Take Up the Cross – Chapter 100: Strike for the Moon

The scummy-looking peddler shows that who earns the Pillar of Zenith’s ire is, surprisingly, not Adris, but instead the most mysterious member of the delving team he’s inculcated himself with.

(What did you do to him that brings a reckoning to you, Neesiette? No… “Two-and-Four”?)

A mutual detail that connects this Orloss to Falke Kestner are collars which the two proudly display, even if such throat bindings are normally worn by pets. Orloss’ own is made of wrapped purple lace connecting to a stamped-golden plate bearing “24” upon it. As if cognizant of the inspection, he rights it with a pull to assure the impression it gives, before gravity takes him from the edge of the craggy shoreline.

The man lands with a softened thud, his strapping bandoleer and numerous hooks for both obviously mystical and deceivingly mundane-appearing artifacts jangling noisily. The garden’s false soil leaves Adris’ legs stiff with the lack of support, but the man salvages himself with no discomfort registering from his eight-foot drop.

“Ahem…”

As if the situation dictates he recover some decorum, Orloss slicks back his greasy hair again before smiling pleasantly enough.

(A psychopath’s smile, if ever I’ve seen one.)

“Mere property has become an existential pursuit which has burnt a hole through my gut! To think, this child sat within its crystal display for nearly three centuries, naughtily biding its time while pretending to be little but a stifled automaton! One ruined by the passing of time, is what you convinced us of, do you recollect?”

Delicate hands reach to the man’s waist, his wild pull viciously unwrapping an eel-bodied, black-tar creature snuggling around him. A hissing sound answers in protestation as its body stiffens into a spiraling gentleman’s cane.

Tapping the ground with it while fuming, Orloss mutters under his breath.

“… Biding your time to bring devastation under my watch. To make it specifically my fault. Oooh, the losses, the indignities…”

(“Devastation”? What did you do to them!?)

A stone-bound tome still carried by the proclaimed mistress of a swirling, semi-solid villa is a haunting potential source of that word; but, had Neesiette unleashed its true power in the waking, natural world instead of a distant past warped by darkness, Adris ponders why there aren’t more physical and mental scars surviving as witnesses.

Memories connecting her openly to such ruination.

“Others earn one’s blame, with source of ineffective inspection rightly belonging with curators who routinely fail to discern the true natures of what be claimed in care by them.” Neesiette’s voice is emotionless, more so than usually, even as the tinkling quality conveys a veiled insult.

Clutching the tome before her, this verbal crystal knife is plunged deeper as the man’s smile droops.

“True value of all objects as liberated from captivity, be they not distinguished only by the sight and hands of a tool singularly capable of it? Of perceiving their hidden truths where pompous men ever failed, yet claim this to be insulting?”

“Does this bratty puppet claim supremacy over the one who polishes and shines it!? You take everything you can get your paws on after setting off a chain reaction of conflicting magical artifacts, and claim you care about them…!?

Come here and let me comb your hair, you Lunar pissant, so that my glorious self may demonstrate your true purpose!”

Drops of saliva roll down from the sides of the man’s mouth, an expressiveness coming to his ugly face that speaks of unruly desires when he whips a glowing crystal comb off a hook.

“After you’re inspected and tidied up, I’ll chain you back in your spot! Show me the tag, little ‘78’, you didn’t throw it away! YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO BE WHOLE AGAIN UNTIL THEY ALL KNOW OF YOUR NEWFOUND IMPORTANCE, WITH ME SMILING WHILE RESTING MY HAND UPON YOUR FAIR CROWN!”

Full into his raving once more, the man flicks his tongue out while gliding forward. Leaning into his predatory pursuit and disregarding all but the maiden locked into his horizontal, monstrous eyes of orange sclerae and black pupils, he screams with dark joy in his next thought.

“I’VE EVEN PREDICTED YOUR NEW NUMBER, ONCE MASTER-BROTHER LEARNS OF YOUR AWAKENING!”

Only the prize is what he cares about as he strangles his cane, with his body straining against the limitations forced distance imposes. Simply ripping Neesiette from her perch is what he no doubt envisions in his mind as he struggles to contain his anger.

“I WILL—!”

“Orloss.”

A stern voice rips the man from his momentum instead, causing him to stutter back the way he came.

“Ah, Falke!? Ohoho, it’s unseemly to yell like so, is it? Apologies, I’m just so excited that—!

Ho? What is this motley trash arrayed before me?”

Insanity melts in an instant, replaced by a congenial smile as the man hides the suddenly erotic implement behind his back. A comb becomes as disgusting as the man himself, leading to Orloss blinking in disbelief at the figures which step forward to cut him off from inflicting Neesiette with its touch show aggression.

Still aims double swords, her legs constantly tensing and untensing as she awaits a signal.

Kol and Ave join at Adris’ side, planted squarely in Orloss’ path as the boy formulates a plan.

(What plan!? Could we even take this one by ourselves?)

Though having no musculature of note and seeming as dangerous as a backstabbing kitten, the impromptu visitor also brokers no doubt about his own standing or right to be here.

That incensed bravado he demonstrates proves by itself that he’s a threat, for he considers himself worthy to address Kestner by given name and receives no punishment for his choice.

“Hmm? You had invaders, Falke?”

Offering a troubled smile, Orloss’ eyebrows furrow at the ragtag group.

“Once, that would be true, Orloss. Now, there are differences in the term to call them by.”

“So needlessly cryptic you are sometimes, you old bird keeper!” Though he halts his advance, this master of a traveling island reveals no fear, only consternation. “If you’re entertaining yourself with them, then I’ll be done with reclaiming this calamitous construct and be on my way. After all, I’m waiting for your reports to be sent in regards to Prospect Six-Four-Four so that I can proceed!”

“I do not keep birds… they gather themselves to me of their own meager wills, as I’ve well reminded you of before. In regards to that Prospect, Ruthard was dispatched to deliver the notes as well as the sample’s synthesis.

Ha…”

Rather than betray anger, the butler-like gray alchemy sage twirls his hand dispassionately, sighing toward the end of this unusual banter.

“However, words must be amended regarding one term of yours…”

Lifting his hand toward one of his fellow, now unsmiling servants, Kestner then crisply waves his hand at Neesiette, a frown appearing on his gentlemanly face.

“A doll is what is to the right. An automaton is what is to the left, an existence far exceeding—”

“‘L-u-n-a-m-a-t-o-n.’”

A strict voice interrupts the old man, painting on him a blank look before he resorts to coughing once, then continuing.

“A Lunamaton far exceeds the capabilities of a doll. Never forget accuracy in excellence, Orloss.”

“Heee? Is that what it calls itself? Very well, I’ll amend its file card. Rather than bicker about details, why don’t we just resolve the heart of the issue?”

“A fine idea. I will prepare my observations for the Mistress’ updated card, as well.”

Nodding agreeably, Orloss and Falke speak as familiarly as Adris has yet heard. Though neither will near the other, the wicked smiles they share between them lack a hint of falsity.

