Chapter 128 - x

He could not be reasoned with and showed no sign of remorse. That was an Archbishop in a nutshell—

"Betty really does hate you lot." Beatrice held her hands out and pointed her palms at Batenkaitos. "Al Minya!"

"—!"

"Just kidding."

Batenkaitos froze, on guard for a spell of the highest caliber, but Beatrice just stuck her tongue out in return.

Gluttony had no reason to suspect Beatrice had a limited number of casts. By sacrificing one crystal to cast a high-level spell early, Beatrice had put Batenkaitos on guard.

"Uoooooh!"

Acting in concert with her bluff, the big guy and one of the white cloaks launched a surprise attack from the left and right.

Two swords and open palms. The sharp, heavy pincer attack caught Batenkaitos unawares. But Gluttony evaded with his superhuman reflexes, launching a counter with his short swords aimed at both of their necks.

"Watch ou— Gh!"

"Sorry!"

The large man stretched his arms, intercepting both the attack aimed at him and the one aimed at the white cloak with his body. There was a hard sound as his body reduced the force of the swords, but the next moment, the big man crouched down, coughing up blood.

"Gaston!"

Otto's eyes widened, but next to him, Beatrice grasped what had happened to Gaston.

—It was the limit of mana flow, a fighting technique that cycled the magical energy inside the user's body.

Manipulating the flow of mana was a discipline that used mana in a very different way. Unlike magic, no natural talent was required in order to use it. It needed only terribly intense training.

From the look of things, Gaston's natural abilities were well within the realm of the average person. Because of that, she could tell in an instant that he had worked hard to obtain his ability. What allowed him to stand on the same field and fight there was an accumulation of time spent training that would leave anyone coughing up blood.

"But that's the limit!"

"You tried reeeeeeeally hard, Gaston! You deserve a prize for spirit alone!"

Beatrice's voice and Batenkaitos's ridicule overlapped. The next instant, Gluttony bashed Gaston in the head with a knee, breaking his nose and toppling him over.

"You did your best, but your best just wasn't enough! The perfect prize for someone like you!"

"—Bastard!"

Gaston's temper flared at Batenkaitos's scorn while the rest of the White Dragon's Scale slipped in with flashing blades all at once. But Gluttony evaded them all with expert footwork and stretched out his hand in the opening that was created.

"Bennett Mossa, August Valen, Carsiff Finrell."

Rattling off more names, Batenkaitos slipped through the attacks and touched the soldiers' shoulders or legs. And then opening his mouth wide, Gluttony licked his palm with delight.

As that happened, three men in white cloaks whom Beatrice did not know collapsed behind Batenkaitos— Who were they, and what had happened to them?

"Beatrice! The people who just collapsed are our comrades, but we don't know their names! That's all that matters for now!"

Realizing the situation, Otto quickly shouted, pulling Beatrice back to reality. It was the effect of Gluttony's power—the ability to steal other people's names. Confirming that, Beatrice brushed aside the storm of other unnecessary thoughts and held her palm forward.

"Another diversion…"

"If you really think so, then please disappear in a beautiful explosion!"

As Batenkaitos pointed his blades at the three people she did not know, Beatrice unleashed a powerful spell. Absorbing the power of the crystal, a purple gleam formed a circle around Gluttony.

"Tch!"

Seeing the ring of light, Batenkaitos stopped the attack and spun, his eyes piercing Beatrice, trying to stop her from activating the spell.

"—Ngh."

The next instant, Batenkaitos's focus was drawn behind him by loud footsteps. Swinging his blades behind him to cut down whoever was foolish enough to break in, he only sliced through the air because there was nobody there.

"Garfiel, the Bowel Hunter, and now you—it's quite the effective trick!"

Using Wind magic to project the sound of footsteps behind Batenkaitos, Otto and one of the white cloaks whose name had not been eaten used the opening to grab the three people who had collapsed and pulled back.

But Beatrice did not give Batenkaitos a chance to chase after them.

"—Ul Minya."

The atmosphere itself seemed to groan as an enormous purple gleam filled the sky over the plaza. Looking up at it, Batenkaitos exhaled with excitement.

"Such a lavish feast! As expected of Lady Beatrice! Are you copying

Lord Roswaal?"

"That's a rather vulgar way of putting it!"

A purple disc blocked out the sky and began hurtling toward Batenkaitos.

It was a light of destruction with the mass to back it up. The tremendous force of its impact flipped up the stone pavement, creating an enormous dust cloud that filled the whole plaza and made Beatrice's dress flutter wildly.

"Did that do it?!"

Buffeted by the wind of the explosion, Otto ducked down and shouted exultantly.

In that moment, Beatrice realized it had failed. Subaru had mentioned something about celebrating too early always being a sign of a failed plan.

"Bah-ha!"

One beat later, Batenkaitos erupted from the glimmering cloud of dust, heading straight toward Beatrice. In a dangerous spot, she leaped into the air. She inhaled as she looked down at him.

With a stance like a bird of prey, Batenkaitos stretched his fingertips out toward Beatrice. Just before they could reach, while they were both in the air where neither could escape, Beatrice cast another spell.

The dark spell that she had used more in the past year than in the previous four hundred years of her life—

"—Shamak!"

"Mgh?!"

Breaking the third crystal in her cloak, a black mist completely enveloped Batenkaitos's body.

While he was swallowed up in an impenetrable darkness, she stole away a moment's reprieve. Shamak's effect would not last long, but while it did, she exchanged glances with Otto—and he nodded.

"Ahh! Look at you, Lady Beatrice! That's almost like his way of fighting… It's not like you at all! Has he been influencing you?!"

Brushing aside Shamak's effects after exactly two seconds, Batenkaitos roared with ferocious laughter.

The memories of the girl inside him would've found Beatrice standing at

Subaru's side an unfamiliar sight. So even if Gluttony saw Subaru's influence in Beatrice's fighting style, he had no way of knowing just how significant it really was.

Unlike before, Beatrice knew how to depend on other people now.

"This is the power of teamwork!"

" "

Batenkaitos blinked at Beatrice's emphatic willingness to rely on others. His eyes showed clear confusion, as if he couldn't understand what she was saying.

—The next instant, the answer to his confusion came from above.

"—I didn't keep you idiots waiting, did I?!"

An energetic voice called out from overhead, and suddenly, Batenkaitos froze. What descended before him was a blond girl who had raced along the rooftops on the shortest path possible— "Wha…? Gh."

"Have a taste of somethin' that'd make even Reinhard cry!"

Felt swung the pole-shaped object in her arms with a triumphant grin. Wrapped in a white cloth, it whistled through the air and slammed into Batenkaitos' head.

" "

There was a dry sound as Batenkaitos was launched to the side. Everyone gasped as the clean hit sent the Archbishop flying.

If it was true that it would even hurt the Sword Saint Reinhard, then Felt's strike should have decided the fight then and there.

But—

"…That's supposed to be an attack that would make the Sword Saint cry?

You're joking, right?"

"What?!"

Batenkaitos turned a brutal gaze to Felt as he rubbed his cheek. Felt's red eyes widened at the result, which was so out of line with what she had expected. Batenkaitos reached his right hand out and grabbed Felt's face.

"Gah—"

"No! If he touches you…"

Otto's expression wilted the moment he saw that hand on her, knowing it was part of Gluttony's preparation for eating. Batenkaitos dangled his tongue as if making a show of it.

"Felllty-Felt— Thanks for the meal."

While Batenkaitos was still grabbing Felt by the face, his cheeks reddened in anticipation of the delicacy he was about to eat. And then he almost lovingly licked an invisible thing in his empty left hand.

As if the meal he had been waiting for, the core of what made the girl Felt, was sitting right there in his hand. Running his tongue slowly, as if holding himself back, as if caressing it with the coarse texture of his tongue, he tasted every last bit of it without missing anything, chewing over each part before dropping it into his stomach.

When that was complete, Gluttony's meal was finished, and the name would reside in the villain's stomach.

That instant, all traces of the girl named Felt would disappear from everyone's memories—

"—Oh, bgh."

Just before the hideous banquet reached its uninterrupted conclusion, Gluttony's expression changed dramatically.

The expression of pleasure of a first-rate life dancing over his tongue, the anticipation of that ultimate of delicacies that had set his eyes afire, suddenly turned. Batenkaitos shuddered, feeling sick, as if he had swallowed a terrible, bitter medicine.

It was not an act. There was no point in doing something like that.

It was just a simple fact that something had gone wrong when he attempted to eat Felt's name.

And in that moment grew an opportunity— "—Get ready!"

Beatrice landed next to Felt, who leaped to her feet. Beatrice's small hands were grasping the long, spear-like pole that Felt had brought.

The statement that it was a weapon that would work even on Reinhard was not wrong. But Felt had been using it incorrectly. Beatrice could tell because she knew the weapon.

"—Ngh."

Batenkaitos's hand still on her face, Felt gritted her teeth and adjusted how she was holding the metia. Pointing the tip, which was still wrapped in cloth, at Batenkaitos, she lowered her hips.

The next instant, Beatrice cracked two more crystals in her cloak and poured an absurd amount of mana into the metia.

Sensing the destructive force, Batenkaitos twisted his expression as he stepped backward. Unable to escape the shock of the bitter pill, he was just reacting on instinct to avoid a dangerous attack.

"Wah…"

But then his leg caught, and he lost his balance. In shock, Gluttony looked down to see an arm that had a solid lock on his slender ankle.

It was Gaston, who had crawled over despite the alarming amount of blood flowing from his nose.

Seeing her follower's stubbornness, Felt laughed and then grinned triumphantly.

