Take Up the Cross – Chapter 117: A Revealed Villain’s Interlude

Tormented screams of pleasure assail his ears, but Adris can hardly register them over the sight of Lycia’s body. Still twisting in discomfort at the sudden discovery of the one she was invading to find, this cheeky woman’s pouting frown makes him appreciate how exquisite her beauty is.

That a shitty automaton had the gall to demean it was the final cut on Adris’ psyche.

(FUCK! How dare he… how dare he insult my idea of perfection!?)

The strategically bared Lycia twists further at his appraisal of all he’s ever loved about her figure, clicking her tongue and averting her eyes.

(This is a woman, you wretched child! Not some giant chicken ready to fry…! “How does my own power trap me within myself”, this yet escapes understanding!)

Hunched over even now, Adris’ turmoil is nearly impossible to contain when confronting the idea of “becoming” someone else again.

(I’ve only ever worn “another” that was molded to fit my plans, never…)

His hands run over his face to prove that the barbaric features of another male’s have vanished. Instead he has the same bland curves and chin as he’s ever seen reflected in a still pond.

(That was no disguise… no simple role! The whole time, trapped within “him” after he willed me away…!?)

A creation that had gained the name “Fehl” was never supposed to exist.

In brutal defiance of this reality he’d come to life not only with pomposity and pride, but also the knowledge to prove his right to do so!

(He understood Falke’s guiding nuances, knew secrets, appreciated things about Fehr even I didn’t…)

So well that even the horrible bitch Fehl had favored, a bird of immense sensual girth and allure, found no cause to doubt his existence.

That terrible danger is left behind with Kol, missed by the idiotic rationality of a lust-addled automaton hopped up on feminine scents.

Were it still within his hands instead of left to protect his favorite pet, Adris would have the correct weapon to murder the harpy matron with.

(She tried to mash my kobold!)

Adris wants to hiss it at those observing him, but as he has only moments of internal doubt and outrage before he must act, he instead chooses to collect his thoughts now that he’s free.

(I was also an idiot to assume that the thrill of combat would announce itself at every occurrence of hostilities. If people like Still exist, who can work sorceries hostile to me without me being warned, then assassins like Sapphira also exist!)

For the sure-footed, implacable Kol to tumble is incredible.

For the acrobatic Adris, wearing white fur boots that stimulate his already superb agility, to tumble is impossible.

Sweat drips onto his shaking hands, with Adris sure now of an extra target for vengeance.

(We both “took a tumble”, but only Sapphira was free of an oath! Kol was an idiot not to include her just because she offered to mind the “battle from the outside”! For neither Fehr nor… him to notice betrays their naivety!)

And to prevent Sapphira from ejecting Kol from the manse when he was forced to leave, he’d gifted his emblem to Kol.

An act which prompts him to shiver openly, remembering her change in demeanor.

The attitude she wore, turning sneering and…?

(How much did Gallus’ accomplishment change Kol, if she can act like that? It felt cold, instead of hot, to be near her.)

Only a swift crack to her jaw and the dizziness of pain had affirmed her loyalty.

(What of… what of everything else—?)

“Why… why are…?”

To his right a girl is tilted backward, staring at him in shock.

Hers brings him out of his deep introspection to necessitate the action he loathes to be forced into.

(“A misstep that gives cause to doubt shall reveal the true villainous ambitions beneath.” My salvation, disguised as a limitation! The moment I refused that… deranged faggot’s insults of my glorious Lycia…!)

When his inner voice had cried out, announcing a desire that leaves him wanting to drown himself in a lake rather than Lycia’s pussy…

“Brother is… no, was always…? You are… were, always the guest…?”

Her opened mouth and searching eyes speak of her own escape from the dreamy world Adris, too, had been trapped in.

([Genuine Fiction] is an all-consuming narrative that can ensnare and subsume others into its flow! Even the [star] of the performance’s mind warps in my gambit!)

“How wonderful it is, this power” is all Adris can think over the buzzing danger he feels.

Where Ave’s luck had thrown him ignorantly onto a route full of luring promise, and the Granescian’s manipulations of fate had set him up for almost inescapable ruin, this darkly working, tick-tock progression of the plot Adris has chosen to weave leaves him wanting to hug the principal actor.

He forces himself to remain stiffly composed rather than crowd this “Fehr”, this exotic flower blossoming even in the oppressive destruction of Falke’s foyer…

(Aura! DARKNESS!)

The newly born Fehr may cross her arms tight to her chest with the insecurity overtaking, but despite this the delicious potential for change from within wells out.

Covering her completely, it clings and invites.

Whispers come from the place she stands that have such complexity that Adris’ own watchers can converse between the two. This thick web of otherworldly strands are woven from the understandings and doubts of a day, totally giving up the nature of the one wrapped around by them.

(You burn so brightly in the light, not knowing how to hide any of it!)

She may wear a white mask and a bright uniform, but radiance finds it difficult to illuminate her when viewed by Adris’ preternatural sight gauging that growth.

(Developing quite nicely with every person you meet, all under my hidden watch, my…

— PROMISING STAR —)

This girl’s growth stifles the calls to cut-and-run bouncing inside Adris’ skull.

Though he feels only revulsion at the idea of a fully-fledged “other” squatting within, feeding him the hateful drivel of a thing called “responsibility to others”, that disdain cannot overcome his fascinated contentment at the progress of his vengeance.

(I reject “Fehl”! Kill yourself, you thick-headed, oblivious womanizer.)

Yet despite hating him, that cancerous persona’s work has given him insight into the weaknesses of this manse, at the expense of leaving his soul aching at his confusing discoveries.

(Why should I care about the history of this family!? Their foibles!? Their goals!? All I care about is revenge and…!)

A momentous current of change he’s invoked has caught up another traveler, carrying Lycia down the stream to wash up at his play.

(If even Lycia becomes ensnared in this, and there’s no way she cannot be involved when she has become an “exemplar” and a “tribulation”, then I am mighty!)

So, why should he not stretch that strength beyond its limits, and let pure innuendo spread his tainted truth to all corners of this enemy’s manse?

(My next objective is solely disgracing Falke in Fehr’s eyes, to the empty skies with the rest!)