(They’re not enemies. They’re worse, they’re…!)

Adris and his group are stuck between co-workers, with only minor disagreements keeping them safe for the moment as this encounter plays out according to bizarre formalities. No hostility has been demonstrated between the two Pillars, only quibbling as they continue their private conversation.

(They intend to treat us as extras. If we’re going to survive this… then I have to understand the details that you’re glossing over! But my chest is crushed… my heart, like it’s ready to stop.)

Still is struck by the same intensity radiating from front and back.

Between partners, they share thoughts with imperceptible hand signals.

{The moment we act, they’ll crush us. This is “their world”.}

(“We will act, but only when we can win.” … How do I define winning? Survival is enough.)

“But, you said you were interested in Ave!”

Still unwilling to accept her betrayal, a pale elf blindly slithers out toward this threat.

(Give it up and get back! Shut up!)

“The things you asked of and told to me… were they all just ways to find and hurt Neesiette!?”

Adris can’t leap toward her to drag her back, leaving this Orloss grinning sheepishly as he rubs the back of his head at the indignant question.

“Dearest girl, you misunderstand noble intentions!” That fake sweetness comes back to his mealy tone as he invites her with his hand to come closer, like an old man who is hard of hearing. “Though it’s absolutely true that I sought information through surreptitious means, I could never pass on collecting you, too!”

“Huh!? ‘Collecting’!?”

Ave rears back at the term used, with how eager Orloss’ voice becomes as he entices her further.

“Yes! A priestess of [Daala], Empress of the Deep Earth, has never been seen above ground! Should I return with you through multiple claimings…” As he breathes heavily, Orloss picks over his frock coat, stopping on crystal icons hanging from it while tsking in dissatisfaction. “… Master-Brother Peak will overlook certain relics growing legs and wandering off after explosions! You’ll be the studded star of your own display, a veritable place of worship~!”

“… I don’t… Ave doesn’t want to be praised or worshiped…

Adris!”

She retreats from the squealing curator, leaving only Adris’ arms around her saving her from hyperventilating.

“Leave my own alone, raving madman.”

“Ohhh? Yours, is she? Yes… the boy she kept harping about!”

Exchanging colored lenses once more, the man’s mouth is hanging open as he roughly exhales like a hungry dog facing a feast.

“But I can’t, now! Not after meeting you four, too, even if I mistook you for trash before!

Undead avenging spirit, with pangs of hunger stretching to before the Third Age and coveted by ripe witchcraft? HOW WONDERFULLY DECADENT! A cursed albino kobold and an armor bound to such an unusual form, even bearing the hallmarks of masterful dwarven crafting? WHAT SECRETS DOES YOUR BODY KNOW!?”

Orloss keeps stamping the ground with his cane, hunching over while licking his lips and spilling spittle everywhere with his screaming.

“Blackness that steals sight of magical lens, too!? Held by a boy? One who bears with its pangs that I hear and seems as if he relishes in the foul magic woven upon him?

ARE YOU A NIGHTMARE CHILD, MIXED WITH OTHER FORMS? DON’T THINK ME IGNORANT OF SECRETS, FOR SHALL WE ADD FALSE LIFE SUCH AS YOU INTO THE POT, TOO!?

AHAHAHAHAHA!”

(He’s never letting us go.)

The man loses himself briefly in the uniqueness of what’s before him, cackling with deranged laughter. Though Adris isn’t sure how he intends to “claim them” given the rules of Zennia protecting against slavery, he knows a truth of this stark reality.

(If the other party is certain of their capability, then it is worth believing in it, too.)

A quick cough returns Orloss to sanity, saving Adris from succumbing further to the smell of a collapsing world that clings to this fiend.

“Ah, ah, sorry, Falke. I’ve lost myself too much…” Orloss wipes his sweating brow, before smiling inoffensively. “So that we can rustle this collection crashing agent of destruction without ruffling feathers, shall we make sure we understand what’s at stake and work from there, okay~?”

“Very well. Proceed first with your subordinates so that we may begin.”

“How frustrating that thought is, to call this thing…?”

A complicated expression shows, before Orloss reveals jagged teeth and yells.

“Inductee One-One-Two! Get your bloated, slothful carcass down here!”

“Ugh…!?”

The monstrous woman cries out, her shaking body acting for her at a spoken command.

The burgundy woman of over six-feet in height sits back on her haunches, before rocketing into the air with a snap. Across the garden she soars, her thick tail trailing like a great, falling fire arrow.

Shards of ground bounce away as she lands. She growls in pain, chomping her canine teeth toward Kol and Adris as the fury shines in her shaking red eyes.

“Stop ordering me, ass sniffer from the south!”

Rising above her caller, the fur of the demi-human wildling hackles as she begins to reek of burning blood. The iron binding her strains further as she pulls against it, metal cracking as its limits are tested.

“I already said it, didn’t I, Shifty Orloss!? Master of fancy, useless trinkets!?”

The enormous wolf within struggles to escape.

Her tanned skin stretches with her muscles bulging, almost like it will peel away if necessary to escape her bonds.

“[YLVA OF THE SEEDLESS WASTES] WILL WASTE YOURS ON THE GROUND THE NEXT TIME YOU PISS ON HER, BEFORE I ADD YOU TO MY BELLY DOWN MY—!”

Eel-like flesh, black as night, shrouds her view.

“MMMGHMMM!?

MGMGGH—KKKKK!?”

The howling woman arches her back as she rolls on the ground, struggling to breathe with her neck being crushed by multiple engorging tendrils. Two more slither down her forcibly opened mouth while she can only scream, until left gurgling remains as her sole protest.

“… Boss. Those, black squirmies, stronger than Kol.”

A soft whisper comes from his front-liner, before the bruiser begins checking her armor’s strapping.

(His aura tool alone is more potent than you are!?)

A cane’s evil length writhes, the seedy man holding it yawning into his other hand as the woman’s neck and clavicle pop with the pressure placed on them by stout grasps. Unable to use her arms or legs, the barbaric female thrashes wildly against her fate, before submitting by going completely still and laying on her back while shivering.

“Haaah… can you not understand simple hierarchal structures?” After he sighs, Orloss pulls back on the frustratingly cruel appendages, yanking them from her while she screams again. “This is why Beasts of Conquest should just be exterminated…”

“Uuuuh!? … Naah…” Mucous slides down her cheeks as she accepts fresh air into her lungs with their vacancy.

The retreating tendrils, like angry giant serpents lifted into the air, reduce in size to become a whole black cane once more. Their magical malice vanishes from the air.

“The next time, I scoop out the other holes. I promise you, they’ll render you unable to either procreate or shit ever again. If you understand, uncultured Prospect, bark twice now.”

“… Gahh…!? Ugh…”

The woman named Ylva, a beast in both spirit and origin, stares up with hateful eyes.

Until the tip of the cane is rammed into her cheek.

