The story so far: Momonga and five of his online guildmates have been flung into a whole new world, a dark and miserable place. In here, their bodies have been turned into that of their avatars, monstrous beings that had been worshiped by their former NPC servants-who were responsible for bringing this world to chaos in the first place. After their destruction of a hideous place called the Crossroads, what will each of them do now, when the call of destiny beckons?
And now, on with the story!
It was the highest arrogance to assume that the future could be predicted. Not even the Demon King dares to predict the future. Only the Gods are said to see time itself: past, present, and future knitting and unraveling before Their Gazes.
But divination, with its myriad practices across many cultures, was not outlawed. It has been decreed that it is the prerogative of fools to spend their dearly earned momongas on cheap fortune-tellings and the words of thieves and charlatans.
For there is a shred of validity in attempting to puzzle out the skeins of the fate. Some consider it luck, or coincidence, but events may be guided-by magic or other means-so that the future foreseen becomes real history, particularly for someone who needs to live in this world. All the more important, even, for one who needs to face death on a daily basis.
She, the leader of the adventurer team the Bloodied Horns, was one such devout adherent. And her belief has yet to fail her.
Every morning, after the daily ablutions, she would take stock of the omens that met her eyes-the number of people that would pass by, the presence of several omens of bad luck, even the presence of a breeze on the air. She would add it up in her mind, hoping to point to a favorable outcome. If it were, then the day would be assured, there would be no deaths for herself or her team, no matter how dangerous the job.
If the signs added up to a negative outcome, then she would absolutely refuse. They could impose a penalty, reduce their medal count, do whatever; but at least this way the Bloodied Horns lived to see another day. Her team-mates recognized the strength of her superstitions, and followed her lead faithfully, even if it lead to them turning down lucrative jobs. Even when a favorable outcome lead to a difficult conclusion-their horns would be bloodied, but they would not visit the Halls of Great Momonga yet.
Last night, a sign most perilous shook her to her core. A sign of the apocalypse.
According to the traditions passed around the world since before the Demon King, there were various portents of the apocalypse. But chief among these prophecies was that of The End Times. The Time of Gods' Fall.
The Demon King's arrival, and the Night Queen's appearance, had long been foretold. What had once been the obscure ravings of madmen and charlatans became True Prophecy when they actually came to pass. And so it was that the End Times, a passage that had yet to happen, was regarded with healthy trepidation. For it heralded nothing less than the end of the world, and that would just suck.
"The sun shall rise at night, fell things in the sky above, a great tomb desecrated; in the lands a new Blight, blood stains the elder grove, the night and the sky shall be mated. And when all these things have passed, when thunder shakes the shattered pillars of the Kingdom, when the brilliant dawn rises on an empire's ashes, Death itself shall walk on a lavender cloud, and the Gods shall walk again. The Gods shall walk again."
She could quote the passage in her sleep. Sleep sometimes even evaded her-she feared to be asleep when the apocalypse began.
Which was exactly what seemed to have happened last night.
A sun blooming in the deep night; illuminating the distant horizon for a brief moment. Most shrugged off the ominous sign, seeing it as yet another of the Demon King's strange sorceries. But shivers ran through the spines of those who followed the prophecies, those who believed.
And then came word from the top. A secret mission, sent directly by the Magistros' office. Her foreboding soared-the moment they returned to the inn she shut herself inside the room, determined to run through every available divination. It wasn't just the combination of ominous events. There was the gut instinct, universal to all beings; the awareness that one's life hung by a spider's thread.
"Sister, it's time," Grud said, knocking on the door.
Her eyes rose from the table's surface. She saw the sunlight streaming through the window.
It was already well past sunrise. The Bloodied Horns had to sortie, and soon.
No... we can't. The auguries...
Her throat locked up, almost choking. All the auguries were clear.
She pulled the Tarot of the Supreme, shuffled it. The Tarot had been one of the newest divination additions, propagated by the Kingdom and adopted by almost everyone who wished to treat with them. It involved suits that represented the Forty-One, and were said to perpetuate the mysteries of these distant gods. Then, before she placed the first card, she put it back, and reshuffled the tarot. It was cheating a little, but it was the only way to validate her suspicions. She played the new tarot.
Her hands shook. Impossible!
[The World Disaster]. Ulbert Allain Odle. Patron of the Demon King, and Destroyer of Worlds. An omen of doom, but sometimes, if appearing last, it foretold good fortune. His head pointed to the north, indicating no vagueness in the interpretation. As ominous as Lord Ulbert looked, the tarot's implication wasn't that horrifying by itself.