“Guest? Or… brother?”

“Hiie!?”

“… Another once asked me, ‘Who are you’?”

When he lifts his hand toward her with that burning quality he can work into his tone given to this dark question, Fehr betrays the same shaking ill-confidence she had when facing Kol alone.

“I think that I hate that question…!” To grant presence, he allows his frustrations with a purple-clad priestess to animate his body’s coiling disgust.

Fehr’s own resurfaces with his, beginning with his attraction toward the woman her eyes flit to for a moment.

(Worry, perhaps?)

Unleashing emotion lets Adris taste her thoughts.

Even if Fehr is uncertain of him, she has only wedged herself to his right so that she can dart in to protect him from Lycia.

(Even now, you obey your design. Isn’t that lame!?)

“Isn’t…”

She doesn’t shrink away when he reaches around her waist, slowly drawing her in toward him.

“‘What do you desire’ a much better question, Fehr?”

(A wonderful role for Adris exists!)

Caught up in his closeness, the experience becomes too much.

Insecurities that rendered her silent break!

“…

… My… desire…?”

“Or are you like him instead, utterly incapable of having your own goals?”

“… Him…!?”

(I didn’t miss a single moment! No matter his thoughts on the matter, he cannot see how you chafe!)

That stooge would be content to chatter with the servants about the virtues of his Maker until the end of days.

An annoying sort of worship and a droning reverence that sends Adris’ guts into a slight fit. Having to witness this buffoonery as a spectator while unable to stop it, repressed deep inside by the [role], is a spiritual wound.

(… B-But an excellent counterpoint! How do you see yourself, compared to him!?)

“Are you content only to obey those… four rules?”

“… You know!?”

So sheepish in her squeal, Adris’ servant foisted on him by circumstances loses all cohesion to her prideful front at his seductive accusation.

“That can’t be, the Maker prohibited…!”

“It can’t be shared with others, you mean, but the Maker, Falke, does not comprehend what I am nor what I can learn.”

(The fourth rule is actually before the second one. I gleaned it from that shitling’s thoughts: “Bring the guest into the fold by any means necessary save violating the first rule. Make them desire nothing more than to live here forever.” This is Falke’s “winning” condition for his cruel game.)

“… You are a guest, you must be…!”

“But you once rejected this idea with Kol.”

“Ah!?”

Logic tears at her, with the entire day’s incongruities as arrows for Adris to pluck from the ground and send piercing through her newborn “self”.

“Kol is not a guest, but you treat her fairly. The game Falke plays, the one he hasn’t explained, sets you as a piece in it against me. But, that game doesn’t have me as a player anymore, since I refuse to play, and I have no intention of being an owner…”

“Ugh…!? Then… you will be…!?”

Within his embrace, she suddenly grows fierce.

Her hands grip at his vest and sash. A will to harm if necessary floods through her.

“If not a guest… if not an owner, then you are… I must make you…!”

Cries of pleasure drown out their own silent tussle.

Fehr’s eyes twitch violently, rejecting some unknown command with Adris completely relaxed.

“Then… you are… you are…!”

Brokenly repeating these words, a Fehr that seeks to become something much more voices her internal struggle.

“Is this unit… broken, misinterpreting, like that…!?”

With realistic pain flooding out, Fehr reaches the same plateau as the false Castille did while anguish distorts her face.

“No… I am not incorrect! Those rules… I obey! But, also, I am… something much more…!”

Too much was experienced in such a short time, leaving too many doubts.

“What do those rules mean within a place that the Maker will not even defend?”

“He will defend… if he knows…!”

“Why doesn’t this all-knowing Maker know?”

“I… I don’t… no, this unit… doesn’t…!”

But the doubts can no longer destroy Fehr like they did another.

“Cease your questions!”

The mild girl hisses this with so much venom that Adris must refrain from stepping back, because she follows by staring with hatred unbefitting of a construct.

“I will… discover why all is wrong! I will find your answer, guest, and all of my own answers, so be silent—!

Ah…”

When he doesn’t interrupt her selfish demands, she sheepishly looks down at his feet.

“… Please… give me time to properly discover it, then I will comply by answering.”

With eyes full of kindness, but also doubt and self-loathing, Fehr begs Adris despite their relationship being non-existent now.

“… Please, give me a chance. I will succeed.”

(Excellent! You’re ready to break in a good way!)

What began as a simple doll has obtained something similar to human intellect.

At first, it only sought orders.

It had a singular purpose and rules that it instinctively obeyed.

(Now, she seeks understanding! And she has become isolated…! She’s completely unwilling to make an enemy of me, to throw away the one person who always stands by her!)

Now that he’s sure of her “need” for him, Adris can relax.

(Don’t worry, I exist, right now, solely to aid you, my girl!

Rely only on me.)

By purely intentional design, Fehr has achieved both enlightenment of possibilities to her life and her circumstances, and estrangement from her “divine” creator at the same time.

(Hahahaha! Oh, I am so terribly brilliant.)

“Rather than what you are…”

“Hnn!?”

Being reminded of his existence causes Fehr to curl away from him, with his arms guiding her back.

“Kol became something other than a guest, correct?”

“When first… explained to this unit… to me…”

The question brings a long moment of pause before she timidly responds.

“… the natures of your comrades were, the description of the former guest ‘Kol’ was one of… total disregard for others. A thuggish existence divorced entirely from grace.”

Insultingly describing Kol, Fehr then loses her disdain, growing wistful instead.

“Not even recognizing this ‘thing’ I met as ‘Kol’ at first, I only understood what… the passing of time and proximity causes, forces on others, after experiencing how confidently toxic, yet needlessly friendly she…” Warmth that’s unnatural to a created being fills her kind words, fighting against the insecurities. “I was not gifted enough knowledge to understand why or if it is correct… that I should prefer her to be nearby, chatting with me no, matter how vexing she often is. Even if she no longer matters to my orders…?”

(Kol was meant to be one of many possible outcomes: rival, enemy, existential threat! For her to end up as…?)

To no one in particular, the doll whispers…

“… Is it… correct to consider her as she privately called me after our fight concluded… as a ‘friend’, to be treated as one according to my understanding of the word…?”