Looking away at the last moment and losing the contest, she pitifully obeys with sad noises.

“Woof… woof…”

“Excellent.”

Orloss sneers and withdraws his abusive poking.

“You possess enough wisdom to understand your physiology’s limitations, yes? Then, embrace those wild instincts, up until you fail to remember that captured wolves morph into dogs, and dogs obey.

A dog is what you are until you graduate to being people.”

(Brutal.)

A subordinate is reduced to a pile of seething rage, horribly degraded in front of enemies by the master that should count on her. Her tail curls as she shakes, growling despite her lesson.

As the men that slide down from the island and rush to her aid arrive, Orloss merely shows his back to them as they gather in a semi-circle. Refusing to advance, these addled men reveal glimmers of anger as they impotently brandish their weapons.

(These men are tainted…)

This close, their own details distort as much as contact with evil powers should dictate.

Some have unruly body hair that seems more like a wolf’s, poking out from their clothing. Others reveal wolf-like teeth as they growl with feral postures.

Still worse, one of the slayers has backwards hands. With palms facing outward, this detail marks him as unlike how Adris met him in the Call.

(Dolls?)

“Well, Falke, this ungainly bitch is called Ylva. Master-Brother Peak Zenith easily defeated her in the frozen wastelands at the foot of the [Yldmeidr], decided she had some worth, and thrust her into my shocked hands…”

“One would consider that a good fortune at any other time; but, these days, this surely indicates that he’s somewhat aware of your culpability…”

Kestner grins at the man’s discomfort, before turning suitably compassionate with his face.

“I know!? I’m with the [Arcanists], not the [Ravagers]!” Rubbing his head with bony knuckles, Orloss appears scared as he hunches over. “What lessons have I to impart to a meat-brained shewolf…!? Isn’t he just having a private jest about this affair before he lays me out with his glorious fist!?”

“Perhaps? We’ll likely never know until he caves in your skull.”

Orloss sighs deeply at that thought, before pursing his lips at the man who jokes at his expense.

“Will you nurse me back to health, Falke, like the good fellows we are!? We can show them! The least these useless [Numbers] can understand is that only thirty or below matters…?”

“Of course. If you desire, that lesson can be instructed to her…? But, there is one flaw in your arrival that earns my dissatisfaction, which would be your dereliction in recruiting from golden offal for your cause.”

At Kestner’s darkly insulting comment, a flashing cloud of green smoke erupts at Orloss’ back.

Out of it strides the unknown woman from the island’s edge, immediately leaning into a bow as she brings her tome before her.

The thick livery robe of yellow she wears continues to distract the eye, leaving Adris unable to place her.

(Perhaps the robe functions like the black cross’ ability to hide who I am?)

“Oh, brilliant and inspiring Falke Kestner, Purveyor of Truthful Falsity, numbering One and Nine in honored eyes.” A dreamy woman’s voice, light with its charm but also thick with its subservience, calls out to the master. “This servant of Golden Wisdom seeks audience, she does, she does! Grant, would you, permission—?”

“Leave off with such pointless pleasantries, sycophant.”

“… Hmmmph! ‘Sycophant’… is it…?”

She turns terse when Falke raises his chin, revealing naked contempt with his hideous smirk that is easily returned by her dismissive whip of her rod.

Though calm and measured with all others, the villa master openly chuckles at the mystic who is still suffused with whispering green mists.

“While the Alchemaster herself is a peerless being, surpassing even the dreams of Brother El-Eruhl (PINNACLE BEYOND THE MOUNTAIN TOP AND SKIES) with her insatiable greed as fuel, all the slaves of gold that lick upon her alchemical trail are beyond contempt.”

“… Is that… so…? How you feel, you feel, is it? Such refreshing honesty. I’ll recall these words for later, for I have a veeeeery long memory~!”

(Too honest! Aren’t you all supposed to be tacit allies!?)

The Wondrous Works deferred to the Alchemaster’s servants when appropriate within the Castillo. Even outside of it, Adris had expected some level of cooperation.

But, the Pillars of Zenith reveal a dislike or neglect for their purported status exceeding even the madmen of that blue abyss from the top of the Castillo.

“For you to beg aid of this turncoat from outside of our Numbers, a master of craft such as myself must wonder at your absence of familial piety…”

“Ahaha! I’d have to wonder the same thing, Falke, seeing as the escapee in the distance shines with the name of the thief that stole her to freedom…”

Both men tense, finally finished with pleasantries of their own.

Both Ylva and the unnamed mystic shy away from Orloss, for his body shines with an unknown liquid seeping from his pores that oppresses the eyes and skin of Adris’ body.

In turn, the servants gathered to Falke adopt hideous postures, leaning in without human presence or biological limitations to shield him with their bodies.

“To ask for help from Slaves of Greed is to sully the grandeur of the [Thirty], Orloss!”

“STEALING WHAT BELONGS TO THE COLLECTION IS AN ATTACK UPON THE VERY PERSONAGE OF OUR GODLIKE BROTHER, FALKE!”

At their screams, energy bursts from their bodies in waves of devouring fog.

Fog transforms at the perimeter into purple lightning, coursing through the air to strike the ground and arc into barred domes.

These domes that form over each Pillar meet, striking into the other as ideas and fears compete with radical forms realizing.

Adris’ cross rings at the contact between its obsidian and the glow of their own fields. He in turn feels his own ego being trodden upon, his head beginning to ache.

“GAH!? BOSS! THIS… THIS IS..!?”

“Adris! Why is everything getting squiggly…!?”

Both Kol and Ave clutch at their heads, wilting under a pressure they have likely never experienced before.

Only Still stays calm, just pushing back against the invisible tide with her supple body as the air distorts light and shadow.

(Manifestation of a territory!? An aura technique to change the world—!)

““‘What is truth within, shall become the same without! As the boundless skies shall part to the ascendant one, follow I shall in his wake!’

[Inversion of Me and My World]!””

Two men howl out their techniques, causing visible and unseen to invert momentarily.

With the deafening screeching of the environment, Adris is forced to shut out his hearing in order to remain conscious of the rampaging concepts beginning to be born in front of his eyes.

The island far ahead shudders at the call, as the distant yellow star that shines is devoured by an invisible monster.

Azure blue upon which it sits sparks and sprays, lifting up in bubbly pillars of water to float.

“Kra-Kra-[Kraken]…!?”

An elf screams out over the din, falling down as the earth shakes.

Rather than a sea, it’s a chaotic world that the island rests within by the time Orloss’ technique spreads. But, only for a moment, before the craggy mass large enough to hold a small forest atop it extends out.

Its body beneath the black crags is fluid like purple goo, though its innards bulge out methodically against their constraints. Appendages rising from the false depths are encrusted with what was once thought to be black shoreline. Jagged glass crags reveal instead as a pseudo-shell upon a great sea creature.

A resounding screech from its mass answers Orloss’ call.

