Re:Animation

by Tall-Gothic-Guy

When he chose to be diligent instead of submitting to his sloth, to be lawful instead of being good, to be ethical than to be moralistic, to uphold reason over honor, to prioritize his duties over his own interests—when he chose to value the Priest of the Serpent he saw himself as instead of being a human, he never knew the alternate path of pain he could have set himself on.

1. The Fall of Sloth

Weeks passed, the same old happenings passing by as he looked down on the streets of Lugunica.

And it's so boring.

The fascination of sentient demihumans walking alongside their more human counterparts and the sight of dinosaur-like reptiles being used as intelligent beasts of burden have all but burned away. The only thing that interested him more was how many times he could sigh in a single day and see if he ends up making a sound out of it. He never does.

Beating thugs close to death in the back alleys no longer seemed fun anymore. Tormenting them in their sleeping places with nightmares and terrors was starting to lose its charm. And Raeburn getting on his case is starting to get more than a little annoying. Anymore and he will lash out. The last thing he wants is getting their possible spat creating rumors similar to the ones he had in Pandemonium.

The reputation of his kind was just getting a little more better a month ago. He won't ruin that progress by losing his mind here.

[Sing a song, why don't you?] A disembodied voice suggested to him from the wand in his belt, the pubescent undertone indicating the identity of Viandegroc. Usually the first to say something, [You haven't done so in a while.]

[Yes…you do have the nicest singing voice…..] As always, the second to follow is that silky and honeysweet voice that belonged to the woman he once mutilated years ago.

He waited for the two men to add their own comment or a better suggestion to pass the time. Surprisingly, they didn't, which was rare. They always take the opportunity to indulge in light conversations with the living. The Dead have the most humble luxuries.

He sighed soundlessly, his chin touching his chest and his silver hair flying sideways from the wind.

He should have been one of them by now, or at least returned to the Underground City. Whoever brought him to this world out of Pandemonium, they have a lot to answer for. It isn't going to start with a conversation, however. It starts with a sickle to the head, just like he always preferred, then they talk.

"Thief! Stop!"

Before he heard the end of the first word, before he heard the sound of mana being materialized into solid water, he was already up to his feet and eyeing the source of that shout.

And there, he saw it on the streets of the bazaar.

Stakes of ice flew, over the heads of ducking bystanders and careening through the air to hit a rather tiny target. That target was a little human girl, blonde haired and incredibly mobile, lithely twisting her slim body horizontally, the projectile flying past where her waist should have been before her hand caught the edge of a roof and easily lifted her small frame up and ran away.

He turned his attention to the victim of that thief, and his eyes widened like plates, his green eyes glowing in surprise. At this moment, he knew this is never going to end on a boring note.

White.

Nothing but white. Compared to the rest of the scenery around this woman, convoluted with every color possible found in the clothes, furs, and scales of civilians and the materials of every floor, wood, and wall, her pale figure was a jarring sight. White clothing. White skin.

The most prominent, her white hair.

She wasn't old. She was incredibly young, yet to reach her second decade by another 2 turns.

With his longing for home still fresh in his mind despite the passing of a whole month, he nearly mistook her for another one of his kind. No one else would have such pigment in their hair during their youth, but he was quick to remember that this world is nothing like the one he is born from. That he was alone here.

He watched as she quickly began to give chase to her thief, slickly slipping through people and obstacles. And she's incredibly fast, far too fast for a regular woman. Her form is also distinct. Upper body leaned forward and each step directly beneath her center of balance, keeping her speed from diminishing. And every sway of her body is graceful.

[Looks like we have an interesting person to know.] Viandegroc commented, and he could feel the owner of that voice nodding in interest, [Her body language tells me that she knows more than just slinging ice cubes.]

No mundane human moves around like that, he can agree.

[And she's not stopping….] Sally added, noting how this white woman is barely slowing down in her sprint. [Had it been just coins, anyone would just give it up…..which makes me think what was swiped has more value than money…..]

He agreed on that too. She looked quite frantic, either it's something sentimental or the woman is just very possessive.

[Then we shall follow and witness her resolve.] Now the third voice to usually follow up has arrived, the booming and hulking undertone marking the presence of the loudest one he has ever met, killed, and imprisoned in the wand. [The Mighty King shall enjoy it.]

Without a second wasted, Emurdol slickly moved away from the rooftop edge and began tailing this interesting woman. With hope, this doesn't end in a violent confrontation like the last time. Raeburn literally asked for it just by being there. He cannot accept that he of all people was in the same situation as him. He absolutely cannot. Drawing the attention of that red-haired knight again is the last thing he wants.

Before even a minute has passed, the woman stopped, her gaze turned to something at the side of the street.

He quirked an eyebrow.

[A child?] Viandegroc voiced out his initial thoughts upon seeing the crying little one.

[Seems to be lost, frightened and looking around so much, as if to find her guardian among the crowd….] Sally followed up with a clearer idea of what's going on.

Emurdol waited for Lucifer, and again, he was silent. What the hell is happening? Isn't William the one that follows up once in a while? Bart doesn't count. The noble never once spoken since then, and it has nothing to do with the fact that his mother ripped out his threat before he was beheaded.

Mentally shaking off his ruminations, he watched the white woman approach the little one gently and knelt down, saying rather assuring words. He couldn't hear her from this distance despite his surgically-improved hearing but coming from a species of humans that communicated with lip shapes, clicks, and words, it wasn't difficult. From what he could see, she's trying to calm the child down.

It doesn't seem to be successful, as the little one's tears are getting worse. Frantic, the white woman tried to calm her down. Admittedly, he was a bit amused at her attempt. She almost look like she's begging. Just another display of evidence how children can actually break others older than them with very little action or words.

After a few more entertaining seconds, the little one was slowly ceasing her tears and eventually took the white woman's hand, [Oh look, it seems she succeeded.]

This time, Lucifer was the second to comment. [A valiant effort.]

He huffed. It never ceases to unsettle him whenever the most corrupted and greediest King in Pandemonium praise someone's efforts like that, even for the smallest things like a boy making a toy sword on his own.

Still, it leaves some doubts. Why is this woman prioritizing the child instead of the thief? Is the object stolen from her not that worth the effort? Or is she sidetracking?

He'd be very disappointed if the latter was the case.

|||| « ҉ » ||||

She was sidetracking, and his disappointment was immeasurable. Honestly, he couldn't tell why he had his hopes up. He thought an episode of idiocy from these morons wouldn't come up for more than a single day but it seems that's asking too much, even for another world.

[Honestly, I don't know if she's kind or simply foolish.]

[I thought you believed the two to be rarely two separate things….]

['Tis commendable either way. Her patience is worthy of praise.]

Those comments aren't helping with his own dwindling patience.

Right after delivering the lost child to her parents, receiving a little flower ornament in return by the little one, the white woman talked to the grateful father, who happened to be the same person he bought apples from yesterday, Kadmon. How coincidental. He didn't think this scar-faced merchant was the little one's dear Papa.

Surprisingly, Kadmon seems to know the thief's name and location. It was 'Felt', and she's found among the slums.

Thought he suspected the location himself, it still surprised him. He just visited that place not too long ago, with two carts worth of bought fruits, vegetables and clean water behind him. Among the people who came to receive from his senseless charity, he didn't see the nimble blond girl among them. Granted, he didn't stay long and went away as soon as possible but he usually doesn't miss details.

After the white woman bowed gratefully to Kadmon, she quickly turned around and went back to her sprint. It doesn't seem like she's going to rent a vehicle or anything. She's heading directly to the direction of the Slums instead. Is she honestly heading there on foot? If that's the case, she will have to prepare for a long trip. The place isn't that nearby, after all.

|||| « ҉ » ||||

With the help of Souls and Spirits native to this world, he managed to find Felt's whereabouts, both her sleeping place and the building she frequents most often.

He took a different approach once he got bored of the white woman running. He went on ahead of her, taking the shortcut he knew and bolted off faster than the girl could manage, arriving far earlier. If his calculations are correct, she should arrive at the Slum borders in certainly 30 minutes from now, maybe 5 less if he's being careful.

He kept himself in the shadows, making sure he wasn't seen or recognized by the unfortunate men, women, and children here, especially if they happened to be the ones who received his senseless charity. Drawing attention will defeat the purpose of what he's planning to do, and it's bad enough that he already sticks out with his extremely pale complexion, silver hair and bone-inlaid armor. The dark scowl and the glowing eyes added to that as well. Even if this world has no idea what kind of people his kin are, their appearances are pretty much the easiest clue for anyone to have. If these people notice the other part about his appearance, it'll make him completely unforgettable.

The last thing this world needs is a medium for Pandemonium's evil to reach it like himself. Even if he longs to go back to that hellhole more than anything, he would not let this beautiful and untainted world be dragged down to that place's blight.

Raeburn cannot count as another medium. He's perfectly assimilated into this world, leaving behind everything that defines his birth in Pandemonium. That boy deserves to find happiness here. An alien like himself has no right for such privileges.

He doesn't belong here. He has no place here. Be it his Final Service or to pass on his legacy to an apprentice or even recreate the passageway back to the Underground City and see Lady Sabara's face again, he must finally bring his life's final chapter on an end. He has done enough.

But still, it doesn't mean he should rush. If he has done enough for the Order of the Serpent, then he has every right to enjoy his freedom, not as a Priest of the Serpent but as a Human Being. Oh, how he missed Pericus' face. He never thought he wanted to punch it any more than he wants to right now. It'd be the most lenient assault he's ever done to that unstoppable moron.

[I miss him too. Those shields truly made my day every time, especially in combat.]

[A mighty warrior he was, worthy to stand beside the Mighty King on his throne.]

He awaited Sally's input, and to his surprise, none. Honestly, what's going on? Why are they starting to get inconsistent?

[If you miss me that much, you should have told meee…]

Annoyed and sneering, he kept himself from jumping inside the Court to discipline that damn harlot and remained unmoving since posting himself on the back wall of the Slum's resident loothouse found at the very edge of this Kingdom's borders.

The nearby Souls and Spirits report that 2 people are inside, one of which was Felt and the other being a man in his senior years. Anytime, the white woman will enter. If a confrontation happens, he will step in to basically endanger everyone inside with the threat of murder and imprisonment of their Souls inside his wand alongside the other Supreme Sins.

It's a stupid idea, and he's aware of it.

He spent years changing the perception humans have on his kind for the better, even achieved the outcome through hell and back, and now he's doing the exact opposite. However, this world has no concept of him, therefore there isn't any loss here. Besides, people who practice the kind of magic he has are generally feared, so the headache is not worth it.

He's got the plan ready. Once he begins the attack, it will force both the thief and the victim to work together, setting aside their difference for the common goal of defeating him. He will limit the amount of power he will expend in the scuffle to only bone darts, punches, scratches, and maybe a few dozen skeletons with clubs.

He will allow himself to lose to them, so long as they do everything in their power to fight back to the point of spitting blood, of course. Humanity's greatest qualities tend to come when they have nothing to lose, and he always loved it when it shows. It shows that every sentient being in his line of sight is not a complete idiot that deserved to be left behind to rot during the Rapture. Once the two girls have earned each other's respect, with Felt and the white woman making peace and giving back what was stolen to the other, he will finally break the façade and introduce himself as a friend, relish in their outrage if possible.