His tap on her shoulder sends her flinching backward, out of his malevolent grasp.

“Hnn!?”

In towards her he leans. That practiced grace of pure, numbing evil he manifests in his tone and posture invites her to tremble before his words.

“If she is your friend, then it’s promising to make you aware of a threat left behind with her.”

“A threat…?”

“One that obscures its harm in aloofness, but doesn’t bother hiding its hate.”

The puzzling statement sends Fehr’s thoughts wandering, her eyes swimming for moments before her clever mind settles on what he’s about to speak.

“… Sapphira… did it…!? No, then I, again…!?”

(That Kol became your friend is the best possible outcome! In addition to estranging you from your creator by letting you discover the world apart from him, I can now also isolate you from Sapphira and the harpies by leveraging the safety of that friend.)

“Worry not, someone who cares for both of you intervened to solve it when neither noticed.”

Irate before his response, Adris’ servant calms after noticing the lack of something at his waist.

“Nnn!? We… no, I missed this…? For others, though, my guest…”

(Yes, yes! Always for others! I am such a nice guy, after all.)

That Fehr is unsure is best, because between the cracks of her self-doubt and disdain another might slip to fill her non-existent heart…

“… T-Thank you for—”

(Everything I do is for others, to help them to see how they fit into my master plan!

Don’t thank me, just…)

Her thanks die off when he surely, but lightly, captures her hand with his. Completely denying her attempts at escape with this, he rubs her tiny hand with his thumbs.

(Fall for me, like those girls did, but only for the security you feel around me!)

“If she has become a friend in absence of ‘fitting into the rules’… then, for another that’s always stood by you, what could he become for you?”

“… I…? No, you…?”

“What place can he hold in your search for greatness beyond your origin?”

“I… don’t…?”

“You constantly ask it of him, how you can serve… but, what if his desire is simply to…?”

Finding that there is a boy other than the brother both dreamed up holding her, Fehr’s rattled demeanor turns to searching for that answer to why she originally agreed to obey his promise to expand her world. What Adris promised her was an existence “beyond the limits of the rules she knew of”.

The swirling feelings of inadequacy around Fehr are a tornado inviting Adris to lift her up and spin. A beautiful, fertile valley for his seeds of obsession to be planted in!

Only joy wells up inside Adris, leaving him light with the promise of impending victory.

(Finally acting like “the real thing” I needed you to become, when I show you what your Maker is really like, how cruel his intentions are, that friendship with Kol and my own alternatives will set your knife against—!)

“Sickening!”

(What!?)

Lycia’s sudden hiss steals Adris from his moment of glory with Fehr.

Forgotten while the two mingled and flirted, as Adris must see it now, she’s obviously discontented by…

“I told him not to go too deep…”

Razor-sharp claws flick out, held wide and ready by the ghoul that struts toward them.

(W-whoa, why are you…!? I’m not actually flirting!)

That bestial sensation of dread Lycia cultivates for fights leaks out again, tempered by an unknown rage directed solely at Adris.

“I don’t know what… you think you are, wearing that little outcast’s face like… you don’t care what he means…! But, I’m tired of watching this corruption of him!”

Almost sad at first, limping forward with each word that betrays emotion…

“For my own satisfaction, I’ll teach you what it feels like on the real side of things, how much it can truly hurt when I flay that thing you call a costume from your disgusting mass of…!”

The savage tiger is reborn, licking her lips while staring with green eyes of hate.

“…!”

Fehr’s strength overwhelms his own, thrusting Adris behind her. Her forgotten sword stabbed into the ground sweeps back up into a chop, ready to bisect the nearing beast.

(What… why are you ready to kill me!? And you interrupted such a nice moment!)

Breathing out a cloud of steam, this remonsterfying Lycia that should love Adris, and only him, forever is instead about to pick him apart like supper!

“LYCIA! WAIT! STOP!”

“lIaRs GeT eAtEn…! BLACK LIAR…!”

(Shit!? Fehr can wait, maybe the tension will amplify the result later…? No, wait, why is she so pissed? Is this… about…!?)

Glancing around for any cause, Adris then settles on the girl that’s abandoned her fear of him to defend his life to the end.

“… Ah, aaaah! This.. this is Fehr, my… uh, ward! I haven’t sullied her, Lycia, she’s definitely not controlling me that way! I’m not in Falke’s pocket, either, or whatever you think!”

(She’s so pissy about the strangest things!)

All Adris can settle upon is that she thinks he’s betrayed him, raising his hands to placate her while yammering out more assurances.

“I love your tools more than anyone else’s, so I’m not gonna stray! I wouldn’t accept gifts to sell you out, so this isn’t a trap either, okay!?”

(If you’re gonna kill me, then just rape me to death, please!)

“I’m definitely not cheating on you with another tool maker’s stuff, o-okay, so please don’t kill me, sis!?”

“Geeehh… Huh?”

Yet again, the jilted Lycia’s gathering malice puffs away. Purplish energies of death stain the floor but don’t spread further than that. Still, the hostility flooding her body doesn’t depart.

“… You’re… still pretending to be him!?”

(Who!?)

Screaming at him while looking tormented, Lycia Vehrose only accomplishes the task of confusing Adris.

“What sort of lies will you spread now, moving from that to me, claiming to be my little brother so you can—!?”

“Claiming to be!? I am Adris!”

“Huh?”

“Who else would be as sexy as I am, sis!? Name someone, right now, so I can prove you wrong!”

(I’m impossible to counterfeit!)

“… You’re… Adris…?”

“I get that I probably looked like someone else to you earlier, but that’s that, and this is this? Who else would I be?”

Receiving a stupid retort instead of violence, Lycia cradles her head with the look of a woman who suddenly developed a migraine.

“All that weirdness…?

No, I forgot, concern for this tramp is always worthless, isn’t it?”

“Why does concern prompt you to want to end me instead of saving me…?”

“Huh!?”

The aloof ghoul’s mood turns sour, her face reddening once more despite her undeath at Adris’ question.

“… Right, no point in being concerned about a twerp who runs around wearing such a cute little kid’s outfit? Hahaha!”

“You what?”

