REWRITTEN JULY 2022. Whereas Chapter 1 was rewritten in April of the same year. ...The next chapter hasn't been rewritten unless its Author's Note states otherwise, so there might be a drop in quality and a bit of mismatch— such ending up in Mood-Whiplash Central.
Chapter 2 - Carne Village
'Run! Run faster! I... I can't-!'
Adrenaline coursed through her veins. The young woman's mind was a steel trap, razor focused on one task and one task alone— to get her and her sister to safety. Even as her skirt was torn on bramble, her legs growing heavier and lungs beginning to burn. All of her weakness, all of her vulnerabilities, chased away by fear and adrenaline as she darted across the woodland.
As a simple village girl she was used to physical exertion when working on the farm, yet the sheer panic and hyperventilation still took its toll, proving that her body was not able to keep up forever. Especially not when lugging around heavy baggage that she'd sooner die than willingly discard. And so, tired legs stumbled forward without being offered a break, doing their damnedest to prevent collapsing or tipping over.
Enri Emmot clutched her younger sister Nemu to her chest tighter than ever before, desperately seeking warmth and comfort that might no longer be offered to her. Ultimately, she found none. Not as her younger sibling stifled their sobs by burying their tear-stained face in her tattered dress.
The fear was contagious, and in lieu of falling like the rest of her village, she pressed forward— not intending to find out if the sound of snapping of branches and rustling of armour that could be heard beneath the beating of her heart was a product of paranoia or not.
'Father... F-father, he...!'
Enri didn't finish that thought. She couldn't finish that though. She wouldn't allow herself to. Not now. Because really— there was only one possible outcome. ...When the captain of the attacking forces had approached with a salacious smile her father stepped up and fought him off. The actual fate of the man remained to be seen, yet the dishevelled girl had a sneaking suspicion of what had come to pass.
Faced with a massacre like that, there was only one thing that could realistically be done, and that was to run. Taking the opportunity her father's sacrifice had granted, she grabbed Nemu and charged into the thicket— not wanting to dwell on it for even a second longer.
"HEY YOU-! STOP!" An gruff voice roared behind her, heavy footsteps approaching. Enri's heart lurched and stomach plummeted as she clutched the whimpering Nemu with greater fervour and kept running. But being tired after a days work in the fields, carrying her little sister proving to be more taxing than expected.
"AH!" Enri yelped as pain rippled through the her shoulder blade— a cold steel sword cutting into her back. Losing her footing, the village girl tripped, and her escape swiftly came to an end. Fear bit into her mind as the young lady desperately scrambled for a solution. In the end, she could do nothing but clutch her crying sister closer in an attempt to shield the weeping child from harm with her own body.
At this point Enri was on the verge of tears herself, only managing to keep it together due to the immense fight or flight response her human mind was going through. The village girl's breathing grew heavier as warm blood trickled out of the open wound on her shoulder— the radiating burning sensation of the injury being pushed aside by growing desperation.
Death was approaching. Enri's throat seemed to close up when she realised that fact. ...And no matter how tightly she shut her eyes, no matter how much she held back her tears, that immutable fate wouldn't change. ...Even if it felt impossible to accept such a thing. Not even as her pursuer now circled her, closing off the way she had been running. (To an extent, Enri Emmot was right. Death was indeed approaching. ...Just not in the way she was envisioning.)
"N-nee-chan...!" The hoarse voice of Nemu called out, the little one was not fully understanding what's happening, but was fearful of her sister's safety nonetheless. Snot and tears were freely flowing, and the unbridled terror in the child's reddened eyes was too sincere to be faked by anyone, let alone someone so young.
"I-i-it's okay...!" Enri choked a whine to reassure her sibling, gently stroking the little girl's red hair and hugged them tighter in spite of the painful wound— but ultimately, her voice still faltered several times before she could work up any certainty in her tone. "W-we're fine. We're fine. We're gonna be fine...!" Contrary to the spoken words, the village girl silently prayed, this time more earnestly than she had ever done.
'Please, please please...! Oh gods! If not me... Nemu...! She ca-can't-! Not like this!'
Enri's mind wandered. ...Considering all the possibilities. The rationalisations gave her no comfort. In the end it was hopeless, with there being only one way this was going to play out. Yet she prayed. Prayed to ever-silent gods. Even if she could not be saved, something had to be done. As it stood, her village probably wouldn't be the last to be razed to the ground. —Not that the thought even occurred to her in this state.
"Please-!" She pleaded and sobbed, knowing full well that she would find no mercy at the edge of those monsters' blades. But in the end, the village girl was willing to throw away all dignity if her sweet little sister could be spared.
'—The captain! He w-wanted me. Father, I... No. I— maybe, just maybe he'll let Nemu go if I offer myself, she can't just die l-like—!'
"Onee-chan-!" Nemu cried as the knight stepped closer with weapons drawn. Enri swallowed thickly. The attacker's presence was like a pail of cold water being poured on her.
'E... Even if I offer myself... He'll still kill us. W-was it useless? All of this...'
Nemu was crying, allowing warm tears to stain Enri's shirt. The raider that followed closely behind the other scoffed. "Lay off it, nutcase. Just kill her and be done with it. Or are ya gonna try to have some fun with the lass like our bastard captain?"
Some part of the village girl felt a flash of fear at those words— even if that emotion was quickly smothered by apathy born of hopelessness. Normally, the predominant feeling would be shock, with so much happening in such a short time. But with necessity taking precedence, she was made plenty lucid— even if the sober way of observing the situation was far more crushing. ...After all the despair, Enri could muster no more.
The other knight groaned, gripping the hilt of his now bloodied sword tighter. "Why is it that they always run? ...Have to complicate things for us." The first knight clicked his tongue in response, shooting his companion a glare.
"Yeah. 'Just lay down and die already'. I'm sure that slogan will go down nicely for the next village. You wanna do the honours of declaring that...?"
Hearing the horrible discussion between the two murderers, Enri couldn't help but feel even more defeated— but with Nemu's growing panic, the young lady bit down and worked up the nerve to speak. "Please—!"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP." The man roared with a great deal of venom in his voice— clearly at the end of his patience after having chased the village girl as far as he did. "Tch. Wench." Enri barely managed to muster up the strength to whimper, a mixture of shame and indignation joining with her fear.
"...To answer your question, smartarse, we just make an example that things get a whole lot more gruesome if they run and make things more difficult for us." The cruel raider put extra emphasis on 'gruesome'. Hearing this, Enri couldn't quite hold back her tears anymore, with fear briefly winning out over the overpowering desperation and anger. Seeing this, the first knight shook his head— seemingly feeling a pang of guilt.
"Whatever, you buffoon. ...Just get it done already. It's not like you're gonna make an example out of her when there's nobody to witness it." He remarked dryly. Enri— seeing no way out of this situation— simply braced herself with trembling lower lip.
'I-if I throw myself at them— maybe Nemu can run.' Her mind uttered in sheer denial, having come to terms with her own death but not her sister's. But even with the fervent rejection of reality, rationality prevailed— with the village girl realising that there was no way the little kid could escape the knights or survive in the wild if she did lose her pursuers.
"Sorry lady." The first knight spoke more solemnly now. "Know that your death will have been for the betterment of humanity. ...So that you may die a martyr."
...
'...Betterment...? Betterment?! H-how?! How can this be for the betterment of anything...?!'
Bitter thoughts welled up iznside of her, but she could not work up the energy needed to shout at them. ...But resignation to her fate wasn't the only thing mounting within. Resentment. Anger. Contempt. Even outright hatred— which Enri believed to be beyond her not one hour ago— flared.
'I-I-! ...I hate you.'
As if responding to that silent mantra, the cruel invader rolled his shoulder and stepped towards the sisters with blade held tight.
'I hate you.'
The sword— still dripping with blood from the earlier was held aloft, ready to be brought down to end their lives.
"May the Six Great Gods help your soul find peace." The foolhardy charlatan masquerading as a righteous man spoke over the sound of Nemu's muffled wails. Enri simply grit her teeth as bitter tears of born of so many loaded emotions rolled down her cheeks.
'I—!'
The world suddenly tilted on its axis.
Perhaps not literally, but the sensation was so jarring that it might as well have happened. A strange, almost electric sensation prickled the skin as the hairs on each neck suddenly deigned to stand on end.
—And the sword that was about to cleave Enri in half erupted into a shower of sky-blue sparks, like a blacksmith's hammer striking hot steel. Instead of bending or breaking, however, the entire sword merely disappeared— leaving no trace of its existence.
"W-what...?!"
The knights' confusion grew, yet the two of them shared not a single word— instead turning to look at each other, having sensed an abnormal sensation gently brushing against them. ...An ethereal aura that was able to put an almost suffocating pressure on all those present.
Distinct. Distinguished. Effortlessly superior and utterly overpowering. ...Enri had never once been in the presence of nobility, yet even in her addled state inches away from death, she could tell without a doubt that the atmosphere suddenly held a regal tinge. ...As if her, Nemu and the two knights were soiling the air around them by breathing without permission.
Enri's breath hitched as something gently landed atop the crown of her head. —How strange it was, that this unpredictable turn of events managed to turn her breathing uneven and fan the flames of her panic far more than those two raiders. So too had Nemu stopped crying, though the village girl couldn't quite tell for what reason.