He will see if the white woman, who he will now dub as the Dear Girl, is worth the time he took to be scheming like this.

As he listened to the casual conversation inside, barely bothering to remember any of it, he idly fixed the straps on his black gauntlets, making sure the tips of the metal claws were sharp enough to leave lacerations at the slightest brush against flesh while the knuckles protruded out enough to leave harsh bruises once it connects. The mana in the environment seemed sufficient for the coming brawl, and he already planted some 'seeds' for the finale.

Raeburn is surely going to bitch about this the sooner he finds out and frankly, he's had enough of his lectures and of him. The Mace Man may be the savviest in regards to adapting to this world but he genuinely lost the ability to care. He might as well not come back and banish from his presence. If it wasn't for that boy's ability to communicate with Souls the same way he does, including the fact that he had a beautiful Wolf companion that could easily track him down by his scent, that would have been a conceivable notion.

He sighed.

He waited, recalling the songs taught to him by the Order being sung through the lips of Priestesses and children, entertaining himself with the melody after months of never thinking about it. He hoped the Souls here could sing along when the time comes.

Then he heard the cue. A knock on the door.

[She's here now.]

[Finally…..I was getting bored with all this patience…..]

24 minutes, that woman finally arrived. Close enough.

He became even more statue-like compared to before, fully blending in the scenery of the loothouse's back wall that not even his hair and robes fluttered against the small wisp of winds. Ears sharpened, attention spanning in all directions, he listened, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

"Gah!" There's Felt's surprised gawk. She didn't expect her victim to find her all the way out here, did she?

"I'm glad you're here. This time, you're not going anywhere." Emurdol mentally hummed in interest at the kind of voice this woman has. Clear as a bell and chiming pleasantly to the ears. The fact that it was laced with a hardened tone makes it all the more fascinating. It isn't fake.

Sally would have competition in regards to carrying enchanting voices in their person without meaning to.

[In her case, she can lull little ones to sleep….] Emurdol can agree to that. This woman had the most success in luring in adults than children, not that the little ones ever escaped her jaws. They got violated and eaten, anyway. He will freely admit that he was proud of mutilating her if anyone ever asks.

"Ya really don't quit, do ya? Can't ya just give it up already?"

"Unfortunately, this isn't something I can give up on. If you'll be a good girl and kindly return it to me, I won't have to hurt you."

He felt the change in temperature even if he wasn't inside, the atmosphere dropping to chilling limits, and he reflexively controlled the pace of his breathing, making sure any mist doesn't blow out of his nose, even with a body as naturally cold as his, residues of heat still exist to function his extra organs.

Along with this chill, he heard the crackle of ice forming into existence. It seems the woman is not playing around. How profound. Whatever was stolen, it's truly provoking a strong reaction from her.

"I only have one demand. Return my insignia, it is very precious to me."

An insignia? In whose affiliation could this foolishly kind girl be in to—

Then he froze again.

[Scum…..!]

[….oh dear…..]

[What is this!?]

Murder.

Murder.

Murder.

Murder.

Murder.

Murder.

Murder.

His mindset changed completely, all prospects of a false battle now discarded for the incoming notion of a true one. Sound around him disappeared entirely, the conversation inside losing all relevance, his organs reorganizing to safer placements, his killing intent rising up, eyes blazing like a green Hell, Mother's blades now aching for a drink of blood, calling for satisfaction inside the void, and his own bloodlust flaring up inside his chest.

All of his plans had suddenly took a turn for the worse.

The Souls and Spirits in the area are screaming. They are screaming. Calling. Shouting. Demanding. Howling. Roaring. They demand satisfaction. They demand appeasement. They wish for their orders to be done. Now.

No living being in this world is ever hated by the Dead except for the very worst.

Fury burned up within him, the presence of an unknown but highly detested presence having entered his sensory, and this one had already entered the building, most likely without any one of them noticing except him. The stiff confrontation inside is still ongoing without anyone being aware of the fourth person in the room.

Dampening his rising rage, keeping it contained and controlled, focusing the fires into his now-pulsating gauntlets, he began to move, going around the corner of the building. Like a phantom, his body contorting uncannily like a boneless mass of meat, his form glided across the ground like a stalking lizard, his chest nearly touching the soil while his hair and robes waved against a current as if they were submerged in underwater, the claws of his left arm touching the wall soundlessly sliding across the rough wood while his other hand pulled his form forward on the soil like a crawling zombie, his legs wearing black armor bending upwards to emulate the shape of tarantula legs.

Once he was in the perfect position for an ambush, he took the opportunity without hesitation nor delay.

Under his will as he touched the soil, the ambient mana converged directly below this entity's position and became material, forming to become a spear, longer than any man had any reason to think in creating it in the forge, and composing of the hardest calcified bone he could muster, tipped with the most serrated bite. With the will of the Souls coinciding his own, they brought forth the existence of half a dozen more.

Under less than a half-second, without the slightest warning, they suddenly pierced out of the earth, through the wooden floors and straight into the unguarded parts of the one most despised.

He threw his body forward with one tug of his hand on the soil, slickly slipping through the tiny crack of the double doors, barely able to fit his armored frame, and he quickly converged on this bitch, barely slowing down as he glided over chairs and tables.

She was still alive. She somehow managed to dodge multiple impalements that barely anyone before could see coming.

He didn't think about it. He didn't second guess. He didn't take the time to look at the people inside. He focused on one primary target. He saw her position, he saw that she's still alive, and he swiped his glowing claws to the head the sooner he was in reach, intending to maul it off.

"Whoops."

The target ducked with minimal movement, the nearby wall blown into a hole under his strike as it took the blow in her stead, and she swiped a shining black kukri to his midsection. A gauntleted left hand caught the slim wrist, instantly crushing it in a dull crunch, and pulled it upwards, quickly leaving the target dangling in the air and about to receive a backhand to the face.

He was about to receive a kick to the midsection to deter his attack, but the high-heeled foot passed through his abdomen as if it was made of air. The target had the time to widen her purple eyes in shock before her head twisted to the side under the force of his right fist, bent to the side, the neck completely bent in half, and her lifeless body was quickly sent flying to the wall with a rock-hard kick.

Before the target could collide against the wood and send her outside, another contraption of bones erupted in the direction of her body's trajectory, a cross shaped totem, littered with millions of spikes from top to bottom, the Souls cheering him for his actions making the process quicker than it necessarily should under normal circumstances, and the 'arms' closed like crocodile jaws despite there being no joints, crushing the woman's entire chest with a sickening crunch.

Not satisfied, his bloodlust and fury still blazing, threatening to affect everything in his nearest vicinity, he dashed to the assortment of bone spears jutting out of the ground and kicked them at the stem, separating the hardened weaponry from the earth and they floated before they were subjected to gravity, their lethal points aiming at the target's direction, and they took flight like ballista bolts, nearly breaking the speed of sound and utterly decimating both the target and the cross.

Bone fragments and wood splinters scattered everywhere, blood and gore splattering both the wall and the ceiling, kicking up the dust accumulated in the building interior.

When the dust cleared and the roaring noise fell under the deafening silence, the aftermath of that brutality is the shattered cross and the target's upper half and broken organs covering the nearest walls and ceilings in red splotches while her lower half is left as the only thing intact about her as it laid on the floor with bent legs, her general location reduced to a pothole full of broken wood, bones and blood. Pieces of headless spears lie uselessly beside it.

[She dies now.]

[We'll see if she turns undead and becomes a threat now….]

[The Mighty King shall deliver a warm welcome once she arrives.]

He expelled the breath he had been holding in through his upper teeth and lower lip, a nearly-inaudible hiss. Green eyes and glowing gauntlets dimming from its welting fires and pulsating light, bloodlust and fury held down under his iron will, his form straightened from its stance while his hair and robes stopped floating, subjected to gravity.

"Geeeez. Talk about overkill."

The silence is broken. A voice spoke, one that is far too calm to have witnessed something brutal, one that seemed too androgynous to be considered male or female. It's not even a voice he heard talking from this building, and he thought there were only 3 people here, the dead body not counting.

He turned his head to face the one who spoke and though his face didn't break from its habitual stasis, the tiny cringe backwards of his head indicated how surprised he was at the sight.

A floating cat. Coated with grey fur and a white underbelly, as small as a grown kitten, bearing a tail so long it could measure up to its entire body, the thing floated right next to the Dear Girl's white head.

With a cutesy wave using its furry paw, it smiled at him, dissonant to the horrorstruck looks of the others, its lips moving and perfectly forming words, "Hiii! Surprised at my cute and fluffy self, mister?"

He held down his further surprise at the being talking to him.

[What is that thing?] Viandegroc voiced out in disbelief.

[It's not like the other demihumans we saw….] Sally observed.

It's more like the thing is existing on a different fundamental rule of this world, he pondered. Its aura is too…unlikely, too disconnected from all the beings he's met in this world.

"Well, that aside, thanks for the help." It's thanking him? Not what he expected when that act of murder was done out of nowhere, and especially with the lack of clear context of what's going on. "You kinda overdid it but you got the job done. She was gonna kill us, anyway."

"Eh?" The Dear Girl turned to the being with a perplexed look, "Really, Puck? Was she actually going to…."

"Yeah." Grimly, the cat nodded as it turned to face the corpse. "I didn't even notice it until those spears came out of the ground. She's got quite the malice and bloodlust in her, and it was aimed at all of us. This guy's got some really chilly killing intent too but it sure wasn't pointed at us." Then it sighed mournfully. "I'm sorry, Lia. I didn't even notice until it was too late."

"That…." The little one, Felt, was nearly choking on her words, the haunted look on her face still lingering after seeing the brutality as she pointed a shaky finger at the corpse, "…that lady….that lady was the one who hired me…..and she was gonna kill us either way….?"

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

His hand immediately went to the wand on the left side of his belt, and the assassin's Soul was not inside.

Impossible.

Quicker than sound, his form immediately assumed a battle stance, eyes and gauntlets now blazing and pulsating with green light, fully on the defensive. His hair and robes could barely keep up with his snapping movements and they immediately began floating in response to the severity of the situation reviving itself.

"My goodness….."

The corpse was whole.

"WAGH!"

"What the!?"

"Eep!"

Clothing. Flesh. Face. Arms. And a twisted smile. Her voluptuous form rose up from horizontal to vertical like a lever, cheeks flushed as she held it with a free left hand, eyes staring at him lustfully and longingly. Had this been nothing like a situation where he is going to shove someone's Soul in the wand, he would have been very flattered for earning such a gaze. But now, that gaze is reminding him of someone he loathed so much and mutilated in Pandemonium.

"….that actually surprised me."

It's driving him mad.

Every single bit about the target has been restored to a complete 100%, as if what he had done to her had never happened in the first place. The remains of her top half is still littering the walls, and she suddenly grew a new one.

However the hell this woman did to come back to life, he will not let that stand.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

The stasis on his face broke, and a murderous scowl warped his face into the quintessential visage of hate. All of that anger, all of that loathing and desire for vengeance, all born from the lives this woman took in her twisted desire for gratification. They had families. Some barely warranted such a fate. They didn't have anything do with what happened. Some were just collateral damage. They were simply killed as if they were nothing. They were treated like nothing, nothing but toys that could satisfy her whims.

