark. 
“I failed to turn the Elves into erofus and bring them over to our side… But hey…,” Sora continued placidly, still writing out more commands. 
“I did succeed in getting the Werebeasts to kidnap Elves—right?” 
“…Y-yes… No, wait! You never explained how—did you?!” 
How had he stopped them from using magic and kept them from resisting? He explained the very simple, extraordinarily guileless, easy-as-breathing truth. 
“It’s simple. You find an Elf who has a kid, take their kid, and say the following:” 
Sora, his radiant smile full of youthful innocence, revealed how he’d done it. 
“‘If you try anything, the kid gets it. ?’ —That’s all there is to it! One willing slave, fresh and ready!” 
“You scum!!” 
“Why so blunt?!” 
Steph’s swift condemnation pierced right through Sora after he revealed the brutality instilled in his entire being. 
“Don’t tell me this is the only reason you gave food to the Werebeasts?!” 
“O-of course not! You know we wouldn’t do something as stupid as that! Look!” 
Steph had him by the collar as he pointed to the map in a panic. 
Having lost their land invasion route, the Elves were now approaching from the air. 
“W-we released the Elf who triggered Áka Si Anse! And we had her report all the stuff the Werebeasts had made her do—in great detail—so just retribution would descend!” 
“Ohhh, now I see! ? Allow me to correct myself: You sick bastard!!” 
However, Shiro ignored Steph’s indignation. 
“…But this time…the Dwarves…will win.” 
And in the same moment—the newly onrushing Elven stack vanished. 
…Battling on extreme terrain such as mountains fettered Dwarf’s maneuver warfare, but in a dogfight, they and their airships were unrivaled. After all, they’d applied the doctrines of naval theory to the flying ships to their utmost ability. 
“This is one of the world’s few regions for food production, and we spent a generation on it. You think we’re just gonna give it to them?” 
Dazed, Steph released Sora’s collar, and he went back to the table. 
“We’re gonna have them squash each other over the food awhile longer. Didn’t we tell you?” 
“…He who controls, food…controls the world…!” 
They continued savagely but with infinite pleasure. 
“There’s gonna be a loooooot more dyiiing! …People and non-people, tonnnns of ’em!” 
“…Kill ’em all… ?” 
“Gee, I wonder who’s gonna make it through all this and still have time to worry about Immanity?” 
“…This is so sick, I don’t even know what to say…” 
Steph, having apparently lost the verve to instruct them in the error of their ways, gave up and went back to mailing their commands. 
……… 
They’d used Dhampir to gain vast and precise intelligence. For 184 years, Shiro had observed the various races’ every movement and calculated how the war might progress. For 184 years, Sora would use an elaborately devised strategy to con that progress into actual events. Jibril watched her masters, Sora and Shiro, as they turned everything over in their little hands. But sweat was appearing on their cheeks and foreheads, Jibril thought. Even for Sora and Shiro…it was impossible to read through the entirety of the Great War. They could not perfectly anticipate the involvement of, say, Gigant or Lunamana—races whose actions were not so clear-cut. And, no matter how far they plotted, no matter how deeply they calculated, there would always be events they could not predict. They must have accounted for this. They must have predicted the unpredictable—but. 
Just one fatal misreading. 
Just one fatal instruction. 
That would be enough for their Capital to be instantly identified, whereupon, without question—death awaited. Sora and Shiro must have known that better than anyone, yet they only grinned—savagely. 
“Ha-haaa! If we can make it through this and lose—our brains are totally gonna melt!!” 
“…Mine’s…already…about, to melt…!” 
Had they ever played a game as killer as this? This had to be the highest difficulty level they’d ever seen. They smiled in elation—but Jibril looked down uncomfortably, her hands quivering as they clutched her journal. 
…… 
“…Ah… The world is ending,” Steph mumbled as she rushed back and forth to the mailbox. Projected in midair was a dying planet, collapsing chess pieces, an ending world, but— 
“Yup, it’s ending. Screw this moldy old world. Let it end!” 
As he spoke, Sora’s writing hand stopped, and he took a look at the map. 
…A dying planet—that had once been reality. 
…Collapsing chess pieces—that had once been human lives. 
He’d threaten, kidnap, kill; he’d throw away and use and deceive and betray and torment—Sora would use most any means, even dirty tricks, swindles, and frauds if no one would find out—but. 
“…You wanna play with no regard to means or sacrifices at all—anyone can do that shit.” 
Yes, it was simple. And proven by everyone as they’d carried on and on with no regard for the world. So just what was it they were looking for at the end of that mountain of sacrifices? An ending where they died, someone else died, or everyone died—did they really want it that badly? Sora didn’t see the point—and had a feeling he never would. 
“This world is a game. It’s become a game.” 
As those goons had carried on with their mundane play—someone had sneered. Someone had refused to accept even one sacrifice. Sora looked at Jibril and smiled. 
“—No one will die, nor will they be allowed to. Not you, Jibril, not us, and not anyone—” 
How had the world changed…? 
“The world’s changed so that you can get away with throwing that tantrum—and you might even get what you want.” 
Then the least they could do was to say a last prayer for this old world. 
—Hey… Whoever you were… 
 
Seventy hours had passed. Izuna sat on the 308th space, watching. Many races had perished, and the world, the planet, was being destroyed, too far gone to come back. Just as the Old Deus had predicted, Sora and Shiro were cornered, and their faces were starting to show strain. But Izuna’s expression as she watched them held no tension, only nostalgia. Tet had told her—the old story, the untold story. 
Those two who had ended the previous Great War were kind of like Sora and Shiro. They had achieved an incredible feat, yet their older sister had asked… 
“Why, am I so…frustrated…?” 
Tet, the Suniaster in hand, had spoken as if in reply. 
“Because the game’s not over.” 
Long, long ago, that day, Tet had grasped the Suniaster and laid down the Ten Covenants. Tet, the one who claimed to have remade the world—but this was what he’d said next. No matter how many times Izuna reviewed it in her memory, he had surely said: 
“Come, then—let the games continue.” 
