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Chapter 92: The Power of Love in Action
🕑 Added 2025-07-20 09:52:48 +0000 UTCSome time earlier, before Baku’s breakout.
The bunker beneath Hazy Mountain was carved deep beneath ancient rock, reinforced with runes and bound talismans; it existed for survival, not solace. A refuge from the horrors born of the fissure above, now serving once again from devils and war.
Dim lanterns swung gently, their glow bending faintly under the subtle pressure of the mountain’s twisted reality. Hannya’s acolytes huddled in anxious groups. Civilians pressed together in silence, some clutching talismans, others simply staring at the stone floor as though willing it to open and swallow them. None of them were warriors. They were workers, servants, scholars. They had trusted the mountain to keep them safe.
Now that trust rested on the shoulders of the ones above.
“Are we really planning to stay here trembling forever?”
Mirro’s voice broke through the tension.
Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his golden runes pulsed faintly under his worn coat. Beside him, Nini sat perched atop a crate, swinging her legs with deceptive casualness, though her sharp eyes never stopped flicking toward the entrance tunnel. Both of them looked calm. But Salitha had come to understand them well enough to know it was an act. A bad one.
But their fear wasn’t for themselves.
It was for someone else.
“You said our job’s to keep these people safe.” Mirro’s words were steady, but his scowl deepened. “Fine, we’re doing that. But we didn’t agree to sit down here while Hannya-sama’s out there, alone, evolving.”
“She’s not alone.” Salitha’s retort came too sharp, too defensive. “She has Baku. She has Shela. Rushing out there won’t help anyone.”
Nini’s stare sharpened. “What about Shela, then? You think she’s fine out there all alone? Fighting… them?”
Them. The Acedia clan. The Dream Faction. Enforcers with titles and tenets, eyes set on conquest.
Salitha’s gut twisted.
Of course she wasn’t fine. Of course she needed help.
But…
“I-I can’t abandon the civilians. That’s what Hannya entrusted us with.”
Even as she said it, doubt gnawed at her thoughts.
Mirro pushed off the wall. “That’s not what she’d want. You know that.”
Nini nodded. “She’d want people who care to move. Not sit here hiding. You think Hannya would forgive us if we let Shela die just because we were scared to leave?”
Nini’s words struck harder than they should have.
Salitha’s chest tightened.
Fear. Again. The same fear that once paralyzed her in the Love Faction. Fear of losing what little she cared for. Fear of doing the wrong thing. Fear of stepping into violence and failing.
She felt herself shaking.
Her hand drifted, almost without thought, to the hidden pocket of her coat.
Her fingers curled around the small glass vial. Cool, smooth, glowing faintly with swirling pink light.
She pulled it free and stared. The light inside pulsed like a heartbeat.
Mirro’s brows drew down. “What’s that supposed to be?”
Nini tilted her head, frowning. “Looks expensive. Weird.”
Salitha smiled faintly. “Something precious. Something… I thought I’d never need.”
She tightened her grip. The weight of it steadied her. A reminder of the choice she made the day she walked away from her faction. Romance Devils were… rare. And rarer still were those who understood why their sin mattered.
Love wasn’t about words. Or dreams. Or waiting for someone else to act.
Love was action. Love was standing between the people you cared for and harm.
Love was choosing to walk toward danger, even with shaking knees.
“I…” She faltered, forcing breath into reluctant lungs. “You’re right. This is our home. Our people. Our family.”
She looked at them both, something fierce and fragile blooming behind her gaze.
“I’ve been too afraid to claim that. Not anymore.”
Mirro’s eyes widened. “Wait. You’re really…”
Salitha stepped toward the heavy doors. “You’ll stay here. Protect them. Protect our people. That’s what she entrusted you with.”
“But…” Nini started, but Salitha silenced her with a look.
“I’m stronger than you think.”
Stronger than she’d let herself be.
Stronger than she’d dared to test.
None of them knew the truth.
None of them knew she carried five stars beneath her clothes. And it was time she remembered what that meant.
She placed her palm against the rune lock. The doors creaked open just wide enough to slip through.
“You’re not scared?” Mirro’s voice came softer now.
Salitha smiled again, sadder this time. “I’m terrified.” Her fingers closed tighter around the vial. “But fear isn’t an excuse.”
She stepped into the dark, leaving the safety behind.
“I’ll prove it to you. To her. To myself.”
The doors sealed.
Silence settled.
Mirro slumped back. “Think she’ll be okay?”