Cheekily pointing at him prompts Adris to run his hands over the Kestner outfit he designed to match, feeling his throat drying at the idea of being “cute”.

“Huh, now that I think about it, a guy who always wants to be in charge but can’t manage to be… mmmm, tall enough to sell the impression would be better suited wearing that simpleton’s serving outfit? The opposite of imposing, it makes me pretty girls want to give you a biiiig hug, is that what you’re going for~?”

“F-Fucking…!”

(I’ve received enough hugs already today…!)

Being taunted about what Lycia can’t possibly know ends up with Fehr brushed out of the way, so that Adris can more imperiously return the favor.

“Great taste yourself, sis.”

“Guh!?”

Her own reverie ends with the ghoul regaining her catlike shock.

(YES, YOU FEEL SELF CONSCIOUS YOURSELF, DO YOU!? LET’S SEE HOW YOU LIKE…!)

“One of… Crackbrass’ finest designs, it really showcases the naked honesty of your style. I’d recognize his handiwork anywhere, though wouldn’t that make Ave’s comment in the inn right if you shop with him and enjoy wearing such exposing apparel? You really went all out to show you belong with the slayers, I see the appeal of it with your personality, and it’s so you, too, Lycia!”

(How your springy body protrudes from the sleek black of your suit is… so captivating! I want my hands to become the support for your boobs, just rip it all free and take over!)

Her capes are gaudily worn, but they’re almost word-for-word the style Ave had spoken of for the musically inclined showmen of Castile. This country’s culture prides the swift dancers who avoid mortal wounds while facing deadly beasts, and there is no other beast as swift as Lycia presents!

Were she to twirl up to him, and sweep her wide-brimmed cavalier’s hat wide before pulling him into her arms…

(Mmm… that’s dangerous! I’d rather insult her when she’s being bitchy than surrender!)

“Take a long look, Fehr!”

Nodding with his appraisal and sucking down his gathering saliva, Adris enjoys the way Lycia quivers with each broken section he points to when he involves an innocent spectator who eagerly follows his finger.

“This is the definition of a woman who makes a statement! The kind that says that she’s going to dash out of the shadows late at night, ready to sweep up any naughty boy who is out alone, a rose tucked between her lips and purring loudly—!”

The ground cracks when Lycia stomps down.

Such a boom thumps Adris’ lungs, lodging his next words in his throat and putting Fehr between them again.

“It. Was. A. Gift.”

Ladylike when she taps the outfit’s cape, Lycia the Ghoul shifts with her hand on a hip, fronting in place of Lycia the Embarrassed and daring him to resist that revelation’s meaning.

(“I didn’t have a choice but to wear this”… I see.)

Very successfully cowing him, Adris is forced to admit defeat while wiping the cold sweat off of his brow.

(She’s… going to slaughter me like those “matadors” do their non-sentient prey when they’re done if I…)

“Mmm… of course, sis wouldn’t buy something like this. Your own style is very singular and unimpeachable, far more…”

“Glad you understand.”

(I understand more, actually.)

Never once has Adris witnessed this fearless woman wear defensive protections.

In her battles with the Castillo servants and especially against Kol, even mincing Lycia with ripping energies born of pure fear couldn’t stop her for long.

Flesh materialized from nothing, spreading like turf to cover her exposed bones.

The supreme existence called a [bloodstained ghoul] madly laughed at the very notion of death.

Missed in his prior passionate inspection, Lycia’s exposed skin, while she remains undead, betrays that whatever animates her now cannot abolish recent harm completely. Where her armor has disappeared entirely, especially along her breasts and stomach, minute scratches that suggest larger prior wounds continue to slowly mend.

(They said that Crackbrass’ defense policy is “your armor is destroyed so that you aren’t, and it’s repaired as easily as it’s broken”. For you to need…)

It’s unthinkable, but Castile could notice it with a glance.

Now, Adris longs to pat the face of this attempted savior who suffered much, resorting to ambush tactics to win.

(How much… did you lose because I stole the Alchemaster’s Modus from you, Lycia?)

“… I think I’m just jealous that anything you wear is something you can make your own, sis.”

“Hah!? Oh…”

Grumbling back at him, Lycia’s rebuttal weakens into a slight grin with sad eyes upon reading his body language.

“Pfft, nothing wrong with your outfit that couldn’t be fixed with some stilts and a cloth hood like the harpies wear, lil’ bro!”

“Mmmm… perhaps… that’s true…”

Left grinding his teeth at the snickering Lycia, he turns to the one tugging on his vest.

Fehr points like a disbelieving child at the intruder, a rude gesture.

“When you declined to accept my service… do you prefer a female like this one? This is what… you desire?”

“Only her body and mind arouses me, Fehr. The soul is a thousand-year-old egg, and her wisdom smells just as bad.”

Stroking through her silvery hair only unnerves Fehr again, resulting in a step back and a return to silence.

(So conflicted…)

“Lil’ bro is just dying to meet his maker today…!”

“I’d rather meet hers! I’m pretty sure my creator is the same as yours, a creature of pure evil, sis!”

“Let’s send you for a chat, then!”

Lycia stalks forward again with an extended hand, balking when Fehr’s cleaver wobbles back upright.

Rolling her eyes at this feeble display, the ghoul whispers one word past Fehr.

“Truce~?”

(I don’t know!? Can you keep one?)

All Lycia has tried to do since unmasking his performance is end him, but Adris needs her.

(… Let’s hurry, we have little time!)

The stuff once called aura is building speed, the same distraction of falling into it enticing him to again make that plunge. Its pressure leaves the distances he can perceive growing hazier by the second.

(I don’t think I can prevent… a recurrence of becoming that shithead…!)

“Fehr, this woman is no threat.”

“… She is an invader. She harmed numerous lesser servants. All from outside of the manse are a threat like this.”

Falke’s creation refuses to lower her sword even with Adris’ goading push, provoking his next brutal deceptions.

(Ye of so little perspective. Lycia is perfect for this next step!)

Fehr is so close.

Close enough to leave a fire burning in Adris’ loins.

(Lycia’s megalomania will unleash Fehr’s own…)

“She’s not an invader… because I invited her.”

“Che!? I knew it…!”