"—Eat shit!"

—Unable to escape, Gluttony was blown away by the white light that the metia unleashed from close range.

5

A hot gust of air blew past, making Beatrice's hair dance wildly behind her.

Her neat hair grew disheveled, but Beatrice's attention was elsewhere.

Her eyes were focused on the metia in her hands.

" "

The attack they unleashed had blown the white wrapping off, revealing its full body. It was a long, pure-white staff, shaped almost like a spear.

There was no artisan's signature and no mechanisms that would draw attention. It was just a simple, functional design. A perfect reflection of the personality of the person who had made it.

That was the mindset of the Witch Echidna—never seeking any value out of a tool beyond its raw utility.

"Mother…"

Her murmur was a result of sentiment that swelled again at memories of the times she had spent with her mother.

"Wh-what was that…? What kind of crazy thing did those idiots have me carryin' around…?"

Meanwhile, Felt, who was also holding the metia, was dumbfounded as she looked at the sheer destruction wrought by the staff.

Beatrice and Felt's one attack with the metia had landed a direct hit on Batenkaitos and mowed down everything else that was in its path.

Hot steam was rising off the pavement wherever the white light had passed, and buildings in the path of the beam had a perfectly symmetrical hole blown through them in the shape of the beam. Naturally, Batenkaitos, who had taken the blast head-on, did not escape unscathed.

—Batenkaitos was sprawled on the ground a few yards from where he had been standing, coils of steam rising off him. He was unconscious with hideous burns all over, not making a sound. It was a blazing attack that burned through the entire body, and it was a coin flip whether he was still alive.

But that only applied to the immediate aftermath. Even if he was not dead yet, he would be before long.

"Beatrice! Lady Felt!"

Waving his hand, Otto ran over to the two of them. His cap had been blown off in the blast wave of the metia's attack, and he was a mess all over, but his expression was bright and sunny.

"Are you safe? I'm not sure how to describe it, but that was amazing…or rather, appalling."

"Why did you correct yourself? Then again, can't say I disagree. What the hell is this staff…?"

Otto and Felt looked nervously at the metia in her hands. It was a magic staff that had unleashed an awesome power, but that was only natural.

"This staff was created by Mo…by a great and wise and beautiful mage long ago to annoy a certain dragon. It was lost to time, but perhaps this is some sort of destiny."

"Heh, you sure know your stuff, shorty. A staff for bullying a dragon, huh?"

There was an air of admiration in her voice as Otto's face tensed, because he was one of the few people who knew that the mother whom Beatrice was referring to was in fact a witch who had disappeared from history.

"Incidentally, did it actually work on the dragon?"

"From what Betty heard, the dragon was on the verge of tears."

Though, the one who told Beatrice that was the first-generation Roswaal. Back then, he teased Beatrice in all sorts of ways, so it was possible that report was just another of his pranks.

That it was an absurd weapon created with the express purpose of tormenting the dragon Volcanica…

"No point sweatin' the small stuff. Important thing's it blew that annoying prick away. That was all thanks to you knowin' how to use this, though, so thanks, shrimp!"

Breaking in, Felt flashed a grin as she clapped Beatrice on the back. Grimacing at the intensity of it, Beatrice puffed her cheeks out.

"…Shrimp, shrimp, shrimp. You are quite small yourself. A shrimp has no business calling someone else a shrimp."

"You wha? A brat who gets pissy even when they're bein' complimented, huh? Let me tell you, I've grown quite a bit this past year—both my height and my chest. And I'm only gonna get bigger and bigger than you goin' forward."

"Unfortunately for you, Betty was born with this charming design—"

"Ladies, ladies, please calm down!" Interrupting their argument, Otto intervened with his best salesman's smile. "May I?" Looking from one to the other, he continued, "We won thanks to everyone working together. Let's celebrate that. Our plan panned out and resulted in a splendid victory! That is the true thrill of battle… Huh?"

"—? What is it?"

"No, just, why am I this happy about winning a fight…? When did I start being the kind of person to talk about the true thrill of battle…?"

"Whoa, here comes the midlife crisis. I ain't dealin' with that crap. Hey, wake up, Gaston."

Ignoring Otto's distress, Felt shook Gaston's shoulder from where he lay on the ground. It looked like she was showing her appreciation for someone who had worked hard, but Gaston was totally unconscious. Not that that could be helped, though.

There was no guarantee they would have been able to land that last attack without Gaston's stubborn determination at the last moment.

"Otto is correct. It was a victory that was won by everyone, I suppose."

"Eh? Did you say something just now?"

"I said you are a natural wartime adviser."

"I'm scared that I'm not going to be able to really deny that anymore at the rate things are going!"

Beatrice crossed her arms, a trace of a sigh in her voice as Otto shrieked in disbelief.

However, it was precisely because of his unique character that made him so crucial to Emilia's faction. But taking a page out of her contractor Subaru's book, though, she would never say that out loud.

"Sorry to interrupt the pleasantries, but I'm going to tie him up. Any objections?"

Looking back at them, the man in the white cloak gestured toward Batenkaitos with his chin. Looking closely, Beatrice recognized his face. She had met him at Muse Company. Dynas or something like that.

He was the only one of the men in white cloaks still standing on his own two feet.

Otto peered over at Batenkaitos in response.

"Tie him up? Is he even still alive?"

"It would be a problem if he was dead. He might know where the young master is, and he might be useful for negotiating with the cultists—though I'd honestly like to just finish him off for good."

There was a dangerous edge to Dynas's strained voice that he could not hide entirely.

Naturally because of the comrades he had lost, but the strongest reason for it was an instinctive loathing and hostility. Being an Archbishop was more than enough justification to kill him.

The fact of that was something that pained Beatrice's heart just a bit, though—

"But these Archbishops aren't all they're cracked up to be if a ragtag group like us can blow them away. Why does everyone run away from them?"

"It is just because he let his guard down. He was obsessed with eating our names. And more specifically, because he wanted to taste them while we

were still alive. That was why he didn't kill us."

"So he lost 'cause he held back thinkin' we couldn't touch him? Talk about lame."

Beatrice was in agreement with Otto's analysis. If Batenkaitos had actually devoted the skills and techniques of all the memories he possessed to the task of killing them, they would have had no chance. But those sorts of musings were irrelevant in a real fight. They had won, and nothing would change that— "—Huh?"

As she was thinking that, Beatrice turned her gaze to an unexpected sound.

It had come from Dynas, who was trying to tie up the Archbishop while he was on the verge of death. Blood erupted from all over Dynas's body as he let out a raspy voice and then collapsed to his knees.

" "

He was lying in a puddle of blood that was slowly growing. The tendons of his arms and legs had been precisely and neatly severed. Beatrice was assailed by a nightmarish thought when she saw him.

What just happened—?

"—Watch out!"

It happened in a split second.

Something struck her shoulder, and then she fell to the pavement. It hurt, and she was shocked, but she ignored that and stared at Otto, who had pushed her aside.

Right after pushing her away, Otto had frozen up, unable to move. He was looking down—looking at his legs.

" "

The front of both of his legs had been peeled like fruits. His pants and the skin beneath were cut, neatly revealing red and pink musculature. Untouched white nerves and bone and gray blood vessels were clearly visible. Otto was speechless as he peered inside his own legs.

There was not even the slightest bleeding. It was a sickeningly beautiful deconstruction of the human body. It was horrifying to think that there existed a level of knifework that could transform a body into such a twisted, aesthetic display.

"—It is so troublesome for a sister to have such a crude brother."

Saying that, the figure put his mouth to Otto's wound. His tongue wriggled, running all over the delicate parts of Otto's legs that had been protected by skin just moments ago.

Otto's mind couldn't contain his terror and disgust any longer.

"Ahgyaaaaaaaaa!!!"

He let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Falling over backward, Otto could not even faint as he writhed in pain. Tears poured from his eyes as searing agony obliterated his thoughts.

Beatrice needed to rush over and take care of his wounds. But despite thinking that, she couldn't move.

The reason was the being who had cut up Dynas and Otto. The big, muscled man whose overwhelming ghoulishness was making her instincts scream.

—It was a man she had no memory of at all.

He looked to be nearing his forties and had a chiseled face. He was taller than everyone present, and the large form he had been blessed with had been forged into a body like steel.

He was a person who had, without a doubt, not been there before and had appeared out of nowhere without warning. She was sure of that much.

"Wh-who the hell are you…?"

"Ohhh? You're the one asking that? That's a question we would like to ask you."

Felt had tensed, on guard as the large man responded in a light tone that

did not match his appearance. Felt looked overwhelmed by that riposte as the man laughed pleasantly.

"Thinking to use an alias against us. So smart. And how pathetic of

Brother to have the tables turned because of that."

"'Alias'…? What are you talking about?"

"The plan you and that carved-up man there came up with, Felty-Felt. Uhhuh, uh-huh. Amazing. It's moving in fact— No matter whose memories we check, there isn't anything like it."

The man did not answer Felt's question. He was immersed in his own little world and rejecting hers.

It did not mesh. The way he looked and sounded, his answers and presence—they were all at odds.

A deep, raspy man's voice speaking in the singsong lilt that would've suited a little girl. The way his body swayed and the way he clapped with a flair—none of it fit.

And as Beatrice and Felt were speechless at the mismatch— "…Are…you Gluttony?"

"—Ohh? You can still talk? That's amazing. Look at you trying so hard."

The man arched his eyebrows and curled his lips upward. He fixed his joyous gaze on Otto, who was glaring at him while holding his wounded legs and breathing heavily.