Gigantic tendrils with irregularly sized suckers and gnawing mouths down their lengths stretch the belief of witnesses as they intrude in to join the garden party. Round and humped is the body they serve, covered in the green detritus of life as it shakes itself with unholy awakening.

While like an octopus, its head is instead bifurcated down the back. No eyes rest upon its upper body.

The monster far larger than the garden lunges for the shattered window between realities, slamming into the barrier and chomping as it tries to invade.

A four-beaked mouth, surrounded by innumerable orange eyes filled with shining horror, roars at the center of the flurry of tentacles. It laughs maniacally, matching the glee of the insane chap lifting his own arms into the air.

Currents of lightning arc between the tendrils, before summoner and summoned connect briefly with a flashing cataclysm of electrical mayhem that scatters the ever-falling orange leaves.

“UNLEASH THE KRAKEN! BAHAHAHAHA!”

Orloss howls out while surrounded by purple lightning and flings his arms forward with so much energy that he nearly tips over, hooting merrily as the Kraken’s unending barrage of sky-blocking tendrils shoot in from the cracked entry to Kestner’s world.

The villa’s walls soon melt under its touches, writhing with its existence instead of pure gray.

(DO SOMETHING!)

The black cross, ultimate weapon against impossible odds, remains silent as Adris swings it impotently at the rushing tide of flesh.

Shadows fall upon him as the dual moons above are obscured by the sparking mass. Only the wolfish bitch lounging on the ground and the robed woman, chuckling to herself as she drinks in their fear, seem at ease with the inevitable.

“BOSS! DO THE THING!”

Kol swings her poleaxe, priming it to call forth winds and start her hunt.

“… ‘Kraken are devourers of nations, wipers of coasts, eaters of fleets, lords of the seaaaaa…”

Ave stares with wides eyes, the monster alone reflecting in them as she murmurs. Desperate to survive the end with her mind intact, she just repeats facts with a dead voice.

Only Still seems to accept the limits of conceivable victory, as she drops her arms and just hangs loosely while “sighing”.

(I won’t…!)

“[SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!]”

Ichor coats the garden, spurting out from the alien flesh of the monstrous lord of unsailable seas.

Gray pillars sprout from its many lengths, crucifying it to the villa’s walls, leaving rays of orange light shining forth from the great garden guardian to sweep away the purple lightning threatening to spill out.

Some pillars pierce through the air like soaring trees, while others impale at the behest of extending branches, for the sky-spanning, orange great wood behind Adris moves with the vigor of a hardened warrior.

Orange assaults black and purple, the garden’s beauty shattering with the violence of the contest ongoing at its peripheries. Behemothian tendrils that could toss merchant ships wrestle with translucent limbs, continuing to shake the world as cracks spread through the gardens.

“RUN, ADRIS!”

Ave grabs Adris, dragging the silent boy away from snapping chunks of false timber and smoking globs of ichor that pepper the area.

With nowhere safe, they retreat to the direction of a man whose sharp focus and arm movements match the weaving branches above in intent.

“Be safe, honored guests, but recall that your time for presentation has yet to arrive…”

Kestner’s confident voice belies the single drop of sweat sliding down his face, leaving Adris unsure of the scale of power difference between the two co-workers.

(Surely he has more than just a tree…?)

“GAH! Always with the little scamps! Ohohoho!”

The man’s giddy laughter blows Adris’ thoughts away, doubts departing in a moment. Despite the equal contest, when the tree’s partially-mechanized limbs open all over and begin spilling forth hordes of figures, Adris understands who is favored.

(What is a beast in comparison to the swarms of ants!?)

Legions of human-looking, unliving servants risk their very integrity as they sally forth from within the opening limbs. They swing giant blades of unnatural keen, hacking through without grace at the blubber-like flesh beneath the rough stone, so that their fellows hefting spears can impale to the core.

Toward these energetic fighters the horrific mouths attached to the tendrils surge, with flesh shattering from the immense pressure of nightmarish jaws. Willingly, some doll servants jump to their doom, offering their long blades to the soft insides even if it means being reduced to gray scraps.

(Incredible…)

A fight like one seen in a previous life, a battle between transcendent warriors that summoned forth the very forces of nature themselves to war upon each other and also pitiful, screaming armies of doomed men, earns a competitor for Adris’ idea of apocalyptic carnage. Like that fight at the pass between two floating islands, the Pillars named Kestner and Orloss give seemingly everything to their struggle.

Though dolls stand beside the sweating, immaculately groomed old man, Kestner’s true capability flowing from his churning gauntlet empowers the swelling orange tree that is his crest.

Its mechanisms fire, delivering destruction that meets the Kraken’s.

(He’s fighting… but, like those two, it’s…)

With the struggle ending as suddenly as it began, doll servants stop in mid swing.

The mouths that hunted them lazily withdraw, going flush with the tendrils that remain affixed to the walls.

A battle to the death ends with the servants remaining atop the enemy, turning their eyes to gaze upon Falke.

“… She blackmailed me, you know.”

“Bahahahaha! Got you too, did she!?”

The men finally exchange words with the shaking concluding, the silence after serving to punctuate how bizarre their relationship is.

Both of their respective techniques subside, leaving the Kraken and tree entwined, creating a new stage for which Adris feels frightened of its implications.

(Never their true power. This is a setup. A calculated play…)

“It was foolish to touch her, but I can only blame my affection for perfectly made contrivances. Once I laid a hand upon her in the halls, with her wearing a cloak and concealing her true nature, I was complicit until the conclusion of our strange meeting.”

“Ah, yeah. That makes sense.” Orloss nods his head with a very understanding scrunch of his face. “But keep in mind this, on the other hand: this beastfolk magistress begged me to come along, with tears in her eyes, Falke!”

“Oh? Making use of her, instead? That’s agreeable, if not pathetic on her part.”

Both Kraken and tree relax, with the two worlds influenced by their mutual angers becoming a place where others can breathe once more.

With those breaths allowed…

“Stupid fool, you are! ‘Begged’, is it, but who begged who!?” Stamping her foot at a rapid pace, the robed mystic screeches at Orloss while pointing her rod aggressively. “If I say that I’m hunting a scurrilous Granescian stooge and know with whom he associates, how, oh how, does me offering that information for play beggar me!?”

(Granescian…?)

Wiping his face to remove sweat brought on by terror, Adris stumbles forward to get a read on the changing dynamic. At some point, he must join into this mad game played between titanic factions.

“Hmm? I don’t care about Granescians, silly worshippers of false deities! Only you slime-sucking scum do! The moment it wasn’t my focus, it’s your loss, golden bitch!” Orloss sticks out his tongue like a kid, spurting out spittle as he insults her. “You got played! Like I care! Bahahaha!”

“HUH!? Lies, slander, and consternation! ‘If he’s sucking up to Falke, then let’s clip the religious dog before he can fool that dear old bird’! Horribly pressed for time you were, after hearing—!”

“SILENCE, YOU DAMNABLE WITCH! Those are… separate thoughts!”