"You look at me as if you hate me, Handsome. Whatever have I done to you?"

In the speed of sound, he was gone from the place he stood, the floorboards shattering under his feet, and his fist broke the sound barrier in multiple successions as it flew through the air, the sonic boom sending violent vibrations on his gauntlet and across his entire arm, but it didn't break apart, enduring the excruciating pain and intending to reduce her head to nothing again.

And almost the entire section of the loothouse's left wall behind the woman was blown apart, reduced to a million splinters and pieces as they were sent flying off to the distance, some about to catch on fire from the tremendous amount of kinetic energy transferred, exposing the light of the world about to reach the hour of dusk.

However, he hit no flesh, the knuckles on his right hand barely smudged with any blood that's supposed to be there from landing a hit on a target. It's not that he missed, the woman had moved in the same speed he was in to evade his thunderous strike. This is a foe that's above the ordinary. She must be met with extreme caution, likely in the same level as Titans.

Looking down, he saw that a left gauntleted hand had ripped that woman's right arm off her shoulder, and it's still holding the shining kukri. She must have attempted to disembowel him as he flew passed her. Mother saved him. At that speed, it's a gamble whether the armor or the weapon would break, contesting the endurance of the metals, and he's not eager to fight with his entrails hanging out.

With his own left hand, he held the dismembered arm by the elbow while the right took the blade off its dead grasp, snapping off her fingers along with it.

Immediately, he was assaulted with the hundreds of Souls that had fallen to this blade, screaming and begging for satisfaction.

Men. Women. Children. Adults. Seniors. Innocents. Scums. Animals. Witchbeasts. Rich. Poor.

Gratify us.

Gratify us.

Gratify us.

Gratify us.

Gratify us.

Gratify us.

Gratify us.

Gratify us.

Gratify us.

Gratify us.

She killed them all.

[She must die. She must answer for her crimes!]

[This is actually the first time I'm ever this angry in this world…..and I barely have in Pandemonium either….]

[Kill her! Execute her! Subject her to the suffering worthy of a thousand criminals!]

He thought he'd never find anyone in existence ever so hated by many of the Dead's populace outside the worst of Hellspawns and the Supreme Sins. Even the worst of humans have never come close to being hated by so many.

To reach this extent…..

….to become so loathed….

The elbow of the woman's arm is squashed into fine paste, the sound of the bones being crushed to literal dust inside his metal grasp resounding all the way to the opposite wall.

Growling demonically, nearly emulating the snarls of the most vicious Hellspawns in Pandemonium, the loudest sound he has ever made since the start of this day, he swiftly turned around and swatted aside the throwing knives heading straight for his head. The woman followed after those projectiles like a Wraith with an incredibly low stance, having grown back her right arm, taking advantage of his occupied state to attempt another swipe at his abdomen.

As if.

His right foot moved faster than possible from a resting state to send another rock-hard kick to her face, the momentum of his spin increasing the striking power and guaranteed to blow her head backwards and snap her neck.

And he missed.

The woman was already crouched low like a cat in her pounce, and to dodge his kick, she lowered even further to the ground, to the point that she was practically licking the floors, and she feinted her initial strike, diverting her eyesight from his abdomen to his thigh, having intended for that place since the start.

He answered that clever attack with a mighty stomp, crushing her head straight into the floor and down to the earth underneath it. His standing foot shifted slightly, letting the skull-covered knee slam on the fingers gripping the kukri instead of meeting the blade, evading the fate of losing a leg. She knows nothing about how his kind fights, and she paid for it just like everybody else. Reality doesn't function the same way for them if they wished it to. A leg that is propelled forward by momentum can change directions in a snap just because it's them.

Keeping her pinned down, he grabbed her arms and quickly tore them off, blood flying off their stumps and splattering part of his cloak and face before he stepped back and took hold of her caved head with both hands.

Taking 3 steps back to build up speed, he spun, taking her body along as it flew from the momentum, and with a swift twist, the assassin's head is wrung off, powered by momentum and her thrown corpse crashed back to the ground before the bone spears erupted from the floorboards again, impaling her from below and taking her high near the ceiling, hanging limply like a head on a pike.

Adjusting his grip on her dismembered head without looking away from the corpse, the end of his 10 claws dug through the skull and he applied pressure on both sides, the sound of squelching and cracking erupting in his grasp, and as it exploded in a splatter of brain matter, blood, bones, and gore in his hands, so did the bone spears, yet again obliterating the assassin to scattered pieces on every surface and the nearest person.

"Yeesh." He heard the cat say something. He paid no heed. "Again, mister, overkill."

Once the residual dust cleared once again, she still managed to come back to life, stood in the epicenter as if she have just newly arrived and found love at first sight as she stared at him, her smile and gaze overflowing with a poisonous and twisted affection and attraction that could only belong to the insane.

"….did you know? That's actually the first time anyone has ever killed me more than once under no less than 2 minutes."

"H….how are you still alive!? You were blown up twice!" He heard Felt shout something. He paid no heed.

"I guess you could say I'm special. A Shaman took really good care of me to make me this way."

Her immortality is artificial. That means it can be undone. He just needs to figure it out. If he has to fight endlessly without rest or pause, then he might as well. His last record was an entire month. With his opponent being hated by those of the Afterlife, the advantage is clearly on him. The Souls want him to punish her, to bring her low and suffer for the thing's she's done. They will give him everything to make sure they get what they want. As a Priest of the Serpent, he's never afraid to please.

"And with that aside….." There it is again. That flushed look. That smitten gaze. That disgusting smile full of love and charm. He can see why the Souls want her dead. The thought of her looking at her victims the same way brought him no limit of revulsion. "….why don't we start the dance over, Handsome? I find you to be a very exciting partner. I hope your insides look the most beautiful compared to everyone else here when we're done with each other."

Her primary target is the abdomen. That explains the consistency she was showing with the direction of her strikes.

Without breaking eye-contact, he took one step forward and leaned his upper body diagonally, his tall form beginning to exhume power and bloodlust, causing his hair and robes to float again, his scowl now joined with a toothy sneer, all sharply pointed and no blunt.

With that, the assassin took a stance, and it is the most impractical position he has ever seen. Both arms fully extended, her side facing him, and her unbent legs barely far apart. It leaves so many openings and not even room for a quick counterattack. However, he doubted that such technicalities are ever going to be an impediment for someone like her.

She's dangerous.

He did not forget that. He will not underestimate her.

"The Bowel Hunter, Elsa Granhiert."

Big mistake.

A needle-thin snake fang flies out of his robes, darting straight to her eye, a notable technique he refined that anyone rarely ever realized the quick and silent death that came with it…..

….and she disappeared from sight before the projectile met her eyeball, turning into a black blur and rebounding off the nearest wall before flying straight towards him.

With a quick rise of his elbow, the blade bounced off the ultra-hard steel of his couter and he barely flinched from his place. The Bowel Hunter wasn't done, she continued to rebound to the floor, up to the ceiling and attempted an attack directly above his head. He performed the same block, exhibiting absurd arm range that made his opposite elbow point directly upwards, accompanied by a sudden arrival of bone stakes rising from the ground behind him, angling like snakes to impale her.

Forced to evade instead of sliding the blade down his arm and shred his back open, Elsa curled her body to escape a third impalement and rolled like a perfectly symmetrical ball on the ground upon reaching it, uncurling upon meeting the wall and crawling across it like a spider, quickly ejecting towards him again with a blade drawn back. Rather than block again, he met her trajectory by jumping towards it, one hand stretched out with claws pointing forward to impale her through the face, through her throat, and down inside her torso upon breaching it.

Nimbly, she caught the metal wrist, and the blade moved like wind to sever it—

He became immaterial, making her form pass through him harmlessly as they collided, and she nearly got impaled from the same flexible spears that are dead-set on making her run herself through them, keeping their serrated points aimed in her direction.

Like a drill, she spun her form towards them and shattered them to pieces upon reach. They were as hard as stone, and she cut them up like paper. As soon as her feet reached the ground, she leapt up to the ceiling, the black claws of his gauntlet piercing where her spine should have been and he crossed his arms into an X in front of his chest, the ultra-hard steel and his forearms enduring an incredibly powerful swipe that could have leveled an entire stone pillar upon rebounding off the nearest wall.

As she began bouncing all over the place again, he blocked out the throbbing sensation in his arms from reaching his head and quickly removed his cloak before throwing it aside, his nape quickly protected from a beheading swipe by Mother's sickles. There's no point hiding it. He's going to end up exposing it at some point. She's toying with him. This assassin is mirroring the intensity of his attacks. The more power he uses, the quicker and deadlier she becomes.

Elsa landed back to the ground, taking in the entirety of his fully revealed form as she straightened her posture seductively. "My…."

He rolled his shoulders backwards, numerous dull cracks emanating inside his armor, the 2 extra pairs of armored and clawed arms uncoiling from their folded places and now ready to join the fight. One pair is located right behind his original ones, wielding black serrated sickles that seemed to have never seen its first battle. His third pair is found beneath, wielding a pair of krises in each hand, long wavy daggers built to cause severe injury and shining like the purest silver against any source of light.

"Six arms…." She observed, smiling, "….how lovely. You don't impress me as one of the Many-Armed Tribesmen from Vollachia. I thought they be bigger and have blue skin. You do have their mean faces, though. At least that's what the books told me."

Gauntlets rapidly pulsating with a sickly green light, he stomped the floors to crack the surface and he grabbed the air upwards, pulling the bones that were growing from the ground and they raptured the floorboards around him, hundreds of dragon teeth flying to his location and floating in a protective diagonal circle around him before darting towards their target.

She repeated her bouncing maneuvers again, rapidly jumping from one surface to another, efficiently dodging every projectile thrown in her direction. She was too fast. Incredibly fast. She matched the speed of sound, multiple sonic booms erupting in every rebound and every swipe coming his way amidst this rapid movement is comparable to a giant sword or axe held in the hands of the largest Northman in Pandemonium. One swing is enough to break a small house apart.

Even with Mother delegated to block every single attack with her weapons and have her arms absorb the force of every impact, his body vibrated violently each time, steadily causing a strain on his entire body, and he could literally feel his heart being shaken violently in its chambers. He cannot sustain powerful blows like this for far too long. Waving his arms in a half circle, the protective ring of teeth dispersed, spreading out to every available space in the air, widening their range and hoping to nail his highly mobile target.

Mother's tactic quickly switching to deflect rather than to absorb, reducing the strain he will suffer, he saw blood fly out from the air. The assassin's getting nicked or even getting herself riddled by the teeth flying everywhere by simply flying into them. Expanding the size of those fangs and reshaping them into serrated wheels, he had them rotate rapidly, turning into buzz saws, becoming a lethal element in the air. Eyes blazing green, they began to bounce like rubber balls as they hit any surface under his will, leaving behind deep lacerations on the wood, breaking the most fragile objects, and even more blood spurted out of the air, more than a few having nicked Elsa again.