The thing which had settled atop her head slid off, and drifted gently towards the ground.
'S-snow...?'
It wasn't. Looking again, it was obvious enough that it was a feather. ...Not one belonging to a goose, duck or any form of fowl, but rather one of purest silver, somehow managing to appear captivatingly exquisite in spite of being a seemingly mundane object.
"—What in the name of the Six...?" One knight mumbled under his breath as more 'snow' slowly danced towards the ground from somewhere up high— as if winter had reared it's head now of all times.
...Like a true comedy sketch, four necks were simultaneously craned to slowly look upwards.
And Enri felt as if she couldn't breathe.
'Otherworldly' didn't begin to describe the thing that simply stood upon the air. Just by them appearing it felt as if the world around them was alive with sparks of magic and motes of energy. ...Though the rough shape was that of a human, one would have to disregard all their excess appendages to truly mistake them for one.
With three pairs of immaculate wings like platinum, the figure's 'larger than life' aura was suffocating. ...Though its immaculate form was clad primarily in colours of silver and gold, the Entity also wore darker hooded armour beneath the bright robe. An absolutely massive halo hung above the Being, covering the surroundings in soft light— nearly eclipsing the sun which served as a backdrop.
Dark cloth mingled with bright divine metals, creating an odd contrast that felt strangely serene. Even with her building mortification, Enri tried to catch a glimpse of the figure's face, only to find it obscured by a cloud of celestial velvet.
...Yet the most fascinating part of this Being's existence was the nagging feeling of tangible danger subtly tugging at the edge of her consciousness. Everything about it just seemed slightly... Off. Behind the perfect and inexplicably comforting facade something brewed. Twisting. Malevolent. ...Indecipherable.
But despite that observation, the village girl felt a sensation akin to hope broiling deep within. As a serf born in the Re-Estize Kingdom, her knowledge of the wider world was severely lacking, often delegated to hearsay and fantastical fairy tales from her childhood. ...Even with that critical lack of knowledge Enri felt quite certain that she knew what she was looking at.
'Angel...?'
And yet... This was not a summoned beast. It couldn't be.
In that crushing silence, the figure slowly descended— and the two raiders took a shaky step back. There was a form of smug satisfaction that Enri could derive from this. Should this Entity prove itself mindlessly violent, there was nothing worse it could do to her and Nemu that the knights weren't already about to do. ...Whereas the raiders stood face to face with something that could fight back.
'M-my prayers... Were they answered?'
Enri— like before— could do only one thing. Namely clutch her little sister closer and hope for the best.
The figure finally reached the ground, as their overly majestic wings swiftly folded in one elegant motion. ...The first time they've moved since the Angel got here, despite having been unbound by gravity this entire time. The very air felt like cold molasses as the Divine Entity inspected those present— eyes lingering just a while longer on the wounded village girl.
"I was under the impression that knights were supposed to be virtuous." The dulcet timbre of the Angel's kingly voice rang out. There was a teasing inflection to his spiel, but frankly, there was no hiding the scathing remark buried beneath. "—Though I commend you for showing an iota of 'courage' by not immediately fleeing when faced with an opponent capable of fighting back."
His voice instilled terror in Enri. Not because of it's menace or ill will, but due to the air of allure it carried. It held youthful energy, mature authority and timeless wisdom. So wholly abnormal that listening to the voice took priority over her wounds and her sister— leaving her so captivated that she had briefly forgotten about the massacre and trembling sibling in her arms— being brought back only by her injury stinging again.
"Y-you...!" One stuttering knight managed to say after plenty of hesitation. "You're an Angel!" He noted dumbly. Silence once more reigned supreme as the newcomer gave a non-committal shrug and nothing else. The two raiders shared a nervous look as if daring the other to speak.
"N-noble servant of the Six Great Gods, I implore you t—!"
"Not at all familiar." The Divine Entity interrupted with a drawl that made his disinterested contempt plenty clear.
...
"E-eh?"
"The gods you just mentioned. I do not serve them nor have I heard of them." He spoke plainly and clearly, seemingly uncaring of how everybody present was suffering a very sudden crisis of faith, with the two raiders awkwardly stealing glances at each other. After much deliberation, one of the knights seemed to have lost his temper.
"A-alright! That's it! This heretic is—!"
"[Cloudburst]."
In less than the hundredth of a second the air shook, violently disturbed by an influx of tremendous magical power. Waves of immense force radiated from the palm of the stranger's hands, and with a shrill explosion a spear formed of mist was launched towards one of the knights like a dart out of a blowpipe.
The cruel invader didn't even have the chance to scream as the transparent projectile with the width of a basketball rippled and screeched through the air, distorting light around it. Similarly, it came as no surprise how they wouldn't be able to withstand such an attack— with the full force greater than that of a hurricane having been squeezed into such a small circumference.
If anyone present was able to react fast enough, they would have seen the spell push against the brash footsoldier's armoured chest, instantly crumpling steel like tissue paper before punching clean through armour and innards alike. Perhaps most cruel of all was how the ungodly pressure-changes boiled blood and blended organs. ...Before finally pushing the pulped smoothie through the ribcage like stomping gelatin through a shower drain.
—And that was prior to the spell fully making contact with the body, mercifully ending it by tearing clean through whatever remained of the poor man's skeletal system. Enri— having seen a brief flash of something flying through the air before the knight was horrifically torn in half— gasped and looked away, clumsily covering the eyes of her sister in the process.
A terrifyingly tense silence, punctuated only by the strangled last whimper escaping the throat of the bisected man, was finally broken by a scream.
"A-ah... AAAAAH—!"
—The other knight finally lost his nerve, screaming himself hoarse as he turned tail to flee as quickly as his legs could carry him. ...A total reversal of roles from only minutes before. Of course, the Angel didn't seem particularly content with simply letting him leave.
The brilliant halo of immaculate gold that loomed above the Angel shrank down to a more reasonable size— allowing the divine interloper to grasp it. Once again faster than Enri could even hope to track, the golden chakram was thrown, sailing through the air and relieving the fleeing soldier of his head with but a single swoop.
Even when the halo returned to it's rightful spot above the Angel's head, the village girl was unable to tear her wide eyes off the now headless corpse as it crumbled into a twitching pile on the ground. There were a great many emotions moving through her chest upon having witnessed this.
Of course the dread and fear from before resurged— with a slight helping of 'hope' acting as a spice to drive away the dreary apathy that clouded her mind earlier. Now her heart was racing once more, with the possibility of survival being dangled in front of her and her sister. ...But perhaps more concerning was another emotion that seemed to swell somewhere deep within as she stared boggle eyed at the decapitated body. —That emotion could only be called 'grim satisfaction'.
...
And then... Things fell quiet.
Quiet as can be with the sound of rustling leaves, chirps of distant birds and Enri barely keeping her anxious breathing in check.
It was not a small amount of terror the blonde girl felt when the Angel's attention inevitably fell on them. Even with their face obscured by a cloud of wispy nebulae, she could clearly feel the intense scrutiny she fell under. Ignoring the involuntary shudder that passed through her body, her mouth tried to vocalize one of the myriad of pleas that moved through her mind— but ultimately she could do naught but stutter.
In a similar vein, Nemu no longer had her face buried in her elder sister's shirt— instead staring right back at the domineering figure that cast a shadow over their huddled forms. ...But unlike her sibling, Nemu seemed far more at ease, blinking and looking at the divine interloper with a mix of curiosity and awe— appearing almost spellbound.
As if to undercut the moment, the biting sound of static entered into the meadow so suddenly that Enri startled. Her eyes were pulled from the flawlessly clad Angel and instead found themselves staring at a spot slightly further away, where a swirling whirlpool of bright blue manifested out of thin air with a distorted roar, allowing another curious individual to step out of it. This time an elegant old gentleman dressed in a carbon black suit.
As someone most finer folk would dismiss as a 'bumpkin', she was unfamiliar with fancy clothing and servants, but there was no doubt in her supposedly ignorant mind that this was a butler of the highest grade. The unfamiliar servant stepped closer to his lord, an energetic spring in his step not befitting of his outward age.
"What took you so long?" The heretical angel asked without the barest hint of an accusatory tone— not deigning to turn around to look at the newcomer.
"Forgive my tardiness, my lord." The manservant spoke with regret plainly evident in his voice. "...I was notifying the Pleiades and Guardian Overseer about our excursion in case out enemies have taken anti-[Message] precautions. ...Some did not agree with me alone being sent to accompany your exalted self." The 'lord' seemed to consider his words before nodding in apparent agreement.
"Al..." A slight pause. "...The Guardian Overseer?" He questioned. The servant's face seemed to scrunch up slightly, reflecting some manner of deference.
"...As a mere butler, it is unbecoming to speak of my superiors behind their backs. ...Though if you are the one asking, my lord, then yes."
...
"Can't be helped, then." The Angel noted with clear resignation, speaking as though dismissing the butler's regret over being late.