Nini exhaled slowly. “She’s scared.” She paused. “But… that doesn’t mean henchmen four is weak.”
~~~
Rain fell.
It blurred the world. Thick narcotic droplets carrying the weight of exhaustion and sedative laws, making the air heavy and the light dim. Sound warped under its weight. Certainty peeled away with every heartbeat.
Dozeuff grinned beneath it, scythe slung casually across his shoulders as he watched the imp before him bleed.
Shela’s breath came slow now.
Her thoughts lagged half a step behind her body.
Her devil blood strained to hold her mind and body together.
Above them, the sky inside his Tenet, Mercy Is Wasted on Sleep, bled like an old wound.
“You’re slowing down, Imp.” Dozeuff’s smile widened. “Even now your precious blood can’t keep up.”
He stepped forward with lazy confidence, rain hissing from his bare skin as it rolled harmlessly down his arms. His scythe traced arcs in the fog, weaving malice through the air.
“You’re not made for this. You weren’t born for this.” His boots splashed in puddles thick with exhaustion. “This world doesn’t need your kind. Half-breeds. Hybrids. Mutts without place or purpose. Devils were born to rule. Imps to serve. That’s the natural order.”
Shela didn’t answer.
But her sword rose in that silence. Left-handed now. Her right arm still lay somewhere behind her, forgotten beneath rain and stone.
The sight only made Dozeuff’s grin stretch wider.
“You can’t even muster anger. That’s what makes this all the sweeter.”
He lunged again.
Steel screamed against steel as his scythe met her sword. Sparks hissed in the rain. Frost blossomed where the metals kissed, but her strength had waned beneath the weight of his laws.
“You’re unraveling,” he sang, each swing heavier than the last. “Bit by bit, inch by inch. That’s all it takes. A little wear, a little tear… until you’re nothing but pieces waiting to be remade.”
Shela’s sword answered with clean, precise counters, but her reach shortened, her stance wobbled. The cloudiness thickened in her mind.
Nullath circled in the shadows, rings blinking like watchful eyes. Its ability unraveled her Absolute Zero by degrees, letting the rain touch her again, letting the narcotic seep deeper with every breath.
Then…Her foot slipped on wet stone.
A heartbeat too slow.
A fraction too late.
Dozeuff’s scythe caught her clean this time. Low, cruel, unforgiving.
Her leg tore free beneath the blade’s weight, spiraling into the fog with a spray of blood lost in the downpour.
Shela staggered and fell. Her breath hitched.
Her mind didn’t process the pain. Just… recognition. Again.
‘Unfortunate.’
Her calculations pointlessly adjusted. Movement minimized. Crawl if she must. Defend if she must. Protect the sanctum. Protect Hannya.
Her devil bloods single minded focus only considered her objective despite the reality.
Dozeuff chuckled as he approached her, boots slow and deliberate. His scythe rested across his shoulders again like some mockery of a shepherd tending his broken flock.
“Well now… look at you.” His smile gleamed beneath the rain. “Down an arm… down a leg… and still clinging to that stupid blank face.”
Shela raised her sword again. Shaky. Inefficient.
But raised all the same.
Dozeuff crouched before her, looking into her fading gaze.
“You’re not even worth killing cleanly, you know.” His fingers traced along the flat of his scythe as if petting it. “But I think… yes. I think I’ll take my time with you.”
His grin darkened.
“You little hybrids are always so fragile inside. You break so beautifully with just the right push.”
He leaned close, breath curling against her cheek.
“I heard this once, from someone very clever.” His voice dropped to a purr. “‘First, you have to rip away the existing mind. Second… you have to find a way to insert a new one into the resulting void.’”
He chuckled low. “And wouldn’t you know… with this mountain’s dream cores, and a well-placed dream… why, that wouldn’t be any trouble at all.”
Shela blinked slowly. Processing, recording, calculating.
Dozeuff didn’t notice… or didn’t care. He rose, stretching like a cat, scythe swinging lazily through the narcotic fog.
“You’re just an Imp. A servant. A broken tool nobody will miss.” His grin returned in full. “But me? I’m a devil. A pureblood. A creature born to rule. Above you. Above those wretched knights. Above even your little mistress in her pretty little veil.”
He laughed again. Open, free, and loud.
“Hierarchy is everything in this world. Blood is everything. And you? You were born beneath my feet.”
He gestured at Nullath, its serpentine body coiling tighter, mouth opening wide to hiss sigils into the air.
“You can’t win. You never could, all that’s left is for you to understand why.”
His scythe pointed down at her like a judge’s decree.