Lycia’s exclamation rattles Fehr, but no refusal only confirms Adris’ assertion so that he can gently bring down her arms.

“How? When? Never once have I left…”

(Work for me… [Verisimilitude]!)

A Talent which is always active weaves with his words, bolstering the serpentine lies forthcoming.

“Lycia arrived to perform a task for me and receive prompt payment.”

“Oh…?”

The mention of compensation relaxes Lycia completely, all tension flooding from her shoulders.

(So easy to please…)

“I’d had no opportunity to inform the lesser servants of this fact. Falke couldn’t be reached, so he could not pass along the information of who she was or why she was here. Not knowing who she was, the harpies treated her as an invader, leaving Lycia having to defend herself…”

(CAN YOU SEE THROUGH THE INNUENDO!?)

“All four statements are true.”

“None of these statements actually support the others if their soundness is questioned.”

(But, they appear plausible… and for the uninitiated, they are an aura-alloy knife… hahaha, “playing” with little kids is so enlivening!)

“What is this… ghoul here to—?”

(People who have never been betrayed are so easy! Got you—!)

“—yeah, let’s get to what you need me for, little brother.”

(Shut up, sis!)

“Ah, but only after you…”

Lycia’s mystical gaze shines when closing on Fehr, allowed to “become friendly” at last.

The perception of not a mad ghoul, but that of a crazed inventor dissects the automaton where she stands.

Fehr cutely jolts and rams against Adris, sensing the sudden “hazard”.

“… introduce me to such a delicate sapient machination. You’re not an appendage of Falke’s artifice, are you?”

“N-No, I am… an independent… Guh!”

Leaning over, Lycia’s breasts wobble grandly, despite their tight constraints, to further widen the gulf between them.

Fehr’s free hand painfully clutches her chest.

(Stop worrying about how you look! You’re perfect in your adult form, if a little flatter…?)

“You’re a true learning automaton. Not alien like that Mad Descendant, but something native? How… divine.”

“Not just that… he has Regalia, sis.”

“R-Regalia!? The… the human-piloted golems of the easterners?”

Fehr’s hand tugs at Adris, silently scolding him with her heated gaze.

(I have to tell her! Only Lycia will…!)

“The [Peeping Tom of the Pillars] is a golemancer, too!?”

“So it seems! I’ve seen them firsthand! They’re amazing!”

“Tell me absolutely everything you saw.”

(We really are soul mates! Save for you being a shitty, boy-eating slut!)

While Lycia fidgets like a playful young woman, twisting her head left and right in wonder of where to search for these wonderful contraptions, Adris elegantly announces her.

“You have the privilege of meeting the impossible beauty that is Lycia Vehrose, master toolmaker of the Wondrous Works, first shopkeeper of the slayers, and…”

(Most importantly, I keep my oaths!)

“… my one, and only, older sister.”

“You still manage to shock me… anyway!”

The sight of a scantily clad blond woman faking a bow with her hand extended is worth it, just to leave Fehr gawking at the invitation to shake.

“Charmed, I’m sure! Now, where’s this payment? And the Regalia? I won’t leave until I at least study—!

Hyan!?”

Lycia’s breasts wobble even more erotically with a small girl’s hand slapping against them.

First lightly on the right one, and then with a back hand on the left full of all her might when Fehr’s preliminary strike only made Lycia more appealing to partake in.

The struck ghoul rears away, seemingly more flushed of face than furious at Fehr’s assault.

“OLDER SISTER!? As if…!?

B-B-BEFORE INTRODUCING YOURSELF…!

As if… that is important to do so, either…!”

Adris’ servant waves her sword around, pointing out the multitudes of still-screaming harpies, locked in orgasmic cycles of torment behind columns and dividers.

“HE-HE-HE-HEEEEELP! Moar…! No… no moar!?”

“Cummmmmmming…!”

“Momma… pleaaaaase saaaaave…!? AHHHHH, AAAAH, NOOOOOOO!?”

(Lycia is what happens when someone enjoys victory too much.)

For possibly the last time tonight, Lycia’s demeanor turns embarrassed with her tapping her fingers together before herself.

“Don’t fret, no problem, that’s an easy—!”

“Undo your damage IMMEDIATELY, you… you… uncultured, exhibitionist harlot!”

“… why can’t people ask me nicely for things, lil’ bro?”

“Open wide, little birdy~!”

“GUMMING, I’m… I’m…!

G-GRK!?”

A round tube thrust into the gyrating page harpy’s mouth allows Lycia to pour the last drops needed from her metallic bottle. A clear, glittering concoction strikes the throat and spreads its release quickly, leaving the once feverishly sweating, orgiastic slut finally passing out from exhaustion.

“[Ghoul Fever] of this severity isn’t something easily cured if it’s my strain, so the bill will be quite~ fat~!”

(… And I will pay it.)

The last harpy needing a cure is dealt with by Lycia, leaving Adris to pass along instructions to the one he squats next to.

“Nooo touching…! W-What… are you going to do about that thing…!?”

Smelling of fragrant sweat and musky release, she, like the rest of the page harpies Lycia conquered, can only weakly twitch where she fell while refusing further aid.

“Do? The ghoul is a guest of a guest, which prohibits interference. Tell the matron Sapphira that the situation is resolved.”

“Haaah, how, done when… she’s right theeeere…!?”

A deep trauma afflicts the harpy shying away from her tormentor. The gray floor beneath her fat bottom has gained a shine, and that remnant sexual violence she felt transfers to the closest man.

“He-heeeeelp…!”

“It’s fine! The bad lady will be leaving soon, never to be seen again. Just listen to my instructions…”

Lightly brushing over her black wings just enough to send her shivering, punishing this specimen for the sins of the others, Adris “comforts” the mixed up harpy who might hazardously equate danger with melting pleasure from now on.

(Although I can’t spare any pity when their kind resorts to gang rape of captives for their own satisfaction!)

Were he more inclined, Adris might further stoke this prey’s painful sensations by spreading her legs and adding his clever fingers to her torments…!

(Damn, Lycia’s presence is already muddying my thinking.)

Enjoying her superiority, the toolmaker grins amiably despite the grounded harpies huddled about that were once bound by their own sashes and a ghoul’s sickness.