Seeming reassured by the Divine Entity's words, the greyed servant allowed his steely eyes to sweep across the clearing and Enri's shivering form before settling on the mangled bodies. "My lord, I trust these scoundrels did not prove troublesome for someone of your power?" He followed up with eloquence befitting of an experienced attendant.
Hearing the question, the Angel offered a soft shake of the head— causing the imposing halo to elicit a gentle bell-like jingle. "No. Not at all, Sebas." Enri committed the spoken name to memory before feeling the gaze of the Angel on her stronger than earlier. She now had his undivided attention. The young woman subconsciously shrank due to the sheer power the being commanded. Upon noticing her discomfort however, he almost sheepishly averted his eyes, looking at his attendant for the first time since coming here.
...
"Are..." The Angel's face was obscured, yet Sebas and Enri could both tell that he had donned an confused expression. "...Are you really fully equipped?" He asked the grey-haired gentleman, inspecting the fine black suit and contrasting white gloves.
The old man gave a nod, looking ready to give a verbal reply before the domineering angel raised a hand, silencing him. "—Yes, I'm sure. I doubt you'd be negligent enough to face off against an unknown enemy with subpar equipment." He sighed and shook his head. "Time is of the essence. You are to deal with the knights who are attacking the village. Capture a few for interrogation purposes. ...And make sure to keep your cards close to your chest."
The butler paused, seeming hesitant for a reason Enri couldn't pin down.
('—I'm not made of sugar, Sebas. The crows won't pick me apart because you leave me unattended for a minute or two.' The Fallen Angel grumbled upon seeing the butler's obvious hesitation.)
"...Understood, my liege." The veritable silver fox* finally accepted with great reverence, offering his master a courteous bow. With those words the lord appeared somewhat contemplative, with a gauntleted hand reaching through the celestial mist obscuring his face to (seemingly) scratch his chin.
"For the duration of this mission you are not to refer to me by name in front of these people unless instructed otherwise," they ordered.
"As you command." The professional butler acknowledged with a deep and enthusiastic nod. Looking almost eager to leave and deal with the attackers, he nonetheless awaited further instructions— correctly deducing that the Angel was not done with his orders just yet.
"...Oh, and Sebas."
"Yes, my lord?"
"Is it not right to repay good unto good and evil unto evil?" The Divine Entity question rhetorically. ("Make them pay. Now isn't the time for mercy.")
A beat of silence followed, with the grey-haired butler dwelling on his master's words before allowing something vaguely resembling a smile to appear on his stoic face. Enri shuddered, as the almost ruinous air exuded by the Angel before came seeping back in with those spoken words.
"—Of course, my lord. Worry not, I shall be tending to the attackers properly."
'T-tending to...?' Enri's lethargic mind managed, staring at the newcomers with slightly drooping eyelids. (when did they get so heavy?) 'Is the butler also strong? The Angel... He killed those terrible people... Then maybe mother and father can also be saved?' The feeble hope brewing within seemed to grow emboldened by the Angel's command.
Enri was starting to feel a little more at peace. As suffocating as the Angel's aura was, after the acts of violence were done and dusted, his mere presence became a lot more comforting— with nary a trace of the previous lethal intensity.
She was confident that this individual was here to help, to save. So was it any wonder that the eyes directed towards the creature's holy form grew less fearful and more admiring? Nevertheless, the idea that her parents could be rescued was unrealistically optimistic— far-fetched in the best of cases. ...Yet the idea lent her some much needed comfort. But before she could open her mouth to ask a question, any question, the servant just vanished into thin air with a barely audible rustle of fabric.
"Eh...?" The wounded girl gasped and the child in her arms seemed similarly surprised.
Barely a beat of silence followed before the Angel stepped closer, not paying their confusion any heed. Enri tensed a little. Unsure of how to deal with the situation, her scrambled mind opted to take a leaf out of Sebas' book by being overly polite.
"U-uh... My lord...?" She slurred, just now realising just how anaemic she had grown. The entire back of her dress now clung to her back, saturated with blood.
With how much her head was spinning and how close she was to keeling over, it was a miracle that she was able to utter any words at all. 'Sluggish' didn't even begin to describe it. Enri was at his complete mercy now, regardless of what would come to pass. The village girl couldn't quite hide her surprise when the Holy Creature suddenly knelt down in front of her— making their eye-levels quite even.
Seeing the Angel so much closer with three pairs of wings practically wrapping around them was a damn near spiritual experience. A sentiment likely echoed by Nemu, if her awed cooing and marvelling at the man's elegance was anything to go by. For a moment, the 'lord' seemed quite stumped, as though lacking the right words to say.
'...Or the right words to c-comfort us...?' Such kindness after that draining ordeal was nearly too much, as Enri's lower lip shook again, eyes growing hotter at the same time. That detail didn't slip past their benefactor as he froze slightly, evidently shocked by her seemingly deteriorating mood.
"There." The Divine Scion's voice took on an air of urgency, apparently unnerved by how the village girl was barely holding herself back from crying. "Be at ease. I... I am here to help." With a hand slowly reaching out (as if to show how he meant no harm), a glove of an unknown metal— surprisingly warm to the touch— ghosted against her wounded shoulder. The girl winced a bit upon feeling a hand (however gentle) on the open cut, though her discomfort was swiftly replaced by relief when a powerful [Contact High Heal] coursed through her body without warning.
"A-ah..." A highly comforting sensation spread out with the injury as the epicentre, reminiscent of both a warm hug and a cool breeze on a stuffy summer day. For a moment— however short that moment may have been— everything was okay again. ...With the massacre and traumatizing events of the day set aside in favour of peaceful memories of better days. Reality eventually reared it's ugly head, but it all seemed just that much easier to bear with their saviour right by them. The wound had now fused shut. ...And not even the smallest patch of scar tissue could be seen.
Enri's fatigue melted away and her head was no longer muddled— leaving her more energized and focused than she had ever been. At this point, 'dumbfounded' wasn't enough to describe her mood as she gaped like a fish out of water, unable to voice her gratitude. Watery eyes looked at the Angel as he once more stood up straight, regaining his imposing form. She swallowed thickly. Even with her body in the best shape of her life, her vocal cords still seemed to fail her.
"T... T-thank you!" She cried with breaking voice, holding back fat tears and ugly bawling as to not disturb their saviour more than she already has. ...And because she could not afford to lose it before the situation had been resolved. "Thank you, thank you, thank you...!" The village girl repeated her thanks time and again, desperately latching on feelings of gratitude and relief so that the grief and despair from earlier wouldn't be able to sway her anymore.
She made a hearted attempt at bowing, though the awkward position didn't make it easy. Nemu— noticing her distress— hugged her harder, despite seeming very eager to get better acquainted with the man in front of them.
'Nemu... Clever rascal.' An amused comment moved through her mind. And what a relief it was, to have a thought that wasn't dreary, hopeless or pessimistic.
The Angel once more shook his head. "Don't mention it." He declared serenely, seeming mollified by how the siblings no longer were in emotional nor physical distress. "...It's common sense to aid those in need, no?" His voice was gentle, yet it carried with it an undeniable authority that felt befitting of a king of kings. Enri's chest swelled with a comforting warmth. Yes... 'Lord' was undeniably a fitting title.
That was the conclusion she reached as she wiped her eyes and swallowed the snot that had built up in the back of her throat— scrambling to bring her many runaway thoughts to heel. So she looked again at the greatest anchor she now had: the saviour who was reassuringly looking down at them. His face may have been obscured, but...
...Enri was sure that he was smiling ever so gently.
x=x=X=x=x
The fierce scowl on Momonga's face seemed to grow more intense as the events of the last few minutes played in his mind on repeat— not a single detail lost. It really made it easy to appreciate how badly he had messed things up. ('...When did I get an eidetic memory? Hey, when did I even learn the term"eidetic memory"?!')
The Fallen Angel fought off the urge to shake his head— if only because the village girl could misinterpret his bodily language for disapproval for something she had done. And frankly, he had no desire to traumatize the two sisters more than he already has.
'...What is wrong with me...?' Was the question that seemed to echo several times, interspersed throughout this encounter as he recalled it.
He hadn't quite been able to resist the boiling excitement (the unbridled, volcanic hype) that was thrumming in his veins when he first arrived— though not unlike a sugar rush or some other bizarre high, the reckless urges have since worn off. ...And sure enough, even if approaching from the sky was a stylish and a 'holier than thou' way to make an entrance, it had wasted precious time. ...Time that was better spent saving lives.
During the time he decided to 'make an entrance', stare dumbly at the pair of siblings and chat Sebas' ears off, the elder sister had nearly bled to death. What great help he would have been, had that happened. And evidently he also managed to scare the two witless by brutally disassembling a pair of humans in front of them.
'—Didn't even think myself capable of something like that.' Momonga groused. Really, his ability to empathise hadn't really gone anywhere, it just felt very difficult to gather any feelings of disgust or outrage when looking at the bloody mess he left. He'd merely knot his brow and internally utter a few condolences. —As if the brutality put on display earlier wasn't far removed from everyday life.
Maybe things would have gone better if he hadn't rushed in to deal with the raiders like an angry teen with something to prove. ...Hindsight really was 20/20, as they say.
Momonga's expression darkened beneath the Data Crystal-originated cosmetic haze. A hand clenched and unclenched behind his back to alleviate a seething frustration within, but to no avail.