"So beautiful. So utterly beautiful. You truly are amazing, Handsome." Even with her continually bouncing all over the place, her voice managed to breach his hearing. It sounded like it was right next to his ear, her lips practically grazing the earlobe. This shouldn't be possible. How is she doing this? "You truly are a gifted man to have this power."

He found a pattern.

With a quick back step and a duck, his arm lashed out like a viper and he caught the woman's leg, nearly getting himself thrown alongside her momentum. His legs firmly planted to the floor, he bended her supple appendage backwards, the external fracture poking out through the knee of her leggings, he quickly became midway into slamming her to the ground, her body flying above him, and Mother caught the kukri that was coming for his head with the curve of the sickle.

Elsa let go of her weapon, swiftly reaching with both hands for his head, only for those slim appendages to be severed by the second sickle. With his free hand, his fist breached into her mouth, breaking through the teeth and shattering her lower jaw. Every saw blade in the loothouse careened to her now-dead corpse and dug deep into her insides, spurting blood everywhere and reducing her organs to pieces.

With a growl, his hand holding her ankle and the other jammed inside her skull moved to rip her in half, the spine already beginning to shatter under the strain, and Mother didn't wait for the inevitable, bisecting her midsection with a scissoring cut of her sickles, bathing his entire head with blood and entrails.

Throwing her lower half to the wall, he infused power into the hand jammed inside Elsa's skull, still connected to her upper half. Emerald light emanated from her eyes, nose, the gaps of her broken mouth and the stump of her midsection, and with a determined sneer, she exploded in a messy rain of both blood and organs, all her bones having become the most violent explosive existent inside a human body.

A deep rumble emanated from his throat. With a pained grunt, the ribcage surrounding his breastplate opened up, and his upper body leaned out, leaving the skeletal frame behind, only to be held back from falling out completely by the lower pair of arms as he retched bloodlike liquid onto the floor, hissing sounds emanating from the puddle as the broken surface quickly melted. When it reached down to the earth as soon as the acidity wore off, he vomited again, making the impromptu pit go deeper.

Those vibrations didn't do his stomach any favors, and his organs felt like they were about to rupture from the inside. He didn't think he would feel the same kind of pain again since facing off that small group of Northmen years ago. It was a miracle he had managed to keep himself at good performance despite the nausea and pain it was causing him.

His breaths hollow, he relished in the feeling of his aching insides slowly lose the pain and stop the urge to regurgitate.

As he tried to recover, he heard a cautious voice, "Is it over?" That was Felt.

"Can't tell." This one appeared to be the senior. He still hasn't taken in what he looked like yet. "Looks like she got blown up again."

"And look at you." This one was uttered right next to him. He nearly lashed out in surprise for such sudden proximity, but thankfully, it was just that cat from earlier, "Did all that exertion of power took up much of your mana? Need me to fill up that tank of yours?"

Ignoring the cat, he hacked up a sizable amount of fluid and spat out the residue of his acidic stomach contents into the hole before straightening his posture, having Mother's ribcage close around his breastplate again. He stared at the floating animal passively, wondering what it wants. "My daughter wanted me to check up on you so here I am. You okay, Mister? Need a glass of water or something? Or maybe a bath? You're really covered up in her blood and all. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Puck! Don't pester him like that! Ask if he wants a bath very politely!" Amusingly, the Dear Girl didn't intend for the offer of assistance to come out the way this cat did. Though, where the hell is he going to find a bath in a dump like this?

"What are you criticizing me for? I'm actually being real helpful and respectful here, y'know?"

Apparently, he was acknowledged as the least dangerous of the two to everyone else in the room, and he's thankful for that. Having to explain things or even fight this group after all that bullshit would have been so annoying.

The Souls are quiet. No alert or warning. No hint of the woman coming back to life either. It seems he can calm down for now.

[Take a drink of water to get some energy.]

[Must have been your toughest battle in a while…]

He moved to the bar counter, every step graceful and light, unnervingly silent and contradicting the ordeal he just went through. His now-blank face and form indicated no exhaustion, no evidence of a recent battle save for dripping blood on his gauntlets and chin, nor the lingering drive to fight. His body language is visibly blank, leaving the impression that it could be overwritten by anything he wanted and nobody would know what that is until it's too late.

"It's okay, folks. I sense nothing malicious or bloodthirsty in him." The cat assured everyone eyeing him warily as he got closer, especially while he's still covered in that woman's blood, the smell of thick iron filling the air, "He could just be tired. Bartender, why don't ya give 'em something to drink since he did save all of us here."

"Alright."

He stiffened silently.

It is still unsettling and unfamiliar, receiving gratitude from people, subtle or otherwise. Even if it was earned and this world have no history of his kind to have any reason to hold him under prejudice and unreasonable hate, he still cannot fathom the concept of it well. He spent the last several years being denied the credit he deserves and taking most of the blame, and a month of quiet in this foreign world still wasn't enough to change his mindset yet.

As he reached the counter, not taking a stool and standing straight without laying his hands on the counter, heavy footsteps approached him and he looked up to see the bartender's face. Internally, he gaped at the size of this person.

This senior man was gigantic. If it wasn't for the fact that he was more brown-skinned, not residing in an icy region, and that this is another world, he would have thought this man was a Northman, or have descended from one in their lineage. Those people are the most powerful humans he have ever encountered since leaving the Underground City, describable as the largest, loudest, and most combative species of humans that were fully capable of superhuman feats and one of the fewest beings he was legitimately careful of offending. This giant's upper body was large enough to make a boulder look disgraceful, and his arms matched the size of his own torso. He would fit right in with those axe-wielding berserkers.

"Name's Rom." With a deep rumbling voice, lined with the age and experience he went through in his prime, he introduced himself with a grateful nod, "Don't know what the hell's goin' on but I'm thankful for ya stoppin' her. I know that look in 'er eyes, messed up line a' thinkin' that had no righ' to even be inside a person's head. She was gonna butcher all a' us." He placed a cup on the counter before him and he reached under the counter with his other hand, revealing a wine bottle, looking more like a vial in his giant hand. "Mah best drink. On the house."

Without much movement except for his hand, he pointed a metal claw at the bottle before holding out a gauntleted hand, silently indicating that he give him the bottle instead.

Rom stared, then simply shrugged and placed it in his bloody grasp, the metal digits clinking against the glass, "Here you go. I got another one, anyway."

Pulling the cork out with his other hand with a loud pop, the cap flying off from the compressed gas, he took it to his lips—

He stopped, deftly inverted his grip on the neck, and quickly threw the bottle to the location of the assassin's lower half.

The thrown bottle was caught by a delicate hand, the contents sloshing and a slight bit of the liquor flying out, dripping down the bloodstained surface and eventually the slim fingers. Elsa licked the liquid with a red tongue salaciously, tasting both the wine and her own blood. "I appreciate the offer but I prefer drinking while I'm not working and in someplace more comfy." With disconcerting nonchalance, she set the bottle down on the floor.

"Goodness, you're quite a hardy girl, aren't ya?" The cat was more exasperated than surprised at this point, "I don't think I've seen anybody as stubborn as you."

"To be treated as unique by a Spirit is an honor."

"Then treasure it." The sound of mana being materialized into frozen water emanated, causing the room temperature to drop again, and he watched sharp icicles come into existence, ready to riddle her full of holes. This time, these knives of cold death were bigger and sharper, enough to kill a bear with one hit. "It'll be the last thing you'll take with you once you fall."

The Dear Girl unhesitatingly ran to a position front of him, both her hands held out in front of her, the mana gathering to the middle of her palms and ready to become material at her command, "I shall take it from here, stranger. You must be exhausted, yes? Let me take your place and pay back your courtesy of protecting us."

If she's willing to take the initiative despite seeing the kind of strength and speed Elsa has, she's either very powerful or very foolish. He clicked his tongue, adjusting his gauntlets as he let the Souls' fury flow back into him. Whichever case, he's not willing to stand back and let others handle scum without him being involved.

As a Priest of the Serpent, he must satisfy the needs of the Dead.

"We never introduced each other, did we, Lady?" The icicles begin flying, and a hailstorm of chilling sharpness fell upon Elsa. "My name is Puck, remember that as you go to the Afterlife."

As Elsa began to perform acrobatic maneuvers in dodging the lethal projectiles coming her way, executing slick cartwheels and backhand springs, he had already swooped in from the ceiling, crawling across the surface like a lizard and quickly stepped down to ground level, right to where the assassin was heading into. The sooner she was in range, the icicles stopped coming and Mother executed a cleaving strike with her sickles.

Without the loss of a beat, surprisingly keeping her spine intact despite the speed of her movements, her upper body quickly bent backwards in a full 100 degree angle, escaping the fate of being beheaded and immediately struck back with a scissoring cut of her two kukris at his abdomen.

Mother's lower arms wielding krises shielded him from disembowelment, sparks flying from the contact of black blades against shining silver, and he moved to grab her head, only to quickly back away as she suddenly began spinning like a deadly pinwheel in her posture, nearly cutting off his digits at the last second.

With him out of the way, the giant icicles quickly came back to bear down on Elsa, who quickly began slashing at the icy knives before suddenly dashing towards him, targeting the primary threat. He met that charge with his own, gauntlets pulsating with light and reaching out to grab her again. At the last final step, he cut the distance in an instant and was already at her face, his claws reaching for her gut and the sickles coming to behead her in a scissoring motion. Mother's lower arms were ready, the krises primed to cut off every opening her kukris could exploit.

He expected her to leap over him, but once she did, she broke the sound barrier and caused a sonic boom with him in touching proximity. He suffered tinnitus and a violently vibrated body. He couldn't hold down the regurgitation this time and he expelled the acidic bile out the sooner it came up to his throat, his heart seeming to have stopped for a full second. Nothing but a constant ringing in his head, disoriented, vision white, and losing all balance, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and have Mother crawl him away from the fight, watching as the icicles flew over his prone form, keeping Elsa away from him.

Taken to the ceiling, Mother's four arms clutching with a death grip to the rafters while her legs mysteriously stuck to the surface, he held his armored chest with both hands, his sneer still leaking acidic fluids and highly protective red saliva. Nauseous. Ears ringing. Orientation lost. Insides likely bleeding. His pit surged again and another overflow came out of his mouth, melting the floors once more.

This has dragged out for far too long than he liked. This woman must be stopped, but she keeps coming back from the dead. How can he fully neutralize her?

Bloodshot eyes looking up to the conflict, he saw the assassin's ankles pinned to the ground with ice, rising up to her thighs, leaving her at the complete mercy of the Dear Girl and that cat named Puck. He felt mana being surged to their direction, preparing for a finishing strike. He gritted his teeth. If they are thinking of incasing her in ice, they better do it and quickly. He'll see if she can escape a state of stasis.

"Goodbye!"

A jet of pure freezing ice, charging forward like an unstoppable juggernaut from both paws and hands, and they promised a fate of a cold and silent death. Its lethal spikes broke through the wall, through the ceiling, and out from the building. Elsa's corpse is run through and trapped in a frozen prison, doomed to live young and sleep forever.

However, this woman continued to display her persistence.