Tendrils shoot out at the robed woman, only for a swirling rod to launch eldritch bolts of crackling green energies into each launched appendage.

With the tool writhing in pain and Orloss indisposed with trying to calm it, the woman chuckles before turning toward Adris.

“Evil boy, sent by foreign powers to wage war eternal upon us! Dare, oh DARE DO YOU DID, to intrude on my mission!”

“Who intrudes on who, Castillo fool?”

Adris scoffs at her, but anger carries through with her shaking body hopping.

“A fitful execution is what you intruded on!”

“Of whom? Are you implying I’m in league with—?”

(Who the fuck are you…? No! Wait!)

Similarly colored energies sparkled many nights ago.

During a date with a recently deflowered elven beauty, it had almost gone terribly wrong under the same red moon oppressing them tonight.

A building had been twisted to collapse, with the assailant escaping moments beforehand.

“Wait… you’re that one that tried to obliterate Cuinn.”

“KNOW HIM BY NAME YOU DO, AHA!?”

Flicking her rod toward Kestner, the assassin from the rooftop speaks more gingerly after, full of sweetness in her voice.

“Noble Kestner… a fell creature this false boy serves! Believe not in my sincerity elsewise, but, oh, BUT KNOW THIS, for sure!”

“Hmmm?”

At the musing voice of the villa’s head butler, the woman grows more energetic, sensing a possible victory.

“All manner of monsters and denizens of the world beyond human society fear this one, brings as he does horrible outcomes! Suffer, suffering, sufferest the greatest misfortunes our Castillo has, under shining black!

Only his smell of dark matches what we experienced!”

(Where did you discover that!? Who talked!?)

“… That’s not untrue.”

Needing to reframe the discussion going against him, Adris admits to an easy truth.

“You’re the pest, piddling pest, that started that day going wrong, riiiight!? The day the Castillo’s Gate Guardian went crazy, when the halls shook with the flow of blackest night!”

“I, and no other, am responsible. Be certain of that.”

Rather than seem scared of the truth coming forth, Adris readily accepts it, earning a smirk from an otherwise disinterested man.

“ADMIT IT, DO YOU, SERVANT OF THE RUINOUS CHURCH!?”

(You’re only digging your own grave, woman. This Kestner is no servant of gold. And he lives outside of the Castillo, which… probably means…)

“A Granescian, come to ply you with falsities, be he! Noble Kestner, permit, please permit, this lady to punish—!”

“Of what importance has any of this information? ‘None’, should be said, ‘right’?”

“—ment of… aahh?”

Choking on her bragging suggestion, the woman droops visibly as Kestner sighs and rejoins Neesiette at the table.

“… The matter be settled then, for the one chosen to be consorted with my Mistress is indisputably something for—”

A tome slams on the table, startling the old man into opening his eyes.

“Explain definition of term as utilized, ‘consorted’. With haste, Falke.”

Neesiette’s voice and tight face send Kestner looking askance.

“Did this humble servant misunderstand…?

Then, let’s pierce the heart of the matter.”

With that said, Kestner winks a tired eye at Adris.

(What are you going to do?)

Clapping his hands, Kestner gains Orloss’ attention. Still stuck soothing the offended tentacles, the shady curator perks up at the call.

“Orloss, I count it as supreme duty, no matter what one witnesses or discovers of my affections demonstrated toward the object in question, to return to Brother El-Eruhl what belongs to him if it be in my possession.”

“Of course, of course.” As if it is just at trifling matter, Orloss sighs and paces slowly toward Neesiette. “Let’s just say you were going to return it eventually and were having a prank at my expense? He’ll probably have a deep, hearty laugh about it…!

Oh?”

Orloss stops, staring at the glinting cross pointing at his face.

(This is where we step in, isn’t it, you manipulating old bastard?)

Whatever the plan developed by the master of the villa, Adris intuits that it is about to begin in earnest.

Still shuffles next to him, her fingers dancing as she shares her own revelation.

{We’ve been… screwed with the entire night, ever since we stepped through the doors! If he’s been watching us, then he intends to use that information.}

(“We’ve been tested since we stepped through the doors, and now is the practical demonstration of what we’ve experienced.” This old man has no intention of letting Neesiette go if he doesn’t have to, but he’s chosen the most roundabout way of trying to stop it without betraying his own oaths!)

“What’s going on, Falke? You want me to clear out this ruckus while I’m here? Hmmm… hmmmm, sounds fun~!”

“While I would be pleased to accept your offer and return El-Eruhl’s possession, I find myself not to be in possession of it.”

“Let’s start with the kobold, she’s pretty—!

HUH?”

The ground fractures with the impact of black tentacles, even if Orloss smiles congenially.

“… Dearest Falke, it’s sitting right there.”

“Of course, your eyes do not deceive you. But, ownership, where lies this nebulous thing…?”

All of the servants, the green multitudes of hundreds that perch haphazardly on Kraken tendrils or stand upon the broken garden floor, lift an arm to point casually toward Adris, Ave, Still, and Kol.

As the leaves resume falling.

“The owner of ‘Seven-Eight’ was identified to this humble one as ‘Adris fehl Dain’, ‘Still’, ‘Kol’, and ‘Newt’, in this exact order of seniority. As such, discussion of ownership lies with this servant’s guests.”

“…

…

Hmm. I see. That complicates, while also simplifying.”

(I’ll break your goddamn face, Kestner.)

Kol’s poleaxe is leveled forward, ready to intercept the charge of the she-wolf named Ylva.

Giant seeks to meet midget, with the enormous woman with rippling muscles heaving with delight.

“… AHHH. Let me at them, Orloss… HNNGH ❤️!”

Her eyes roll back into her head for a moment as she pants, twitching in some sort of pleasure as she struggles to keep standing.

“The kid smells… breedable…!”

The horde of men behind her advance, opening their mouths to breathe out clouds of fetid air. Feral fury nearly overcomes them as the she-bitch growls to force them back, leaving them hunched and shivering at unseen restraints.

(Are you orgasming from just looking at me!? What is wrong with this thing? Wake up, all of you!)

“Shut up, Ylva! Something is amiss…”

Orloss smiles brightly as he approaches, but is interrupted once more from the side.

“Without delay, we can be done with them all, right, best partner?”

The unnamed sycophant far away whispers into his ear with a soothing tone, before hissing.

“Why not five-for-one, when one-for-none is so impossible…!?”

“BE QUIET, YOU CROOK-EARED WHORE!”

A swinging hand that strikes only air, also clocks the distant mystic upside the head.

Startled, the woman remains dutifully silent after as Orloss wrings his hands toward Adris.

“… Little friend, through no fault of your own, you’ve come upon a very dreadful, accursed possession.”

(You have no idea.)

Only a foot taller than Adris, this peevish collector reduces himself to resembling an older uncle as he begins his conversation with the boy announced as owning Neesiette.