There wasn't exactly a plan when he first arrived. Merely to deal with the attackers and be done with it, banking on the idea that the knights wouldn't be tough enough to prove a challenge. Though the gamble paid off, it didn't change the fact that any semblance of order quickly went out the window. Even nailing down his thought process during that time proved difficult— and putting it into words even more so.
When all hell broke loose, a multitude of contrasting ideas bounced around in Momonga's skull like a handful of coins clattering around in a glass fishbowl.
The Supreme Being really, really wanted the raiders dead— with his bloodlust being born from a discordant mixture of righteous fury and sadistic glee. And at the same time some scraggy corner of his cognizance was slamming the breaks— putting great emphasis on just how unnaturally violently he was behaving. ...Though that rather humane and merciful aspect was quickly deprived of agency and promptly shelved in favour of him gleefully dismantling his opponents.
...Because the foremost emotion in his conscience when [Cloudburst] put that man through an impromptu vivisection was not guilt, horror or regret. No. It was something more closely related to childlike wonder and delight. And so, Momonga's rapt attention was put on the bodies that lay on the ground a few paces away.
His eyes immediately went to the shredded midsection of the closest body, with gore and offal staining the loamy soil beneath— the spell having viciously torn the man in two, shoulders and head were separated from the lower body like a bust, creating a macabre piece of art. The warrior's rigid face was now forever frozen in throes of pain and anguish with blood leaking out of every orifice.
The Supreme Being looked further away yet, inspecting the other corpse. It was certainly in better condition, though that didn't say much. His head had been cut clean off by his halo, leaving a leaking stump where the skull should be. Momonga's lips pulled into an involuntary sneer upon seeing the flayed tissue of the gushing stump from all the way where he stood.
'You could never use the halo as a weapon in Yggdrasil. I... I never even thought about it. I just acted.'
Their armours were emblazoned with an unfamiliar insignia— offering definitive proof that larger kingdoms or organizations existed in this world. There was a story here to shed light on this massacre, though the Fallen Angel's mind wasn't focused on that right now. Appearing instead worried about the rather severe changes to his mental state that this recent bout revealed— an idea reinforced by his now pensive expression, had his face been at all visible.
This level of gore didn't disgust him. Not really. Even if it by all rights should have. Momonga's mouth pulled into a thin line when the first emotion that came to mind was one of regret. Not regret over having killed, but rather regret over having ended it quite so soon.
A gruesome sight such as this was far worse than anything Suzuki Satoru should have been used to. ...Even then the office worker usually experienced some panic when finding the cadaver of a beggar who couldn't scrape together enough to afford an air filter.
Perhaps this shouldn't have come as a surprise. The most prominent theme— or entire premise— of Momonga's roleplay in Yggdrasil had been internal conflict, something that had merrily referenced the inherently contradictory parts of his avatar. Though as it stood, this quality has since moved on from being a fun in-joke between friends and turned into something far more disconcerting. Enough to leave his brow furrowed in consternation, now that the mania from moments ago has faded into resounding shame and hesitance.
Generally speaking, bouncing between 'cocky adolescent' and 'wizened elder' in terms of emotional states was concerning enough on its own, without the murderous tendencies that had been tacked on the end for good measure.
Despite the hysteria the Fallen Angel lacked proper means to cope, and was forced to chalk it up to his dual natures, leaving any further considerations well enough alone. ...With a sigh, he Supreme One straightened his back, with his eyes— flitting between deep cerulean and sky-blue— once more finding themselves glued to the closest carcass on the ground. And after having calmed down and thought things through...?
They deserved it. They had to deserve it.
With what he saw them do... This was probably the best outcome.
'I did a good thing here.' He conceded internally— rationalizing his actions up until this point and allowing his stormy heart to settle. '...Maybe it was sloppy, and not for the right reasons near the end, but it was better than remaining idle.' With that silent declaration, the eyes that stared at the broken bodies of his opponents grew stony. For those two, Momonga would feel no pity. Merely revulsion. A mental scoff rang out from somewhere inside his head.
'...That one seemed to revel in this.
...Perhaps I did this a bit too hurriedly...? With how much he enjoyed establishing himself as the more powerful one in that exchange with the girl, would it not be poetically apt if I overwhelmed him in turn? Allow the man to struggle as the reality of the situation slowly settled in?' A worryingly innocuous smile formed on the overlord's obscured face as he entertained that thought. 'Now there's an idea.'
"U-um... E-excuse me...? My lord?" A small voice came from behind the Fallen Angel, drawing him from his perverse internal musing. It was a soft-spoken and hesitant manner of speech, bringing to mind a candle flame in strong wind— as faint as it could be without being outright snuffed out. Momonga slowly peered over his shoulder, making eye contact with the teenager that he had healed not a minute ago.
...To his surprise, the young lady had a look of carefully concealed determination on her face— appearing far removed from the shivering and fearful little girl he saw before.
But even then she still seemed to struggle with finding the right words to say.
('Was he feeling regretful that he killed those monsters...?' Enri wondered, mistaking her saviour's turmoil for lamenting the loss of human lives. '—So kind. ...I guess this is just how mister Angel is.')
"I... Nemu and I wanted to really, really thank you for saving us-! W-we..."
"Oh, no need to repeat yourself." Momonga interrupted gently, with an amused exhale through the nose and lazy wave of the hand. "Your gratitude is noted. ...But I'd actually like to hear more about the wound. How does it feel now?"
'...Because I'm not entirely sure what to do if you sustained some long-term damages due to me not immediately healing it before.'
The blonde girl donned a look of surprise, as if him inquiring about her well-being was somehow shocking. A few subtle nudges came from the corners of Momonga's awareness, cluing him in on her gratitude and relaxation. ...Undoubtedly a good thing, as he (without said guidance) wondered whether or not he had made a bad impression to garner such a response, not unlike earlier, when she had teared up.
Even then it was somewhat jarring how he almost instinctively knew what the woman was feeling at this moment, as though gaining some form of understanding the very same second their eyes made contact.
Suzuki Satoru's social interactions were limited to the occasional conversation with a cashier (whenever self-checkout wasn't available) or whatever mind-numbing tirade about the weather some co-worker threw his way. The salaryman's lack of free time along with the sprinkling of social anxiety he always felt often nipped any ideas of fraternization in the bud, leaving his understanding of social cues quite underdeveloped. And yet...
'...This is different.'
(If only it had been this easy with Sebas. Then again, that man was a brick wall.)
"Eh? Ah! The injury...! I-I forgot!" The village girl replied, with the stupor in her voice mirroring her countenance perfectly. Testing how well the wound had healed, the blonde rolled her shoulder and offered a slightly shaky smile when nothing seemed awry. "—So, uh, really good, my lord!" With those words, she once again gave a stilted bow, the adorable little sister following suit. And Momonga couldn't quite help the delighted hum that escaped him upon seeing this. ...Even if the politeness was a bit much.
'Oi~. I get enough of this from Nazarick. ...Hah. You don't even know anything about my supposed status. Is this just how things are gonna go from now on...?'
"Um..." That quiet verbal tick drew the Supreme Being from his grumbling complaints. The woman was biting her lower lip in contemplation, with the younger sibling standing by her side— fidgeting as if it was difficult to remain still. "My lord... Are you an angel?" As soon as the question was posed, her eyes widened. "—I-I mean... T-truly. Are you truly an angel?" The rephrasing was punctuated with a nervous swallow. "...Sorry if that was rude... I just..."
'Well. I've got the halo and wings for the job. ...But I wonder if you'd make the same guess if you saw me summon demons and undead while throwing around some evil spells.'
Momonga sighed airily. "No no, I don't find your curiosity rude in the slightest." He casually dismissed her concerns, being instead focused on retaining his regal bearing. Before he went on to answer her question, he shot the now relieved girl a comforting smile— only to feel silly upon realising how his face was obscured. "...As for your question... Yes. I am an angel. ...Truly."
Enri looked awestruck by how his wings fully unfurled with that declaration, only for the whimsy to swiftly dissipate with his last spoken word reminding her of her awkwardness. Shaking her head, the village girl recuperated enough to pose another question. "Earlier... When you struck down those people... Y-you said you didn't know the Four Elemental Gods...? Do you really not serve them?"
'...Four Elemental Gods? I suppose it's not unexpected for religion to be so prevalent in other worlds since it's such a universal concept. Especially when it's medieval times.'
"I am my own being." He broke the silence, sounding almost as if he was figuring out what to say on the fly. But even then there was a faint undercurrent of pride and grandeur in his melodious voice. "...I serve no God, nor have I even heard of the 'Four Elemental Gods' before."
With that confirmation, Enri's face went through several different expressions. Shock, horror... Disappointment. ...Before finally settling on something Momonga couldn't quite decipher. The Supreme Being even felt a jot of guilt at having shaken someone's religious beliefs.
As for Enri...
...It was a bit more complicated.
She was raised with these beliefs. Religion was simply a very large part of life for many people— especially for those born in staunchly religious countries such as the Slane Theocracy or Roble Holy Kingdom, with few more devoted to faith than the downtrodden serfdom. ...And yet, there comes a point in most people's lives when their beliefs are questioned for a myriad of different reasons.