She severed her thighs and leapt out of the charging iceberg's assault, blood spewing out of her stumps and splattering what remained of the ceiling and freezing solid under the dropping room temperature. As she held on to the wall like a spider, she sighed shakily, seeming to have had an orgasm. "That was so close….I thought I was actually going to die again….."

He growled, spittle and blood flying out of his sneer. With a purpose, Mother let go of the rafters and dropped down to the ground, causing a loud crash as Mother's hands and knees cracked the dying woodwork, stopping his head from hitting it completely.

[Deliver the scourge.]

[The scourge will be useful here….]

[Suffer the scourge to this cur.]

[The scourge will please the Dead, Master.]

Now William decides to return.

As he rose to his feet, Mother's four arms folded behind his back into specific shapes, the position of the metallic appendages and her weapons simultaneously forming 5 runes, and the Souls immediately began congregating to his location like flies to meat.

Eyes blazing green, his entire vision narrowed solely on Elsa as she focused her attention on him, even while she dodged the surprisingly quick swings of Rom's attacks using a large nail-covered club, who has now joined the fight and shaking the nearly-collapsing building with his footwork.

His gauntlets now devoid of its green light, his presence began tainting the ambient mana around him. Like an oil spill, the corruption is slow but eventual, and the interior of this building will become a death trap for all mages. If they dare to take this in for magic casting, they will debilitate faster than they could fully say a small word.

S̴̤̈ḯ̵͕n̴̗̄n̷̼̔u̵̙̒l̶̠̃.̸͉̏ ̴͙̿S̸̖͝i̸͋ͅn̵̯͐n̸͚̅u̵͎̾l̴̨̈́.̸͕͛ ̸̜͊S̸̆͜i̴͕͌n̶͎̍n̴̜̒u̶̹͗l̵̛̩.̷̲̄ ̷̮̈́S̴̫̽i̸̫͗n̵̜̎n̶̗͠u̶̬̅ĺ̶̖.̷̩̿ ̷̹͑S̸͉̚i̵͔͒ń̶̘n̸̙͊u̸̫͒l̸̥̈́.̵͕̉ ̶͙̑S̶̄ͅi̵͎̐n̴̼̔ń̴͜ụ̴̀l̶̝͗.̶̰́ ̶̪̕S̵̞̑ǐ̸̼n̴͙̅n̶̢͊ų̵̌l̶̹̔.̶͓͝ ̸̬͊S̵̟̏ǐ̴̙ṉ̷͑n̸͙̕ǘ̴̟l̸̯̂.̵͈̌ ̷̠͋S̶̢͝i̷̙͛n̶̍ͅñ̶̗u̵̦̔l̷̨̛.̸̞̄ ̷̫͂S̵̗͠i̴̦͋n̶̢̊n̵̲̋u̶̳͘l̴̺̊.̸̯͒ ̶͓́S̷͓͘i̶̓ͅn̴̳̆n̵̥͒ủ̵̮l̷̩̚.̷̹͝ ̷̼͊S̶̥̃ḯ̵̫ṉ̵̎n̵̩̐ú̵̘l̷̞͝.̴̡͒ ̷̚ͅS̷̝̋i̴̛̩n̴͔͛n̴̦͗ṳ̶̆ḻ̸̆.̸̥̈́ ̸͎̾S̷͎͋ị̵͒ṇ̵̓n̴̠͠u̷͕͠l̸̛̰.̵̪̉ ̶̲͌S̶̞͒i̵̗̚n̸͖̊n̷̝̈́u̵̘̓ĺ̶̠.̷̬̆ ̴̤̌S̶̮̍í̸͍n̵̡̈́n̷͓̉ü̵͔l̸̗̇.̵͙̋ ̶͖̂S̴̤̈ḯ̵͕n̴̗̄n̷̼̔u̵̙̒l̶̠̃.̸͉̏ ̴͙̿S̸̖͝i̸͋ͅn̵̯͐n̸͚̅u̵͎̾l̴̨̈́.̸͕͛ ̸̜͊S̸̆͜i̴͕͌n̶͎̍n̴̜̒u̶̹͗l̵̛̩.̷̲̄ ̷̮̈́S̴̫̽i̸̫͗n̵̜̎n̶̗͠u̶̬̅ĺ̶̖.̷̩̿ ̷̹͑S̸͉̚i̵͔͒ń̶̘n̸̙͊u̸̫͒l̸̥̈́.̵͕̉ ̶͙̑S̶̄ͅi̵͎̐n̴̼̔ń̴͜ụ̴̀l̶̝͗.̶̰́ ̶̪̕S̵̞̑ǐ̸̼n̴͙̅n̶̢͊ų̵̌l̶̹̔.̶͓͝ ̸̬͊S̵̟̏ǐ̴̙ṉ̷͑n̸͙̕ǘ̴̟l̸̯̂.̵͈̌ ̷̠͋S̶̢͝i̷̙͛n̶̍ͅñ̶̗u̵̦̔l̷̨̛.̸̞̄ ̷̫͂S̵̗͠i̴̦͋n̶̢̊n̵̲̋u̶̳͘l̴̺̊.̸̯͒ ̶͓́S̷͓͘i̶̓ͅn̴̳̆n̵̥͒ủ̵̮l̷̩̚.̷̹͝ ̷̼͊S̶̥̃ḯ̵̫ṉ̵̎n̵̩̐ú̵̘l̷̞͝.̴̡͒ ̷̚ͅS̷̝̋i̴̛̩n̴͔͛n̴̦͗ṳ̶̆ḻ̸̆.̸̥̈́ ̸͎̾S̷͎͋ị̵͒ṇ̵̓n̴̠͠u̷͕͠l̸̛̰.̵̪̉ ̶̲͌S̶̞͒i̵̗̚n̸͖̊n̷̝̈́u̵̘̓ĺ̶̠.̷̬̆ ̴̤̌S̶̮̍í̸͍n̵̡̈́n̷͓̉ü̵͔l̸̗̇.̵͙̋ ̶͖̂S̴̤̈ḯ̵͕n̴̗̄n̷̼̔u̵̙̒l̶̠̃.̸͉̏ ̴͙̿S̸̖͝i̸͋ͅn̵̯͐n̸͚̅u̵͎̾l̴̨̈́.̸͕͛ ̸̜͊S̸̆͜i̴͕͌n̶͎̍n̴̜̒u̶̹͗l̵̛̩.̷̲̄ ̷̮̈́S̴̫̽i̸̫͗n̵̜̎n̶̗͠u̶̬̅ĺ̶̖.̷̩̿ ̷̹͑S̸͉̚i̵͔͒ń̶̘n̸̙͊u̸̫͒l̸̥̈́.̵͕̉ ̶͙̑S̶̄ͅi̵͎̐n̴̼̔ń̴͜ụ̴̀l̶̝͗.̶̰́ ̶̪̕S̵̞̑ǐ̸̼n̴͙̅n̶̢͊ų̵̌l̶̹̔.̶͓͝ ̸̬͊S̵̟̏ǐ̴̙ṉ̷͑n̸͙̕ǘ̴̟l̸̯̂.̵͈̌ ̷̠͋S̶̢͝i̷̙͛n̶̍ͅñ̶̗u̵̦̔l̷̨̛.̸̞̄ ̷̫͂S̵̗͠i̴̦͋n̶̢̊n̵̲̋u̶̳͘l̴̺̊.̸̯͒ ̶͓́S̷͓͘i̶̓ͅn̴̳̆n̵̥͒ủ̵̮l̷̩̚.̷̹͝ ̷̼͊S̶̥̃ḯ̵̫ṉ̵̎n̵̩̐ú̵̘l̷̞͝.̴̡͒ ̷̚ͅS̷̝̋i̴̛̩n̴͔͛n̴̦͗ṳ̶̆ḻ̸̆.̸̥̈́ ̸͎̾S̷͎͋ị̵͒ṇ̵̓n̴̠͠u̷͕͠l̸̛̰.̵̪̉ ̶̲͌S̶̞͒i̵̗̚n̸͖̊n̷̝̈́u̵̘̓ĺ̶̠.̷̬̆ ̴̤̌S̶̮̍í̸͍n̵̡̈́n̷͓̉ü̵͔l̸̗̇.̵͙̋ ̶͖̂S̴̤̈ḯ̵͕n̴̗̄n̷̼̔u̵̙̒l̶̠̃.̸͉̏ ̴͙̿S̸̖͝i̸͋ͅn̵̯͐n̸͚̅u̵͎̾l̴̨̈́.̸͕͛ ̸̜͊S̸̆͜i̴͕͌n̶͎̍n̴̜̒u̶̹͗l̵̛̩.̷̲̄ ̷̮̈́S̴̫̽i̸̫͗n̵̜̎n̶̗͠u̶̬̅ĺ̶̖.̷̩̿ ̷̹͑S̸͉̚i̵͔͒ń̶̘n̸̙͊u̸̫͒l̸̥̈́.̵͕̉ ̶͙̑S̶̄ͅi̵͎̐n̴̼̔ń̴͜ụ̴̀l̶̝͗.̶̰́ ̶̪̕S̵̞̑ǐ̸̼n̴͙̅n̶̢͊ų̵̌l̶̹̔.̶͓͝ ̸̬͊S̵̟̏ǐ̴̙ṉ̷͑n̸͙̕ǘ̴̟l̸̯̂.̵͈̌ ̷̠͋S̶̢͝i̷̙͛n̶̍ͅñ̶̗u̵̦̔l̷̨̛.̸̞̄ ̷̫͂S̵̗͠i̴̦͋n̶̢̊n̵̲̋u̶̳͘l̴̺̊.̸̯͒ ̶͓́S̷͓͘i̶̓ͅn̴̳̆n̵̥͒ủ̵̮l̷̩̚.̷̹͝ ̷̼͊S̶̥̃ḯ̵̫ṉ̵̎n̵̩̐ú̵̘l̷̞͝.̴̡͒ ̷̚ͅS̷̝̋i̴̛̩n̴͔͛n̴̦͗ṳ̶̆ḻ̸̆.̸̥̈́ ̸͎̾S̷͎͋ị̵͒ṇ̵̓n̴̠͠u̷͕͠l̸̛̰.̵̪̉ ̶̲͌S̶̞͒i̵̗̚n̸͖̊n̷̝̈́u̵̘̓ĺ̶̠.̷̬̆ ̴̤̌S̶̮̍í̸͍n̵̡̈́n̷͓̉ü̵͔l̸̗̇.̵͙̋ ̶͖̂

He chanted, a guttural and throaty voice invoking the divination of castigation and punishment. The Souls echoed his cantos, assisting his actions of spreading the poison by quickening its influence. They invoked the Knife. They invoked the Thorn. They invoked the Hand. They invoked the Claw. They invoked Hate.

The conflict between the giant and the woman halted, surprised at the howling in their heads, looking around the room before realizing that it was coming from him. The Dear Girl's legs began shaking, her hand failing to cast the magic and about to collapse backwards, her breathing suddenly becoming labored. Her head sagged, her elbows and knees bending outside her control, her spine curving forward exhaustingly, and her eyes beginning to close. It looked as if she was having difficulty in carrying her own weight.

"I….I can't st…stand…." The girl quickly fell on her backside before the rest of her followed, her eyes quickly closing as her consciousness is wiped out.