The next card. She gasped.
[The Supreme Above All]. Momonga, Lord of Death. The ultimate end of the Tarot, foretelling a number of similar endings in the future. Quite literally, it could indicate her death. In positive terms, it meant one was soon to be exalted over one's peers. His head pointed to the west, a position indicating the worst portents.
Combined, the two cards showed a brewing disaster. The picture of death and disaster combined could not have been more clear. But the third had yet to come.
She played the last card. Her whole body shook. Impossible. Impossible! This was the fourth time she'd played the tarot. And it played the exact same cards twice?
The [Three of Comets]. Three shining comet-like objects, over a burning castle. Pointing north-meaning it meant exactly as it appeared. It was said to picture the siege of the last human resistance years back, but that was just speculation. Aside from the mystic nature of the Comets, which usually connoted some sort of magical event in the future, [Three of Comets] indicated, as expected, disaster. An event long foreseen has come to assault one's life, and one should bear it, as the castle. If it had been reversed, then it could imply something more positive, but...
Altogether, the reading meant many things. It could even be interpreted as something completely positive. But the tarot reading was only one of many divinations she made. And all of them bore the same chilling results of impending doom and disaster.
"Spirits preserve us," she whispered. Her whole body trembled. The sunlight did not feel warm and inspiring at all.
They looked at each other.
"After you, Guildmaster," said Ulbert, gesturing at the door.
"No, no, after you," said Momonga.
They might be in wholly different bodies, but something about a completely unlit room in front of them still gave them pause.
"Fine, I'll just cast a [continuous light] first," said Ulbert, waving his hands to cast the spell.
Then the trap triggered.
"I see... it is certainly ominous," said Blubergg.
Grud nodded. "Any other time, and we would follow Sister's feeling. But now, it is an order from the Magistros. An order from the Demon King!"
"And we cannot refuse now, anyway," growled Sngwyferad. "We have already accepted! To refuse now would shame our souls forever."
She glanced around at her team. The Bloodied Horns, composed of four strong heteromorphs, survived despite their small number because of their innate strengths.
One had been a veteran of many skirmishes along the Night Border, which had sharpened his considerable skills. One undead or a hundred: he could cleave through them all with but the handle of his spear. Blubergg was strength incarnate.
Sngwyferad the Unpronouncable was also the Undetectable, a hulking monstrosity that could inexplicably hide in plain sight. He'd stolen from a vault of a Magistros out in the sticks, and the demon had rewarded his cunning and audacity with one less year fighting in the Arena, where he'd furthe honed his killing techniques.
Grud had a faith unshakable, even if it was to three different Beings. A practice frowned upon by society, this nonetheless gave him access to a stable of useful spells. He just had to pay almost three quarters of his annual pay to the three Temples, but as a self-proclaimed ascetic he claimed to have few worldly needs.
And then there was herself, slave to many auguries, secret heir to a line of seers in her old village. She bought her spells from the Temple of Yamaiko, but her worship was only lip service-her people prayed to older gods, and she shared their belief that the Demon King's Gods were mere fabrications, made to shackle an unruly populace. But it was good to fall in line with the times; one did not need to look at the humans to know where power now lay.
She sighed. "I do not intend to remind you, as always, to be careful. You've all already heard it plenty of times." Amused snorts were shared around the table. Despite the feeling of contentment around her, she could not feel relieved. She could not articulate to her comrades how fucking terrified she felt. It was as if a mouth was below them, waiting to swallow them all, and they needed only wait for it to open.
"Extra precautions then," Grud said sagely who seemed to have sensed her ill-feeling. Between him and her they had a host of protective spells, most meant to delay an enemy while increasing their chance of survival. Additionally, she had an amulet that would ensure quick teleportation back to the capital when she triggered it. It had been a very expensive purchase, and prone to being a target for thieves, but this was one of the few ways to address her intense paranoia. If the situation got very bad, she could flee, then come back with two other adventurer groups to revive them.
Sngwyferad grunted. "We can't leave yet anyway. We've still got to wait for that spiritual heteromorph."
"Hierophant," said Grud, blinking lazily at the Unpronouncable. "She's a Hierophant."
Sngwyferad scoffed. Despite their rise in status to be equal citizens under the law, most still saw the "spiritual heteromorphs" as upstart humans. Even those favored by the various Magistros knew to keep a low profile to avoid any unpleasant incidents.
Blubergg slapped a hand to the table. "My preparations are also complete, leader. My armor is ready to take on anything the future brings."
"We shall see if that is enough," Grud said, scratching his beard.