Long, long ago, the game—had not begun. It had started long before that and just—continued, so the unsung defeat could continue into a sung victory. The previous pair had sought and missed it, passing it along—all the way to the future pair… 
For that one victory—that would take that infinite string of defeats and give them meaning. 
For that one victory—that no one yet, not even Sora and Shiro, had achieved. 
For that final victory in which no one could be sacrificed. 
“…Tet, I went and called you a goddamn liar, please… Forgive me, please.” 
Izuna bowed apologetically, her long ears and head drooping. Sora and Shiro were like those two—but only kind of. Sora and Shiro weren’t as strong, and that comforted Izuna. She knew—these two wouldn’t make the same mistake as their predecessors. 
“……………” 
And Izuna saw the inorganic, emotionless face of the Old Deus tremble just a little. 
“…Sorry, please. I’m not smart… So I can’t give you an answer, please.” 
“What is it to believe?” 
Izuna didn’t know how to answer or how to reach the goal, but still, her intuition told her for sure she wasn’t wrong. 
“I won’t win if you die, please! I believe that’s total bullshit, please!” 
Met with only silence, Izuna looked back at the projected scenery. The end of the world. Izuna smiled, So let it be. After all—they were the ones who’d destroyed that world for them… 
 
The boy recalled among his racing thoughts: 
Say you had to die for the sake of the world. What would you do? That was what he’d thought that day, and he’d sneered that there was no point in winning all by himself. But it still wasn’t enough for both of them to win—so how could they win it all? He’d half resigned himself to thinking that perhaps no such method existed in this world. 
But there was such a method in that world. That day he’d heard the ten rules, he’d stood where he could look out to the giant chess pieces in the distance. The erstwhile boy—the black-haired, dark-eyed young man—had held his sister’s hand and cracked a smile. 
They’d finally found the method. There it was—the Ten Covenants. Convention had dictated that nothing could be done without sacrifice. This groundwork led beyond. 
What a convenient fantasy, eh, this world? He felt both happy and bitter about it, but—it wasn’t just convenient. It was convenient, but for a reason. Someone had faced what he’d run from and given everything to finally make convenient…could you buy a story like that? Were it not for the Covenants and the fact that the Great War had ended, he would have dismissed it with a laugh. Whoever it was had been some hell of a human, the young man thought, humbled—but now he also thought…whoever it was… —No. 
Hey, you. 
Was that really good enough? 
No matter how I look at it…I don’t feel that way…… 
…… 
The impact cut short Sora’s speeding thoughts. The projected map displayed the date ?53 BT. That meant they had twenty-eight minutes left until the time limit. Meanwhile, the light that had passed right by them had evaporated the earth’s crust straight up to the stratosphere— 
—and the “death storm” that had covered Avant Heim—had been stripped away. 
“Hey! What are we going to do? What’s going ooon?!” shouted the teary-eyed Steph, who’d lost her balance and fallen to the ground from the impact. 
“Hell if I know! It’s a perfect storm of everything we expected to be unexpected!” 
“……Mmngh…I so thought…we had it…!” 
Sora and Shiro yelled back at her and furiously scrawled out commands then stared at the map, the map that, fifteen hours earlier, had rendered the entire world as plain as day and showed them the course of the war. Now it was back to black, showing almost nothing. What it did display eloquently was how the war was going. 
“Well, we knew from the start this game was impossible! You gotta enjoy this kinda game understanding that in advance, right?!” 
“…When a game’s, impossible…it’s all about, challenging yourself…how far, you can go!” 
Sora and Shiro repressed their panic and forced smiles together as they kept writing. 
They had been aware that they couldn’t perfectly predict the movements of races they lacked intel on. But—for God’s sake, Sora ground his teeth silently. Lunamana, the race about which they had the least intel, the race said to have already been on the red moon as of the Great War, had arrived. The quite unpredictable convulsion had been caused by the same factor that spelled doom for the two races around which the war had heretofore revolved, the Elves and Dwarves. The moon had fallen and opened up the sky, whereby the Dhampirs—their Scout units—were also crushed by the upheaval of heaven and earth and subsequently perished. Dwindling remnants of Immanity units and Cities still remained, and as if searching for something or trying to corner them—surrounding Sora and Shiro’s Capital, now stripped of its death storm, and closing in—were a few enemy units. The gamer siblings had been deprived of mobile units, and even races they might have been able to move indirectly were done. They were practically out of options, and then— 
“…Masters. You have done enough. Please command me—” 
Jibril looked down and murmured, but Sora and Shiro cut her off. 
“…STFU. ? ” 
“…Jibril, sit. ? ” 
Jibril was forced into a sitting position before— 
“Mmgyaughhhh?! What was that flash? Hey! That flash!!” 
The projectiles were coming so close they couldn’t hear them anymore; perhaps they weren’t within the range of their hearing? The only movement came from flashes, shocks, and Steph, who dashed back and forth to the mailbox. 
“…At this rate, you’ll die, Masters—even little Dora, too…!” 
“What do you mean, even me? I’m about to burst into tears!!” 
Steph, the only one still ignorant of the situation, put her life on the line running back and forth to mail Sora’s, Shiro’s, and Jibril’s commands. Even Sora and Shiro were moved to shivers by her fathomless magnanimity, her naive benevolence, but— 
“Please order me to hand over my dice and die—!” 
Jibril’s tearful wail shook the room. It froze Steph, and she couldn’t believe she was hearing what came after. 
“…I am, afraid…! Please… I beg, your indulgence…!” 
Her journal tightly in hand, Jibril shivered as she begged, soaking the floor. Sora and Shiro did not respond. Steph couldn’t say anything. 
A deafening silence was the sole reply…and then. 
A loud VOOMP broke the long silence—another impact of the light. Steph jerked as it reminded her of her imminent death, and Jibril kept mumbling: 
“…I am well aware that you have embarked on risks inconceivable for my wretched sake… But please.” 
She wiped her tears and tried to compose herself. 
“As your undeserving servant, it would be an honor beyond all imagination… Please consider the circumstances.” 
Jibril held out nine dice from her chest. 