"The Gluttony…who we defeated is gone… And the cloak…you are wearing… It's the same as…the one he wore…"

Otto struggled to get the words out in an admirable display of sheer determination.

Batenkaitos, who had been on the verge of death, was indeed nowhere to be found. His small figure had disappeared at some point, and this man had appeared in his place. The meaning of that was obvious.

"Nice, nice, nice, nice, nice, nice… gathering around our dinner table is worth it for you."

"—Ngh."

Pressing his palm to his face, the man could not hide his excitement as he muttered, and his figure began to change.

The man's shape shimmered and warped unnaturally, like a mirage, and the next moment, the big man who was standing there disappeared. And in his place—

"Ah-ha."

—was a barefoot girl who looked not too much younger than Felt.

She had slender, dainty limbs, and almost-translucent blond hair that extended into a swirl on the ground. There was a natural beauty to her wellproportioned face that made even her rags seem to shine.

An adorable, angelic little girl—were it not for the malice that filled her expression.

"Archbishop of Gluttony, Louis Arneb."

"Louis…?"

"That's our name. You were the ones who wanted to know, weren't you?"

Beatrice gulped as Gluttony took the form of a little girl and introduced herself by a different name.

It made no sense. The Archbishop of Gluttony's name was supposed to be Lye Batenkaitos. So why did Gluttony have a different name and form? No, it was not just that, either. It was not simply a change in appearance; Gluttony had changed on the inside, too.

"…I sit here and listen through all that, and this bullshit is what I get?"

"Oh? Is the princess with the fake name displeased by this sort of thing?"

"And I mean that crap, too, when I say quit jerkin' us around!"

Felt's canines flashed as she yelled at the Gluttony who had introduced herself as Louis. She pointed the metia in her hand at her.

"Don't screw with me! There's nothin' fake about my name! I've lived fifteen years with the name Old Man Rom gave me, so don't go callin' it fake."

"Ahh, I see. So you never realized it wasn't your true name? Then allow us to inform you that Felt is not your name. You have a proper name that you received before the one you were given by the parent who raised you."

"You mean the name my shitty parents who abandoned me in some back alley gave me? Then I'm sure it was somethin' like Burden or Nuisance or

Trash. That good enough for you?!"

"Now, now, no need to be that way."

Gluttony—Louis—put her finger on the metia that Felt was brandishing.

"You're acting tough, but you can't actually shoot it again, right? We've seen this before."

"Ngh…"

"No need to be so tense. We're going to pull back for today." Louis shrugged.

"Pull back…? Are you serious about that, I wonder?"

Beatrice pointed her palms toward Gluttony as she glared at the Archbishop. Looking at the two girls, who had turned their hostility toward her, Louis cackled lightly.

"Dead serious. Brother got his butt kicked, and Big Brother just does whatever she says. As for us, we don't really care about gourmet or garbage or any of that—they just don't understand."

" "

"A meal isn't about what you eat; it's about who you eat it with."

With that, Louis twirled and turned her back to Beatrice and Felt. Openly leaving herself defenseless, she was forcing them to make a choice.

Fight or let her leave. And their choice was—

"It's disappointing when they're smart—but you chose wisely."

Laughing scornfully as neither of them moved, Louis Arneb's figure melted into the shadows of the plaza. They couldn't match her. That was their limit after so many members of their party had been so badly wounded.

"…Meaning they got us."

"Damn it!"

As Beatrice's shoulders slumped, Felt exploded at the sense of defeat and failure.

Honestly, Beatrice was in complete agreement with her. It was a result that had to be judged a defeat.

Otto had managed to impress Louis, but he was barely conscious in a fog of pain. Dynas, the other soldiers in white cloaks, and Felt's follower, Gaston, were all down for the count as well.

They all needed healing as soon as possible. And Beatrice was the only one who could do it.

Beatrice and the crystals in her cloak.

Either way—

"Betty can't face Puckie like this… Asking Subaru to carry Betty will have to wait, too."

There was confirmation now that the soul of the sleeping girl resided inside the Archbishop of Gluttony—inside the prey they had let get away.

But how should that news be shared with Subaru?

" "

"Damn it!!!"

Beatrice was silent as Felt's bitter curse echoed through Canal Street.

Her shout echoed into the distance as the encounter with Gluttony drew to a close.

CHAPTER 2

THE TERRITORY VICTIM

1

The girl cocked her head at the one-armed man who had snapped at her while holding a liuyedao at the ready.

She was angelically adorable and possessed a flowerlike fragile beauty. Her pale-white skin was smooth, and her dainty limbs were cute all the way down to her nails. Her blond hair gleamed like gold, and her ruby-red eyes were just radiant. The skin exposed by what little clothing she wore and her alluring gaze were entrancing, able to charm men who desired her even if they knew it was all a trap.

However—

"Kya-ha-ha-ha! That's an interesting thing to say, meat boy! 'Not before I die, but before you do'? Where'd you steal that line from?! I'm gonna keel over laughing!"

The girl who was laughing so shrilly would have been beauty manifest— were it not for the fact that half of her face was crushed and her eye was on the verge of popping out.

She was almost rolling on the floor in laughter with her face quite literally half destroyed. The wound trembled and fixed itself with a distinctive gurgling sound. The bleeding stopped, and tendons and muscle knitted themselves back together as her face healed.

That unnatural regeneration—no, the actual transformation itself was the power of the Archbishop of Lust.

"That's seriously nasty to see. I never was a fan of gory stuff. I'm the type who goes pale when I see blood. Know what I mean?"

"A guy who calls a lady disgusting within moments of meeting her and doesn't know how to clean up the way he talks will never be popular with girls. Nice try pretending to be a comedian to make me let down my guard. And what exactly are you planning to do with that big, long thing in your hand?!"

"A lady shouldn't bust out the dirty jokes so fast. It kills the mood."

Hearing that, the girl, Capella, arched an eyebrow. Her face had been reconstructed in just a few moments, returning to its adorable visage, which was the polar opposite of her inside.

And then twisting that restored cute face, Capella cackled loudly.

"Kya-ha-ha-ha! What's that?! You sound like a total virgin! Do you have a nice empty field of flowers you're keeping in that head of yours? Kyaaa, I wanna just crush and stomp and corrupt everything about you!"

"Don't make me repeat myself. I'm in a bad mood today. Honestly, I don't really feel like doin' this right now."

The man in the iron helm, Al, spat in response to Capella's abrasive attitude.

Capella's eyes narrowed as Al refused to go along with her provocations and continued to act as if he really did not want to be there. His stance was far different from the group who had caught her in a trap and sent her tumbling from upstairs.

"What, I don't wanna do this, but I can't back down here? That's pretty contradictory, don't ya think? Whose fault do you think this fun little lover's spat is?"

"That's what you're calling it? Also, this and everything else is all your fault."

"Maybe the impetus was us. But is that really everything? Is every last bit of what's happened really our fault? You think everything that has happened in this city falls completely on our shoulders?"

Holding out her hands, Capella created a frame with her fingers, closing one eye as she looked at Al through the frame. Al was silent as he met her ruby-red gaze.

After holding his breath for a long, long while, he exhaled.

"…You tryin' to say somethin'?"

"Not at all. It's just that there's been this asshole who keeps doing the most annoying things, right? And I've been thinkin' for a long time now about who that bastard really is. That's all."

" "

"Right! For example, which asshole opened the floodgate and half flooded the city a few hours ago? Doesn't that bother you? Doesn't it just keep you up at night?"

Spreading her arms wide, Capella had a beautiful and repulsive, almost poisonous-flowerlike smile plastered on her face. Seeing her scorn and ridicule-filled smirk, Al cracked his neck.

"Ah. Can't say I know what you're talkin' about."

"Heh, playing dumb? No need to hold back with me. It can be our little secret. I won't tell your friends. Besides, if it weren't for that, this whole thing would have been over already, so they'd all just be grateful. Not like they'd have a leg to stand on blaming you." Capella cackled as she continued:

"Or is it that it would be inconvenient if they found out you've been running around in the shadows? Oh yeah, on an entirely unrelated note, the Witch's remains I've been wanting! All the assholes who know where they are apparently started croaking one after the other due to some totally unrelated party."

"…I'm sorry for their loss. In such a chaotic situation, unfortunate things can happen."

"Kya-ha!"

Capella covered her mouth in a gesture of heartfelt pleasure after hearing Al's emotionless response. Her gaze slithered all over his skin as he sighed and tapped the cold floor with his sandal.

"You're one of those types, huh? You're pretty different from the other Archbishop types I know."

"Oh? You know one of those useless scraps of offal? The freakish grudge sow? The tiny-dick virgin? The starving baby faces who don't have a shred of personality? Or the absurd, misguided, mental-masturbatory spirit? None of them are the sort who are worth spending time with. Didn't your parents

ever tell you to be careful choosing your friends?!"

"…Unfortunately, I was the one parents warned their kids about."

"Kya-ha! I can see that! But you know, my sublime love will gladly lie even with the likes of you. If you're willing to show me your face and take me to bed!"

No matter how much she was pushed away, Capella's mind was fixated on an extreme sort of love that persevered through everything in her attempts at courtship. Not that anyone would call such an extreme and one-sided desire to steal away affection true love.

Naturally, Al's response to her wooing, which was bereft of any humanity, was to raise his sword.

"Sorry. I appreciate the thought, but we don't really know each other that well yet, and it would be embarrassing if rumors started spreading among my friends, so I'm going to have to say no."

"How cute, caring about what other people think. I don't really mind a prick who likes being abused by a woman. Nothing wrong with a little masochism."

"Huh? What are you—?"