Enri had grown more curious in her teenage years. Enough to question even the things she normally accepted as absolute truth. Though it was never to the point that her faith wavered, her belief in the four benevolent and nigh-omnipotent gods wasn't as steadfast as it was in her childhood.
Today, however, was different.
It was absurd; praying to the ever-silent Four Elemental Gods and have an angel save your life. ...Only for the angel to reveal themselves as unaffiliated with said gods. Enri wanted to laugh. By the gods she wanted to laugh. ...Even if her dry throat didn't allow her to.
"Are you okay?" Suzuki felt compelled to ask—almost immediately cursing himself for sounding so lame about it. This conversation was very quickly devolving into two nervous wrecks sputtering at each other, though only one of the two parties present seemed to realise that fact. The blonde craned her neck, looking up at her saviour with tired eyes before shakily getting back on her feet.
"No." Was the reply that came, delivered by a voice made raw by a deluge of emotions. Momonga didn't really have the chance to express his concern before she followed it up. "Not now. But... I think I will be." Enri swallowed thickly and finally allowed herself a weak smile. "...Angels are the servants of the gods, they say. Which is why only devoted priests can summon them. Is that a lie too?"
Momonga shrugged. "You speak of lower angels— the ones who follow the will of their summoners and nothing more. Those are simply incapable of independent thought. ...But as to whether or not they follow the will of any god...? I cannot say."
"I... I see." She said dejectedly, brushing herself off while cautiously inspecting Nemu for any sustained injuries that could be hiding beneath the dirt.
"Mmm... Nee-chan, you hurt?" The younger sibling asked carefully, gently pawing at her elder sister's dress with a slightly fearful expression— eyes flitting back and forth.
Enri's smile grew just a little bit at that. "No. I'm fine now, Nemu."
Momonga grunted and shook his head. "Shall we be making our way towards the village then?" Enri's smile grew a little wider, with her perking up at the suggestion.
"Y-yes please!" She pleaded, feeling a bit of hope at the prospect.
"Mm!" Nemu agreed, appearing quite close to cheering, restrained only by the somewhat sombre mood. "Home, home!"
A quiet cast of [Farsight] was used, allowing the Fallen Angel to peer at the nearby village from a bird's eye view. The hostile knights had rounded up the villagers, presumably for summary execution. ...But chaos had very quickly returned to the violent order they had established. The raiders looked like dots from where his perspective lay, though Momonga could still see them running about, picked off by a fast-moving Sebas.
Some rushed towards the villagers to take hostages. ...But were not nearly fast enough to outpace the zealous manservant.
He could wait a minute or two, but honestly? He felt no desire the remain here nor to ditch the two siblings and go off on his own. As a matter of fact, Momonga felt almost abnormally confident in his ability to defend the two girls who were hanging off his every word and action. With the level of the enemy and his massive repertoire of spells lingering in the back of his mind, ready to be used...?
It'd be fine. ...Besides, it seemed like an excellent cure to his waning patience and subtle desire to get back into the fray without letting the siblings down.
Just seeing the action from so far away wasn't really cutting it. One of his lower wings twitched.
'Angels probably aren't normal sights around here, judging by how those two reacted.' The Supreme Being grimaced beneath the haze of constellations obscuring his face. Could be a good thing. The Seraphim guild hasn't been running around these parts if that were the case.
With an unnatural flex, the Fallen Angel's halo shrunk into nothingness, and his immaculate wings disappeared without a trace. The siblings gawked at the sudden change, with the eldest nearly flinching back when the Divine Being finally glanced over his shoulder.
Where once was a mist of bluish stars, an intricately carved mask of vibrant red now resided. Enri shuddered as the two massive opals that served as eyes stared unblinkingly at them. ...It certainly was a lot more intimidating than the previous ethereal visage that the Angel had. Nemu seemed... Less affected.
"Aw." She pouted. "...No wings!"
"Hm." Momonga chuckled, peering over his shoulder as if to exaggeratedly inspect his back— drawing little giggles from Nemu. "I suppose not."
Any player of the humanoid Angelic races could repress their divine traits in order to pass as a human. Something like this was implemented as a purely cosmetic feature for roleplay— and to ensure that the more burdensome traits didn't get in the way of allies when navigating enclosed or claustrophobic spaces. Of course, while Yggdrasil was just a game, this feature was toggled with a simple switch in a menu-interface. Now the process had suddenly become very involved, while also yielding changes that were far more comprehensive.
...Not only did his angelic features melt away, the "transformation" (if it was extreme enough to be classified as such) also altered a few other things about his bodily makeup. Otherworldly ashen hair, unnaturally bright, was reduced to a more mundane brown colouration. Whereas his well-built physique that was caught between muscular and sleek became purely lithe and streamlined. ...Did he get shorter too, or was he starting to imagine things...?
'Honestly, I...!' Suzuki shook his head, taking his mind off of it, instead redoubling his attention on the two sisters. '—It's during these times I wish I had invested in [Control Amnesia] or something like that. ...Wouldn't get much mileage out of it in the game, but... It seems quite useful now.' His eyes found themselves on Enri— quietly noting how she appeared to look at him with admiration more than anything else.
'...Maybe it doesn't matter? If I pose as a human, why would anyone interrogate these two about my species? I could just... Ask them to stay quiet.'
Feeling a bit of amusement at the idea of such a banal plan working out so well, Momonga smiled. "Now, now. —Can I ask you ladies to keep my status a secret?" He asked, lazily waving a gauntleted hand.
Enri adopted a bit of a surprised expression before starting to nod vigorously, with Nemu following her elder sister's lead after receiving a slight pinch to the arm. Charmed by the childlike innocence put on display, Momonga returned a smile that they couldn't see. ...Enri would likely be quite tight-lipped, and even if Nemu let something slip, it would probably be disregarded as the wild imagination of a child idolizing their saviour.
The scene was strangely serene— though it was a bit difficult to think that with the mangled corpses on ground nearby. Utilizing this relative quiet, the Supreme Being unequipped a few pieces of apparel— making his appearance more in line with a spellcaster wearing an luxurious robe, as opposed to a daunting battle-mage fresh off a divine war zone.
"We will be teleporting in." He spoke calmly. The siblings' eyes seemed to widen, something resembling anticipation visible in their miens. "...Ready?"
Upon receiving yet more nods, the Supreme Being stepped away, readying up a [Gate].
"Hm." Momonga hummed, with the help of [Farsight] seeing the little faction of knights banding together into something more organized in a pointless attempt to stave off Sebas. The ghost of a smile danced across his lips, warring with the slightest bit of apprehension he felt inside.
'Getting involved again, huh? ...I just can't leave well enough alone, it seems.'
x=x=X=x=x
'Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT!' Belius Savaloar could hear his own frustrated voice echo in his ears. 'This wasn't how this was supposed to go...!' His mind shouted, too focused on throwing a tantrum to actually step in and help his squad.
'T-that fucking wench-! She went and got help...!' This was supposed to be an easy task. Practically risk free. 'THAT BITCH! IT'S ALL HER FAULT!'
Utilizing the Savaloar family's wealth, influence and ties to the merchant's guild and government alike, his father pulled enough strings to ensure that he landed this relatively cushy job, which under any normal circumstance would have been far removed from any actual threats or danger. It was simple. So god damn simple...! All they had to do was to ready the bait and prime the trap!
The greatest threat to them were unwashed peasants wielding rusty pitchforks! They had no experience! No formation or strategy! They were just supposed to be herded! Things indeed worked out at first. The serfs could do naught but panic. Scream. Flee. Beg. It made no difference. They were rounded up all the same. Men and women. Young and old. Healthy and sick.
All Belius needed to do as the captain was to issue the order and watch comfortably as his men (rambunctious and unruly as their low-born blood made them) went to work, effectively sweeping the village and bringing its inhabitants to heel.
He had seen her, then.
A young maiden, perhaps eight years his junior... With hair of braided gold. A true beauty despite lacking finer clothing and makeup. She was an unspoilt flower, and he decided that it was a damn shame to simply let her slip by— perishing without ever having known a man's touch. It was the type of woman whose hand would inspire young men to pick up arms just to secure it in marriage... And the idea of being her first and last was too enticing, too raunchy, to let go of.
'If only that worthless idiot hadn't gotten in the way...! Got himself killed, and for what purpose?!' The captain cursed the girl's father. How he had stood between the two and dared latch on to him. Belius— seeing red— had made the obvious choice, taking out his mounting anger on the man, repeatedly stabbing away at the bruised body until frustration finally waned. Such a beauty slipping through his fingers would be insult enough, but now...?
That one had ran. Far enough to get help.
All they had to do before was to wait for the pieces to fall in place— allow the scripture to do all the heavy lifting. And now... Things weren't quite so simple anymore.
This situation had suddenly evolved beyond just a slight towards him.
"...Anyone eager to make the first move...? No?" A proper and stately voice echoed, responding to the now deafening silence— invading soldiers and beaten villagers alike staring stupefied at the orator.