Still’s curved sword points out, while her other arm is around Adris’ waist to yank him from danger.

(A useless gesture, but thanks.)

“She is not simply a possession to us.”

“… Adris, be not a fool.”

Though he snaps this at Orloss, Neesiette calls down in soft reproach.

“Understandable! However, the one who claims true ownership of her is called as he is for a reason.” Orloss sighs, leaning in with a grim look upon him. “Master-Brother Peak Zenith rivals the Alchemaster herself, in both authority and prowess. Though following a different path, alchemy pales in comparison to—”

(Aura. You both used an aura technique, though altered to use a different form of energy.)

The moment they expanded their internal worlds, Adris’ own Inner Expanse quaked with the change.

Though deprived of the energy to transform within it, the many-year veteran aura warrior can never forget its use.

(Peak Zenith is originally from Xin?)

“—you must also understand that what he claims, no other man may touch.”

Nodding approvingly, Orloss reaches to pat Adris’ shoulder.

“Your taste is understandable, commendable, even! But, child, now is when you behave as an adult. Part now with this Lunamaton, and nothing will be said of touches made by you or others. Even if it means losing this… wonderful, precious, easily claimed…!”

“HIIEE!”

The madman drools a bit while staring at Ave, sending the girl into apoplectic shivers as she cracks her whip at nothing in particular.

“Ahem… I’ll never bother you four again, nor will any other from the Pillars, except for maybe Kestner?”

Done with smiles, Orloss’ demonic eyes open, the black, square voids of his pupils stretching.

“Ride against me on this, brat, and it doesn’t matter how many times it takes to exterminate your Devotion and slap the chains on… I’ll make sure our Eldest Brother owns every last one of you~!”

(You can try, you freak.)

Adris’ shoulder creaks with the pressure placed on it by the man’s deceptively thin hand.

A darkened blade edges toward his neck, ignored as the man continues to groan out his warning.

“Every last one of you will be an exhibit. You’ll be loaned out as needed, for whatever purpose, but you will be owned. And should you somehow thwart me this time, despite all good sense and knowledge of Zennia declaring it impossible, I shall have your very body magically illusioned everywhere in the [Grand Collection] for all the Pillars to see.

Even the pathetic Numbers will be after you, unrestrained and oh, so eager, to inflict their impotent rage upon a rich foe.”

Jagged teeth reveal as the man’s haunting voice, just as sharp in Adris’ mind as the Kraken’s scream, works to warp his conviction.

“I’LL EAT THE LOSS OF ESTEEM, SUCKLE ON HUMILIATION IF NECESSARY, SO LONG AS A WORM LIKE YOU SUFFERS MORE…”

Reaching to his side, Orloss withdraws a clinking leather bag, weighing it with his hand before nodding.

“… So, if you kind-ly~!”

The snide curator is bright once more when he thrusts it into Adris’ chest.

“Accept the finder’s fee and let’s agree to never meet again, eh, chum?”

(I’LL AGREE TO RAPE YOU UP THE—)

“Agreed. This tool shall depart immediately, along with all valuables taken.”

“NEEISETTE!”

Adris screams the name of the dispassionate girl who immediately surrenders, but is unable to take his eyes off the monster before him.

That monster smiles like a weasel, leaving the bag in Adris’ hand as he backs away while curling a finger to invite another to follow.

“Wonderful choice, Lunamaton! Come, I think you’ll like your new spot!”

Still squirms as Adris grips her, forcing her to remain stationary.

Not even words are found from her movements, as focused as she is on stabbing Orloss through the heart.

(… I want to confirm it…)

“Moon…”

“Be good and truthful to a knight’s oath, Kol. And, be well.”

Kol quietly moans out her name as pattering feet pass by the kobold, but the warrior doesn’t intrude after Neesiette bids her goodbye.

“… You… I’m… Ave is… really…”

“Though fault be found, inevitability dictated the result. Discover yourself, Avenalliah.”

“… Hic…!”

When two teammates are summarily dismissed, Still collapses onto Adris.

She only hides both their heads under her hat, unwilling to witness the girl passing by her.

(It’s the “tactically correct” action to take. If we are to reclaim her later, we must escape now.)

“Fundamentally enjoyed and worthwhile, all shared with one as resolute as you. Most importantly, peace, but also happiness, please discover, no matter how many ages takes it.”

The mystic taps Still’s side lightly, before trudging onward.

A delicate ribbon bounces as she moves toward Orloss.

The man kneels while waiting to pick her up, a confident, winning smile set in now.

“Temporary, all things be. Transient.”

Just like always, one of her introspective instructionals begins, taunting Adris as she prepares to make this the last one.

“Enjoy all things before they pass by, as proved by this.”

Neesiette turns and curtsies, dropping low into it with her usually perfect flourish, lifting her priceless dress of steel blue as she bows her head of unruly, amber curls.

“Uncertain as one may be at all times, though ever kind, perhaps along the way, one might discover—?

Aaah!

Ad-ADRIS!?”

A doll is lifted screaming into the air, flailing as her long dress attempts to fall down to reveal too much.

(If you don’t look like you want to leave, then I won’t let you!)

The boy who steals her away kicks off with the agility only rabbit boots can give, dodging sharp fingernails.

“FFFFFFFFFFFFF-UCKING BRAT!”

The supremely oily intruder on Adris’ night leaps back with his own inhuman agility when the black cross sails toward his face, finally deciding to slap it away with a squiggling black cane.

“SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“Not again!? CALM DOWN, YOU MENTALLY DEFICIENT CHILD!”

Forced to stroke the flailing tendrils after the cross’ impact of shattering glass and thunder drives it wild, Orloss waves toward his associates while taking in the sight of a boy struggling to contain a small doll.

“Release!

Desist!

Allow, to leave, this…!”

“Destroy them all. None of them leave here.

Kol, go wild.”

“… Adris…?”

Righting her once more, Adris lets Neesiette slip from his arms.

The moon fairy hits the floor, falling on her bottom as the boy coolly catches the returning cross slicing through the crisp air.

{I won’t even complain if you fuck those two into the ground, partner, so long as you don’t mind me opening his ass~.}

Still slides in front of Adris, spinning her blades with fast hands before gripping them to charge.

(Oh? The one time none of them interest me is when it’s okay? How kind you are.)

“… Finally. Kol, was tired of yammering.” The ground cracks with her swing, before the brave girl leaps forward to drag it with her. “Shitty Puddle, Kol is in front. Remember, Puddle’s place!”

{Yeah, you first, mutt.}

Somehow a waving blade translates into this insult to Adris, bringing a smile to him for a moment.

“Still, Kol, accept reason! One battle in place of hundreds to come…!”

A hurried girl calls from the ground, trying to interject.

“Listen to the Lunamaton, children!”

Orloss waves his hand, a look of woe upon him.

“None of you need to suffer! Just let me reclaim what’s owned, and we—

OWOWOWOW!?”

The man leaps back, drawing with him maddening whispers from the air all around.