"Outrageous lack of concern for anyone or anything around her, a harsh gaze, a voluptuous body, and that on-edge feeling like she might turn violent at any moment. Decently tall with a bold amount of skin on display, moody and loves to talk, but intelligent. That she relies on you but won't let you get too close is a particularly key point… Something like that?"

As she spoke, Capella's body transformed and warped before his eyes. Her arms and legs grew; her clothes changed into a dress that revealed her shoulders, back, and significant amounts of cleavage. Her face took on a look of bold and dauntless self-confidence, and her eyes filled with an unwavering sense of wisdom. Long blond hair fell down her back as a beautiful woman appeared.

It was not anyone connected with the city, but she resembled someone—

"Oops, not blond? That's the most common in Lugunica, but oh well. In that case, red…no, orange."

Watching the subtle changes in Al's reaction, Capella changed her hair color rapidly. Black, brown, green, and blue before reaching the red end of the spectrum, where, after close inspection, she suddenly shifted to an orange color.

With just that, the impression she gave off grew extremely close to a woman who was familiar to Al.

"Tch, that's a disgusting impression. Where'd you get a chance to see the princess?"

"I've never seen or been aware of her before. I just guessed the sort of face and body that suits your tastes based on your reactions. It's only natural that a devoted woman would try to meet her partner's preferences, isn't it?"

"My reactions? Piss off, you can't even see my face—"

"Voice, gestures, the pauses in your speech, your eyeline based on the angle of your neck, your attitude. Your personality, nature, and preferences that bled into our conversation."

Capella quietly interrupted Al as he played dumb. Despite himself, Al fell silent as Capella stared at him with her transformed crimson eyes.

"I devote myself with all my being, never missing a single thing or skimping on the slightest effort. I'm going to this much effort for you, so look at me. Me and only me. Don't look at anyone else. My face, my body, my voice, my gestures—every last bit should be exactly what you like!"

Capella raised her voice, and as she was talking, she grew closer and closer to Priscilla. Her demand was refreshingly straightforward, but it was a little too frank and on the nose.

"…Sorry, but people aren't ready for that kind of love yet."

"Don't be like that. Tell me, what is it about me that you don't like?"

"Don't get the wrong idea. I don't love or hate you. I just don't care… Sorry, that was a lie. You're disgusting, so yeah, I hate you. It hurts to even look at you."

"—Ngh! You unfaithful, rotten garbage!"

Capella stamped her foot as her right arm transformed from the shoulder down into a giant wolf's head.

The beast howled ferociously as it closed in at high speed while Al simply stood still. The line of bladelike teeth was moments away from biting down on his upper torso—but just before they closed, he leaped to the side, neatly avoiding it.

"Don't think that's enough to get away!"

"I don't! After the side! I gotta go backward!"

This time, a giant snake's body slammed down toward him as he rolled. It was an attack from a blind spot that Al avoided by leaping backward, and right after landing, he caught the wolf's fangs with his saber's blade.

"Oh, ooooooh, Dona!"

Losing to the strength of the beast's charge, Al cast a spell just before the impact knocked him back. A wall of earth rose from the broken floor of the basement, crushing Capella's arm that had transformed into a wolf against the ceiling.

As cracks spidered across the wolf's skull, buckets of blood erupted from it. Unsurprisingly, Capella, who had been connected to the wolf, stumbled as well. Al exploited this with a ferocious lunge.

"Grr, yaaaaaaaa!"

His slash sliced completely through her neck.

Her face, which so closely resembled Priscilla's, flew through the air, and a split second later, blood spurted from the stump. Based on what happened to Crusch after being covered in Capella's blood, there was no need to question how dangerous it might be to let any of that gore touch him.

He would have to get away from the body to avoid the spray, but— "Don't play me for a fool, you fraud!"

—Al did not hesitate to step straight into the shower of blood, skewering Capella through the back with his blade.

Carving the heart out of her body while it was on the verge of collapsing after losing its head, he brutally added a second lethal wound to the first. But that was not enough for him.

"Time for a nasty little fireworks show! El Dona!"

Kicking her body forward, Al aggressively unleashed another spell, using the tip of his liuyedao to direct magic inside Capella and detonate the defenseless woman's body.

There was a comical whump that almost sounded like a fart as Capella was blown to pieces. Her limbs were blown away as pink organs and brightred blood splattered the walls of the basement.

In the cool air, the remaining chunks of flesh gave off steam as the most gruesome show in the Water Gate City finally came to a close.

"Haah, haah, how's that?! That oughtta be enough…"

Shoulders heaving, Al triumphantly declared victory over the lurid remains. It went without saying, but no earthly creature could survive being that badly broken. Al's declaration echoed hollowly without anyone to answer it—

"—Isn't that a bit harsh? You didn't have to go that far."

"Fuck."

Hearing that voice, Al readied his sword again.

His sword was pointed not at the bloody remnants of a corpse, but at the head that he had sent flying earlier—the face that resembled Priscilla's lying on the floor. The face that seemed to be savoring Al's reaction as it lay on its cheek.

"Beheading, gouging out your heart, and painting the room with your insides wasn't enough? You've gotta be cheating…"

"That's just me, still alive after being beheaded and having my heart stabbed and having my body smeared across the entire room, though it's rare for someone to be that merciless. I should have looked pretty much exactly like your dream girl, right? What, is hurting people an expression of love for you? One of your kinks?"

As Al sighed at the failed plan, Capella's head began to rise.

The severed neck began to wriggle, almost like a signal for the black flesh that poured out of it. That became a platform for her head, creating a torso and then limbs, and then the twisting flesh transformed into pale skin and her original figure—Capella's body was fully restored.

"…What about the rest of that mess?"

"Don't need it, so I'll just melt it down."

Capella cocked her head as the remnants of her other body melted away with a hiss. The organs and flesh and everything else turned to black sludge, leaving behind only a rotten stench as they disappeared.

Al was aggravated by how it seemed like she made it all disappear mainly to annoy him.

"Still though, you didn't even hesitate to cut my head off. You've got a friend who's in a pretty bad place 'cause of my blood; weren't you scared of the same thing happening to you?"

"Don't try to bluff me. I don't know what the requirements are, but I already know it's not just some crazy poison that activates from simple

contact. I missed out once before tryin' to dodge all that."

"—? I don't recall seeing you try to dodge anything, though."

"Talkin' about a time you wouldn't know about. Anyway, looks like the neck and heart aren't enough, and blowing up your body didn't work, either. Guess I gotta try crushing the head after I cut it off? …Seriously, I wasn't kidding about not loving these sorts of gorefests."

Al let out a heavy, exhausted sigh. That was both from having experienced just how dangerous Capella was, but it also seemed to be an exhaustion caused by something else, too.

Meanwhile, now that her regeneration was complete, there was no indication that Capella was affected in any way by how scrupulously he had killed her. In addition to changing appearance and more extreme transformations, she had a regenerative power that neared immortality—the Archbishop of Lust was still standing and still going strong.

"Aaagh, damn it…"

"Wooow, not backing off even though it's so hard on you! How noble! I can't get enough of that manliness! Your rating's going through the roof in my books! Kya-ha-ha!"

" "

"—Heeeh. You really are one of those types, aren'tcha? One of those super try-hards?"

As Al wordlessly raised his sword again, the ridicule in Capella's voice disappeared. Her crimson eyes narrowed, looking straight at Al as he exhaled forcefully.

"Unfortunately, the princess told me to take care of things here. A T-1000 wannabe is terrifying, but I'm more scared of what would happen if I upset her, so I can't just back out now."

"…Talking about another woman in front of me again? Looks like I'm gonna have to really take my time and teach you from the ground up until you know better."

Saying that, Capella transformed again. Al shook his head as her flesh expanded, her bones creaked, and she grew in size.

Behind his black helm, his eyes narrowed as he muttered to himself.

"Aaaagh. My horoscope for today was just the worst."

2

Black corruption and a creeping stench filled the air underground.

He breathed in deeply. And then exhaled. The air that filled his lungs was suffocating, and his wheezing, ragged breathing was getting on his nerves. He wanted to wipe away the sweat on his neck, but unfortunately, Al did not have enough hands for that.

It was times like this that really drove home just how inconvenient it was having only one arm.

"—It's like the sun rising, seeing the despair that sets in once they realize they can't kill me. But you don't let that stop you, huh? There really is something so unbearably hot about a guy workin' himself into a sweat over little ol' me."

And while Al was breathing raggedly and unable to wipe away any sweat, Capella laughed at him.

Her face had been split down the middle by his sword, but she just pushed the two halves back together, which was apparently enough to heal the wound. Red steam rose from the cut as the fast-acting regeneration ran its course and she completely recovered.

That should have been the twentieth lethal wound, but she had recovered from every last one. Chunks of Capella's corpse that had scattered around him melted away and dispersed in a black smog as a rotten stench wafted in the air.

And at the center of that miasma stood the queen of grotesqueries and corpses, wearing a twisted expression as she grinned at Al.

"Well then, how many more times before you can actually kill me, do you think?"

"Yeah, it's debatable whether I'll be able to kill you even after a hundred deaths. To be honest, I'm already pushing fifty at this point…but aren't you being a little too relaxed?"

There was a bit of scorn in Al's voice as he responded to Capella's provocation. He could practically see the question marks floating over her head, so Al pointed to the ceiling with his sword.

"We saw through the fact that you would try to catch us with our pants down. Meaning we were all ready to roll out the red carpet for you. So do you really think that I was supposed to be the trump card?"

" "

"I should warn you, the longer you take, the more dangerous it'll be for you, infinite regeneration or not. So now's the time if you wanna run."