“Learn it now, little Imp. Learn your place.”
Shela’s sword trembled as she forced it upright again.
Her devil blood churned beneath the weight of the rain. Absolute Zero fought still to reclaim space inch by inch.
But she said nothing. Not to him. Not to the rain.
Her thoughts spiraled down to one truth alone.
Protect Hannya. Protect the sanctum. Protect the future.
Dozeuff watched her struggle and smiled all the wider.
“You’re almost there… I can see it. That look on your face. That empty little stare.”
He raised his scythe high, blade gleaming in the stormlight.
“Just give in. One cut. One moment. And you’ll be mine to fix however I please.”
The rain fell heavier now. Thick enough to drown.
Nullath’s rings blinked slow and sure.
And Shela… still raised her sword.
But then…
The monochrome sky shifted.
Where once Baku’s domain colored the heavens in shades of grey, a soft sparkling hue of pink bled into the scene like ink spilled across the clouds.
The rain, heavy, narcotic, and oppressive, met the pink light and hissed in refusal. Droplets fractured in midair, warping into crystalline motes that drifted sideways, glimmering as though touched by something far deeper than the ancient slumbering laws.
The law of love.
It settled across the battlefield in a shimmering pink veil.
Dozeuff paused mid-strike, scythe hovering inches from Shela where she lay broken beneath him. His sneer faltered, gaze lifting toward the sky.
“What now?” he spat.
The answer came in the softest of footfalls.
Salitha.
She stepped into view from the storm’s edge, pale skin slick with mist, her pink dress fluttering beneath the weight of laws that bent away from her touch. Her slender horns, tinged pink, sparkled with a strange energy that seemed to respond to the air around her. In her hand, a half-empty vial glowed faintly with the remains of her condensed love energy, flickering like a fragile heart caught between beats.
Her eyes, usually soft, hesitant, shone now with something fiercer.
Resolve.
“You,” she said quietly, voice shaking but firm, “are going too far.”
Dozeuff blinked. Then laughed. “Hahaha oh? Another stray to break.”
He stepped from Shela’s fallen form, lazily swinging his scythe as if to test her. His smile returned. Cruel and confident.
“You don’t look like a fighter, little dove. Don’t tell me you came to die alongside your pet imp?”
Salitha didn’t answer him.
Instead, she uncorked the vial fully and spoke.
“Aid her.”
The remaining love aura exploded outward in a wave of sparkling light, washing over the corrupted rain, turning droplets to jewels mid-fall. Where the fog thickened, it fractured beneath the pressure of her power, an energy without destruction, but something gentler.
Love given form.
Sigils bloomed in the air at her whispered command. Soft shapes. Gentle runes. They spun around Shela’s broken body, wrapping her in veils of warmth that knitted flesh from light, bone from breath.
Her missing arm… returned.
Her shattered leg… restored.
Her strength, frayed to threads, gathered anew beneath the tender weight of Salitha’s will.
Shela blinked as her focus sharpened. The numb cold in her chest… flickered. Her demon blood stirred.
A spark of emotion, foreign after such emptiness, tugged her gaze upward.
“...Salitha?”
The silver haired devil smiled, trembling but standing firm. “I told you… didn’t I? I would change. I wouldn’t let words be my only answer anymore.”
Dozeuff’s expression soured. “Tch… A support-type? How quaint.”
He gestured to Nullath, its slick body coiling tighter as it prepared to strike.
But Salitha raised her hand.
“Stop him.” she said.
The air responded.
Pink light condensed into a single sigil before her fingers, foreign, strange, born of desire itself. A wish made real through the unique purity of her energy.
The sigil detonated silently.
Nullath recoiled as if struck. Its rings blinked out of sync, its form shivering beneath unseen pressure. The suppression field it cast… shattered.
Shela felt it immediately.
Her Absolute Zero roared back to life, snapping reality into frozen stillness once more. The rain slowed, then halted. The narcotic fog burned away beneath frost and resolve.
Dozeuff’s grin cracked.
“What?”
Salitha’s voice held no malice. Only truth. “Your monster’s law bends to mine. Love rewrites all things.”
Shela rose slowly, Purposefully. She felt whole again, stronger even.
Her sword gleamed beneath the frozen rain, breath misting in the cold she commanded.
“I’m not done.” Her tone remained empty, but the ice no longer numbed her thoughts. “...Thank you, Salitha.”
The older devil nodded, relief cracking her composure for only a moment before she firmed it again.
“Go. Protect her.”