This, too, should have been a manageable situation. One single old man to be rounded up and subsequently dealt with like the rest. That hadn't been the case. ...As evidenced by the multiple battered bodies— with pulped flesh and crumpled armour— spread throughout the immediate area, the majority of them dead, others seemingly alive, but immobilized or otherwise unconscious.
Surrendering had done nothing, as those who set aside their weaponry were struck down all the same. (How ironic it was for them to experience such a lack of mercy in turn.)
With shaking knees and rapidly beating heart, Belius looked at the newest interloper; a handsome elderly gentleman, dressed in an immaculate suit of pure sable black. ...His once pristine white gloves now saturated with blood. —Even after having blocked a few sword-strikes with his forearms, his clothing didn't even seem wrinkled.
Most disturbing of all, the interloper didn't bother using any weapons. He was a monk; someone who had trained to turn their body into a living weapon. ...And he was a damn powerful one at that.
"If that's the case, then I'll move first." He declared, making the entire squadron of knights tense up with those words alone. There wasn't a single soul who wanted to end up next on the chopping block. In a single swift motion, the sharply dressed man blurred forward so fast that eyes could not hope to track him.
...And it was a small mercy that the one knight who was decapitated by a punch didn't have a chance to experience the terror and subsequent pain before the thinking-centre of his cranium was smeared across the ground.
"AIEEEEEE—!" Another screamed, dropping his sword at the shock of the old man killing a comrade— who had been within arms length— faster than he could react. ...Though he didn't manage to get back far before a lightning-quick jab was launched his way, striking him square in the throat. With a slight whimper the man's head lolled, as though every rigid part of his neck had been removed— allowing the noggin to bonelessly flop around before his body tumbled into an unmoving heap.
...Belius had witnessed more gruesome sights to be sure. But now that they were on the receiving end, with him running the risk of being the next one dead, he felt nauseous. His knees shook and knuckles began hurting from clenching the blade so tightly.
Another foolhardy soldier sprang into action, rushing the well-dressed silver fox with blade held high. "YAAAH!" He roared, bringing his sword down in a vain attempt to split his opponent's head in twain. No such luck.
Not as the old man leaned slightly to the left, allowing the weapon's sharpened edge to sail graciously by as if it had missed him by a mile. With clenched teeth and bloodshot eyes, the attacker barely had time to look at the monstrously strong monk before the inevitable right hook that smoothly separated his lower mandible from the rest of his head.
As the limp corpse collapsed onto their knees and slowly fell forward, the remaining raiders could only clutch their weapons tighter and stare. Three dead within the blink of an eye. ...And the gentleman simply allowed the last one to approach rather than pursue them himself. If he hadn't had the patience, that little bout would have been even shorter.
"—Disappointing." He sighed, managing to sound not at all goading. One could mistake the old man for a parent believing their child capable of better, were it not for the faint undercurrent of ice-cold antipathy in his voice. "...Perhaps expecting even the slightest smidgen of competence from miscreants— whose experience with combat is limited to the slaughter of the defenceless— was too naive on my part. Though, if I must be frank, I fail to see how you've managed even this much."
When the massacre had first started, the group of knights all had varied mindsets and feelings about this now routine task.
Some were grim, pushing aside personal ethics in favour of simply completing the job— steeling their determination by convincing themselves that they were doing a good thing in the long run. A few others were neutral. This was a job, nothing more— even if what they were doing was a morally dubious thing. Of course, a couple didn't share in that dispassionate view, instead revelling in it— deriving some manner of joy or catharsis from the raid (even if it drew some contempt for their more morally upstanding comrades).
But now?
Now they were all united, in a sense. —All feeling that same hopeless, knickers-soiling fear. It was easier to count the faces that weren't pale and horrified, as one wouldn't need to count at all. And with the "protector of the innocent"-rhetoric the old man seemed to herald, there wasn't a whole lot they could say to get themselves out of this situation.
"I-it isn't fair...!" Belius whimpered— accidentally making himself heard. He truly regretted every decision leading up to that point when the sharply dressed monk turned towards him with an intense gaze powerful enough to shatter stone like porcelain.
"Indeed it is not." He agreed. "...And neither is wanton slaughter of non-combatants."
"We were just following orders!" One footsoldier (Londes?) protested. It was a pathetic excuse, but it would have to do. There was little they could say or do to justify this raid, even if they were to go as far as to outright lie. —So what Londes did was rational to an extent, attempting to garner even a modicum of sympathy from the mighty foe that they could not overcome.
The monk simply tilted his head in an almost innocent way. "Oh? As am I." His normally polite tone became a lot more serious, shutting up the soldier's protest. "—Of course, is it not improper for the subject to pin the blame on their leader...?" The servant(?) shook his head. "On the subject of which..."
Not minding thee unspoken questions that were raised regarding his first declaration, the monk stepped forward.
...Towards Belius.
"HIIIEEEEH—~!" The captain shrieked as the old man began closing the distance. During the encounter, the monk had managed to pinpoint him as the captain.
'TRAITORS!' Belius' mind roared upon seeing how his squad all seemed to take a step away from him.
"W-WAIT, WAIT!" He pleaded, scrambling back and getting on his knees. "P-PLEASE! I— I CAN PAY YOU! ANY AM—" His grovelling and attempted bribe was interrupted by the monk using some unknown Martial Art— blasting away all sound and rendering the clearing deathly silent. The monk's already intimidating aura grew even more immense, making the captain feel as though his ribs clamped down on his lungs.
Shaking his head, the silver fox's scowl grew increasingly stringent. "I am no traditionalist that so fervently adheres to orthodox warrior codes. ...Nor do I put honour on a pedestal, presenting it as a core value that takes precedence over all others like a respectable co-worker is liable to do." He declared calmly, his pleasing voice gaining a edge of adamantine strength that sent shivers down the spines of those who listened.
The pause was incredibly tense, with many raiders holding their breaths, quietly observing. ...Waiting and watching. Not a single one stepped forth to stop the old gentleman, for each and every one of them knew well what kind of person their captain was. ...And what it meant to get in the way.
Massaging his knuckles by gently squeezing a closed fist, the monk went on, maintaining the pressure as to not be interrupted. "However, I believe that a warrior— even a living farce mimicking one— shouldn't die on their knees." Belius shook like a leaf upon hearing that doctrine, panic not aided in the old man's grip on his own fist tightening— eliciting a loud 'crack' coupled with the sound of creaking leather. "Grab your sword and stand up," he finally commanded.
"I-I have a family." The captain tried weakly, nearly flinching at the brief flash of anger that appeared in the monk's eyes before they regained their impartial look.
"...Then they will be very proud that their son perished on his feet— fighting with conviction." The white-haired monk decided, his voice carrying not a jot of sadism, sarcasm or malice— being instead delivered as if he truly believed it.
No way out.
Shakily, slowly, the captain staggered to his feet. How he avoided soiling himself in spite of his cowardice was anybody's guess at this point, though a few raiders theorized that all of the moisture had left his body through his sweat glands (even if his crying quickly disapproved that theory).
Internally, he was more of a mess than he was externally— as he desperately prayed and begged to the gods he had half-heartedly worshipped his entire life to save him. And for some inexplicable reason, something did end up happening.
A shrill, twisted wail accompanied the swirl of bright blue energy that invaded the relative calm of the battlefield— tearing a gaping hole through the surface of reality. Belius just couldn't help but turn around, even if it meant taking his eyes off the terrifying monk. Sweeping his stupefaction aside, the cowardly captain briefly considered the idea of the gods themselves stepping in to save him— or that the scripture somehow managed to arrive early. ...Though that hope was very quickly dashed.
Step.
Step.
Step.
One larger figure stepped through, followed by two smaller ones.
Belius' pupils shrank as he recognized the the latter pair of new arrivals. That wench and the sister she had ran away with. For a moment their eyes met, with blonde girl's almost relaxed look immediately evaporating, replaced with fear (not surprising, with how much unbridled anger the raider captain's red-eyed stare contained). Her eyes occasionally darted to the larger figure that accompanied her, looking almost betrayed.
Following the direction she was looking, the captain of the knights wound up staring at the fresh-faced newcomer. ...Though calling them 'fresh-faced' might not have been the right word for it. Once again, Belius very nearly flinched when his eyes met the large cerulean gems that decorated a menacing red mask. It seemed as though the unknown man had been staring at him.
Despite how the stranger appeared relatively slim with the loose fitting robe and contrasting under-dress— looking mostly innocuous if the intimidating mask and general opulence were disregarded— Belius still felt a chill worm its way down his spine upon meeting the "eyes" of this man.
Everyone's attention was now focused on the trio that had appeared through a portal, many sharing concerned glances. —Though a few villagers looked relieved that the Emmot children seemed alive and well, even if the elder sister now sported a torn and bloodied dress.
Ignoring all of the eyes on him, the robed man leaned forward, speaking quietly to the eldest sibling. That simple gesture seemed to be enough, as the blonde relaxed, now only warily regarding Belius as opposed to looking fearful of her safety. In a similar vein, the younger sister also seemed more at ease, appearing content with clinging to one the masked man's legs. The distance made it somewhat difficult to hear anything, but the older sibling seemed to converse with the robed newcomer then, possibly replying to his earlier words.
("The man who tried to force me into coitus. The man father tried to stop.")