"The Gods are with us, old sage! You've certainly paid them enough for three of them to take notice!" Blubergg said, chortling.
"Excuse me, but are you the Bloody Horns?"
The table fell into silence. Four pairs of eyes swept to the side, where a small, cloaked figure stood.
"Bloodied Horns," said Sngwyferad. "Don't make the same mistake again, human."
"Ahhh, of course, my mistake, my mistake~~" The human bowed repeatedly, like a drinking bird. "Please do not mind this unworthy self, milords. I await your discretion. I am, of course, ready for our sacred mission."
A female, she thought, recognizing the scent. Five to make the party... and the newer member is a woman... She cursed her luck-the new signs pointed to an even more troubling impression.
Shit. This day was looking more and more to be the Bloodied Horns' last. She only prayed that a god out there was merciful.
"It's time, Sebas."
"Yes, milord."
"Be sure not to tell the others."
"As you wish."
"We ride! On my-be very sure not to tell Peroroncino. Please."
"I give you my most sincere assurances."
"Very good. Ahem. We ride! On a steed of JUSTICE!"
A burst of light illuminated the forest. From within a smoking part of the ground appeared a strange shape. When the smoke further cleared, it looked like a motorcycle, though only Touch Me recognized the shape.
"Amazing," said Touch Me. "It worked."
Sebas peered closely at the thing. "What is it, milord?"
"It's a special anniversary mount-I mean, it's a horse, a mechanical horse of pure JUSTICE!"
It was a mount. Touch Me had bought it on impulse back in Yggdrasil 2.0. Its design was very similar to a certain famous television show on a vintage series he'd watched. Of course, the appearance of the thing would incite jokes from his guild-mates, so he took care never to show it off.
But now, in this new world, he could do so with impunity. A real motorcycle, in a land lacking defined roads. Somehow, the idea appealed to him even more. He wondered if this thing would work.
"It is certainly a splendid beast, milord," said Sebas, as he watched his master mount the thing. After a few moments, the beast roared to life, bellowing a fearsome, thunderous wail. The horse began to purr like a great beast.
"It worked!" Touch Me repeated. "Astounding... it's almost like the real thing-no, it is the real thing. In here, it's become-"
A celestial steed, thought Sebas, marveling at the creature. Its white-silver hide matched the Supreme Being perfectly.
"Come then, Sebas. We go!"
It took the steel-backed butler a few seconds to comprehend the command. "Beg pardon, milord?"
Touch Me pointed to a spot on the horse behind him. "Come ride on the back, Sebas. I want to test drive this thing."
Sebas hesitated. He recognized that mounting the horse in such a way would put him in close proximity with his master. He'd have to touch his master, to hold on.
"I... must respectfully decline," said Sebas, already feeling slightly disappointed. "Please, do go on ahead, milord. I shall certainly follow behind you."
"If this baby can get to the right speed, I don't think you could catch up, Sebas. Still, I'm not too keen on racing anyone yet. C'mon. Don't be shy."
Sebas swallowed. Dare he hope? But this would be akin to abusing his master's goodwill! Perhaps it was a test of some sort. Surely his master would not be this-
"Sebas." The command in Touch Me's voice was unmistakable.
"Then, I shall most graciously accept, milord!" Sebas said, with teary eyes. He mounted the strange creature. With trembling hands, he grasped his master's waist. It was the first time the butler of iron will ever felt such pure joy.
VROOOOMMMM!
Crying that unearthly wail, the creature sped through the forest, a silvery blur through a sea of green. In the middle of that screeching battle cry came the voice of its master, who shouted through the wind: "Eeeeeyaaahooooo!"
"V-very well then. M-moving out!" she cried helplessly, turning to the small army of undead surrounding her. At her voice, the mindless legion moved, accepting her as their temporary master. There were a host of skeletal warriors, with a complement of archers and a couple of magic casters to support her.
Their equipment wasn't that good, but as they were to be disposable fodder for escorting her, they didn't need to be well-equipped. The masters expected her to flee at the first sign of trouble. If she failed to return to report, they would care little. And then who would be there to protect her sisters from the Night Queen? Nobody.
Still, the sight of so many undead around her was a shocking shift from when she was only entombed in the Night Queen's pleasure chambers. The Night Queen's capital was a nightmarish vision of hordes of rotting corpses walking in preset patterns around the streets, of scores of vengeful wraiths circling overhead, singing their unearthly songs without rest, of the hulking sentinels, knit from a hundred corpses, standing to attention at every corner like gigantic, misshapen gateposts.