"Hey…the hell're you doin'?" Rom asked grimly, his free hand covering his left ear, failing to block out the increasingly loud howling and wailing as he started backing away.

"Hmm….." Elsa only smiled charmingly at him, sauntering towards him with the grace intended to show off her supple legs that have grown back, cloth and all. "What are you going to do next, Handsome?"

The sound of snapping wood erupted before the loud clanking of metal arrived behind her, which she answered with a swift twist of her body and a quick slash of her kukri, the knight sneaking up behind her instantly cut down—

And the unmanned set of full armor clattered to pieces on the floor, displaying indication of no living person being inside and wearing them while it was about to run her through with a dull sword.

"What the….!?" Rom was flabbergasted.

"Oh…?" Before Elsa could ponder over it any further, the double-door entrance suddenly burst open, and she blocked a bone axe from burying itself to her head, parrying it away and throwing off the attacker behind her. Before she could process the form of her new opponent, she quickly side-stepped, evading the thrust of a sword behind her and countered with a quick slash to the head.

The second attacker's upper half of its head is lost, but it was still standing. A skeleton's grin is still present, and the bony construct swung its weapon diagonally upwards, nearly shredding her supple breasts with its serrated blade as she leaned back. The second skeleton swung down its axe on her head, and she leapt out of the way, the ground shattering under the might of the weapon.

Unhampered by exhaustion, motion-range limitations, and fear, the undead duo bore down on her with an impressive mix of both animalistic ferocity and martial finesse. The Axe fought with nothing but pure strength and the intention to kill her as quickly as possible. The Sword functioned as defense, parrying and countering every slash Elsa threw to leave openings for its partner to exploit.

Felt and Rom could only gape at the exchange of blades, one of Gusteko steel and one of the Apocalypse Legion's armory. This time, their battle could truly be called a Dance. There was no break or pause, only continuous and nonstop, and no movement is wasted, only utilized in the most unorthodox way possible. The Sword's upper half is knocked backwards with a kick, its lower half started going for her legs with kicks and stomps before both halves reconnected again. The Axe missed another downward strike and had its weapon embedded to the ground, it cartwheeled forward without letting go and nearly slammed the assassin's head to the floor with its feet, the decimated floorboards exploding and causing the building to shake.

Elsa exhibited greater combat prowess, having a counter available for every attack that came her way, never once taking a hit and dealing more blows to her skeletal opponents, slowly riddling them down, bit by bit. She doesn't even look exhausted as well, maintaining that smile throughout. Every time a new move was executed, she would never forget it and have a counter ready by the time it's repeated.

Then, the skeletons started running away from her, charging the giant and the thief. The latter was easily lifted over a bony shoulder and taken behind the counter. Rom himself was left baffled as the spindly and unassuming Axe lifted his gigantic body off his feet one-handed and threw him over the counter next to Felt, shaking the building upon landing and making a few breakable pieces of the walls fall off. The construct ran to the fallen girl's form and pulled her into cover.

Elsa knew what was coming and turned to face him, "Are you finally finished preparing that spell of yours?"

Receiving gratefully all of the tainted mana that was siphoned to him by the Souls, he converted that energy into the most potent mix of magical fuel that could power a spell that could eradicate an entire city. Eyes blazing so brightly his face became void of visibility due to their light, the outline of his body beginning to blur and shine a malicious green, his hair violently whipping behind him as if a hurricane surged at him, he fumed the energy out, flowing from his form like a broken container and surging into the 'seeds' he planted.

Bone fragments were scattered all over the ground surrounding the loohouse, hidden a couple inches beneath a layer of dirt, part of the preparations he took before his initial scuffle with the Dear Girl and Felt could occur. They would serve as quick emergency components, either as a supply of weapons or as soldiers. Now, in a situation that has escalated to this point of insanity, it calls for one of the most devastating bone spells he has ever created.

As they breached out of the soil and floated up to the sky, they began expanding in size and weight, some were midway from reaching the surface and their growing mass caused the soil to crack open and shake the very area like a tremor. Soon, the loothouse is blotted out from all light, the skies overrun by the largest skulls, fingers, claws, ribs, and all manner of anatomy that could serve as a meteorite, an ivory cloud heralding a catastrophe.

There was no room for escape. Formed in a tight circle, a cyclone of millions of razor sharp bone fragments flew at high speeds and surrounded their location, giving the promise of shredding anything that ever so much as touched it, and it was closing in very quickly, the walls of the loothouse already devoured by its wrath.

The sound of bones colliding, breaking, and reshaping filled the air without mercy, threatening to destroy the nearest eardrums that were ever nearby, the songs of the howling and screaming Dead mixing in this cacophony made it more comparable to the sounds of war…..

And he screamed.

As the bones fell and the cyclone suddenly flew inwards, the loothouse was no more.

|||| « ҉ » ||||

"Oh god, I hope you didn't end up murdering someone, Hero….!" Of course, knowing that man, it'd be the same as asking a dog to not bark. A wild one compared to his Brother. Even if that man did not shove his claws inside someone's face and blew it up, he has permanently disabled someone somewhere.

Raeburn gritted his teeth, his grip on Tank's reigns tightening, his knuckles turning white. "Fuuuuck...why is he, of all the people in Pandemonium, the one to be here…!?"

Ignoring the fact that the two of them once worked together to fight against an Undead Titan in the Hellhole they were born from years ago, the necromance—actually, Necromagus, lest he be offended and begin swiping a sickle to his face—was nothing but trouble. He barely listened to his advice and made his life a living hell. Just when he got out of the Gladiator Islands in Darwinistic Country, Vollachia….

"Geez…." He patted Tank's jet black fur, his fingers tracing over the red highlights near his mane. "….at least I have you to keep me sane, right, boy?"

The Liger yipped in agreement, barely slowing down from his sprint across the Slum roads, kicking up dust and leaving behind a trail. It indeed pained him so to see the people living in this dump every time he comes here, abandoned and left to rot in the gutters of this Kingdom, even if the monarchy is unstable thanks to the lack of a King to do anything about it, and he did the best he can to help with their situation. Even with his efforts to buy them new clothes or food supplies, bought with the money he got from bounty hunting and playing his guitar on the streets, it's still not enough to put ease in his mind.

What did, however, is that his so-called 'charge' initiated his own act of charity by literally buying 5 stalls worth of fruit and vegetable stocks and hauled them straight to this place, feeding the hungry and bringing smiles back to the faces of these poor men, women, and children. Raeburn earned smiles with his acts of kindness as well, but the ones wrought from the Death Mage were the largest and shining with life. The fact that the Souls confirmed such actions to be motivated purely by nothing only lessened his sour impressions of the man.

Even if he was rebellious and a complete asshole, this Necromagus had a human heart, one that was blessed and loved by God.

He didn't believe it at first when he had a long conversation with the Souls regarding the Necromagus and discovered him to be the revered Hero of Pandemonium that had killed and caged the actual Spirits of the Supreme Sins inside his wand, even if the Dead have no capacity to lie and are ever trustworthy sources of flawed but reliable information. It has been 5 years since he was taken to this world, and under those 5 years, a Necromagus of all people was the one to achieve the impossible, and happened to be the one person to be taken away from Pandemonium as well.

All doubts were washed away thanks to that act of kindness he did days ago. He was a coldhearted asshole when Raeburn first met him, he still is now, but people can change with time. The Necromagus must have grown a fire inside that icy heart of his during those 5 years before being brought here.

"Now, I wonder what the hell you have done in this hour." After the Souls reported to him of a powerful disturbance and a great influx of mana coming from the edge of the Slums, he feared the worst, especially when it was confirmed that the Necromagus was responsible for it. "Reinhardt before be there before me."

In no time thanks to Tank's speed, he reached the location of the disturbance, and he could only gawk as his Brother slid to a stop, creating a dust cloud.

He remembered a loothouse being located in the edges of the Slums, literally sitting next to the Kingdom's border walls, and now that wall is just one stone throw away from being leveled to the ground, riddled with cracks and having a large rib bone embedded on the surface. The earth everywhere looked as if it was forcefully ripped open, from underneath. Rom's loothouse itself was nonexistent, reduced to a giant crater that went nearly 5 feet down, littered with nothing but bone fragments, piles of wood and junk, and skeleton pieces that could only belong to a giant, the size of which didn't thankfully belong Rom. He saw a gigantic skull down there as well, buried midway into the earth. Did the Death Mage summon a skeleton Titan or something?

"Is that you, Raeburn?" A male voice called out to him.

Raeburn looked to the owner of that voice and was glad to see the Lord Sword Saint standing at the edge of the crater, his presence allowing the atmosphere to feel a lot secure. Rom was sitting on the ground next to him alongside his adopted granddaughter Felt, looking rather disheveled and fresh out of something harrowing. He hopped off Tank's back and raised up a hand in greetings, approaching the Knight among Knights, "Good evening, Reinhardt. I came to check on what's going on."

"Did you also come to check on your friend as well, the Lord Death Mage?" Reinhardt mentioned.

"Wel—uh, u-yeah! I am. You know where he is?" Raeburn asked.

"Over there." The Knight waved a hand at a small distance away, indicating the six-armed Necromagus attending to a white-dressed woman with surprisingly white hair laying on the ground, unconscious, his mouth gaping wide as he ate some sort of sickly green energy seeping out of her form. The most concerning detail is the fact that he's covered in blood. He could only wonder whose. "He's currently draining the tainted mana Lady Emilia has absorbed by accident."

Ah, of course.

He knew the Necromagi kind to be incompatible in terms of working as a group when they first fought as a pair. For one, they don't care about collateral damage when they cast their most dangerous spells and their habit of tainting ambient mana leaves magicians to be incapable of casting magic in their presence, even nearly killing them by complete accident.

At least it's assuring to see the man cleaning up after himself instead of leaving them to rot like last time. "That's good to hear." He looked around the area, noticing that the nearest houses were utterly decimated and collapsed to the ground. The look of them indicated that nothing external was the cause of their destruction. It's likely because of the shockwave of one powerful spell, and he can already tell who it belonged to. "The hell happened here? An explosion or something?"

"Well, according to the two here," Reinhardt nodded to the old man and the blonde, "To summarize: A woman, whose descriptions could undoubtedly belong to the Bowel Hunter, had somehow attacked them. Your friend came in the nick of time to save their lives and Lady Emilia's."

At the mention of the moniker, 'Bowel Hunter', the Souls suddenly got very agitated. Raeburn's face grimaced in an instant, concluding that the owner of that title is not someone to welcome immediately to your presence. "Who's this 'Bowel Hunter'?"

"A dangerous individual, if you will." That could be an understatement. He never knew Reinhardt to be candid with his words. He knew the man for 6 months, after all. "She's been wanted from many cities due to a string of murders she committed over the years."

He looked at the crater and smiled wincingly at it. He could only imagine how it turned out to end up like this. This sort of power is reserved for the use against Titans, one of Pandemonium's most durable and hard-to-kill demons. "Must have been so hated that she had to be reduced to a crater as an act of justice."

"Additionally, these two said that she has resurrected herself from death three times."