"My lord." The captain tensed up even more, hearing the respect in the stoic voice of the monk that had been ripping them to shreds the past couple of minutes. The fact that this figure was referred to as 'lord' did not bode well in the slightest. The masked man gave no indication of having heard the greeting, still silently surveying the area— focus sweeping across carcasses, villagers and raiders, focusing on Belius a bit longer than the rest.
'—A hostage...?' Belius briefly wondered if using the 'lord' was feasible, only to disregard that idea. If the manner in which the man appeared coupled with the goosebumps that sprung up on Belius' skin when looking at him were any indication, even considering such a thing was tantamount to suicide. So too was striking a deal also out of the question, if that person's servant was at all in line with the master.
Nevertheless, grabbing a hostage seemed to be the best option he had. None had been successful before, with the grey-haired monk managing to prevent both fleeing and hostage-taking. ...And with the two girls standing so close to the 'master', the only way one could attempt to threaten them was with a crossbow. ...Had the servant not destroyed them all already.
...But it seemed as though the gods were smiling at him today.
The village girl looked around, nervously surveying the devastation and strewn corpses of locals she knew, complexion growing increasingly pallid with each passing moment. ...And when her eyes finally found one particular set of remains... Her breath hitched.
What a fool she was, to clutch her dress and scamper away from her protector— towards the deathly still body of her equally moronic father, completely disregarding her own safety.
Since those two crazy people seemed to care about the civilians... All he needed was her as a hostage. ...Then maybe he could slip away on horseback. (With the wench in tow, perhaps? Then his original plan could come to fruition as well.) With a plan put into motion, the shakiness in his knees and the weakness in his heart were both momentarily forgotten, with the captain charging forward to intercept the crying girl— practically panting as a dog as he went.
Without warning—
—The world spun, and Belius was hard-pressed to sort out anything his senses were telling him with how discombobulated he suddenly was.
'Eh—?'
It took a moment to realise.
...But he was laying on his back, staring upwards at the bright blue sky. The waves of panic washing over him made that much worse by how a throbbing pain and warm wetness, both originating from the back of his head, were making themselves known.
(Had the captain been slightly less concussed, he would have realised that something had struck him hard enough to make him hit a graceful double backflip ...Only to less gracefully land on the back of his head.)
"Eeeuhh... Egh?" Belius whimpered, dizzily trying to reorient himself and get back on his feet. "AAAAH!" He didn't get far, as something exceptionally heavy struck him in the chest— pinning him to the ground. Teary eyes were opened wide in an attempt to gauge what had happened.
What once was an unobstructed view of the cloudless sky was now broken by a looming figure casting a shadow over his supine body. With a look of unadulterated fear, the captain met the louring grin of an unmoving red mask, gaze slowly trailing down the length of the robed man's form before finally settling on the overly extravagant boot that was resting against his chest— forcefully keeping him grounded.
With a pitiful strangled yelp, he frantically hit, scratched, pawed and fruitlessly grasped at the boot that was pushing him down. But even with his full strength yanking at the buckles and clasps— or with fingers wrapping around the foreleg in an attempt to lift the insurmountable pressure put on him— neither the masked man nor the belts on his footwear seemed budge a micrometer. Something that shouldn't have come as a surprise, with how the sheer strength behind the foot had buckled his plate-armour like crinkling a shirt.
Now Belius was left to flounder wildly as his rattled brain attempted to get his mouth to do anything other than gasp and dryly retch.
"Guhhhhh—...!" He wheezed, unable to take a deep breath with how the dented chestplate dug into his sternum and bruised ribs. "Puh-pleaaaaseeee...!" The pummelled captain managed, his sobbing voice now distressingly snotty. "I beeehg yhhooouuu!" With growing desperation, Belius forced his heavy head to move, looking around. Though his perspective was slightly skewered from his position, it wasn't difficult to see how the situation had grown even more hopeless.
Evidently, the grey-haired servant hadn't been idle. ...And now, each and every single friendly face had been "disposed of", down on the ground either unconscious or dead. —Not that Belius would care much about how well they were faring in normal circumstances, but right now that meant that help wasn't coming. His heart plummeted.
"Mercy— KH!" The next attempt at begging was ruefully cut short by the masked man upping the pressure put on his chest.
An irate clicking of the tongue could be heard beneath the unblinking tribal mask, drawing out another distressed whine from the flattened raider.
"It's rude to pass by a guest without greeting them, aren't you aware?" The voice was glib to a condescending degree, but in a similar breath managed to be fastidiously sophisticated. Another pause followed, with nothing but the laboured and raspy breathing of Belius being heard— broken up only by his pained sobs. The masked man appeared almost contemplative, staring at the beaten and messy soldier as if considering something. And finally... He spoke. "Clearly you aren't in good shape to introduce yourself, so... Allow me to present myself instead."
ㅤ
"...I am Ainz Ooal Gown."
ㅤ
"—And I am very pleased to make your acquaintance." The newly dubbed Ainz followed up with a lilt so cloyingly saccharine that Belius nearly lost his lunch.
Helplessness and horror converged in the raider's mind, fuelling his desperation. With tears flowing down his face and with spit being sent flying whenever he so hoarsely spoke— Belius Savaloar kept pleading. "—P-pleahse! L-lord Aihnz Ooagh Gon!" He choked, grasping at the boot that was pressing down on his chest. "—S-spare me-! Anythingh...! I'll ghive anythin! M-money! Information!"
Ainz seemed to stop dead in his tracks for a brief moment upon hearing the last offer. The disgraced captain took it as a good sign, and intended to strike a bargain of sorts, but was cut off by the masked man speaking again. "—You seem desperate." He commented. "But ultimately, I don't think I should have final say in the matter."
"H-huh?" Belius stammered with obvious stupor, to which Ainz loftily (and somehow graciously) waved a hand, gesticulating towards his left. Following that calmly refined motion, the raider's eyes settled on two figures kneeling besides a corpse.
...It felt as though his stomach was plunged into a vat of icy water.
The two siblings were crying, but it soon became evident that the older one had been paying attention, turning her head to stare wordlessly at the dumbstruck Belius with tears still streaming down her cheeks. The blood staining her dress, both her own and the splatters that came off her father's corpse have mixed together, making for quite the sight— the dishevelled blonde sitting there stained in red.
"So," Ainz spoke, clasping his hands together behind his back. "...What's the verdict?"
With growing panic, the captain's fearful eyes darted between the livid village girl and the terrifying man who was pinning him to the ground— though that person was more of a living guillotine at this point.
The young lady blinked tears out of her misty eyes, casting one last look at Belius desperately pleading face before turning away. "Ph-" He groaned, swallowing dignity. "—Pleaaase—!"
"My l-lord." She spoke. Her voice was laden with grief so all encompassing that one could almost pretend that there was no anger in it. ...But that would be a wilful delusion. "I..." The girl licked her parched lips and swallowed thickly before pressing on. "...I cannot bear to look at him anymore."
The gavel was down.
And the ensuing silence was deafening.
"YOOU BIITCH!" Belius roared and wailed— an admittedly impressive feat with how little breath his compressed lungs could hold. In mere moments the stillness was replaced with pandemonium as the man-child flailed madly. "WHAT GIVES YOU LOW-LIVES THE RIGHHKGH—!" The tantrum was very swiftly ended by Ainz pushing down again, drawing a slight 'crack' from the breastbone.
"—And you are willing to grant me any request?" The masked man suddenly spoke, making Belius' terrified face slacken. His eyes opened wide, staring disbelievingly at Ainz. After that whole song and dance, was he going to strike a deal now? By showing how he had no other options? That nobody else would be showing mercy?
"YES!" Belius hollered at the top of his lungs, an optimistic spark igniting in his (admittedly crushed) chest. Fighting off the urge to cough his lungs out, he continued, screaming until snot flew from his nose and bloody phlegm from his mouth. "—ANYTHING! ALL MY GOLD! ANY TITLE YOU WANT IN THE THEOCRACY! I'LL TELL YOU EV— MMMMGHRGH—?!"
As if to push the limits of human biology, Belius' eyes widened further. This time into the circumference of dinner-plates as a sizeable bundle of cloth— produced from gods knows where— was shoved into his mouth, forcing his jaw open so wide it nearly popped out of its socket.
"Bite down." Ainz ordered gently but firmly. "...I have no use for rose-tinted spittle."
"MMMGH, MMMMMM!" Belius screamed against the gag the best he could, but there was no use anymore.
Ainz's foot pressed down until the sternum was crushed, unyielding boot pulping the trachea with residual bone-shards and with heel mercilessly goring the bronchi. With the sudden influx of pressure, the chest cavity splattered— the ribs folding inwards and piercing the already bruised lungs before introducing the bloody smoothie to the spinal column.
And finally... One last crack could be heard when vertebra was crushed into red-and-ivory paste, with the sole of Ainz's boot now coming into contact with the blood-saturated earth on the other side of the man's torso.
It was a harrowing thing to witness for those who decided to look. For the cruel raider's muffled wails to turn into sputtering wheezes and barely audible wet gurgling. —The way mad flailing finally petered out into twitching and after a while falling permanently still was a chilling sight.