The only glaring exception that seemed out of place in this city were the shining Temples dedicated to the Gods Peroroncino and Momonga, whom even the most devout worshipers deigned to visit in pilgrimage-unless it was to also join the Night Queen's armies in eternal unlife.
She recalled for a brief moment, when she was but one of many prisoners assigned to the camps, how she'd chosen Peroroncino as her patron God in a fit of feverish insanity. Perhaps this impulsive declaration had been heard by that distant deity, who had then capriciously assigned her to the very close side of a being who was said to be dedicated to that same god.
In her darkest moments within that hellish room, she wondered if she had truly been Arche Eeb Ril Furt, or if she was just another of these common thralls, her beauty and intellect manufactured for the sadistic whims of a vampire lord.
No... they are still here... I can still..!
And so, with thoughts of doubt and self-recrimination, the thrall once known as Arche left the capital of the Night Queen's demesne, past silent, eternal sentries, past the ruins of an old arena, which was now the spawning ground for countless undead; then out through the ruins of the majestic gates, whose shattering by a mighty dragon signaled the end of an empire; and then out into the wilderness beyond, to her appointed mission.
"Excuse me, milady, but what am I to do?"
Nemu watched the Lady Bukubukuchagama wield some sort of big, pink hammer with stars along the head. The master had been staring at the hammer for quite a while now.
"Hm? Oh, never mind me, Nemu-chan. I'm just trying to figure out how to work this..."
They had returned to the Crossroads-or rather, the cooling crater that had been left of it after Lord Ulbert's rage had burned everything to ash. Surrounding them were the silent trees of the Dread Forest.
"...Gosh this is tricky. Listen, Nemu-chan, why don't you go have a look around for a bit? If you see anyone, please keep them busy for a while so I won't get distracted. But be sure to take good care of 'em, would you please? Don't worry, I'll call you over when I've got this all worked out."
"Understood, master," said Nemu, saluting.
For a good, long time the Champion Nemu just stood there, watching the master weave strange sorceries out of thin air. Inside its mind, it continued to process the last command it had been given. Over and over it repeated, as Nemu's mind tried to reconcile the command with its myriad native directives.
Her mandate as Lord Momonga's personal servant was easily and readily understood. And as long as none of her Creators countermanded the order, she was also expected to obey the order of one of the Creators.
Then, as if a light bulb dinged above her head, she understood what the master wanted her to do.
It was all so perfectly simple, of course.
The great Bukubukuchagama intended to weave a terrible spell. So she should not be "distracted"-that is to say, disturbed under any circumstances.
To "look around" meant "guarding the perimeter" from any insects foolish enough to enter the sacred domain of the Supreme Beings. Technically this whole world was the Supreme Beings', but her operational range was too limited to cover that big of a place.
So, she was limited to this forest then.
Further, "please keep them busy" obviously meant "merciless termination". Death, then, to any who would enter the forest. No exceptions.
Lastly, she would obviously "take good care" of the intruders. She should take such meticulous care that anything reasonably left behind of the hypothetical intruders would be so insignificant as to be unnoticeable by the Supreme Beings.
The logical conclusion was total annihilation.
Nemu produced the great bow granted to her by Touch Me, and then with a determined expression, faded into the shadows of the nearby trees.
The lines leaving the capital weren't usually this long. During this time of day these kinds of lines were for people going in: farmers with the latest produce, weary adventurers fresh from a quest, or those traveling by night for some reason.
Today there were as much people wanting to leave as those wanting to get in-to the utter confusion of the latter group. She was glad they had a special permit from the Magistros that bypassed the line, but they still needed to be processed at the gate.
There was a particularly odious merchant in front of them, who had a special permit from the Demon King himself and thus had priority, no matter how much they pointed out the importance of their mission. She crossed her arms and watched as the fat, salivating thing bragged to the chief overseer of the number of slaves he owned, enough to fuel a year's worth of sacrifices.
"What the hell are they so scared of?" Sngwyferad muttered, looking around at the lines of worried people down on the street.
"Hush, ignorant one," said Grud. "Leader isn't the only one who listens to the ritual calls of destiny." Sngwyferad grunted, respecting her too much to argue openly. Dissension in a professional adventurer group must always be kept behind close doors, but in this case, she didn't have cause to worry. They were all loyal, as long as she continued adventuring. In fact, she rather suspected each of the males were angling to take her as their mate when she wanted to settle down, and were only biding their time.
"They fear what is unknown, as all beings must," their "guest" said suddenly.
"Do not speak unless it is important, human," snarled Sngwyferad. "When we have need of your 'expertise', we shall let you know." Overhearing, the merchant turned to sneer at the human, licking his lips and baring his teeth.