Raeburn snapped into a combat-mindset, drew the club out of his shoulder, and began surveying the area, looking over the shadows and places where someone could conceal themselves in. Body stiff, nerves cold, the mana gathering into his legs as he stood idly, he asked for a reconnaissance report from the Souls.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

He looked over to Tank, and the good boy showed no body language of caution. If the Combat Liger of Vollachia wasn't worried, then he should relax as well. Not that he would, of course. Being paranoid is the greatest survival method he ever knew since being born in Pandemonium. If it saved him in that Hellhole, it'll do him a big favor to be alert in the right moment.

"Is something wrong, Raeburn?" Reinhardt asked, concerned.

"Just checking." He slowly rested the club against his shoulder, surveying one more time and checking with the Souls again, just to be safe. "If you say 'resurrected', then I have a good reason to be a little more alert."

"I understand your concern, but not to worry. If a surprise attack were to happen, I will definitely see it coming and prevent anyone from getting harmed."

That was blatantly the most assuring thing he has ever heard this day, delivering an immense amount of ease into his mind. In a world like this, there is no one as reliable and well-capable of protecting lives as well as Reinhardt. With every Blessing imaginable inscribed in his Soul, literally nothing could stop the Knight of Knights from performing his duties.

"If you say so." Raeburn accepted, letting go of his club and letting the heavy head pull it over his shoulder. Despite wearing neither harness nor sheathe, his weapon somehow managed to stick itself to his back, as if it was magnetized to his body. "Now I'm just gonna have a talk with my friend here once he's done with whatever he's doing to her."

"If I'm not intruding, how fares your relationship with him?" Reinhardt asked respectfully, aware of the kind of rocky relationship he had with the man, if it was even called a 'relationship'.

He turned a bitter smile at him, "Oh, you know, as usual. He's still causing me a headache."

Reinhardt chuckled.

After one more minute, the Necromagus stopped draining the girl of her tainted mana and his left gauntlet began pulsating with green light. Once the energies gathered into a vaporing ball in his hand, he pressed his metallic palm to her forehead and infused them into her Od.

Instantaneously, the girl sprang up like a lever with a cute yelp and nearly hit her head against the Death Mage's own. After hyperventilating for a few seconds, she found her voice and started asking, "Wha—what!? What's going on? Why am I here?" As she looked around her, taking in the faces of the people nearby, she took a long look on the Sword Saint, "Reinhardt? What are you doing here? What's going on? What happened before I pass—" She fell silent, her face turning blank, and Raeburn could see the gears turning in her head as she recalled her last moments before losing consciousness.

"Ah!" There it is. She remembered everything. "What happened!? Where is that horrible woman!? Is she defeated!? Is it over!?"

"Calm down, Lady Emilia. The ordeal is over." Reinhardt assured, kneeling next to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "The Bowel Hunter is defeated and everyone is safe and sound. I can't say the same for the wall and this establishment but what matters is everybody lived. You have accidently drained tainted mana earlier, hence why you passed out. The Good Ser here has cleared your Od of the impurities and even gave you a dose of his own to wake you up."

The 'Good Ser' in question wasn't paying attention, having stood up and now facing away from her, hacking up liquid in his mouth and spitting out blood to the ground, which began melting the soil.

Raeburn noted the praises the Souls around the Death Mage were showering him with. It seems he did kill this 'Bowel Hunter' and earned the compliments of the Dead, likely from the ones who fell victim to the serial killer. At least the man's done a good service to the public. He'll get recognition once this feat reaches the ears of nobles and interested ears, which could only lead to less than ideal outcomes.

The Necromagus had a boiling hatred towards nobles, and he will kill those who would try to enlist his powers for conflict or warfare, no matter if they were borne out of good intentions or not. Raeburn can understand why. Necromancy is a dangerous practice, and it must only be handled by the ones who understood it to the last detail like the man himself, who is trained and qualified to control it since his birth. He doesn't know what purpose his kind's magic serve to themselves and to the world at large but it obviously doesn't involve throwing it into chaos that not even the primordial times of the Rapture could compare to it. Otherwise, why would they hunt down Necromancers, so-called blasphemers who perverted the dark art of Necromancy for the most twisted reasons?

They've been around for since God gave the world a chance and Pandemonium still managed to be stable.

"I see." This Lady Emilia nodded her head, looking down. Then she began to rise to her feet, "I better thank him."

With Reinhardt's gentlemanly assistance, she stood up and gently approached the Death Mage with light steps. As she did, the former began unbuckling the gauntlets on his arms, seeming to not notice the approaching person behind him.

Raeburn's eyes widened the sooner he noticed the one detail this girl has that was exposed under the light of the moon.

She had elven ears.

Silver white hair. Amethyst eyes. Elven ears.

By God, she has them. Though Raeburn was more conflicted than unsettled despite what he's learned from this world and its devil. For one, he's not an idiot. That was 400 years ago. Secondly, the Souls aren't agitated in her presence. Rather, she was loved by them.

"Um, Ser? Hello, it is me." She began, speaking in the most polite of tones, "Would you kindly please turn around and let me see your face? I would like to thank you, for protecting us."

Once the Death Mage was done with unbuckling his other gauntlet, his lower pair of arms took them off his hands and revealed extremely white skin that seemed to have never once seen the light of the sun, made even more apparent under the shine of the full moon above. They were heavily bruised, and quite lanky despite their size. Even with such a painful state, he didn't seem bothered by them as he rubbed his palms together and turned around, looking down on the girl before him with a rather impassive green gaze.

Lady Emilia seemed to focus more on his arms than his gaze, frowning at the sickly discolorations, "They must have hurt." She remarked, reaching for his forearms and her delicate hands began glowing white. How convenient, she knows healing magic. "Hold them steady. I'll heal them—eep!"

Before she could continue, her wrists were suddenly grabbed by him, and he pulled them up close to his eye level. "What? What are you doing?" She asked him with an unsettled tone.

He didn't respond to that, instead only scrutinizing her hands, fingers, and forearms, as if they were unlike anything he's ever seen before and wishes to know every bit of it before the chance is lost.

Raeburn is now worried. This man is always eccentric, and he's worried that he might have to intervene, and likely cause another violent confrontation due to annoying him in the process. He hoped he doesn't have to, and that this Necromagus doesn't go far with whatever he's doing.

After half a minute, he gently lowered her arms, his attention now solely on her right one as he placed both hands on it and began feeling every bit of muscle inside, his thumbs tracing her blood vessels. Looking closely, the point of his fingers were slightly glowing green, a common sight whenever he was touching another person.

He's examining her, Raeburn finally realized. He did the same thing when a demihuman guest arrived in his home and the Death Mage was unfortunately nearby, having never seen a nonhuman sapient species up close. The most embarrassing moment of his life when he did his best to save the beast man from being forcefully examined. Compared to that incident, this one is a lot more reserved and tame. At least he's not forcefully undressing her.

The Necromagus' searching grasp slowly went up, not missing every part possible. He reached her shoulders and the girl yelped at his icy touch reaching her bare skin, uncovered by her clothes. Raeburn still wondered why their bodies are so cold to the touch and yet still manage to stay mobile while so. It's not like he could ask the man. He never once spoken a single word except scream bloody murder when he manages to piss him off.

Once Lady Emilia's face was next, his gentleness was no longer present. He roughly angled her face here and there, his scanning green gaze way too close for comfort. She grunted each time, both her hands tightly gripping the man's bruised forearm but didn't move to push him away for some reason.

Raeburn gulped, now moving a little closer in case he needed to do something.

The man widened both her left eyelids with a finger, looking deeply into that shiny amethyst orb resting inside her socket. Once he was satisfied, he moved to look at her ear, its leaf-like shape a prime indication of her lineage. He pinched the edge in-between his fingers, drawing another yelp and flinch from her. Once he was finished with feeling it, he placed a grip on her lower jaw and had her open her mouth, making her moan unpleasantly as he looked at the inside of it.

Raeburn blushed and looked away. He has to admit, that moan sounded really….stimulating. This girl had a very pleasant voice, clear as a bell, nearly angelic, and to come out like that is a bit too much for his liking. This Lady Emilia being an extremely beautiful girl didn't help either.

After one more uncomfortable minute, he finally let her go and took one step back. Rolling her tongue inside her mouth to moisten the dryness, cheeks tinged red, she asked him with a frown, "What was that for? What did you just do?"

"Heh! Sorry, Ma'am, but you'd have to be really lucky to hear this man talk." Raeburn was quick to warn her about it, smiling bitterly, "I've been with this guy for weeks and every attempt at conversation I have gets me a lot of him screaming at me and—"

"Ssh!"

He instantly stopped talking, looking at the Death Mage in shock.

The man shushed him. The man actually shushed him. The very first nonviolent utterance he had ever received from the man.

The atmosphere falling silent, the Necromagus turned to face the elven girl again and opened his mouth. Raeburn held his breath, his entire body going stiff as he strained his ears for anything that might come out. Is he going to…? Is he actually going to….!?

"You….."

It was gravely, rasped, and low. Times of silence must have left his vocal cords neglected and weakened, to the point that it sounded as if it was steel sliding across concrete. To Raeburn, however, it felt as if he was listening to an animal speak the human tongue for the first time.

"…..are not like them."

Raeburn choked in his own breath, barely capable of uttering his response to this phenomenon. "Holy shit….."

"Them?" Lady Emilia echoed in wonder, then she gasped, realizing the implications, "Could it mean that you have seen others like me? Other half-elves?"

Then he immediately sobered up upon hearing that.

Half-elves. They are not the most well-liked in this Kingdom, coming from the same lineage of the Devil that nearly devoured the world 4 centuries ago, reduced to pariahs among pariahs without even doing anything to warrant it. Even if they're innocent, it's not like such facts are going to placate anyone born with a societal stigma against them. Raeburn is no such asshole to hate someone with no good reason to but sometimes, the negative response the Souls have against these so-called 'half-devils' sometimes end up influencing his subconsciousness and mannerisms.

He hasn't actually met one till now but now that a genuine member of this world's infamous race is right in front of him, being addressed by one of Pandemonium's own infamous race, he will do his best to be kind to her.

This girl is clearly innocent. And likely have faced the worst of things from people just for being born.

There was a saying in Pandemonium, stating that you should believe a Necromagus when they say you are innocent or guilty of a crime despite their reputation, because they are never wrong. The man's demeanor around her is evidence enough.

"Not yourssss…." The Necromagus replied, making Raeburn stop ruminating and pay attention firmly to his words, "…..but this one'ssssss…" He pointed a pale finger to himself. In other words, he thought Lady Emilia was one of his own but was actually not.

"I see." The girl nodded slowly to that, then looked back up to him, asking, "What is….what is your name, Ser? I believe you never told me. Will you please tell me? If you do, I will do my very best to thank you."

The man slowly closed his eyes, and took one step back, placing a pale hand against his bone-covered cuirass, inclining his head in a bow. Raeburn's eyes threatened to pop out of his eyes and his jaw about to land on the ground. It was the most alien thing he has saw this man ever do. He's never done that before, whether here or Pandemonium. Just what is this man?

"This Priest...is the Third Right Claw of the Dragon…..Emurdol…" Raeburn noticed the bone wand on his belt flashing once, "…..Viandegroc."