Al's voice took on a deeper tone as his eyes, hidden in the depths of his black helm, pierced Capella. Basking in that gaze, Capella just winked as she tested his proclamation.

"Come on now, should you really be takin' it easy here? I just said you don't have any time to waste. If you don't get a move on, you might end up on an episode of Tales of the Unusual with people talking about some crazy attack that shatters souls or something."

"Then take your best shot."

"Eh?"

Capella just shrugged as Al warned her again about being killed. When his voice cracked at her response, she continued:

"I'm saying, just do it. You went out of your way to set up such a nice reception and everything. I mean, all that is something you did with little old me in mind, right? I could never turn down such a thoughtful gift just on principle!"

"Wait, wait, wait. Are you serious? You're really gonna die, you know? Dying hurts, and it's scary as hell. All the more so if it's your first time. You should seriously reconsider. Save your first time for a more special moment."

"You really are so thoughtful, going out of your way to include dirty jokes, too!"

Capella's eyes sparkled as she got the wrong idea from Al's inarticulate argument. She wrapped her arms around her slender body, her eyes brimming with excitement as she looked at Al.

"—But if that was just a lie to trick me, I won't forgive you."

She flashed an adorable smile that melted away in the next moment. Her body transformed into a black wall of flesh that swelled in an explosion of mass. It grew and grew, and a roar thundered through the basement as a pitchblack, scaled creature appeared.

"…Right, I forgot you could turn into a dragon."

Capella had transformed into the legendary species right before Al's eyes —becoming a black dragon spreading its wings.

Aboveground during the day and belowground after sunset, the government building was graced once again by the menace of a black dragon. It was like the building was cursed, and Al could practically feel his own luck getting worse with every passing second.

"Damn it…I'm the victim this time. I really don't have any luck."

"—Hey? Which me do you like the mooost?"

Even as a black dragon, Capella still spoke like a bubbly little girl.

Bathed in the dragon's bloody breath, Al shook his head, deciding it was about time—

"We're both the type of people that parents warn their kids about, right? So there's no way the two of us were going to work out."

With a twirl, he sheathed his sword at his back, flipping Capella off once his hand was free again.

She didn't recognize the gesture, but she could tell it was supposed to be an insult.

"You…"

"I don't love anyone."

A brutal light filled her golden eyes at the same time as Al's raspy declaration.

The next instant, a spell fell from his lips—not aimed at Capella, who was on guard against him, but at the seemingly meaningless pillar in the corner of the underground, which collapsed violently as the ground beneath it heaved upward.

A tremor rocked the enormous building as it started to collapse, filling the underground space from directly above.

"—Ngh! There really was a trap."

"Prepared with everything we've got, just for you. Not out of love, though

—just plain old animosity."

As Capella looked up at the avalanche crashing down on them, Al leaped through a crack in the wall toward the sound of water that could be heard coming from the other side—into the waterway flowing underground.

Naturally, the hole in the wall was not big enough for Capella to pass through after transforming into a large black dragon—

"—What do you mean? You did it just for me. This is absolutely love, isn't it?"

The dragon's cheeks reddened ever so slightly, and her eyes possessed a tenderness, just like a maiden in love.

But there was no one to behold that mysterious, never-before-seen sight as it was swallowed up and disappeared beneath the tons of earth and debris that came crashing down from above.

3

"—Pwah."

Pushing off from the bottom of the waterway, he broke the surface and filled his burning lungs with air.

Fortunately, Al was a good swimmer. People were usually surprised, figuring he would have trouble, but he had lived a long time with only one arm and had found ways of dealing with the bulk of standard situations.

Slowly, using his buoyancy, he made his way to the water's edge, grabbing it and pulling himself up.

I'm completely soaked. It would be nice to remove this helmet and get the water out, but—

"Guess I'm not makin' the kind of face that I should be showin' other people at the moment."

"You don't have to hold back on my account. I won't pay it no mind."

"I'm just too self-conscious. And the idea of everyone talking about my face makes me sick to the stomach."

Responding jokingly, Al tilted his head and let the water out through the bottom of the helm. Anastasia smiled wryly at his stubborn response.

"If you say so."

The girl with light-purple hair and deep-green eyes watched Al from the side as he shook his head to get the last of the water out of his helmet, but his light-yellow eyes were turned to the government building that had collapsed.

"To think it would really end up getting totally demolished. Thank goodness you were safe, though."

"It sort of feels like I was secretly crushed under it all three times, but at least you also got out okay. Oh yeah, where's that cat-eared boygirl? He didn't get caught up in it, did he?"

"…Thank you for your concern. I'm fine."

"Whoa."

Al was standing on one leg tilting his head to get the water out of his ear when the unexpected voice set him off-balance.

Looking back, he saw Ferris peeking out from an alley. Ferris's flaxen cat ears were folded down, his hair and clothes were a mess, and his face still showed signs of a recent battle.

His stubborn insistence on being the first to face Capella when she inevitably came to attack was still fresh in Al's memory. And it had worked out as intended, so he should have gotten a chance to talk to Capella, but…

"From that face, I guess you didn't get to find out what you wanted. You okay?"

"I said I'm fine… What about you? You were the one going at it with her

this whole time. How are you?"

"The idea of getting free healing from a beauty is tempting, but I was lucky and cleared the fight without any injuries. Wait, does that mean I was unlucky?"

"Yes, yes, that's enough joking for now— What happened to the Archbishop, Al?"

Interrupting the tasteless joke, Anastasia probed Al as he wrung out his waistcloth.

He hadn't exactly stuck around to watch what Capella did in the last moments. But she had transformed into a giant black dragon in that cramped underground space. There shouldn't have been enough time to transform back and then escape.

"There's no mistakin' she's part of the foundation now. But…"

"But there's no point getting our hopes up that she'll die from something that simple… She was fine and dandy even after taking a shot of Lady Anastasia's magic to the face, after all."

"Magic…?"

Al was of the same opinion when it came to Capella's unnatural regenerative abilities. She could recover from having her head cut off and heart cut out and even having her entire body turned into a chunky paste, so thinking of how to kill her was absurd.

But Al reacted more to that one word than Capella's crazy abilities.

"But it looked like your attack had some sort of effect, Ferris. You were the one who withered that flower arm of hers, right? Keeping a trick like that secret isn't very nice."

"…You're one to talk about that, Lady Anastasia, since you kept claiming you can't fight."

Ferris averted his eyes as he muttered, bringing up what they had talked about before Lust had come to attack.

While preparing to ambush Capella, they had obviously confirmed each person's fighting abilities. As part of that, they had all volunteered what they would be able to do, and then after ironing out the plan, they ultimately decided on collapsing the whole building on top of Capella as their decisive move.

Of course, it was only natural that everyone would have held back a little bit on the cards they held, but—

"—What are you thinking?"

Suddenly, Anastasia spoke in a quiet voice as Ferris gulped at the sudden scene. Al's yellow eyes were opened wide and filled with enmity as he pointed his liuyedao at Anastasia.

"Wh-what are you?! What…?"

"Don't say anything. Just move behind me and get away from her." Al gestured with his chin, which still had water slowly dripping off it.

But Ferris did not move. Al let out a tsk.

"If this is a joke, it ain't funny, Al. What are you on about?"

"Asking stupid questions. You hide a trump card like magic from us and that only helps the enemy…but that's not the problem. If I pulled that

argument on you, it would just boomerang back on me, too."

"Then why are you pointing that sword at me?"

"Because you did something that Anastasia Hoshin shouldn't have been able to do. What the hell are you scheming?"

Al's voice dropped into a low growl as the emotion vanished from Anastasia's face. A dangerous mood descended on the two of them that was on the verge of going off—

"Get a grip on yourselves! We just finished the battle, and you're already doing this?!"

Ferris, who couldn't keep up with the sudden developments, exploded first. He broke right between the two of them, pressing his flat chest up to the edge of Al's sword.

"…Oy, oy, what are you doing? This isn't the time for jokes."

"What, does it look like I'm joking? Do you not understand this isn't the time for allies to be bickering with each other?! Everyone else is still fighting!"

" "

"And Lust probably isn't going to just accept getting buried under that building, either! We don't have the time to be getting into it right now!"

"I—I got it! I got it! So don't do anything reckless!"

Ferris had taken a step forward while shouting, and Al was forced to pull his weapon back immediately when he felt the blade start to cut into Ferris's chest.

"That's a nasty way to threaten someone…doin' something like that while lookin' so cute…"

"Really now. You gave me a fright there. That was manlier than I was expecting from you, Ferris."

Anastasia nodded with an out-of-place sense of admiration as Al lowered his weapon. Hearing that, Ferris arched his shapely eyebrows.

"You were part of the problem here, too, Lady Anastasia, so take things a little more seriously pl—"

"—What's this? Did I miss a little deathmatch developing without me?"

Hearing that voice, all three of them turned their heads to the waterway fast enough to cause whiplash.

The voice had come from the road on the other side of the canal that Al had crawled out from. Squinting their eyes and looking closely, they noticed it—in the dark alleyway, there were dozens of little red points of light floating in the darkness.

They were rats small enough to fit in the palm of a hand. A perfectly normal wild rat, and any given one was no threat at all. But there were hundreds of them writhing in the dark alley.

Ferris's throat spasmed, and he let out a hoarse croak.

As he watched with quivering eyes, countless rats swarmed together, merging. The outline of the swarm warped and grew misshapen, then finally melted together entirely—

"Bumbadabum! Capella enters again, stage right!"

The swarm of rats reconstructed itself into a mass of flesh, out of which emerged the blond, red-eyed, adorable yet monstrous girl. And that girl, the Archbishop of Lust, Capella Emerada Lugunica, cocked her head.