“…As a Flügel, I feel nothing toward death. Please give me the order…” 
If she gave them her dice, she’d lose her memory—and be unable to kill herself. She would need the binding command of Sora and Shiro, her owners. That would be enough, and then this game—Jibril’s selfish death game—would be over. Satisfied with this, she smiled and said: 
“There is no need for you to die, Masters. Please let me be the—” 
“Shut the hell up!! Just shut your trap and be quiet! You’re distracting me, damn it!!” 
The roar of Sora cutting her off rocked the hall more sharply than the devastating shock waves. Finally, Sora and Shiro set down their pens and looked— No. Glared. 
Their seething eyes took Steph’s and Jibril’s breath away. The next moment, they were back to writing commands while Sora ranted. 
“Let you die ’cos you’re scared?! ‘I’m not afraid to diiie!’ STFU!! We’re all afraid to die! We’re not even worrying about pissing ourselves but something much bigger and stinkier than that!” 
“…Brother… When’s the last, time…we went…to the bathroom…?!” 
Oh. No wonder they were about to soil themselves! Shit! Sora slammed new orders into Steph’s hand— 
“And you just keep talking and talking and talking and talking!! You just wanna look cool, don’t you?!” 
—and cut Jibril down. 
I’m afraid to lose my memory, so I want to die. —But? But? 
I don’t want to be a burden. I want to win. If I can’t I want to die. —But! But! 
It’s my fault. It’s not your fault, Masters. —But! But! But! But! 
It’s the only choice. Live for my sake, too—!!! 
“Who the hell do you think you are, Jibril?! Who’s your master?!” 
“…If you’re…the property, of a couple of shut-in…loser, gamers…” 
“Then fly right! Do it right!! Be true; be like us—be a dweeb !!!” 
As Steph falteringly slid a command in the box— Suddenly. 
One of Immanity’s Cities—literally disappeared. They’d intentionally revealed and drawn attention to it, and now it was gone from the map, along with its label. 
“Say you don’t want to die! You don’t want us to die! You don’t want to lose your memory, and you don’t want us to lose our memories of you! Say ‘Save me’!! If we fail, we’ll all die—but say it: I don’t wanna!!” 
Still furiously scribbling commands, Sora and Shiro were shaking, screaming— 
“Why don’t you learn a thing or two from us and bawl like a pathetic dweeb!!” 
“?!!!” 
With that, Jibril’s face distorted, tears in the corners of her eyes. 
Seventy-one hours, forty-five minutes. 
“You’re saying one death’s enough?! Then what difference does it make if it’s one or three, a billion or a trillion?!!” 
“…B-but! At this rate, if the Capital falls—” 
Sora and Shiro and Steph— No, in the worst-case scenario, everyone involved in the Old Deus’s game would perish with it. 
“W-w-we’ll cross that bridge…when we come to it?!” 
“…I-it’s not like…it’s gonna, fall…?” 
But Sora’s voice cracked, and Shiro’s eyes moistened as they rebutted Jibril’s argument with uncertain shrieks. Not counting the Capital, two Cities remained, and they’d tossed one entirely as a decoy in order to buy a few minutes—not even fifty days in-game—before the enemy loomed once more. Not allowing their hands a single break, Sora and Shiro merely thought: 
Seventy-one hours, forty-nine minutes. 
…It wasn’t as if they had any proof. All they had was circumstantial evidence upon which they’d laid layer after layer of conjecture. Yet somehow, Sora and Shiro felt strangely certain, as if they’d seen it. 
…Some complete idiot had decided that this hell was a game. That it was time to take this world scorched by battle, submerged in despair—and change it with zero sacrifices. To go beyond convention—and follow a dream too fatuous to mention. To take on the world, to struggle, to claw—and then to miss. 
And to say, next time…next time. 
Some super badass gamer had said it until his dying breath. 
 But—! 
“You think we can be that strong? You think we can manage to live such badass lives?!” 
At Sora’s command, another City was gouged by light and perished. But this time—it had taken the enemy that had erased it along with it. The E-bomb secured from the fallen Dwarves had been set off by the enemy’s own attack. The land that no longer even deserved to be called a continent crumbled, and Immanity was left with one City and 177 units. Even so, Sora and Shiro still thought in tandem: 
Seventy-one hours, fifty-one minutes. 
That god-tier badass gamer—had failed. That great and noble hero who had ended the war and opened the way for the Ten Covenants! Yet, ah, we shall say it as many times as we must—the hero had failed—!!! 
“Right?! If we were gonna be cool, we’d beat you now, right?!” 
Glancing at the formula Shiro passed him, Sora inscribed what it implied without a hitch. 
“So! What if I was all crying like, ‘Jibril, I won’t let your death be in vain!’? I’d be a real badass if I lied to you like that, wouldn’t I?! I’d be such a stud! Go on, shower me in praise! And while I’m showing my ass here, I might as well ask you this one thing!!” 
As if demanding it of all the obnoxiously cool protagonists who ever were, he shouted: 
“—Tell me, after you finish being so cool, what’s left?!” 
What future lay in store for the teary-eyed Shiro, the running-scared Steph, the floor-gazing Jibril? 
“You skip out! They cry their eyes out!! And the virgin has to live with all your karma— WTF?! I’m gonna get a fever, this is so screwed up!” 
Yeah, sure. There were other things. Like the world where everything was decided by games—where no one had to be sacrificed next time. The hero had left the Ten Covenants—the groundwork—you could say that. Sure, that was crazy. They couldn’t even dream of pulling that off. But— 
What did the hero think about it—?! 
What did that godly gamer hope to accomplish by going to such lengths?! To end the Great War?! To save the world?! Hell no! You’re saying a dumbass of astronomical proportions who would dream up something so psycho and then actually do it—a proud fool such as few humans had ever rivaled—did it for some goody-two-shoes reason like that? 
Get outta here!! 
“You’re looking at a shut-in loser gamer who has one more year without a girlfriend every birthday, who asks with a straight face what a friend is, whose only special skill is lying! ‘People can change,’ you say? Shit, a water flea isn’t gonna turn into a whale; there’s a goddamn limit, y’know!! —So!!” 
Sora took a deep breath, pausing from his rant to distract himself from his fear. Then he spoke quietly and calmly. 