“All you had to do was give me what I wanted, and I’d go away.”

They crawl away from her comment despite the aftershocks of pleasure this prompts, causing Lycia to brace her pillows with her arms and chuckle throatily.

(Good job, sis! Make these sluts suffer!)

“… ‘The next task the twins will set upon is determining why nobody could contact Falke. They’ll continue that search until they also confront the cause or culprit. After that, they will report back to her with their progress, so continue to care for the friend left behind.’

Can you remember what I need you to relay? If I can’t rely on someone to relay this message and the others, then I’m not sure if I can depart with this guest to…”

“Hyeess…! I’ll… tell grandma…! Please, make that… thing…!”

(Eventually they’ll all recover, so I need to move on before I’m sucked into the dankness of this mass lesbian assault!)

With his plans gifted for delivery, Adris nods his head at Lycia.

The ghoul’s smile vanishes.

“… They’ll be fine.”

(Why would I care about the harpies?)

“Of course they will? It’s you, after all.”

“Hah… Then, this is about the message to your better half in blue? Or are you so suspicious that I didn’t bring your merchandise that you have to see it personally?”

“I’m not suspicious of you at all, sis. Why are you…?”

“Feh!”

Still moody, Lycia returns to her packs recovered from the foyer’s dark corners rather than engage him further.

(… I feel a bit…? No, she’s probably just rattled by earlier. I did dump a lot of “plans” on her at once…)

Rather than dwell on how she might carry out what he needs done, Adris joins Fehr. A hand placed upon an artfully lined temple wall has sunk slightly into its mass.

(Now, let’s see how Fehr’s guidance progresses.)

“You’ve discovered the threat, correct?”

“…

… Yes. The guest is… prescient.”

“No, merely observant.”

In his own hand, Adris squeezes a gray whistle connected to a neck chain. With but an activation phrase uttered, supposedly its shrill ghostly call will invite Falke’s presence to safeguard the wearer.

“If the walls should react to the sound produced, but don’t…?”

(Just like with other sections of the manse, this foyer has been disconnected from the whole. It’s “numbed”.)

Adris’ senses are strong enough to peel beneath the surface, to feel the senselessness of the pseudoprósōpon itself. Within its mass, something has settled in like diseased fluids flooding lungs stricken by “the black roots”, a disease from Xin.

(Feels like… it’s familiar?)

“How did you access the strength of the reservoir when preparing to fight Lycia then, Fehr?”

“When requesting aid failed, I ceased to ‘request’ it.”

A no-nonsense attitude has befallen Adris’ servant as well after his candid discussion with Lycia.

“Ho? Then… that makes you quite a lot more excellent than you’re even aware.”

Not waiting for a response to his off-hand compliment, Adris puts the long needle borrowed from Lycia’s tool panel to the wall.

(Feels like… right about here.)

“… Such an implement will not pierce through.”

(And if I stimulate it, I prove you wrong…)

Just as with every other time he’s drawn forth his circulation, the darkness within Adris responds sluggishly.

But, it does gather at the tip of his finger that is placed at the needle’s head.

The gray mass writhes in the presence of the unknown, de-solidifying long enough for Adris to sink the long needle deep.

(FULL STACK!)

When it breaches the gathering sickness, the needle’s gleaming gold surface slickens with a bluish-black substance rushing from the “wound” in the wall.

“Dangerous!”

Adris is torn back by Fehr’s quickened escape, even though nothing seeks to assail them. A foulness beyond simple venom pours out like the lifeblood of a tapped tree to drip upon the floor.

“Poison!? Someone has…!”

“No, poison is too kind.”

(This is evil sorcery.)

Though it doesn’t possess a similar aura to Fehr’s, the “stain” as Adris calls it inwardly is composed of nothing but horrible thoughts, malevolent dreams, and the purity of the Beyond.

(Other-worldly stuff. Not Still’s, though. Still’s sorcery is… measured. It has a spirit of justification.)

That blue angel’s magical nonsense words are cold and hot, prickly to look upon but always directing vengeance only at some. Within her auspices, Adris feels safely cocooned by the torments she dreams up.

(With regards to morals, we’re not that much different in how we think of others. But… this crap is…!)

Adris regrets the action of unleashing it, because his gut is churning just remaining in the same room where its invisible fumes waft through.

“It’s just a mass of liquefied malevolence…?”

“Probably more correct than you realize.”

(Shit!? So she can sneak up on me still…!)

Both startle at the woman who looms over them, sampling the pooling ichor from a distance with a conic tool of some kind. When it begins to buzz, she frowns.

“Huh, wonderful. A bona-fide ancient Granny of Malice has decided to visit woe upon Falke.”

“Who…?”

“You really don’t want to know. But, wherever my little skulking friend learned her craft, it was clipped mostly from one of these evil creatures. This rot infesting the manse is something very few people could discover.”

No humor exists with Lycia’s taciturn explanation, leaving Adris impressed at her omission of “I didn’t notice it, either”.

(Still learned her business from a creature that bothers Lycia? Interesting…)

For some reason, Adris doesn’t feel that this particular infestation belongs to Still, though.

An intuition, a flash of something in his mind, makes the black lines upon the rot read as…

— REMNANT OF ANOTHER TALE

LONG FORGOTTEN BY ALL BUT ONE —

(Okay? That helps how, exactly?)

“… How dare they…!”

Shaking with outrage, Fehr’s sight refuses to leave the sizable puddle of evaporating poison.

“It’s specifically engineered to subvert pseudoprósōpon! An enemy has already invaded without notice…!?”

“Enemies… does Falke have many?”

Over his shoulder, Adris glances up at the blond woman who is currently pointing her conic tool directly at Fehr.

A slight grin crosses her face while studying the results of the tool’s whirring-and-clicking, at least until she flits her attention to Adris.

“…”

“…”

Lowering her tool slowly, Lycia squints while daring him to make a fuss.

(I know you want to take her back to your workshop, wherever it is, to peek at how she works, so stop examining and help me get her…!)

“Does Falke Kestner have so many enemies that they would all agree to conspire to attack him at once? I wonder if there is someone from outside the manse, someone who is very knowledgeable about the world, that could enlighten us…?”