A screaming chorus of voices hunger for the action undertaken to spill forth into chaos.

They cry out in outrage and pleasure, for the first action to deliver harm is gifted to Orloss’ face.

Purple Vigor trails down his cheek as he rubs at it, leaving him horrified.

“A mithril… whip…?”

“… Leave…

… Leave…

… LEAVE MY RIVAL ALONEEEEEEE!”

Wild cracking fills the air, joining with the rushing shadows that swell up to stalk and surround the figures at the center of a garden.

A crying elf girl, unable to see as she keeps lashing out with her eyes closed, screams at the top of her lungs.

“NOBODY GETS TO BEAT UP NEESIETTE BUT MEEEE! SHAAAAA!!!”

“… Newt…?”

The cross begins to shake.

Its shining darkness nips upon the shadows coalescing all around them, biding its power to call forth a storm like never before.

“Insane. You’re all insane.”

A paradoxical statement issues forth from a madman’s lips, before Orloss begins to smile.

His true smile, absent any condescension or guile, is surprisingly good mannered.

“OH WELL! Guess I’ll just claim all of them, then, Falke!”

He lifts his cane, cackling as its length unwinds into screeching tentacles that menace them all.

“TO JOIN IN HER ESCAPE IS TO ACCEPT HER PUNISHMENT! I DON’T CARE WHAT THE SURPRISE IS NOW:

YOU’RE ALL GETTING TAKEN HOOOOOOOOOME!

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA-HAAAAAA!”

The true Orloss surges out, breaking the face of a calculating merchant.

His long tongue, tattooed with purple glyphs and six-feet long, dances in the air.

Beneath his equally long skirt,

Horrors stretch into the world, squirming over the gray stone as its corrodes.

(Oh merciful abyss of lizard demons, he’s a monster squid?)

“HIRED HELP, ASSSSSSSSSEMBLLLLLLLLE!

[UNBIND]!”

Iron chains pop off from a wolf woman’s limbs as Orloss rises into the air on octopus legs.

Hunched over and squatting wide, Ylva holds her belly as she seemingly suffers contractions.

“KAHAHAHAHA! FINALLY, I CAN LET GO! LET IT OUT!”

Blood drips down from her mouth, replacing saliva as she smiles.

The iron smell of blood exuding from her becomes instead a memory of a plains full of dead warriors, their lifeblood drenching the cracked, parched ground.

Her hairy pussy parts as her stomach pains her, leaving her howling in agony and ecstasy.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAH!

IT HURTS, CHILD!

It feels… SOOOO GOOD!”

(… I’m sure… it does…)

As the men without personas gather to her to murmur insane ramblings in unison, the first glob of her birth strikes the floor, sending those spectating stumbling back with primal revulsion.

“… AHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! … HOOOWL FOR ME, LITTLE GIRL! WITNESS A MOTHER’S JOY! KAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!

AAAAAHHHH!!!”

Ave’s manic screaming is a blessing of release Adris isn’t allowed to partake in, for he’s forced to watch quietly by requirement of his station’s dignity.

Wanting to stab his brain, Adris witnesses the nightmare of true, false life exploding out onto the ground.

Ylva the monster collapses next to her “child’s” birth scene, grinning motherly while soaked in sweat and the cruor from her efforts.

The tattoos upon her diminishing belly add another black diamond as the mass squirming on the ground seeks to enter into her arms. When it does, the ichor begins to take shape.

A tall man with a thin waist is what it becomes, as the muck sloughs away to reveal fair skin.

His blue hair is swiftly smothered by a turban cowl, while the rest of his lithe body grows a resplendent robe of many colors from the “blood” he’s smeared with.

From the afterbirth that slides out of the evil creature’s despoiled temple of fertility she shapes a wicked saber, which the new son she cradles takes up in her honor.

“Welcome to Hel, birdson~! Thanks for the gift, by the way, Kestner!

His proud seed was healthy…”

Mother and child stand strong when she recovers, with the tall wolf-woman happily hugging a perfectly formed doppelganger of Kaskin.

There’s no light in the master swordsman’s eyes as he takes in his enemies, but his sharp teeth welcome the potential challenge as he growls.

“Not right, Boss… that’s the bird, Kol fought.”

“I know, Kol. Trash it. It’s an abomination.”

“Of course. Kol, won’t let… that thing ‘dishonor’ fight.”

(Not dolls like Kestner… she’s given… birth to duplicates of her enemies.)

This sobering show of total depravity earns a new place in Adris’ heart for the fear of this woman’s interest.

As the woman turns her eyes toward him once more, Adris feels the giant wolf standing where she is.

“Don’t worry, child.”

A recent mother coos toward Adris, before rage begins to take her over when the whites of her eyes start to bleed.

“I have room for your seed, now.”

(… Nope. No, no, no, no…)

“Such theatrics these fools engage in. Ahhh, Miria, why, oh why, am I here…?”

The last lazily raises her rod, beginning to draw images into the air with hanging green smoke.

No real effort is given to her part in this mind-bending show, yet the whispers that surround her increase in volume and multitude.

They scratch at Adris’ mind, just like the Castillo’s hallways once did.

(We’re doomed, even if we stand with Neesiette… unless I “act according to the nature of guests”.)

The true trap is readied, leaving Adris only moments before his shaking cross explodes.

Time sufficient to phrase his next words carefully.

“Oh? Is something required of this humble one?”

Kestner remains motionless, nestled within his legion of doll servants who have weapons at the ready.

With a twinkle in his eye, the most prideful majordomo Adris has ever heard of, much less personally met, lifts the corner of his cheeks into a slight smile.

As if to add insult to his many injuries, he twirls the end of his mustache.

(“A guest must ask for help.”)

“How lacking such hospitality is to be found, that guests should be left to squabble in a household without intervention by the caretaker of it.”

Rather than beg or borrow, Adris sneers with condescension.

(A guest also earns aide by pointing out the inadequacies of the domicile’s servants! Help me, you shitty old man, or Neesiette is going to get stolen from us both!)

“Right, I can place the sort you are now. How degrading she too must find it…”

Kestner’s eyes narrow into a vile stare, as though he might change his mind at the last moment.

Were it only he and Adris, and nothing else at stake, the numerous dolls coiled around the protean master might dance out to behead an arrogant boy.

“… but it is a valid complaint. Within this [Unnatural Protean Manse], all ‘guests’ require ‘attendants’ to aid in sorting out disagreements.”

A chain of servants grab each other’s hands, forming a rushing dance as they fly toward the group with inhuman agility.

“Falke!?”

The star of the evening is stolen by the human hook, drawn back to be deposited into Falke’s waiting arms.

“Rest assured, Master Adris, thy possession be in excellent care.”

(You’re next, after this squid!)

Cackling meets this display of favoritism, though Orloss shows no hatred.

“DO IT, FALKE! SHOW ME WHAT YOU’VE GOT COOKED UP!”