“…Why don’t we live our own way…?” 
. 
“All or nothing. We won’t even say sorry.” 
His voice was resolute, yet shaky. He gripped Shiro’s hand firmly as his feet tapped the floor. 
That was who they were. The siblings smiled to each other. They didn’t wanna die. They didn’t wanna let Jibril die. They didn’t wanna have regrets. Didn’t wanna, didn’t wanna, didn’t wanna! They’d rejected everything to come to this world. 
“If somehow—not that it’ll happen—we die, we’re going with everyone.” 
“…So…shut up…and suck it. At least…” 
They wrapped up their tantrum, sufficient to make even a spoiled brat want to behave, with unabashed dorkiness: 
“Let’s enjoy it to the end!! It’s a pretty damn thrilling game, when you think about it!” 
As if in response to Sora’s laugh, one more City went down, taking enemy units with it. They’d used the nuclear option in their own territory—the famous “Belkan defense”— No, actually, they must have just reached the point of blowing themselves up and saying, if we die, we’re taking you with us. 
• ?Five minutes, forty-two seconds remaining. 
Still hanging her head, Jibril mumbled, but only Steph was able to make it out. 
“…Even, so… I, was responsible for…” 
“Mmm… No… Those two are just a bit touched in the head… I think.” 
Jibril looked up to see Steph—smiling. 
“They think if someone must be sacrificed, then we should all die indiscriminately. That kind of irrational thinking is enough to make your head hurt.” 
Steph was exasperated, yet clear, as she spoke before dashing off once again. 
“—But that’s why we shall sacrifice no one! This is a line of reasoning I’m willing to stick with to the end!!” 
She inserted the latest command. 
• ?Seventy-one hours, fifty-eight minutes. 
By now, they didn’t have to look at the map to see that the enemy was coming. Besieged by the conviction that each of them would end the moment those guys took that last step into their Capital, Sora and Shiro still searched frantically for a way out—but their hands stopped. 
Nineteen Units remaining. No Cities left but the Capital. No viable tactics. They couldn’t think of even a single effective move. Even so, the two accelerated their thoughts boundlessly in search of an opening. Sora saw his sister beside him, her face twisted in distress, tearing at her hair—and suddenly. 
He felt he knew what the gamer who’d ended the Great War had been after. Somehow—as if it had been Sora himself. 
…After all—no, all along—that gamer hadn’t cared about the world. It was merely of no interest to him…that’s it. He’d just chosen to live as he wanted. That had led to the end of the War—a magnificent means— 
“…………!!!” 
Seeing his sister Shiro’s face racked by frustration and panic as she bit her nails, Sora thought. That gamer had just wanted to see her smile. If he ran away from everything, let the world do as it pleased, she wouldn’t smile— 
—he wanted…this someone—to—… 
Sora’s thoughts accelerated unfettered. 
Until. 
…Are you gonna fail again? 
Someone put this question to Sora as if standing right in front of him. He and Shiro both looked up, and when they saw who was there, they chuckled with a strange calm. Their racing thoughts, their flooded data, had fused into an image—a hallucination: two silhouettes, as dusky as shadow, faces indistinct…standing apart… 
…Yeah, maybe we’ll fail. 
Sora shouted— 
“But we’re not gonna fail the way you did !!” 
“…Mind, your own…business—!!” 
Realized they’d released each other’s hands, Sora and Shiro grasped them firmly again. Ignoring their startled audience, they targeted a unit that flickered over the map. The gamer siblings grinned savagely and wrote a command, together, at the same time, on one sheet. Shiro selected the unit that had moved for an instant: the Ex Machina, whose movements were a mystery to Sora. But as she had no idea what to do with it, Sora instructed it in her stead. The two of them scribbled out a command they didn’t fully comprehend—and tossed it to Steph. 
• ?Seventy-one hours, fifty-nine minutes, fifty-nine seconds. 
Their thoughts had reached their limit; their vision, focused outside the Capital, lacked all color, and there was no sound. 
Eight hours per second—it went by at almost thirty thousand times real speed—yet they felt they could see it. A Dragonia enormous even by Dragonia standards closed in on the Capital, all manner of rabble in tow. It had only to open its mouth, and a moment later, everything would pour into the Capital. 
Countless flashbacks raced through Sora’s mind. Memories he didn’t want to remember but couldn’t allow himself to forget. Still—the firm feeling in his hand of his grip being returned—Shiro’s smile made him think. She’d held his hand when it was stained crimson—and still, he couldn’t do anything. He’d turned his back on that world to come here, to this world where everything was laid out for him. 
This time. Here. If we can’t do it here, then— So they’d gone for it. The two of them wrote it all into their command—which Steph delivered— 
And then. 
“Ha-haaa!! Behold, Laputa’s thunder!!!” 
“…Destroy them…—!!” 
From the corpse of Avant Heim, their Capital, Sora and Shiro delivered the number-five and number-eight ranked lines they wanted to say in real life. 
Then their shouts were blotted out by an unfaltering direct hit. A shock rumbled straight through their Capital as if they’d been bombarded from orbit, directly above them. An extraordinary flash of light pierced straight through the planet, enough to elicit a shriek from heaven and earth itself. The flash reduced the onrushing hordes, the Dragonia’s Far Cry, and everything with them to nothingness. If the player base hadn’t been isolated, not a particle would have remained, which elicited— 

“…S-Sora, Shiro! Just what kind of instructions did you giiiive?!” 
Just what, Steph wondered, had finally broken the planet, engulfing them in light? Sora and Shiro checked the time using the wonders of the smartphone before answering, unperturbed: 
“…Dunno… But figured, it was what…Ex Machina…would do.” 
“If Shiro says so, then it’s gotta be. So I dunno, either, but hey.” 
Sora revealed the command they’d given the Immanity unit. 
“We told Ex Machina the Capital’s coordinates—like, ‘Try and end this, why don’cha?’ ?” 
In other words—they just felt like it. Sora and Shiro’s admission was greeted by the sound of something cracking. The fissure raced through the planet before their very eyes—an impact far beyond even the force that had just pierced it. 