"Huh? That's a pretty shitty reaction. Adorable and cute little old me just reappeared, so shouldn't you be crying and wetting yourselves in joy? Kyaha-ha!"

Her shrill, hatred-inducing cackle filled the moonlit night. Seeing her standing on the other side of the waterway with nary a scratch on her, Al sighed.

"…I didn't expect that to actually kill you, but doing no damage at all hits pretty hard."

"Nah, I'd say you tried pretty hard there. Even I had to consider that I might die… Well, not really! But still, though, my breast was all aflutter!" Capella exclaimed as she put her hands to her chest. "I mean, it's only natural, since you were thinking so intensely about me, after all."

"I seriously can't deal with that sort of stalker mindset…"

Al raised his blade again while she espoused her blindly twisted sense of love.

She had appeared before them again, so naturally, she was going to settle things and attack again— Honestly, if she was there to kill them, then that would at least be better.

If she changed them like she did the other victims in the tower before, that would be the absolute worst.

"The territory is undone already, and her power is the worst possible match for me, too…"

If the coin had just landed on the other side, he would have at least had something he could try to do, but—

"Anyway, we've got no choice but to knuckle down. I'm begging you, no holding shit back this time, okay? If you do, all three of us are gonna die or else get turned into a bunch of giant flies—"

"Hey, come on now—don't go jumping to conclusions, please. Adorable as you are in your stupidity and inability to see the whole picture and see what's happening, I'm done for today."

"…Huh?"

Holding her hand toward them as Al got ready to fight, Capella stuck her red tongue out as she gave a reply that left Al at a loss for words.

"Like. I. Said. I'm done for now. Basically, I've done everything I feel like doing. I've made a note of all you cute little bastards and your faces, too.

And more importantly—"

"Your Gospel is telling you that?"

"When you put it that way, it makes it sound like I'm just doing whatever a book says, which I can't say I appreciate."

Capella glared in annoyance at Anastasia's interruption. And then she raised her left arm, and its upper half started to visibly bulge. Slowly, a book, her Gospel, appeared out of the swelling flesh.

"…That's a pretty convenient storage space."

"You like it? If we had a cute little baby, it might just have the same sort of ability. Ah, but no, that would never work out. Your love belongs to me and me alone. I might die of jealousy if you loved anyone other than me."

As she continued spouting more meaningless nothings, she played with the Gospel in her hand before rubbing the black tome against her cheek.

"This book is just a tool for making decisions. I still have the freedom to choose my course. So my feelings for you darling assholes are the real thing. Don't misunderstand me. This is pure love."

"Ngh! What pure love…? Who would believe a single word out of your mouth?!"

Ferris gritted his teeth, and his face reddened at Capella's provocative attitude. Anastasia grabbed his shoulder before the menacing look on his face could go any further and he leaped over the water.

"I understand the feeling, but stay calm. If you let her provoke you…"

"The sooner…the sooner I kill that thing, the sooner Lady Crusch's body can be…"

"Are you stupid? Don't mistake fantasy for hope when you know better. My dragon blood is a different problem entirely! Even if you did kill me, that blood wouldn't just up and disappear!"

"—Grr."

"But if you still want to chase my cute little behind, then there's no helping it."

Glancing at Ferris, who was gritting his teeth painfully, Capella grinned as she slapped her chest with her hand. There was a clap, and then a moment later, a transformation happened around them.

"…Seriously?"

Guessing what had happened, Al looked around in annoyance. Noticing the same thing, Ferris and Anastasia's expressions became tense.

—Moist sounds mixed with the sound of metal banging against walls as ferocious creatures surrounded them.

"—Demi-beasts."

"Oh? What's that? That's a pretty decent name. Incomplete and hideous, half-dead and half-living. It's a nice fit. I bet whoever came up with that has a great sense of humor."

They appeared between Capella and the three of them. Some demi-beasts had swords in place of their heads, while others had axes instead of front legs, or shields for torsos, or some other body part swapped with a horrific replacement.

"…Why…? How could you do something like this?"

Ferris's intense rage suddenly disappeared from his voice. His wide, yellow eyes were filled with an unbearable emotion as he stared at the demibeasts.

It was pity, sympathy, and grief. A sadness for the existence of the demibeasts.

"How can you do something so cruel…?!"

"How? Well…"

Capella touched her chin with a long, slender finger, making a show of pondering Ferris's question before nodding slowly as if grasping the answer.

"…Probably because no one ever taught me not to play with corpses, I guess?"

"...…"

"Don't let her get inside your head, dumbass!"

Capella smiled venomously as Al held Ferris back from dashing forward. He stopped Ferris by wrapping his arm around Ferris's slender waist while still holding his sword as he turned to Anastasia.

"Run now! Take the lead, and I'll cover our asses!"

"Got it! This way!"

Anastasia grabbed Ferris's arm and started running. Ferris didn't put up any resistance as he was pulled along. He just bit his lip in frustration as his legs started moving.

And Al swung his liuyedao down on the demi-beasts that tried to follow after them.

"Goddamnit!"

"Flee, flee, get thee gone! If you don't move quickly, more people will die! And more corpses means more demi-beasts! Go all out and murder every last one! Kya-ha-ha!"

Cackling as she watched them run away, Capella's repellant figure melted into the darkness. Seeing that out of the corner of his eye, Al gnashed his teeth knowing there was no way he could chase after her.

All that was left was a sense of defeat, and that was quickly replaced by an overwhelming sense of unease as he kept running. "Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha!" —And running.

CHAPTER 3

A WARRIOR'S ACCLAIM

1

Eight-Arms Kurgan was a legendary figure in the Volakian Empire.

The empire was already famed for its meritocracy, and compared with other countries, demi-human tribes had secured a relatively stable place for themselves within its borders. It had a different stance from the Kingdom of

Lugunica, with its deep-seated racism against demi-humans; or the Holy Kingdom of Gusteko, which rejected all foreigners; or the Kararagi City State, which had not been around for very long as a nation.

Compared with most humans, demi-humans tended to have a greater aptitude for mana. Because of that, there were many demi-human tribes that used magic in an everyday manner, but the many-armed tribe was an exception. They were not blessed with an aptitude for controlling mana.

Their unique trait was, as their name suggested, the fact that their kind had three or more arms. They were easily distinguishable at a glance from their abnormal outlines, and they were extremely lacking in magic abilities compared with other demi-humans—because of that fact, they had long been treated as an inferior race.

What changed all that for them at a fundamental level was none other than Eight-Arms Kurgan himself.

From the time he was born, Kurgan was different from the rest of his tribe. The number of arms that members of the many-armed tribe had varied from individual to individual, with most clustered around the average of four or five. However, Kurgan was born with eight arms, making him a singular presence who was acknowledged as special from the start.

But what made him special was not just the number of arms he had. Treated as an inferior race for so long, most of the many-armed people tended to be peaceful and avoided fighting. However, Kurgan bore an unquenchable fighting spirit in his heart and was always longing for battle.

When he was twenty years old, his fighting spirit found an outlet.

The many-armed tribe did not have a homeland and were a wandering people who constantly moved from place to place. It was said that the reason for that was because they'd lost their homeland in a battle long, long ago, but the past meant nothing to Kurgan.

What mattered was the present. When a dispute cropped up between the tribe and the lord of the land where they had just moved, a certain young Kurgan was there to do something about it.

Seeking to evict what he viewed as a hideous and inferior race from his lands, the lord sent the soldiers he was so proud of after the tribe. And Kurgan killed every last one of them with his eight arms, bringing the battle all the way up to the lord's manor.

The lord paled at the barbarian tribe's retaliation, but Kurgan lowered his eight arms.

Boasting that he had proven the strength of his people, he earned himself a place as the lord's captain. After that, he went on to win honors and valor on countless battlefields, transforming the name Eight-Arms into legend.

And as a manifestation of the supremacy of martial prowess that the empire espoused, he would become its peerless champion.

There was a roaring boom as a Devil Cleaver hit Garfiel's shield and sent him flying.

The shock wave that followed echoed in his body as he placed all four limbs on the ground, feeling his life force burning inside him. Forcibly controlling his slide, he looked forward. He saw the cutting edge of one of the cleavers closing in right before him.

—His decision was instantaneous, his action was immediate, and the result was revealed a moment later.

"Rrrrrrraaaaaaahhhh!"

Swinging his arms, which had thrust through the pavement, he peeled the ground upward. The cleaver smashed through the hastily made wall, not even delayed a full second before reaching Garfiel's face.

There was a violent creak as Garfiel took the attack directly, getting pushed back. The soles of his feet tore into the ground, and two broken fangs clattered across the pavement.

"Don unnereftimate me!"

Garfiel howled as he bit down hard, his fangs now the only thing holding back the Devil Cleaver's thrust.

His canines had been broken, and there was blood pouring from his tornup mouth, but Garfiel did not hesitate.

The muscles in his neck and jaw exploded as he resisted Kurgan's strength with all his body. Kurgan grabbed the hilt of the cleaver with another arm, pulling to free it from Garfiel's jaws. But he could not get it out.

Garfiel's upper body swelled as he half-transformed, breaking the legendary blade in his jaws.

Kurgan's enormous body shuddered at the destruction of the blade—It was the perfect chance.

Garfiel's decision was instantaneous, his action was immediate, and the result appeared the next moment as always.

" "

His claws caught Kurgan while he used his blessing to repel his enormous frame from below his feet. Transformed into a wartiger, Garfiel slammed into the war god, and they fell together into the waterway behind Kurgan.

There was a massive splash, and the water turned red from their blood as they continued pummeling each other beneath the surface.