"I humbly apologize~~" said the human, with a bow. She crossed eyes with the human's when its head turned her way. There was a hint of something there, like hate, or greed? But she had no time to worry about that-a human's thoughts were insignificant compared to all the tragic omens presenting themselves with each passing moment.
Everything she saw around fell within the purview of prophecy. There was much to interpret from the number of people gathered here as from the readings of human entrails. Greater, even, because the sudden confluence of energies in this place were said to be predisposed to greater sibylline expressions.
An argument here: who was arguing, why are they arguing, how did it end; the number of stuff on a cart there: are they fruit, vegetables, something else, are they all round, all different shapes, cursed artifacts or spoils from battle; or perhaps even the instance of a bird shitting down on somebody: what color his clothes, what shape the poop-stain, did the person ignore it, scream, whatever-the readings were endless. She hoped to at least gather a hopeful fortune before they left the city.
"We thank you for your patience," said the gate overseer, returning from his office. "I will be with you soon," he told her, handing a piece of paper to the merchant. She nodded silently, though her keen eyes kept observing. The exchange was not fumbled-a good sign. The process had not taken longer than one chunk of the "clock"-device she owned. Another good sign.
"Get ready," she told the Bloodied Horns, as she handed the Magistros' letter to the overseer. Belatedly, she had forgotten to tally the number of people in the room-the overseer had returned just as several of the guards had left. Their party was five, plus the three guards, the merchant about to leave, the junior official writing on the desk over there, and the overseer... That made-
A screech rended the air, the sound boring into their ears like demented worms. She, the Horns, the human, everyone within the chamber and outside fell to their knees, the unholy wail keening in their minds, the piercing sound so otherworldly that it seemed that it was stabbing into their spirits, crushing them beneath the awareness that here or there, they were not safe as long as-
She gasped. The noise was gone. On shaking legs, she scrambled up, the phantom noise still echoing in her mind.
"Fell things in the air!" someone outside shouted. The proclamation was duly echoed by others, and within seconds a cacophony of voices began to rumble like thunder, louder and louder.
"The prophecy!" "Apocalypse!"
Quite a number of people outside were staring up at the sky, pointing at the innocent clouds as if something sinister were hidden within. The scene quickly devolved into hysteria. The lines collapsed as those wishing to leave either struggled against the implacable demonic guards at the gate, or fled back into the city, to further infect the rest of the city with the convulsing madness. Those wanting to get in either abandoned their attempts and fled back down the road, or also contended with the gate guards, screaming for shelter.
An ill feeling stayed like a block of ice in her gut. Of all the things to happen- She looked around at her fellows. A rattling sound, as of stones cascading down a cliff, indicated Blubergg quaking in his heavy mail armor. Grud was breathing heavily, his eyes peering up at the sky as if he were straining to see something. And Sngwyferad was huddled on the floor, muttering incomprehensible words, his expression far away. Near the door, the merchant was squealing like a stuck pig, flat on his back and flailing his arms like a helpless turtle.
"What was that?" Blubergg wondered. "A noise most foul, as if a voice were speaking to me from the netherworld..."
Amidst the terror and confusion, the human had the gall to laugh. "Beware the strike unseen, the shot unheard, the trap unnoticed. As spoken by Nishikienrai-sama."
"Shut up!" she snapped, her anger surging past her apprehension, almost making her strike the impudent creature. But she steadied herself at the last second. A conflict this early was bound to upset the winds of fortune.
She fumed, turning sharply from the human. Survival was the most important thing. It didn't matter what else would occur-the Bloodied Horns would continue to endure for another day. That was her duty.
There was no point tempting fickle fate by taking out her anger on an insignificant being.
"Let's go," she barked, and went out of the gate.
Grunting in frustration, Peroroncino unequipped the [Lidless Eye].
While at first the effects Momonga-san had described had been very promising, he was finding it difficult to narrow down the exact usage. It was rather like being ordered to operate a machine without any prior training.
The [Soul] item had given him a slight headache. The visions it gave him of things were either too close, like the microscopic surface of a distant leaf on a tree; or too confusing, like something he thought was a 'spirit filter', after which all kinds of purple shit showed up in his sight. It was all very unreliable, and very confusing.
He'd even thought he'd spotted a city somewhere, although he couldn't pinpoint exactly where it was.
"Oh well."
He'd rely on his own sight for now. There was a map that needed drawing.
Shurpuff says: With a milestone reached, the arc properly continues!
Thanks for reading!