• ?Seventy-two hours. 
Then Sora and Shiro looked back at the vague silhouette and smiled. 
“I promised… To never again let go of this hand—” 
“…And I won’t accept…regret, and death…anymore…” 
If you did what we can’t, then you don’t have to worry. 
Next time—we’ll take on what you couldn’t. 
The two shadows who spoke seemed to have a hint of a smile in their eyes, but it must have just been their imagination… 
 
The space that had compressed a whole planet was released. The laws of physics that had been bent seemed to remember what they were. In the white void, as if gravity and time had stopped, the four drifted. Jibril listened to Sora and Shiro’s mumbling, the two of them holding each other’s hands and laughing. 
“……” 
She thought about what she should say—but couldn’t think of anything. Look what she’d forced upon her lords. A thousand deaths could not atone for such an affront… No, the very consideration of it was an insult like no other, she realized… An apology was out of the question. Feelings she’d only known as words until she’d met them raged within: self-hatred, remorse, inadequacy, neglect. In that case—how in the world might she face them? 
“…Siiiiiiiiiiiiigh… O-kay…” 
A sigh escaped from Sora’s lips that practically took his soul along with it. 
“Mm… Yeah. That was pretty fun. I’ll say you pass, Jibril.” 
His expression soured, and he forced himself to smile. 
“…You got us into a game where we had no choice but to lose. And then—we got annihilated.” 
“……It was, fun…but, next time…we’ll win…” 
Shiro showed no inclination to blame or castigate her, either. 
“—It’s no small feat to give Blank their first failure—but watch it.” 
It was just— Yes… 
“Your ass is goin’ down a hundred, a thousand—ten thousand times, and don’t think we’ll stop there!” 
Their faces bespoke only an infinite chagrin at losing. Seeing her masters talk bigger than ever before as they flaunted their wounds, Jibril—was baffled…bemused. 
“Annihilated”? “Failure”? Whatever were they saying? The game was supposed to have been the last…the worst. They hadn’t let it be the last, and they had turned it into the best… And then—to her—they’d said, Let’s do it again. Was that what they were saying? 
They’d achieved a loss beyond all victory. Yet they bemoaned the loss as a loss. Jibril finally caught on to what she should have said sooner, how she should have faced them from the start. 
“…Thank you, Masters. How little I deserve your words…!” she mumbled, her feelings welling up inside her. Then she remembered. 
“If you’re enjoying all this, then how ’bout you give us a li’l something—two dice. ? ” 
For when they lost the dice for failing to fulfill the Task, two of the three of them would disappear—that must have been his meaning. A li’l something? How meager, thought Jibril as she plucked the dice from her chest. 
Seventy-two hours have passed. The Task is deemed unfulfilled. 
She heard the voice…but it didn’t mean anything to her anymore… 
 
 
“…Goodness! Where am I?” 
As a breeze brushed her cheek, Jibril tilted her head in a daze and muttered. All of a sudden, she was alone on a sea of grass that rippled in the wind. There was one white cube by her chest, and surrounding her was an unfamiliar landmass whirling in a spiral. Entirely ignorant of where she was and why— 
“…Oh my.” 
—she moved to stand and noticed a journal neatly placed on her lap. 
Every time you lose your memory, read page 3205 is what the cover had read. This had been sloppily crossed out, though, and under it…was this: 
The back cover’s good enough for chumps like you. 
…Hmm, I should identify who wrote this and kill them! ? She thought carefully for zero seconds, then flipped it over. 
“…Is this…the Immanity tongue? What a quaint choice of language…” 
It was clearly not her handwriting and not a language she saw often. Two lines. 
It’s all good. Wait. 
Jibril, sit. ? 
Such mysterious words scrawled there. Who had written them, and what did they mean? She didn’t know, but… 
Something slid down her cheek. She opened her eyes wide. 
“…What?! Wh-what is this?!” 
She cried out in surprise, but she knew what it was. If she remembered correctly, they were called tears. A liquid eye protectant generated by some organisms. A handful of living things were also said to excrete them with emotion. A Flügel certainly needed no eye protectant, and such emotion— 
“…Hm… Mmm, well, I don’t quite understand it, but…” 
—should have been foreign to them— 
“…it seems…something very fun has occurred. ? ” 
It wasn’t unpleasant, so she decided not to do anything about it. She broke out into a big smile in spite of herself as big tears slid down her cheeks. Still, she hadn’t the faintest inkling what was going on but had a feeling she might as well obey those words, whoever had written them. It was all good. If she just sat and waited patiently on her best behavior…then surely… 
…something much, much more fun awaited. Without rhyme or reason, Jibril clutched the book lovingly and laughed, as if bursting into song. 
 
And—on the 308th space. Several adorable small birds were perched atop a little girl’s head and shoulders. It was a peaceful sight as she gently swayed her large tail and the birds whistled their song…but. 
“…You bitches are welcome, please.” 
Izuna, too, had dropped to one die after failing to complete her Task in seventy-two hours. Despite her even smaller than usual size, she caught the birds in an instant, announcing as drool spilled out of her mouth: 
“Guess who’s on the menu now.” 

 
“Ngom-ngom… Pisses me off, please… Time to scarf some grub and hit the sack, please!” 
Izuna looked extremely sullen as she wolfed down her prey. The Old Deus who until just recently had been sitting there self-importantly—was gone. She’d made another complicated expression just before she left, which was rather curious, but… 
……Gurrrrrgle… 
“…Shit, I can’t win anyway, please! I’m eating this shit, please!” 
Izuna opened her bag and dug out her provisions since her stomach insisted the birds hadn’t been enough. She was down to one die… She could not advance. And anyway, if winning meant the Old Deus would die, then she was trapped. She took out her frustrations by plowing through her food. 
…To put it bluntly, Izuna was stress eating. 
As ever, Izuna didn’t get all the complicated stuff. Why this Task kept appearing, why she’d win if she chose to sacrifice. Why, even if she chose to forget about that and win—it would then require the Old Deus to die. What should she do? Of course, Izuna didn’t know—but. 
“I know those assholes must know, please! Please!! Please!!!” 