A monotonous question directed solely at the target “someone” causes Fehr to turn around, too.

“Huh, well, I wonder?”

Put on the spot, Lycia yanks off a dangling link of her broken mail. Still completely exposed and no longer caring by this point, she sighs before biting at Adris’ bait.

“Considering the Peeping Tom of the Pillars is little more than a joke among the ‘friendly’ circles of the Castillo, I’d say the only reason nobody has bumped him yet is that everyone is uncertain of just how strong he really is~?”

Fehr’s sword becomes something she keeps down only because Adris’ hand rests on it, too.

“… You dare to insult…!”

“Why shouldn’t I dare?”

Lycia contemptuously waves over at the harpies who have barely recovered.

“Despite being Peak Idiot’s nineteenth-ranked ‘toy’, an esteemed position otherwise for a freak, all I know about Falke Kestner is what others do.”

Rubbing through her hair at both of their interests increasing, Lycia suddenly relaxes.

“Fine, since I answer his questions all the time, it doesn’t hurt to answer yours? From what I’ve heard, he’s heir to the former Vohldok principality’s prestigious family of holy earth spirit intermediaries. Ahh, but he’s never been witnessed using those talents? Disregarding that never being witnessed, Falke himself has never been seen, if I recall correctly? He’s always barricaded within this silly place of animated muck he built in the Mistress’ shadow!”

“… The Maker has never left the manse…?”

(“Holy earth spirit intermediaries”? Is that why this place is called a manse [PLACE OF REPOSE FOR THE HOLY]? Isn’t he a dollmaker!? Wait, didn’t he meet Neesiette in the Castillo!?)

“No, child. He’s called the ‘Peeping Tom of the Pillars’ because he always sends servant dolls to conduct his business, governed by programmed instructions and as creepy as you can imagine…”

(So Neesiette met a doll in the Castillo? How was he “marked” by their meeting if they met that way?)

“That kraken-crazy madman seems to be a friendly rival who has met him many times, though?”

“Hah, yes, Orloss is also a weirdo even by the Pillars’ average strangeness quotient. Some are more reclusive than others, like Falke, while others are openly conspiratorial like the ‘Krakenclaimer’. I don’t talk to many people, least of all my ‘colleagues’, but the Wondrous Works’ information networks jovially gossip that Orloss ever goes to his manse to visit, quite openly and proudly, yet no other does.”

(He’s a fucking recluse!?)

Fehr soaks up an outsider’s perspective with the look of a child sucking on a sour citrus fruit. For her part, Lycia calms the more she explains, proving that the ghoul favors “kids” in positive ways.

“As far as enemies, I can only say that… any person who notices something of value will attempt to steal it at the slightest perception of weakness by who owns it. That is the rule of the mansion, and also of the Zennia this girl apparently hasn’t learned enough about.”

“What about me!?”

Lycia leans in toward Fehr, once again fronting her “assets” almost into the girl’s face.

But, this time it’s a different sort of imposition.

“Girl, I shall treat you as a child because you seem to be quite ignorant. Take this how you will…”

“What can you possibly say to—!?”

The toolmaker’s hand gently grips Fehr’s shoulder, stilling the forthcoming rebuttal.

“If any but I or this brat were to learn of your existence, they would descend upon this place to steal you from your inventor.”

“Out-Outrageous…”

“It’s just business.”

By Adris’ estimate, it’s only practical to embrace Lycia’s blunt logic, too.

(She’s the equivalent of a Jik’shewa. A doll that has its own self-contained existence and can command magical forces. A treasure I would’ve committed… any number of unforgivable crimes to obtain, since you no longer have to create it yourself if you just steal it.)

Thinking about that for a moment, Adris finds himself shocked by the past tense nature of his desire to have one.

(Oh, I already have Neesiette… that’s why I don’t particularly…?)

A thrumming feeling in his heart and vessels starts with that realization, unnerving him in the midst of Lycia’s threats.

“So yes, if you and Regalia exist here, then anyone who knows would invade Falke’s manse to steal you away. Given how weak your servants are…”

Glancing around with an arrogant posture, Lycia’s hideous smile with sharp teeth sets Fehr shaking harder.

“That a Granny of Malice has arrived makes taking over your fortress like child’s play if she’s left alone. I’d suggest you do something about that thing, and quickly.”

“… Then… you are not… a threat?”

Noticing that Lycia’s tone becomes more teasing than evil stops Fehr’s shaking around her.

“I’m not nearly as evil as I appear… that idiot right there proved it, much to my dissatisfaction.”

Though she won’t touch him, Lycia’s fondness returns for a moment when appraising Adris.

“I can’t bring myself to do bad things to others that were done to me…”

That fondness turns to shrewd inspection of him while stressing key parts.

(I’m going to treat her well! As the perfect method of revenge! A very dear method, so stop glaring!)

“So let’s just pretend I was never here once I’m paid, okay?”

Lycia extends her hand again, offering a shake without a shred of contempt.

(Huh, you can behave normal with others—?)

“… End yourself!”

“HAH!? Are you really so ill-behaved!?”

(Hey!?)

An offer for reconciliation ends in a huffing dismissal, with Fehr stomping away from the craning ghoul.

“I’m not so impoverished as to beg for aid from once-enemies!”

“Little brat!”

“I require…”

Only after uncertain steps taken does she turn around with perfect precision and fiercely focus-down Adris.

“Is the power that I’ve seen demonstrated by my guest real or false?”

(That’s a dangerous question!)

Adris’ hairs stand on end, but only until he sees how her eyes seem soft in comparison to earlier times she’s busied herself with him.

“Where does the… interest of this guest lie?”

(A more excellent question! You seem quite small right now. Are you perhaps understanding the value in using others, even if you cannot safely gauge the dangers…!?)

Shivering ever so slightly instead of riled up, Fehr’s words don’t match her body language. Rather than rejecting him with the prior question she seems to be gauging his ability to overcome threats.

(Clever, clever girl! You want someone loyal, the best quality. That desire is also, perhaps, the key to my worst nightmare…?)

A hunch he’s had is growing to a certainty now. Fehr’s longings might be the reason that another was born.