“… Please enjoy it, Orloss. The scheme you will shortly meet shall be quite novel~!”

(Shitty old fox of a—

UH?)

Before the cross can pulse, Adris’ heart stops pumping.

Deep within the core of what he is, something wakes up.

“FIRE, YOU RETARDED, GOLD SHITNUGGET!”

A howling man ignores the unseen, pumping his arm and launching enormous tendrils at his foes.

“‘Unknowable, desperate escape from the furthest realms, be proved foolish and dragged back by your disgrace!’ [Starscape Void]!”

Scintillating streamers of energy burst out from the mystical woman’s writhing rod to consume Adris, too. They join into an orb of pulsing doom, the center clouding with deafening, choking mist that encloses on the group.

In slow motion, the world continues to move.

Though Adris is too struck by weakness to intervene, the tentacles flailing about are easier for him to follow.

In fact, the world focuses with crystal clarity.

Thoughts, concepts, ideas, secrets, and eternal truths begin to flush toward this warming core awakening inside of him.

A place locked away for over two weeks causes immense cramping when it fires back into full circulation.

Swaying like he’s drunk, Adris fights not to swoon completely.

Before him, Still does the same while collapsing to her knee, leaving the cage of death to evaporate her as it closes in.

Kol snaps her head back, thrusting her poleaxe at a hidden threat, while Ave does swoon with her eyes rolling up.

Succumbing to a mutual affliction, Adris recalls that they all drank of Kestner’s goblets.

(Ahh, you dirtbag. Stealing my ideas…? But why does it taste like…)

The circulating storm carving out his body merges at one spot.

(Au-ra…?)

It flicks at the hidden connection between him and his partner, Still, before,

Viciously stabbing it fourteen times in one breath, then severing it clean.

“GAH!?”

That loss dims his world of her own special senses, driving out the glowing sight about to kill him.

The viciousness of the wound sends his heart toward earlier days, when his back bled and then his guts left him.

(If it were her… this wouldn’t even be an impediment, would it? Was there ever a time at her side when I was truly afraid, like I constantly am these days…?)

An eclipsing revelation explodes from the cross with such power that it threatens to shatter.

The storm of raving, screaming whispers stops the moment; lashing out, carving at, and trying to escape.

Only to be drawn back to Adris and the girls.

Into them it dives.

And then vanishes, to be sucked away from even their bodies.

“NNNWHAT!? Wards that eat elder fire, my fire!?”

“No matter its form, malice is its origin, naive kitten.”

Crackling energies remove themselves from Adris’ view with a cold, calculating voice’s explanation, before a great peal of thunder wakes him up.

Glancing up, he witnesses the coruscating energies and mists being sucked into shining glass.

“GRAAAAH!? Gun!?”

“Not just any gun, crazed miss!”

A snap of metal follows a clunking of entry, followed by another crisp snap.

“The first shot was filled with amour! The second won’t be, if you mess with my little Pink.”

Adris manages to sit up, awestruck as purple gore spurts from a wolf woman’s leg. A man wearing a robe steps between the halted Ylva and the stunned Kol, looming larger than life and just like a folk…

“… Rooster!? Nah!? How!?”

“Evening, Pink.”

This man throws off his verdant green robe, before donning a bycock hat with a feather stuck into it.

Just so he can tip it.

“How do you ever survive without me?”

(… Castile…?)

As impossible as the intervention is, [Castile of the Ideal Love], top slayer of Slayer’s Call, holsters his gun before blowing a kiss at Ylva.

The act of the handsome, rugged man with ruddish hair sending his love causes the she-wolf to blink her eyes, looking away in confusion as she…

(How do you make that… slut blush…?)

To his right, another figure, a tall woman still wearing her own green robe, interposes before the kneeling Still. The new mystic pushes forward held by her scale-gauntleted hand a small, silvered mirror, one with an angry glyph engraved into its center.

A dreamy voice fills with contempt and outrage.

“Granny of Malice!? [Flagrant Castigator]!?”

“Quite the tongue for this one, apprentice. Observe as I curl it, and take notes of how.”

Still’s porcelain mask bears a neutral smile in response to the order; but, her body shakes violently as she reaches toward the woman’s back, only to pull away and nod her head obediently.

(What is… going on?)

“What idiocy is this!?”

“Blades of grass… may yet cut like shards of glass.”

A singsong comment follows the tornado of a swinging sword of invisible air, with the figure at its center turning into a dervish.

This devastating gale blows through Orloss’ tentacle assault, sending the black creature screeching in pain with each slice.

When the curator draws back on his slimy legs, the man who charged through his press points his “weapon” at Orloss’ face.

“… A fucking leaf?”

“With nature reaffirm, lest its wrath leave you to squirm.”

The slender man who steps back flies on a gust, hovering off the ground until he settles in front of a staring elf.

Allowing his hood to fall back, the man with long pointed ears and black hair turns to glance down at her.

“Ah? [Hero Rouvenor, Human-then-Fey]!? Owner of…!?”

A gentle hand reaches down toward the starstruck girl, causing Adris to drop his jaw when the man smiles.

“Toward a sterling beauty I find myself growing unusually loyal, even should the princess before me be an unapproachable royal.”

The hand brought to his lips is kissed lightly, stolen before Ave can refuse.

By a man with a handsome face.

“O-O-O-Owner of, of, of [Greenhate]…?”

Ave’s shrill screaming turns dreamy as she sighs, nearly swooning once more.

(… Why am I over there, kissing Ave’s hand?)

Though it’s handsome in a way his never was, the older man’s face is unmistakably identical. Seen in a reflecting pond many times, the winning smile plastered on it is also an invention of Adris’.

“… Can mythological ideals become real if chosen by the heart?”

(I don’t know… but is that what I sound like?)

When sing-songing, the man’s voice grates on Adris’ ears.

Usually, the words he speaks bring a feeling of satisfaction for others to share them.

Kestner’s shock matches Adris’ own, but the burning inside is what steals away his attention more than the strange people that leap to their rescue.

A light form lands directly beside Adris.

From its body movements, the boy gains impossible knowledge of intent, direction, avenue of attack, and desired goal of the unknown person.

Tapped in a moment, the left foot calls for him to stand beside her.

To take up a place absent for too long.

(… “Aggression/chaos”, “darting butterfly pattern”, “draw the shadows”…)

No thoughts enter his brain past these.

Names, faces, and histories clear out.

As his breathing starts to match hers, Adris brandishes his cross and adopts a posture of guarded advance.

Her curved sword flashes out, the robe that falls away allowing her shining black hair, long and mystically flowing, to play freely amidst the falling orange leaves.

Overhead, a terrible red eye stares down upon him.

Fascinated.

Only for a moment does Adris notice this foreigner, before he parses the last order.

(“Kill them all”.)

As Adris enters Clear Mind, achieving in absolute chaos a supreme feeling of belonging once again.

When his index finger twitches, she lunges forward without fear, for she has him at her back.

(Begin.)

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