Izuna was happy, yet also somehow unbearably angry. She flopped back on the ground and beat her arms and legs, shrieking. 
“Sora, Shiro. I’m not—gonna lose to you, please…?” Izuna had boasted so confidently. 
Those two had answered: “You’d better think again” “We’re the ones…who are gonna win.” 
Anyone could win, but only those two actually would—was not what they’d meant. Even if Izuna went for it, she probably still couldn’t win. That was because the game was set up so you couldn’t unless you accepted someone’s sacrifice. 
Unless you were Sora and Shiro. They would win without a single sacrifice, without letting anyone die. They’d put their own lives on the line to show that Jibril was no exception. They understood what Izuna didn’t: how to win this game. 
“…………Pisses me off, please.” 
She said it again. Because seriously. The point was— 
“It was all—just as they planned, wasn’t it, please? ?” 
It pissed her off—yet had somehow also become entertaining, so she smiled. 
Strangely, losing to Sora and Shiro didn’t make her feel so bad. Must be ’cos no one would die or suffer. Maybe the answers to everything were simpler than expected… Maybe that was all there was to it. After all, this world—was just a game. 
“Ngghh! Then I shoulda played! I shoulda taken Sora and Shiro on, please!” 
…What a waste. It pained her from the bottom of her heart. 
“Ngmhhha, I’m so damn full, please. Time to hit the sack! Please!” 
She’d gotten her ass kicked, ate her feelings, and now she was going to sleep. Without further ado, Izuna hugged her tail and assumed the passing-out position. 
“……?” 
But as her awareness faded, suddenly…Izuna realized something. She realized why Sora and Shiro were only kind of like Riku and Schwi. Sora deceived people, but— 
Riku had deceived himself. Riku’s “strength” had been his ability to deceive even himself in order to win. Just as Jibril had intended to destroy herself—perhaps his strength had been his downfall, the reason things had ended in a draw. 
Perhaps he’d told a lie he never should have…and that was why he’d failed. 
“…Mm…Sora and Shiro smell good, those assholes, please.” 
A liar who would never lie to himself. Remembering their scent, Izuna giggled and felt her consciousness wash away. 
“What is it to believe?” 
This game’s destination must be the answer, Izuna vaguely reflected. Those two back then hadn’t made it there—to the ending. 
Everyone would smile as they finished the game…and started again in the ending. That must have been…where the answer was…… 
 
Meanwhile—on the 297th space, at about the same time. Sora and Shiro had been asked by Jibril to command her first to give them two dice, and then to hand over the rest but one. Thus, they’d rolled a total of eleven dice. It was their sixth move. They’d advanced one space, the wind brushed against their bodies pleasantly, and they were smiling. 
“…Brother… Can I…cross the finish line?” 
“Yeah… Go ahead and lie down… It’s time, we found, peace…” 
Their faces spoke of readiness to become ash, carried aloft by the thousand winds. Their pleasant smiles—welcomed the ending of this life. 
Just one space after their epic game with Jibril, stuck between loading screens, the two had looked up to the heavens—and at last remembered. Their game with Jibril—had only been a Task. There they’d been, whisking off in triumph from a mere mini-game. Just what did they think they’d accomplished? Now here they were, lying flat on the ground, smiling at the evanescence of life. It was back to the survival game from here on out, the painful reality. Perhaps it was time to look into some new parts for their brains, which had conveniently forgotten them. 
“You really had forgotten…” 
Unable to bear Steph’s eyes bearing down on them, the duo averted their own. 
“Yeah… Frankly, I was all ready to go straight back home…” 
“…I could see…my futon…in front of me…” 
They’d been immersed in an impossible game sans food, drink, rest, or sleep, in which one wrong move would spell death. A game where they had children’s bodies and needed to maintain extreme alertness and concentration—for seventy-two hours. Anyone would fall apart under these conditions, and on top of that— 
they’d lost. Yes, “ ” had just tasted their first defeat. They’d put on a brave face but lacked even the energy to throw a tantrum over it. They’d rather have gone home, passed out, and plotted their comeback once they recovered. Sora and Shiro had already laid it all out between them silently—but what was this? 
Present number of dice: Sora, three. Shiro, Steph, two each. Current roll: eleven. 
The goal was a good hundred kilometers away. 
They’d exhausted their provisions and still lacked any effective means of transport. It would be time for them once more to return to the wild, except that their loss had drained them not only of the willpower to survive but, in fact, to move at all. 
“—So hungry… God, how many days has it been since we ate?” 
“…I’m tired… When’s the last time…we slept?” 
“…Uh, uh, er, um— Ah! L-look! It’s eckgrass!” 
Steph whispered hoarsely, perhaps realizing they really were going to die at this rate and conscious of being the only one who’d slept, albeit only for four hours. Though she went and gathered the mysterious herb— 
“…Grass…? At least…get us some protein or carbohydrates…” 
“…I want…phenylalanine, tryptophan…lysine, and glucose…” 
In other words: Gimme meat, fish, rice, and essential amino acids. The two of them pleaded for their lives as their eyes began clouding over like those of a fish out of water. 
“Y-you can’t eat meat now! It’ll make it worse!! I’ll boil this, so be sure you drink it!” 
Immediately, Steph searched for materials for a fire. 
“It’s a medicinal herb that’ll restore your strength! Once you’ve had some, we might have a bit of smoked meat—” 
—left over, she was about to say as she rummaged through her bag, but then stopped. She looked around, then muttered, “…? If eckgrass is growing here—are we near Elkia?” 
Shiro pulled out the tablet with an unsteady hand and opened the Old Deus’s game board map—in other words, a reproduction of the land itself. 
“…Brother… In two spaces…there’s the edge…of Elroble…a city…!” 
Shiro’s eyes, in which faint hope had been restored, made Sora think. Elroble. Formerly of the Eastern Union, now of Elkia, a gateway for overland trade—a city of merchants. There they might… 
“…They might have a real carriage and some food there… But it’s twenty kilometers…” 
Sora and Shiro wrung out the last of their courage and stood up. Though they walked as unsteadily as newborn gazelles, nevertheless— 
“L-let’s think positive! It might be over in twenty kilometers…!” 