Sigils bloomed anew, this time shields, enhancements, soft waves of protective laws wrapping Shela in layers of shimmering pink. Strength, speed, clarity, all pushed beyond former limits.
Shela exhaled. Frost curled from her lips.
Dozeuff snarled, scythe spinning to meet her charge. “You think this changes anything?! Blood decides victory, not sentiment!”
Their blades met.
Steel howled beneath layered laws, Absolute Zero clashing against the weight of pure devil blood and brute force.
But now, Shela pressed forward. Faster. Stronger. Bolstered by the aura that answered not to cruelty, but care.
Salitha’s presence behind her anchored her will.
Nullath struck from the side, claws flashing, mouth opening in sigils and smoke. But Salitha’s commands severed its momentum, halting it mid-lunge with another soft-spoken order.
“Hold him!”
Chains of light snapped shut around the monster, binding limbs to sky, tongue to silence.
Dozeuff faltered. “Impossible!”
Shela did not waste the moment.
Her sword found flesh and cut deep. Frost bloomed inside muscle and marrow, locking his regeneration beneath layers of ice kissed by laws he couldn’t name.
His scythe met her blade again, but this time he gave ground.
“You…!”
Shela ignored his fury. Her mission burned clearer now. Her blood burned colder.
Protect Salitha. Protect Hannya. Protect the sanctum.
Salitha’s aura pulsed brighter. “Finish this. I’ll cover you.”
The battlefield turned pink beneath their combined wills.
Dozeuff’s smile fractured. His scythe spun faster, desperation seeping in where arrogance once reigned supreme.
Shela dashed forward as the pink light deepened.
The battlefield’s rain slowed again, distorted under the sheer absurdity of the clash between love and sleep.
Dozeuff’s scythe swung with mounting fury, arcs of black-edged energy screaming through the warping air as he pressed Shela harder. His attacks grew sloppier, angrier, yet no less dangerous. Each swing heavy with desperation masked as confidence.
Nullath circled them like a predator sensing blood, slashing wide with those hideous claws. Its sigil-coated tongue unfurled with each lash, sending pulses of nullification to chew at Shela’s frozen defenses.
Salitha’s aura pressed back.
“Shield her.” The words rolled gentle from her lips, and the shimmering pink energy complied. Sigils flared beneath Shela’s feet, catching Nullath’s attacks mid-air, turning force to harmless light as the strike hit a thin barrier.
“Strengthen her.” Another command. Another surge of warmth bolstering Shela’s limbs, speeding her steps, sharpening her strikes.
Steel met scythe again and again, the ground cracking beneath their fury. Frost clashed against narcotic rain, vapor twisting above.
“You’re nothing!” Dozeuff spat, carving wide arcs of violence at her defenses. “You’re just a servant pretending to be a knight! An imp playing soldier!”
Shela didn’t answer with words. Only movement.
Precise, efficient, growing colder with every heartbeat. Her devil blood freezing over her focus once again.
Protect Salitha. Protect Hannya. Protect the sanctum.
But behind her, bringing out her demon blood’s emotional balance, Salitha’s voice rose in encouragement.
Purely to support her, unaware of the gravity of her words and presence in the battlefield.
“You’re not alone anymore. Fight, Shela. Fight knowing you’re loved!”
Sheila's demon blood responded, keeping the precision, yet expanding her mind, determined not to sacrifice her body for efficient strikes.
Dozeuff snarled. “SHUT UP!”
He jerked back, one hand flashing through the air as a black sigils bloomed before him. His devil blood roared with fury as it pulled on the first of his stars, he had had enough, devouring a star in a blaze of corrupt intent.
“[Wish Magic]: Get rid of this pink air!”
Chaos energy cracked the sky, raw and untamed. The pink aura buckled as threads of supreme energy clawed at Salitha’s creation.
But Salitha smiled. Soft and certain.
She lifted her hand. Another black sigil spun to life.
“[Wish Magic]: Cancel the wish.”
The conflicting powers slammed into each other with a thunderous hum. The chaos unraveled, beginning to shatter and dissolve into harmless mist.
Dozeuff’s breath hitched, then twisted into a snarl. “Fine! [Wish Magic]: Ignore her!”
Again, chaos gathered. It began to reform the absolute sigil.
Salitha laughed, a sound bright as bells. “[Wish Magic]: Don't listen to him, listen to me.”
Her words cut through his like silk through rot. The chaos halted again as the pink light flared brighter, locking the battlefield beneath her influence. Nullath recoiled, its sigils faltering, confused by the constant shift in laws.