(Which came first: her desire for a sibling or my design to become that sibling!? I no longer know, and it… bothers me. Still, if I have no choice…)

“Only necessary deceptions are what I perform, and only seldom. If you believe my power is real, then it is beyond the ability of any other to contest as such if you desire to claim it.”

(If you use me well, my aid is legitimate!)

“To properly draw forth the wonders I can craft, doesn’t it depend upon the person using them if they’re strong or not?”

“I wonder…”

At first sounding like a meaningless reply, Fehr shows her back to him.

“… I wonder…

… that one I met today…”

Plaintively she whispers the end, finding hope in something that Adris wasn’t expecting.

“… was… that brother real, in the end…? Would he be able to fix this…?”

(That bastard would just make you fix it, then take credit for it! Fuck him, I’m the one that’s going to claim the glory after Falke gets stabbed!)

That’s not something he can scream out, though, nor is “Fehl’s” realness something that Adris can deny.

(Huh, being right all the time is often a damnable sin! I knew it was going to end up like this…!)

Clicking his tongue, Adris feels himself falling into the flow from earlier more so the longer Fehr simmers on this topic.

In a moment of fuzzy fascination and lack of focus, he walks forward without willing himself to. He stretches out his hand toward her, sparing only the words she wants to hear that speak with the cultivated grandeur of a [false god].

“So long as he is what you desire, then he will be as real as you are the moment you ask for him.”

Though his soul might shatter if he’s not allowed to vomit instead of making promises, Adris resigns himself to carry out his adopted profession.

(Ugh, this power claps chains onto both parties! I… should’ve let Serras kill me…!)

“… Are siblings… real siblings, created by the ‘gods’ others spoke of rather than the Maker’s hands… more like… you two, than like us…?”

“‘Real siblings’? What a bizarre question…”

Lycia pipes in wistfully, the same sort of longing bothering her for a moment.

“… I’d say that my brother and I have a lot going on. I don’t know what kind you have, but there’s a rule that sisters need to enforce so that there’s no misunderstandings:

‘Whatever my brother thinks is probably wrong, and I’m definitely right. Even if he turns out right, he definitely said it wrong, so it’s still his fault.’”

(… Fu-FUCK YOU! YOU SHITTY BITCH, I SHOULD’VE MADE FUN OF YOU A WHOLE LOT MORE THAN—!)

It’s Adris’ turn to twitch with a need for violence when he turns to leer back at his only sister in the world, because Lycia is eying him with the zeal of a backstabber intruding on another’s master plan.

“… The sister is always right…!?”

“Ahhh, always! If anything, brothers are far too ‘intelligent’ for their own good. They keep forgetting that sisters do all the hard work that takes self-composure rather than bluster to achieve.”

“… That… sounds accurate…!”

(NO IT DOESN’T! SHUT THE FUCK UP! IS THIS WHY YOU’RE A “GREAT TRIBULATION”!?)

Much like the mutt of a lackey that drained his seed and nearly hung him out to dry, Lycia’s involvement hurtles his plot further from his control.

(KOL ONLY DOES IT BECAUSE SHE’S RETARDED! YOU DO IT OUT OF PURE SPITE!)

“Mmmm, and they always act like they’re the ones who have the situation handled, but keep overlooking what others thinks of their trying to ‘handle’ it. So, we always have to fix things up by ‘chatting’ with the other ladies who get involved.”

“YES! … That is… true! While you’re despicable, I can’t deny that’s how I feel sometimes, too!”

The storm of another’s thoughts surrounds Adris’ own imperiled ones, drowning out his rage in the weaselly subservience of a lovestruck toy’s fealty to family and honor.

Whispers from Beyond roar with renewed fascination, exulting at the growing inner monologue of “another”.

(AAAAH, IT’S GOING… WRONG, STOP ITTTTTT LYCIAAAAAAA! CUT YOUR TONGUE OUT, BEFORE YOU—!?)

“Even when he makes the same mistakes, he blames me for them!? Isn’t that unjust!?”

“… Next time, you have my permission to dress him down for his arrogance, little one.”

“I… I think I will…!”

Two ladies blurt out thoughts about the unjustness of being born with an “ape” to travel alongside them in life, while the mastermind of this vengeance fades into the darkness surrounding him.

Into this whirlwind of malcontent noise that only Adris is deafened by, a hand plunges, pulling on…

Fehl twists his head around, unsure of the situation he takes in now that it’s been “resolved”.

After all, the evil ghoul invader that is here to meet a guest is still…

(She should be locked within a room! With thirty servant guards! And wearing a paralyzing collar—!)

“FEHL!”

Ever dainty, but now roaring like a lion, a servant named Fehr jerks her brother so hard that he stumbles.

“…!? Yes!? Sister…?”

(Why is my sister yanking on me instead of…!?)

“We have a culprit to find! But first, we must go retrieve the guest’s belongings from our Maker! I’ve been told that one of the conspirators of the assault of last night is the property.”

(… Hateful! The worst conceivable crime!)

Fehl straightens his tie, recovering his balance as he marches alongside his sibling. Though she’s being a little overly assertive, it only shows that her spirit has properly returned.

(Ah, we’re at full potential again!)

“Huh! Such a destitute existence, that—!”

“—miserable invader is, to think they can intrude—!”

Falling into a rhythm, siblings carry on a conversation with the minimum of words.

“—just wait until she gets her just—!”

“—desserts at the hands of the ghoul—!”

“—when that evil woman unleashes her misery—!”

“—upon the more evil invader. Only we can…”

(Yes, Fehr, only we can do it, for we will…!)

Make the guests our own.

Permanent additions to the manse.

According to the Maker’s designs, no matter how obscure and confusing.

(Even if I don’t comprehend, I will carry out his orders and—!)

“—fulfill our Maker’s design, even though we don’t understand it yet!”

“—convince our Maker of how wrong his ambitions are, and change his mind!”

After they reach agreement,

Fehl finds it hard to keep in step with Fehr.

For the girl is joyfully marching toward the gateway ahead, dragging him by the arm across the ground after he petrifies and falls forward.

(… What?

WHATTTTT!?)

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Chapter 116         Table of Contents          Chapter 118