“…I hope…this’ll be, our last spurt…” 
As they rebuked their spirits that threatened to break at any moment—no, that had long since broken and were now a cobbled-together mess—Sora and Shiro managed to make at least a show of composure. 
“…Last? By the way, could I have a word with you?” 
Steph spoke so suspiciously, and suddenly, Sora’s eyes were agleam. As a flash of light raced through his already-graying brain cells, Sora cried out. 
That means—! 
“What?! You’ll take five of the dice and carry us on your back?!” 
So we won’t have to walk at all! 
“…A, goddess…! …She’s a…goddess…Brother!” 
“H-huh?! Even with five dice, I’ll still only be nine years— Hey, listen to me!” 
It might sound unreasonable to ask Steph, age 9, to carry two toddlers aged 1.8 and 1.1, but you never know until you try, now do you?! They threw their dice at her and clambered up her back, but she shook them off and shouted, “Sh-Shiro! That ‘ritual’ of which you spoke… You did it, yes?!” 
The ritual of roll manipulation, the rigging of random numbers. On that sixth roll, Shiro had first rolled three dice of eleven, one at a time—to come up one, one, and one. Then she’d mumbled, “Random number analysis complete.” Then she’d rolled the rest to bring up her desired result: eleven. 
“Why would you roll eleven?” 
Why not roll sixty-six so they could go straight to the goal? Why eleven? Steph wondered, but Sora and Shiro…stared blankly. 
“…Huh? ’Cos, we can’t, do that…right…?” 
“Like… We hacked the numbers so we wouldn’t get there, y’know?” 
They answered as if stating the obvious, and now Steph was dazed. 
“Well, never mind that! Why don’t we play rock-paper-scissors?” 
Dismissing Steph’s discomfiture, Sora moved on—back to what was important: not wanting to walk. 
“The loser has to take five of the dice and walk to space 307 carrying the winners, without rest or sleep—so let’s do it! Ready, go! Aschente!” 
“…Agreeed… Aschente…” 
“Why, certainly! ? Aschen— Wait a minute! You’ll kill me!!” 
Space 307 was ten spaces, or one hundred kilometers, away. Without rest or sleep, that would kill even an unencumbered adult. 
“Besides, you’re assuming I shall carry you, aren’t you?! Why would I do such a thing?!” 
Let’s imagine this scene with sound effects; basically, Sora and Shiro’s grinning faces were filling the whole screen with their evil laughter, HEH-HEH-HEH. 
Their smiles made it so clear they were plotting something, Steph’s suspicion turned to conviction. She sighed, perhaps figuring they were teasing her. 
“Sigh… You’ve got the strength to make jokes, have you…? Then about that roll—” 
But. 
“Jokes? What’re you talking about?” 
Suddenly, Sora’s voice shed its clowning. The voice of the toddler seemed to look down on the nine-year-old Steph…but that voice, seemingly rumbling from the bowels of the earth, and those eyes—froze her. 
“We’re gonna lose this Old Deus game. Intentionally. Okay?” 
. 
“…We’re…what…?” 
“Best-case scenario: one person dies. Worst-case: everyone dies. If you don’t want that—I’ll say this just one more time.” 
Now Sora’s vibe—no, everything about him was different. As Steph stood stunned, he wrapped it up and cornered her. 
“—We’ll play rock-paper-scissors. Accept it. If you don’t, someone will die.” 
His words were imperative. He conveyed this without giving Steph time or space to think. Whatever they were plotting, they wouldn’t give her the opportunity to devise countermeasures, the right to choose, the right to refuse—none of that. He added mockingly: 
“Don’t worry. If you somehow win—either Shiro or I will die. It’s only fair, right? ?” 
And then— 
“…” 
Sora went quiet and waited as Steph merely shook. 
“I don’t…understand… What’s the point of doing that?!” 
Steph’s outcry was quite natural. What purpose did this game serve? It was like Russian roulette with no prize. All that would come of it was someone’s death. If the only prize was survival, then you might as well not play in the first place. 
Therefore—clap. 
“Yeah! There is no point. So let’s not do that. ?” 
Sora dropped the vibe he’d been giving as if it had been fake all along—which it was. His expression changed from that of a devil to that of a smiling, carefree child. Scratch that— 
“……” 
—a damn brat you really wished you could punch. He continued as if trying to escape Steph’s stern glare and broke out in a cold sweat. 
“W-well! Still!! If I did actually do that, you wouldn’t be able to refuse… Right? 
“…Well, yes… I suppose… Siiiiigh…” 
Steph’s eyes narrowed even further, but she looked a bit relieved to learn it was a joke and sighed. 
Unfortunately…, Sora thought, and he went on to crush that sense of relief. 
“That’s what happened to the Old Deus. Let’s say it happened to the Shrine Maiden—what then?” 
Yes. That was the only way everything would make sense. In other words: 
“I tell you for a fact. The Old Deus is playing us under duress.” 
That alone would explain it. Nothing else. Why the game made it possible for the Old Deus to lose; why there were so many rules that served Sora and Shiro; why a god, of all beings, would stake everything against such lowly creatures. We’ll grant that all the participants—Sora and Shiro, Plum, Jibril, the Shrine Maiden, Ino, Izuna—had to stake what only they could, but even so. 
That explained it all. Except one thing. 
“Now, if you don’t wanna die or don’t want someone else to die, accept the game.” 
Let’s say the game began with a threat like this. Sora smirked. 
“If the one being threatened—that is, the Old Deus—were to lose… what would you normally expect to happen?” he asked, to which Steph didn’t reply, as it was unnecessary. Quite unnecessary. One would expect—the Old Deus would die. And that was the issue. To spell it out: 
“The issue is: Why are we playing a pointless game?” 
Why had the Old Deus been forced to play Russian roulette with no prize? Sora and Shiro, for their part, had no mind to sacrifice anyone—but. 
14: 
The Old Deus shall be bound to fulfill the demands of the VICTOR to the full extent of her authority and power. 