Dozeuff’s composure cracked further. His teeth bared in something between rage and fear. He cast again. Wildly. Desperately.
“[Wish Magic]: Break her protection! Shatter this fake law! DROWN HER IN THE RAIN!”
Chaos gathered for a third time. Lashing, biting, now forming into sigils with jagged tendrils aimed straight for Salitha.
But her hand merely closed into a fist.
“[Wish Magic]: Deny his wishes. None shall answer him again.”
Her aura surged. The pink sky bloomed with new black sigils, locking his chaos in place, crushing it under gentle inevitability. The platform rumbled the sky, the storm of black sigils shattered like glass beneath the weight of conflicting requests.
Dozeuff stumbled, breathing hard from sheer anger.
…but sweat began to mix with the rain.
Slowly, silently, fear crept in.
Not because his attacks failed. Not because his monster faltered. But because…
He didn’t know how many stars she had.
If she had more than him, her wishes would always win.
If she had equal, it would become a battle of timing or shattered sigils.
But she was too calm. Too controlled. She showed no strain or worry over being outwished.
Could she be… a 4-star too?
He hadn’t considered it. She didn’t act like one. Didn’t carry herself like nobility with power. But the wishes she carelessly used, unbothered…
On top of that, the condensed love energy, though he didn't know the name, he was aware of the niche form of combat. A resource only certain devil lineages could wield, mimicking Chaos energy itself in limited form. Energy potent enough to fuel wish magic in battle without the rules of confliction.
Though the wishes could only be simple, the results were devastating.
He’d heard the rumors. These ‘Romance Devils’ were rare. Fewer than a hundred existed in Hellnia. Their powers veiled in secrecy, their strength dismissed because they didn’t seek war or conquest.
But if she was one of them…
His grin faltered.
Salitha saw it, and smiled wider. “Feeling uncertain now? Poor little devil. I thought you believed in hierarchy?”
He growled. “Shut up.”
Shela moved.
Faster now.
The air chilled beneath her steps, Absolute Zero retaking ground inch by inch as Salitha’s aura carved openings.
Dozeuff barely brought his scythe up in time. Sparks hissed as blades met, his strength forced to meet hers evenly now.
Nullath struck again, claws wide, but Salitha’s command snapped out. “Bind him.”
Chains of pink light wrapped the creature’s limbs, halting its advance again.
“You can’t win,” Salitha said softly, watching Dozeuff struggle beneath their combined assault. “You’re still fighting alone. She isn’t.”
He screamed, voice breaking beneath frustration. His scythe lashed harder, wilder, but Shela’s sword found his ribs again. Frost crept deep. His blood boiled against it.
“You’re nothing!” he shouted. “Nothing but broken strays, lower than skinnies!”
Salitha’s smile didn’t waver. “And yet we’re standing. Together.”
Dozeuff felt the chill creeping up his spine from realization.
This fight… wasn’t going his way.
The pink air held, but only barely. Salitha’s condensed love aura strained with each passing breath, ribbons of warmth pushing against the flood of narcotic rain as it thickened beyond natural limits. Already the shimmering air frayed, her previous commands burning through her reserves faster than she wished.
And yet… She stood tall.
So did Shela.
The battlefield had shifted. Dozeuff was on the back foot now. His attacks, once smooth and cruelly calculated, grew ragged. His movements, once languid with superiority, now trembled beneath the creeping weight of fear. He fought harder, yes, but harder wasn’t smarter.
The panic had started the moment he realized he couldn’t run. His wish magic, denied. His superiority, questioned. His monster, faltering. His ego couldn’t bear it.
And Shela… she advanced like the inevitable.
Absolute Zero grinding forward, reasserting its cruel law inch by inch.
Her sword flashed, clean and precise, parrying, striking, forcing him back with mechanical efficiency.
Dozeuff’s snarls grew louder, more frantic. Nullath lashed out wildly, but with every pulse of his panic, the beast’s attacks became less focused, its obedience begging to sway.
It struck at Dozeuff himself.
Once. Twice. As if confused whether he was master or prey.
“Useless! Obey me!” he roared, deflecting the claws with his scythe, even as he bled from fresh cuts. The fear in his chest bloomed like rot. He was losing control. His inexperience with his Tenet was betraying him, the very thing he had relied on now turned against him in his spiral. Nullath responded to the will of its master. But when the master panicked, the beast went feral.
Shela saw it. Registered the weakness.
Then moved.
A step through corrupted rain. A slash through loving air.