Despite the water resistance and suddenly finding themselves submerged in darkness, they approached on pure instinct and pummeled, pummeled, pummeled each other.

A giant iron fist crushed internal organs and forced the air out of already burning lungs. The pain was stronger, the suffering was worse, but the underwater battle that was only getting more brutal continued.

"—Ngh."

Garfiel didn't have enough air. He could not breathe. His brain could not function properly without enough oxygen.

Living beings needed oxygen, but corpses did not. That advantage showed, and the line between the two was undeniable. Garfiel couldn't get his face past the surface of the water. The current was too strong. He was being washed away.

At this rate, it'll—

" "

A heavy, sonorous sound traveled through the water and echoed in his ears.

It pulled his fading consciousness back, and Garfiel looked closely in the dark, clouded water. The Devil Cleavers had carved the walls, the floor of the waterway. The war god's one attack had ripped a lethal hole in the city's lifeline.

Garfiel didn't have the time or the oxygen to spare to figure out what the meaning of that attack was.

The next instant, a tremendous force slammed into his body, and he was pulled under without any means of resisting. As he left his body to the current, the water flowed and flowed, until suddenly, he was freed from beneath the water's surface.

"Buhaaa! Geho! Gaha!"

Escaping the limitations of his water prison, Garfiel coughed up everything that had flowed into his lungs. Water poured out of his eyes, nose, ears, and every pore of his face.

Shaking his head, he dried himself as best he could. Looking up to see what had happened, he started to look around when—

"Gorgeous Tiger?"

Amid the burbling of the water flowing underground, he heard a trembling voice call out to him.

2

The moment he heard that voice, Garfiel's focus wavered badly.

Coughing up the immense amount of water he had inhaled, he forced his oxygen-deprived brain to start spinning again.

It was a dark and cold underground space.

There was a hard stone floor, and it was being flooded by a massive amount of water flowing in. The wall behind him had a big hole where the muddy torrent was pouring into the room, creating a stagnant air.

He could feel eyes on him. Gazes filled with unease, wariness, fear, and rebelliousness.

From that, he understood that it was one of the city's shelters. The waterway he had fallen out of had been adjacent to this shelter and was pouring into it through the broken wall.

Having gotten that far, Garfiel shook himself to recover from his daze.

He looked all around for the giant he had been clashing with moments ago, the immovable figure that he had been burning at both ends to contend with— "—Ah."

He suddenly met the eyes of a young, blond-haired boy with watery green eyes.

It was a face he recognized. A face that evoked a memory that tore at his heart. The boy who was with Garfiel's mother, who didn't recognize him when he had finally found her again.

The younger brother who had been in the place he had wanted to be, receiving his mother's unconditional love— "—Ngh?!"

Just when his heart was absorbed in unneeded sentiment again, he heard a tremendous splash.

The eight-armed man was standing there, the shallow water exploding upward around him. And with Garfiel idling like a helpless scarecrow, Kurgan unleashed a merciless barrage with all his might.

The slightest delay in reaction was fatal. A moment's carelessness yielded a massive opportunity to the enemy.

And Eight-Arms Kurgan used that opportunity to hit Garfiel with eight different blows.

Even if Garfiel managed to block the first and second, he could not block the remaining six.

His face was knocked to the side, and two punches sent him up into the air, another overlapping punch slammed his body down, and when he hit the floor, yet another punch landed on his head to crush it once and for all. His face crashed into the bottom of the channel under the water, and his nose and fangs were badly broken, turning the water crimson from the torrent of blood.

"Bugaaa…rrrrrraaaaahhhh!"

He stood up and roared. Leaving a trail of blood behind him, Garfiel let out a cry that shattered the air in the shelter as he leaped in, swinging his fist up at the war god.

Their fists crossed paths. Cocking his head, he slipped past the downward punch, his fangs tearing into Kurgan from his wrist to his elbow as he dug into Eight-Arms's chest with his right claw.

Blood erupted from the sharp cuts, carving a deep wound in the war god's flesh.

But Eight-Arms had another seven attacks incoming. Garfiel would have to use the entirety of his body to avoid all of them.

Every time they clashed, for every attack he could unleash, his opponent could answer with eight. That overwhelming disadvantage, that overwhelming disparity, and that overwhelming difference in fighting strength lit a fire in his heart— "Ooooooooooooooooooo!!!!"

Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack— Block, evade, dodge, parry, duck, deflect, match—

Their fists crashed into each other, creating a shock wave that blew the water around their feet away. A thunderous boom that sounded nothing like flesh meeting flesh reverberated as they both were knocked backward.

Water droplets scattered everywhere as the ferocious tiger and the war god somersaulted away.

" "

But neither lost sight of the other. Kurgan leaned back against a wall while Garfiel kept his mouth at water level, but both refused to let their guard down, concentrating every bit of their focus on the battle at hand.

Under the water, Garfiel activated his blessing with his hind legs, lifting a square segment of floor behind him. The water flowing into the underground space began to drain through the hole.

The water level sank rapidly. But it was still pouring in from the hole in the wall—

" "

That big hole was closed by a single blow from Kurgan's drawn cleavers. The rubble of the broken ceiling filled the hole, forcibly damming the torrent of water.

With the hole blocked and the remaining liquid draining, the ankle-deep water that had been impeding them was gone.

" "

Silently getting their footing, the two warriors returned to their starting position facing each other, wielding their respective weapons. Two silver shields attached to wrists and three Devil Cleavers drawn.

Neither made a special signal, but it was a duel. A duel between the hero of Volakia, Eight-Arms Kurgan, and the lone warrior Garfiel.

—It was an out-of-place sentimentality, but the situation was oddly satisfying for Garfiel.

Withdrawing in the face of Reinhard, finding out his mother's memories of their time together had been locked away, yielding his chance for vengeance for the kindhearted girl who had protected him, getting caught up in the enemy's plans, and endangering an ally.

He had just been stuck watching events go by while a sense of powerlessness and loss had stolen so many things out of his hands.

In the past two days, Garfiel's heart had been stripped bare, and he had been forced to endure the bitter taste of his own weakness time after time.

—It was Kurgan who had reignited his spirit, which had been so worn down and shriveled.

The hero of Volakia, the war god, Eight-Arms. He was known by many names.

And that strongest of enemies was currently facing off against Garfiel with his weapons out.

It was impossible to explain just how much that meant to Garfiel. To explain just how much of an honor it was for a warrior to have Eight-Arms Kurgan draw his cleavers.

In the middle of the battle, Garfiel's consciousness had grown fuzzy after they had fallen into the waterway. A corpse revived by taboo arts, Kurgan did not have to breathe. If he had wanted just to finish the fight, he could have simply watched as Garfiel drowned.

But he didn't do that. The war god broke the wall of the waterway, opening a path into the shelter, allowing Garfiel to live.

Why had he done that?

"…I thought it was pity at first."

At the outset, when Garfiel's resolve was wavering, Kurgan had not acknowledged him as a warrior. Batting away a child charging with fists raised, kicking aside a whimpering opponent—those were not the actions of a warrior. Garfiel had let himself lose control in a fit of irritation, and so Kurgan had merely kept him at a distance.

But it was different now. Standing up and readying his shields, Garfiel was a true warrior.

And there was Eight-Arms, wielding his legendary Devil Cleavers, his whole body bristling with fighting spirit. Did that look like mercy or pity?

Absolutely not.

Kurgan desired a duel. He wished to fight Garfiel as fellow warriors.

And the only way to settle a battle between warriors was with a single, decisive clash.

"Hey, assholes…how long are you gonna keep starin'?"

Garfiel questioned the people who were watching his battle from a distance. The people whose shelter had been disturbed by Garfiel and Kurgan's violent intrusion.

There was no way any of them would be able to fight Kurgan if Garfiel was defeated. It was hard to imagine the war god finishing off people who couldn't even fight, but they would not know that.

So they should prioritize protecting themselves and—

"Gorgeous Tiger!"

"Ahh…?"

He had intended for them to take the hint and run away, but a high-pitched voice responded in an unexpected way.

Garfiel furrowed his brow. The voice was from one little boy in the middle of the shelter—a boy with tears in his eyes, his face red as he tightly gripped the hem of his clothes.

The boy's green eyes met Garfiel's matching gaze.

"Gorgeous Tiger!"

"Oy, kid…what are you…?"

"G-Gorgeous Tiger!"

The boy shouted with a trembling voice despite Garfiel's bewilderment.

He shouted that name as if he did not know any other way of expressing his feelings.

—Gorgeous Tiger.

That was the name of the golden tiger. The strongest tiger. The tiger that Garfiel Tinzel looked up to.

Why was he shouting that name now? What was he trying to say?

Hot tears streamed down the boy's red face.

Everyone else in the shelter heard the boy. So the intense swirl of emotion that he could not put into words was conveyed to all of them, spreading.

"I'm tellin' ya to run away alrea—"

"Gorgeous Tiger!"

Garfiel's voice was drowned out by shouts of the golden tiger's name.

There was a girl with matching blond hair hugging the shouting boy from behind. She was his older sister. She was hugging him tight to protect him, even as she stared at Garfiel with her wavering green eyes.

Her lips trembled as she called out the name of the golden tiger in a voiceless cry.

"Win!"

It was neither the boy nor the girl, and it was obviously not Garfiel, either. It was another man who clenched his fist as he shouted.

"Don't worry about me and just—"

"Fight and win!"

"Don't lose!"

"W-we can't do anything except watch…but still!" Garfiel was dumbfounded.

His calls for them to escape were being drowned out by new voices.