The “victor” could supposedly demand anything, but only to the extent of the Old Deus’s authority—and how far did that go? If someone had coerced the Old Deus to start this game, it was doubtful whether the Old Deus could even fulfill the demand Don’t die. Even if they did attain divine power, what were they supposed to do with it? If they sacrificed someone, they’d have lost anyway—and who wanted that kind of power in the first place? 
“Yeah. The real question isn’t why the Old Deus accepted this game.” 
Sora plopped onto the ground cross-legged. 
“—The question is what we demanded.” 
Since their memories had been collected before the start of the game, they had no evidence by which to determine that. Except…the memory of one of their number hadn’t been collected—the traitor’s. 
Even so… Sora and Shiro exchanged looks. 
“If we didn’t intend to sacrifice anyone, then what did we figure the correct move would be?” 
Even without their memories, it was easy to figure that out. They grinned. 
If they thought about it logically, they would die. So that just meant they had to not think logically. 
“—In other words, don’t win logically. No finish line for us. ?” 
Steph seemed miffed, presumably because she didn’t like how Sora was beating around the bush. 
“Anyway, just kidding about the ten spaces. Let’s play rock-paper-scissors for who’s gonna carry Shiro two spaces.” 
With that, Sora took one look at the utterly exhausted Shiro, raised his hand along with Steph, and the two shouted in tandem: 
Aschente. 
 
And thus, ah…how inevitable is fate. 
“Well, now you also see why it’s not a prisoner’s dilemma, right?” 
As humans breathe. As rivers flow, as the wind blows. Like providence, like nature itself, Steph had of course lost the bout, and now Shiro—though not just her— 
“Are you…?! Talking about…why you set me up?! I don’t see, why, why anything, really…!” 
Sora rode on Shiro’s back, and she on Steph’s. Per the Covenants, Steph walked the plain with both siblings in tow. 
…At least they hadn’t said she couldn’t rest. She should be fine. Let’s move on. 
“When we first suggested playing rock-paper-scissors, you figured we must be plotting something, right?” 
“I did, I did! And that was why I let my guard down the second time! Pant, pant…” 
“We were plotting something, both of us. And you saw through it and refused the game… Everyone’s got their own plan.” 
Yes—everyone had their own plans, their own intents, their own objectives. Naturally. 
“That means the Old Deus—is the detective, too… Right?” 
Sora thought back to the prisoner’s dilemma. 
A detective offers Prisoners A and B a plea bargain. 
I. If they both keep silent, both serve two years. 
II. If one confesses, he will go free while the other serves ten. 
III. However, if they both confess, both serve five. 
If the prisoners trust each other and keep silent, each achieves a better outcome: two years. But if they both pursue their own benefit, they will invariably serve five years. If one betrays the other, he goes free while the other serves ten. This means that the option to keep silent is effectively nonexistent. One must confess, betting on the possibility the other will keep silent. In doing so, one avoids the worst-case scenario of ten years, while allowing for the best-case scenario of freedom. 
So yeah. This was a pretty standard example of a prisoner’s dilemma… But there was one thing keeping this scenario from being an actual dilemma—the detective. 
If the detective had his own plan, then this wasn’t a dilemma. 
“It’s just a game where the prisoners and the detective are all players.” 
If we go by this example. Sora sneered: 
“You gotta ask, why did the detective bring this plea bargain to begin with?” 
The idea of the prisoner’s dilemma was that neither of the prisoners had any choice but to confess. So how was it that this unlikely result was presented with the bait of “freedom”? No—why, after all, was the detective so desperate to make them confess? If you could read the detective’s plan, you could see the hole in it. In this case— 
“The detective has no intention of letting you go free. The plan is to make you both confess and get to know each other better in the slammer.” 
If they could read into it, the prisoners had no need to defend each other. No need to arrange things, no need to remember arranging things. The detective’s desperation laid the scenario bare. Indeed, there was only one person in trouble here: the detective, who couldn’t get them to confess. They only had to seek their own benefit and betray each other—to work together toward victory. 
“You always see it in the TV shows in our old world, when they use the prisoner’s dilemma.” 
It was always when there was a huge new crime about to be committed. The detective wanted to extract confessions from the suspects in custody to prevent it. 
“The one who’s in a bind is the detective, and the ones with the upper hand are the prisoners.” 
Yes. In fact… 
The detective had no way to win unless the prisoners undid themselves. 
“The correct strategy to beat this game, this smart-ass spouting off about how it’s a prisoner’s dilemma, is to have unwavering faith—that everyone’s gonna stab each other in the back.” 
That’s right—we need you to betray us. Sora snickered. Especially Plum and Chlammy and their group, all of whom must be ready to blow a fuse by now. From his perch on Steph’s back, he concluded: 
“So basically, it’s a game where we can win if we trust each other. ? Wholesome as fuck, amirite?!” 
But his words stopped Steph in her tracks. 
“…E-excuse me, but I have some unpleasant news…” 
She turned her head with a creaking sound like a poorly oiled machine, shouting. 
“I—I haven’t prepared very much in the way of betrayal!! Sh-should I start betraying you now, or—? Wait, can you even ask someone if you should betray them?!” 
Sora and Shiro chuckled at Steph as she fretted that she might blow it for them. 
“It’s not like we had any faith in Steph from the beginning… She’s been a huge burden this entire game. ?” 
“…Steph would never, betray anyone… Which makes her…totally useless.” 
“…………Should I be happy about this? Or should I be depressed?” 
Sora and Shiro exchanged glances and smirked at Steph’s vivid distress. 
Steph wouldn’t betray them. She was someone whom, in the original sense, they could trust implicitly. And ironically, in this game, that was exactly the kind of person least worth trusting. 
“However, we do trust you.” 
The sudden, creepy pronouncement from her back made Steph turn—to find Sora and Shiro wearing plastered smiles. 
“We can’t trust that girl we ever called Steph—but.” 
“…We can trust…you… So…no problem…” 
There were three rules, which only the Old Deus could have made. Sora and Shiro thought of the third and leered. They looked at this girl—and assured her. 
“You’ll betray us. You’ll betray us for sure. That’s because the rules…anticipated as much! ?”