And her sword cleaved cleanly through his right arm.
Bone. Flesh. Gone in a single, ruthless stroke.
Dozeuff’s scream echoed in outrage. The pain was nothing, but the humiliation…
Shela regarded the severed limb dispassionately. “Unfortunate.”
The word hit harder than the wound. A mockingless, crueless, clinical-like statement. As though noting a broken tool.
His composure cracked wide open.
“Ha…haha…hahaha! Ahahahah! You think this matters?! You think blood makes me bleed?!” His laughter rang high, strained, wild. He staggered back, clutching his shoulder as the stump hissed with regenerating flesh, already knitting itself closed with disgusting speed.
“You think I’m like you? Weak? Petty? Tied to these fragile forms?” His grin stretched too wide, eyes gleaming with something beyond reason. “I am a devil! I am superior! That will not change!”
From his spatial ring, he pulled something small and black. A shard, etched with runes like a cancerous sibling to Caldeon’s own relic. A shard meant for desperate measures.
Salitha’s heart lurched. She didn’t know what it was, but her instincts screamed.
“Stop him!” she cried.
But they were too slow.
Dozeuff stabbed the shard into his chest.
It sank deep with a sick crunch, vanishing into flesh like a key turning in a lock.
The reaction was immediate.
His devil core groaned, spun, then expanded. Swollen with unstable power, his aura flared grotesquely wide, flooding the battlefield with sick light. His remaining arm flexed as the lost one regrew in seconds, faster, stronger. His blood boiled with something wrong, something stolen from depths devils weren’t meant to access.
“Hahahaha… This… this is what I wanted.” His breath came ragged, joyous. “It’s like having the blood of a six-star now… I can feel it. Every cell… reborn.”
The sky above responded.
Rain no longer fell.
Replaced by A falling river.
Water poured from clouds like broken dams, drowning the field beneath waves of narcotic deluge. Streams coiled unnaturally through the air, twisting in defiance of gravity to choke breath and blur vision. Everything drowned beneath his law now.
Shela’s Absolute Zero faltered again, forced to contract closer and closer to her body just to survive the weight. Frost hissed as water met stillness, but it couldn’t hold everywhere.
Nullath howled to the storm itself. Its body pulsed, claws lashing mindlessly as its hunger grew alongside its master’s madness.
Salitha felt her love energy burn away, faster than she could measure. Each command, each shield, each support, draining faster now against the swollen tide of corruption. Her vial’s power dwindled beneath her fingertips.
But still… she stood.
She swallowed her fear. Straightened her back.
“I’m still here, Shela… I’ll hold this. We’ll hold this.”
Shela nodded as the devil blood within her worked overtime.
Protect Salitha. Protect Hannya. Protect the sanctum.
That was enough.
Dozeuff laughed louder, drunk on his new strength. “Look at you two! Still standing! How cute! How pathetic!” His grin warped wider, bleeding into madness. “Keep standing! I’ll bury you alive under rivers of sleep! Under waves of oblivion! That’s the hierarchy! That’s the truth!”
He raised his scythe high, power bleeding from every pore. Nullath circled again, eyes blazing with chaos.
The battlefield was hell now.
But even in hell…
Salitha’s pink light refused to die.
“I’ll show you all that I’m supreme!” Dozeuff howled it to the drowning sky, to the ruins of pride and fading hope. “Superior! Above all!”
As his words fell…
The sky changed.
Without warning.
Without cause.
The narcotic grey of his Tenet bled away like a paling face. In its place, a hue of deep crimson, thick as spilled blood, stained the heavens above them.
Dozeuff’s grin faltered.
His scythe dipped.
“…What…?” For the first time, uncertainty crept beneath his skin. “That’s… not… my laws…”
From the red sky, a sound echoed.
Soft, feminine, playful, and angered.
A subtly enraged laugh, light as silk and twice as cutting.
“Kikiki…”
It echoed through the rain, through the haze, curling beneath his skin like a serpent coiling around his fear.
“Supreme? Above all?”
His eyes snapped wide.
He recognized nothing of the voice.
Yet something primal screamed recognition.
Salitha’s breath caught in her throat as she felt her blood react without warning.
Even Shela, bloodied and frozen, shifted her gaze as her laws rattled.
And beneath the crimson sky, the air itself seemed to smile with cheerful malice.
Comments
Wintermelody
Thanks for the chapter (≧▽≦)
Prent
This is clearly the part where Third Friend Bleau(Jack)euff shows up to berate his friend for being too extra.