So that was his name. Emurdol Viandegroc. It sounded like a pretty good name. Now he no longer has to refer to him as 'that guy' or 'Necro' anymore.

Honestly speaking, Raeburn was pissed off. He's tried so hard to get him to talk, even an insult would have sufficed, and this girl managed to bring him out of his stubborn shell by practically doing nothing.

Tank started growling—

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

"Look out!"
"Ser Emurdol!"

He and Reinhardt felt the sudden rise of killing intent, shouted the warning as quickly as they could, and they witnessed a pile of rubble in the crater explode outwards, and the killer inside quickly moved, a black blur escaping from the epicenter and heading straight for Lady Emilia.

Reinhardt was sprinting into her defense, Raeburn had already drawn his club and had its kanabo head fly forward, the chains connecting it to the shaft rustling loudly, hoping for it to hit the assailant before she reaches her target.

Prospects weren't bright. The studded cylinder isn't moving fast enough, and this woman is faster than sound. Raeburn is baffled, fearing the worst.

And he watched Emurdol Viandegroc push Lady Emilia out of the way and charged straight towards the black blur with an equally baffling speed, causing a shockwave to erupt from the violent collision and copious amounts of blood spurted out as a black kukri was buried deep into his abdomen. Being the lightest, the assailant was the one pushed back in the lethal grapple and the Death Mage's razor sharp teeth soaked with blood clamped down on her neck.

With gritted teeth, the woman repeatedly stabbed the kukri into his midsection. Emurdol's extra arms left deep gashes with its claws on her everything, from her upper body to her arms and head, pieces of hair and flesh flying off everywhere. Intense amounts of blood overflowed from the bite on her neck, his jaws barely letting go, his bare hands crushing her shoulders and causing the collarbones to shatter under his grip, giving back the pain a thousandfold.

By the time Raeburn had dragged himself forward to the place the kanabo head had landed and was about to slam it down on her head without hitting Emurdol Viandegroc in the process, she had already kicked the Necromagus in the chest to push herself away, a large chunk missing from her neck and head, narrowly escaping a crushing death, rolling like a ball on the ground and leaving a trail of blood before flipping her form rapidly towards the nearest intact building.

Tank had already bolted towards her, his claws granting him good traction and reaching a few meters forward in each stride and about to clamp his jaws on her midsection, only for his snout to be kicked from the upside, making the giant wolf yelp and trip over.

"Tank!" With a roar, he threw the kanabo head towards her form again to avenge his Brother, only to be too late to act, the woman having reached the wall and crawled straight up to the roof like a lizard before she could be crushed by it and leapt to another house, the decrepit structure taking the hit, flash-freezing solid in an instant from the invocation of the spell inside one of its pyroxene crystals, and crumbling to a thousand pieces on the ground. "Fuck!" He yanked it back and the connected chains retracted into the voluminous depth of his club's shaft, the misty cylinder clanging loudly upon reaching the head of the flanged mace.

"Soon, I will disembowel every single one of you." This woman—the Bowel Hunter turned to look at every single one of them in the eye, heedless of the missing parts of her head, neck, arms, chest, and shoulders, and Raeburn saw the promise of revenge in her deep purple orbs. "Until then, take good care of your bowels."

And she was now gone, disappearing in the dark of night.

Raeburn was tempted to run after her, but the wellbeing of his wolf took priority. So he ran over to the Liger's fallen form, checking his snout for any severe injury, trying not to cry from the sound of his pained whining. "Hey, Tank, boy. You okay? Ssh. It's alright, buddy. I'm here."

"GET BACK!"

The ground rocked, making Raeburn bounce upwards to the air alongside his Wolf and his body automatically assumed a standing posture before his feet met the ground. Looking back behind him, he saw Lady Emilia being pulled away by Reinhardt as Emurdol Viandegroc's fallen body surged with blood. From the cut opening of his plackart and likely the multiple stab wounds within, his lifeblood spurted out in dangerous amounts and encircled his body in a halo, becoming as solid as a paper-thin blade and rotating in speeds that weren't possible, as if it was trying to ward anything from touching him.

Additionally, there were tentacles made out of spinal columns that writhed and lashed at anything within reach, the sole cause of that quake when they emerged from the ground. They surrounded him with the same impression of preventing anything from coming near.

His mouth coughed out blood, choking and barely having a moment to breathe, his body twitching each time as he clawed at his throat, trying to stop the red liquid from bursting out anymore. Raeburn could have been running over there, ignoring the danger posed by those paranoid tentacles that deformed the ground in each lash or that dangerous blood ring that could sever his body in half with the slightest touch, and did something about the bleeding….

But the Souls…..

….The Souls…

Farewell.

Farewell.

Farewell.

Farewell.

Farewell.

Farewell.

Farewell.

Farewell.

Farewell.

Farewell.

Farewell.

They are saying goodbye. They aren't crying nor rejoicing for his imminent death just like they would for every other living being. They welcomed it, as if they wanted it to happen for a very long time, and they were glad it's finally happening.

Knowing the mindset of Souls that have limited capacity for desire except to mirror those of the Living….

Raeburn suddenly felt his body lose all will to move the sooner he realized the implication, incapable of looking away from what's happening, all sound and voice drowning out in obscurity from the deafening drone that was coming from somewhere.

Emurdol Viandegroc is letting himself die. Instead of defying every biological norm possible by manually stopping his bleeding or putting his body into stasis to stabilize his condition, feats only those of his lineage were capable of, he was instead quickening the arrival of the inevitable.

Even as he coughed blood, his face didn't show pain nor despair. His green gaze was relaxed, at peace with himself as he looked up to the Moon. His left hand pulled the wand out of his belt and held it with both hands on his chest, clutching it very tightly, as if it will be the very last thing he'll ever hold. His four other arms wrapped around him, almost lovingly, as if it was trying to comfort him.

Time to come home.

Proud of you.

You've done enough.

You may rest now.

Stop suffering for others.

It's over.

Sit down now and let the world be.

Mother loves you.

Come back to her.

She misses you.

Suddenly, the language of the Souls became comprehensible, their complicated thoughts and emotions condensed into a simple sentiment that could be translated into no more than a few words. It was so palpable and intense that he could feel it like it was their own. He wanted to run over there and hold his hand, assure Emurdol Viandegroc that everything is alright, that nothing will ever trouble him anymore, and that he can now take the respite he richly deserved for all that he's done for the world. That way, he can depart knowing that at least one of the Living understood his endeavor.

But to do that…it would be very disrespectful. Raeburn knew nothing about him. He realized it too late. Being born a Necromagus is to suffer. No one will love you. Everyone will scorn you for who you are. He thought he was better than most people, being more tolerant to his presence so long as he's done nothing wrong. He thought banishing him from the group was justified, a natural consequence for his heartlessness towards his fellow man, he doesn't even regret it now…..

…..but now…..he realized that this man had a good heart from the very start. Of course he was coldhearted. If everyone in the world hates you no matter what you do, even if you haven't done anything to warrant it, why should you even bother being nice? Despite all that, he purged Pandemonium of the Supreme Sins and gave that Hellhole a chance to escape returning to what it first was instead of condemning it to its demise.

If he had been treated better, if he was seen more as a human instead of the demon the Church keeps professing his kind as….would it have ended differently? Would he have strove to live longer instead of seeking the easy way out this very moment? Would his inherent good nature be able to show itself openly instead of being locked under the layers of hate and anger in order to protect himself?

With his act of giving to the lowest of the low days ago, preceded by having a taste of a life in this world where no one hated him for his lineage and instead treated him fairly, without stigmas and prejudices, it showed that he could have done many more acts of charity if he was given the chance.

But that was never going to be anymore, Raeburn ultimately accepted.

His wand glowed inside his grasp, brightening to the point that the night is being banished in its emerald light, and that's when Raeburn realized that every bit of mana in the world is being siphoned to Emurdol Viandegroc's location. His own mana stocks is strangely untouched. This amount stolen is enough to fill 20 platoons worth of war mages, and it's still expanding.

From the corner of his vision, he saw Reinhardt running towards the Death Mage's form, about to stop whatever was about to happen—

And he was hit. The Sword Saint of Lugnica, the human beloved by the world itself, the untouchable and unstoppable Reinhardt van Astrea, was hit.

The nearest bone whip lashed across his back, opening a nasty laceration on his immaculately pristine uniform and spilling out the blood that never once met the air of the world. The Knight's eyes went wide, his body automatically maneuvering to prevent himself falling face-first—

Immediately after, in speeds that were impossible to see except in blurs, a flower of spears erupted underneath him, impaling his entire front full of serrated stakes of bone. As if to make sure he never moves from there, the Red Ring above Emurdol Viandegroc warped in shape and cleanly beheaded the Sword Saint through the calcified ivory.

In the face of such a sudden turn of events, Raeburn was eerily calm. And he noticed it.

The Souls were not going to suffer disturbances to this departure. No human, no beast, no demihuman, no knight—not even God himself would be permitted to interfere. They grew the willingness to influence the world once more, letting their presence and will be known with these violent attacks.

Except…those weren't attacks. If they were, Reinhardt wouldn't have been hit in the first place. Without malice or bloodlust, the Souls struck down the Knight with the intention of halting him in place, as if he was expected to survive the blows.

With the Mana of the world gathering to Emurdol Viandegroc's hands, Raeburn felt a pulse in the air, and then another, followed by a third. Soon, a rhythm became perceivable, almost like a heartbeat. A gentle start steadily rose to a rapid rate, and it didn't stop from there. The abnormal pace deformed the beat into an ear-numbing drone.

The skies began to darken, heralding the arrival of a hurricane. The earth trembled, every decrepit house in the vicinity collapsing to the ground. The winds howled, threatening to send anything that isn't firmly planted to the ground flying. Raeburn felt the lives of the poor men, women, and children being snuffed out by flying debris, some of their screams barely reaching him. Lady Emilia's voice couldn't be heard from the violent gales as she was pulled away to safety by Rom and Felt, shouting at him to run. He couldn't move. The Souls compelled him to witness everything to the end, and honor the passing of the Hero of Pandemonium.

His Brother didn't matter. The lives of the innocents didn't matter. The ones around him didn't matter. His own life didn't matter. He must look. He couldn't move. Feelings of despair and outrage were boiling up inside him, but something was holding them down from reaching his consciousness. He's feeling calmer than he should be when a calamity was about to erupt.

Why? Why isn't he standing up and running away?

He should run. It's best to run, right? He'll get killed if he stays. Why isn't he moving? Even though Tank is already pulling him away by the collar of his tunic, why isn't he snapping out of it? When the Wolf snapped his jaws around his stomach as gently as he can and started sprinting away from the scene, Raeburn didn't seem to care. Why isn't he groaning in pain? Why is he—

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

And at the crescendo of this rising destruction, a single sound pierced through the cacophony.

The sound of a gem being reduced to imperceptible atoms. Only Raeburn heard the howls of freedom that came after, his own roars of pain and fury blocking out everything else amidst the falling rain.

And with that, Emurdol Viandegroc finally expired and earned his Peace.

As Od Laguna's mindless grace replenished Lugunica of its lost mana, the Kingdom eventually suffered the wrath of the very worst cyclone and earthquake since the Witch of Wrath's saga.