Before he realized it, the intensity that had begun as a single boy's voice had spread to everyone in the shelter, and not a single person there chose to flee from Garfiel and Kurgan's duel.

They were all filled with feverish excitement. Common sense dictated that there was no good reason for any of them to stay there. It was a meaningless act of stubbornness and faith that would only lead to pointless deaths.

"Looks like your performance worked a little too well, General."

Remembering Subaru Natsuki's words that had been heard throughout the city, he relaxed his shoulders a bit.

The strength of Subaru's weakness had lifted the spirits of the people in the city, and he could see the results of that before his eyes.

A smoldering ember in someone's heart could ignite at any moment if it was just given the right chance.

And for them, this was that very moment.

Just as this was that moment for Garfiel.

"Gorgeous Tiger!" The calls were unending.

And the one who had taken the initiative and set it off was Garfiel's younger brother, who had been born without him knowing it.

And that boy's sister holding him from behind, who had also been born without his knowledge.

His younger brother and sister were watching him.

The city that had accepted his mother, who had lost her memories—the people of that city were watching Garfiel.

"It's a bit too noisy for a duel."

" "

"I'm sorry I've been causin' you no end of trouble. In particular, the two most annoyin' ones are my little brother and sister. I'll be sure to give them a good talkin'-to after this."

" "

Faced with the silent war god's stance and battle spirit, he was struck by an answer more eloquent than any spoken word could be. Bringing his clenched fists together, he knocked his shields against each other as he flashed a toothy grin.

"I'm the ultimate shield…no…"

" "

"I'm Garfiel Tinzel, the Gorgeous Tiger."

A duel between warriors began with an introduction.

There was no voice from Kurgan in response to Garfiel. The war god just silently pressed his cleavers together, displaying the pinnacle of fighting spirit to his challenger. That was enough.

"Gaaaaaaaaaaah!!!"

As they stepped forward, the floor exploded beneath their feet, and the gap between them disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The moment they were in range, Garfiel could sense the lethality of the blade cutting through the air as it streaked toward him.

—Eight moves contained within a single strike. One attack versus eight.

The difference in the number of arms meant aiming for a summit far, far above him. But Garfiel would never achieve it if he did not stretch his own arm and reach out now. He faced the challenge with all his spirit.

" "

A horizontal slash came at his torso, but Garfiel raised his leg and stomped down on the blade to stop it. His heel stepping down onto the flat of the cleaver, the thick blade hit the stone floor, sending a thunderous boom echoing through the city.

That was one, but he did not have time to breathe easy.

At the same moment the first cleaver hit the floor, the second was tracing an arc from Kurgan's left side. When he heard the blade whistling through the air with his right ear, Garfiel guarded his head with both arms' shields. At that exact moment, the attack crashed into his arms, and his consciousness exploded in fireworks.

His right arm crumpled under the weight of the blow to his elbow, breaking his shoulder and wrist. He gritted his teeth so hard they cracked, but he endured it. That was two.

The third and fourth were bare-handed attacks that came at the same time.

Unleashed with the force of artillery shells, they took aim at Garfiel while his focus was hazy from the shock to his head. His torso and neck—either would be lethal if they landed—

The punch aimed at his torso made Garfiel's abs burn. Twisting his body while it felt like his stomach was on fire, he limited the damage to just tearing away the outer layer of his stomach. That was three.

Pushing his reflexes to the limit to evade, he raised his right arm to the attack approaching his face. His broken, shattered right arm took the heavy blow head-on, splattering and losing all trace of its original shape.

Everything from his elbow to his fingertips was crushed, and the shield fixed to his wrist was sent flying. But he managed to stop the devastating blow's momentum. He lowered his head, meeting the fist with his forehead, stopping the fourth blow with a headbutt.

The remaining fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth. Fast. Too fast. He could not help grinning. His cracked fangs trembled.

"—oooooOOOOOOO!!!"

The fifth and sixth were also bare-handed. The last cleaver was kept in reserve for the decisive blow.

Kurgan attacked with the left arms extending from the back of his shoulder and his side. Garfiel's right arm, which he needed to defend, was already useless, and his left could not make it in time. Unflinchingly, he stepped forward with his right foot.

There was a splash from under his foot as his will was transmitted to the earth. Sometimes, he drew on that strength; sometimes, he moved it at will;

and this time, he borrowed the power of his blessing to— The floor warped, raising Kurgan's foot.

But the war god crushed that disturbance without a moment's delay. There was not even a trace of hesitation or uncertainty in his moves. But for the briefest of moments, it created a tiny opening in his focus, and Garfiel took full advantage.

Raising his leg, he twisted himself so that his head passed just barely through the gap between the two fists, slipping through the valley of death.

When he landed, Garfiel shuddered at his own decisiveness.

He had no idea what had made him think of that, but there had been less than a second from having the thought to acting on it. His brain was burning.

His heart was on fire. His spirit was erupting.

That was five and six down. And the seventh and eighth—

" "

Garfiel's fur stood on end.

With the fifth and sixth moves avoided, Kurgan prepared to finish off Garfiel for good.

—He skipped right past the seventh attack and began the final blow.

Giving up one blow, he was holding the last Devil Cleaver over his shoulder.

Gripping the cleaver's hilt with one of his right hands, Kurgan held back the blade with every last scrap of strength he could muster in the arm protruding from his right shoulder. It was the ultimate slash that he had used to intercept Garfiel aboveground.

Having put his life on the line to defend against the previous six blows, Garfiel saw a vivid hallucination as the last attack blurred toward him.

He wouldn't be able to evade it. Trying to intercept it would be crazy. The only choice was pure defense.

In that brief moment, he could still hear the voices. The shouts from his brother and sister and the rest of the onlookers.

—His decision was instantaneous, his action was immediate, and the result came in an instant.

The moment Kurgan unleashed his slash, Garfiel was entirely detached from the world.

Sound died off, color faded, and every last unnecessary thing disappeared from his field of view. He reached perfect focus, and all that remained in Garfiel's consciousness was Kurgan.

The cleaver swung down toward Garfiel with an abnormal sluggishness.

His own movements to block it also seemed to be in slow motion.

With his world frustratingly slowed, all Garfiel could do was grit his teeth.

—No, he had time to sink into memories.

" "

He saw Subaru. He saw Ram. He saw Mimi and Frederica. Ryuzu was there, and so was Emilia. Otto appeared, and he even saw that asshole Roswaal. There was Beatrice and Petra and everyone from the Sanctuary.

And he saw his mother, Lisha, and his newfound brother and sister, too.

During the battle in the Sanctuary, Garfiel had learned of his own weakness.

When he was frightened by Reinhard and learned how big the world really was, Garfiel could not help wondering if he had become weaker than he had been before leaving the Sanctuary.

As a result of trying to hold on to more things, had he become weaker than he used to be?

—But that couldn't possibly be true.

If holding on to more things made him weaker, then what was he living for?

That wasn't it. He just had to become stronger in order to protect all the new things he now held dear. That was all he needed.

"—Ahhh, that's a load off."

The root of his worries suddenly faded away.

That instant, the cleaver's blow crashed into his left arm's shield, ripping into his body like a lightning bolt.

"—Nghhhhh!!!"

His left arm's defense was shattered instantly in the face of the cleaver's attack.

Just like with his right arm, his wrist, elbow, and shoulder were all twisted and shattered in one fell swoop. His world turned red from the horrific agony, and his brain was obliterated by searing, white-hot pain.

Opening his mouth, he shouted.

The shout almost sounded like a dying scream as the cleaver's momentum refused to stop.

His left arm shattered, and with the remaining momentum, the blade closed in on Garfiel's neck. It still had more than enough force to crush Garfiel and transform his entire body into minced meat.

What was the war god thinking in that moment? Did he feel mercy or pity for the warrior whose life was about to end?

Of course not—there was no way a true warrior would feel pity for another warrior until after the opponent was well and truly dead.

Because of that—

" "

Suddenly, there was an explosion of blood. And it was not Garfiel's.

One of Kurgan's right arms, the arm holding the last Devil Cleaver, erupted.

It was the arm that Garfiel had shredded with his fangs in the previous clash. A gash deep enough to see bone stretched from the wrist to the elbow. And that wound blew open with this last attack.

There was no surprise on Kurgan's face. He did not show any signs of feeling pain, either.

That was only natural. He was already a corpse. Pain was for the living, a lifeline to confirm and protect the flame of life. The dead had no need of it.

Because of that, Kurgan completely missed the effect on his right arm.

If he were truly at his best, he should have used his undamaged left arm to unleash that final attack.

Though Garfiel was in no position to spout off about the line between victory and defeat— "—Ah."

Having endured all eight arms' attacks, Garfiel exhaled, blood covering his face.

Both of his arms were shattered, and his throat was ragged from the screaming. Kurgan was standing before him with all eight arms having been swung. There had to be something. Something he could do. His arms could not move, and his mind was racing.

Garfiel could not use his arms or his claws. So all that was left was— "Aaah, gaaaaaah!!!"

With a roar, he opened his mouth wide and tore into the neck of the war god standing there before him.

His fangs pierced the hard, thick skin, tearing into the arteries so crucial to maintaining life. And with his fangs deep into Kurgan's neck, he twisted his body, using that momentum to tear at the muscle, his beastly jaw ripping out half of Kurgan's neck.

"Ngh, ah…"

Falling to the floor defenselessly, Garfiel spit out the hunk of flesh he had torn away. Feeling sick, he looked behind him, seeing Kurgan's back as a torrent of blood poured from his neck.

Both of Garfiel's arms were destroyed, he had lost lots of teeth, and he was on the verge of death from blood loss.