Belius' final vision was not one of home. Not one of carefree beauty. But rather one of mockery, with the Mask Of Envy seared into his mind's eye as the very last thing he'd ever see, haunting him as his consciousness faded into nothing.
It was not a kind death.
And it certainly wasn't a quick one.
But... For Ainz, this served as a milestone.
For better or for worse.
The way Belius' red, tear-filled eyes stared into his with such fear. Such betrayal. ...Before finally fading into a glassy stare, forever unseeing.
He simply stood there, as that realisation slowly washed over him, like tidal waves lapping higher and higher at a sandy beach. A collective of horrified villagers stood staring at him with equal parts awe and horror. ...Eyes occasionally finding themselves gawking at his now red-stained leg. Unable to do anything else, the Supreme Being heaved a deep sigh, allowing the gentle wind to rustle his bloodied robe as his thoughts were slowly brought back under control.
This... Was something that would stick with him.
Not as trauma. ...But as the very first moment he understood what it meant to take a life. Not like before, where the lightning-quick spell allowed him several degrees of separation.
No. He will recall with perfect clarity how bones crunched and meat squelched beneath his boot. The tortured final throes and the last expression the man ever adopted. Slowly. Agonizingly. Each second of suffering serving as the acts to a macabre play.
And...
One day, he'd look back at this moment. His first time truly understanding the concept of 'killing'. It would replay in his mind with perfect clarity.
What would he feel then?
Disgust?
Shame?
Resignation?
Enervated apathy?
Savage delight?
...Ainz simply didn't know. Not yet.
But, somehow, he knew that... Depending on what he felt— in that moment, in the future...?
It could make or break him.
x=x=X=x=x
'Went overboard... Again.' Momonga's mind mumbled as he wrenched his foot free of the desecrated corpse. 'Swept away by the moment... Again!' Employing a [Clean] spell— normally used to remove dangerous substances from the user's body— he simply washed away all of the red that painted his leg, unaware of the villagers staring in awe of how his suave motion simply made the blood disappear. '...Stupid...!' The alabaster-clad Angel berated himself, nervously stealing glances at his servant and the idle crowd of terrorized villagers.
[...Sebas.] He spoke through a newly formed [Message]-link, not wanting to be heard by potential eavesdroppers. [—Can you calm down the crowd...? Find someone to bargain with, request payment in the form of information?] Their eyes met across the short distance between them.
[As you wish, lord Ainz Ooal Gown-sama.] ...The Fallen Angel nearly cringed at that, quietly wondering if he had made a fool out of himself in front of his servant, and that this was the butler's way of pulling his leg.
[Just shorten it to "Ainz".] ...A brief silence followed that declaration, leaving the Supreme Being wondering whether he had said anything wrong.
[Is it truly alright?] The steel-butler inquired. [Is it not improper for me to shorten such an exalted name?]
[It's all for the sake of convenience. It'll be a mouthful otherwise.]
[...Understood.] The dedicated servant simply nodded and bowed courteously, showing no signs of having his loyalty compromised by what the Fallen Angel deemed to be a poor showing of character and leadership.
[And... Good job.] Ainz commended, seeing all the invaders properly dealt with. The few that were spared having been paralysed by one of Sebas' ki-skills and tied up where the villagers were once collected. The grey-haired butler's eyes widened slightly, as if surprised by the genuine-sounding praise. Though the Angel spoke primarily to come off as a polite and appreciative leader, his words were still sincere. [I'd say you've managed to uphold Nazarick-standard efficacy.]
[I... Thank you, lord Ainz. But I am unworthy of such praise for handling such an... Insignificant matter.] The manservant spoke reverentially.
Ainz sighed, regaining some poise (fake as it may have been). [Nonsense. Not a single villager was hurt after your arrival, and I am satisfied. Is that not enough?] He questioned rhetorically. Sebas seemed to almost swallow thickly, once more giving his gracious master a deep and respectful bow— a few confused villagers looking their way, unable to keep up with the ongoing silent conversation.
[Very well. Thank you, Ainz-sama. This one humbly accepts your recognition.] The leader of the Pleiades paused, turning his head to look at the motley crowd of ragged villagers. [Then... Please. Allow me to handle this, milord.] With but a single grunt of affirmation from the Supreme Being, the two once again parted ways, the servant eager to fulfil his master's orders.
'...Remarkable. Truly remarkable.' Sebas found himself thinking, recalling the sight of his glorious master casually pinning the bastard captain to the ground. Perhaps it was a bit much for the Supreme One to involve himself so much as to dirty his own august self, but the theatrical showing was breathtaking. ...The way lord Ainz Ooal Gown effortlessly commanded the scene, wordlessly demanding the attention of all those present...? It was a striking thing.
Evoking fear in the hearts of the opposition, and stoking hope in the hearts of those they have sought to protect. The sight of the Supreme Being looming over the raider carried an outright poetic juxtaposition— one that was permanently hewn into his heart— with the poor excuse of a leader being quite literally crushed beneath the boot of a perfect one. Excessive as it may have been at first glance, Sebas Tian understood it.
"It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both." But that was precisely it. The iron-butler saw it in the villager's eyes. The reverence. The respect. The gratitude. The fear. All achieved while saving the downtrodden that could not save themselves. He gave a wistful sigh, fully understanding why a righteous soul such as lord Touch-Me and one with as much propensity for cruelty as lord Ulbert would both be willing to swear fealty to lord Momonga.
The Supreme Beings always seemed so distant. So far away. ...And to witness one act in person? Majestic.
The butler shook his head. How strange it was, to feel envious of the lowly summons that were so oft employed by the kind lord. —For they would have ample opportunity to accompany and bear witness to the absolute sovereignty possessed by the Leader of the 41 Supreme Beings.
—Though, with Momonga's kindness towards him, the butler had to wonder if his master truly intended to act on his own, of if Sebas' personal feelings on the matter had forced his hand, interrupting some other grand plan. The servant's brow wrinkled at that idea.
'...How troubling.'
She seemed so strong before.
Even though he could feel her hurt earlier, the Fallen Angel still found it in himself to be surprised seeing the village girl he saved break down like this.
For what felt like the longest time... Ainz just stood there. Right next to Enri and Nemu. He said nothing— for there were no words he could think of that seemed fitting in that moment. The best he could do— much to his chagrin— was to stand next to them as a comforting presence.
...As ripply sobs grew more even, and with the blonde occasionally looking his way as if pleading for him to stay a while longer, it felt as though it was enough.
"I-I—!" The teenager began, making the Supreme Being force himself to work up enough nerve to hush her.
"...Don't speak." He replied, shutting down her shaky attempts at a conversation. "It's clearly not doing you any good right now." Was it? Suzuki Satoru wasn't exactly an expert on emotions or grieving, just because he had become better at reading them. He simply recalled the one time he experienced a personal loss— only to grimace and put it out of his mind.
Really, that alone was proof enough that his advice regarding grief probably wasn't to be trusted.
Casting one look over his shoulder in Sebas' general direction, he felt a pang of envy at how easily the mighty servant managed to mollify the crowd of peasants. ...It'd be a whole lot easier, if he could do that. Unable to appear as anything less than Supreme, Ainz wasn't able to take a seat on the muddy ground, or indeed kneel down. ...So he opted for a deep squat.
Still, the two siblings grieved. ...As they should.
"M-my..." Enri stammered again. Briefly, the Fallen Angel wondered if he should initiate some form of physical contact, such as a hand on the shoulder or to rub comforting circles onto her back (like his mom used to do). But... In the end, he buckled, and settled for simply clenching his fist shut. "Fa-father is here, but... My mother..."
'Crap.' An uncharacteristically vulgar word slipped past his filter before he was able to catch it. Again, he found no words to say in that moment, simply remaining by her side.
"—She isn't over there." The blonde's voice cracked, and Ainz followed her look, finding the largest group of surviving villagers. Enri's eyes wandered, with the Supreme Being's gaze following hers. ...Inevitably they ended up looking at the field of bodies having been organized into rows— with some peasants beginning to cover them with white sheets. Instead of saying anything, the girl simply took a deep, shaky breath— clutching her shivering and weeping sister closer.
"T-thank you." She spoke. "—For... Saving us. Our village. A-and for being here."
Things fell quiet again.
[My lord. I have met with the village elder. ...He has accepted our offer, and is willing to share as much information as he is able.] Sebas' voice suddenly filtered through the [Message]-link. Suzuki paused.
[...Ask him to wait.] For a brief moment, the idea of waiting for a reply or even how that action might influence his servants' opinion of him didn't even cross his mind. The Supreme Being simply terminated the connection without another spoken word.
"...Think nothing of it." Momonga replied low and sombre— the girl giving no indication of having heard him.
And there they sat.
Neither speaking to the other.
A few minutes passed by, with the trio simply remaining there. Ainz's eyes drifted, overlooking the villagers who regained enough wits to begin cleaning up.
...Until someone ran along and broke that silence.
"Gods, miss Emmot!" A man dressed in drab clothing who was rushing by stopped dead in their tracks upon recognizing Enri. ...Though their colours were admittedly made more exciting by the dried blood serving as a flair. "Its a blessing that you are okay!"
"A-ah." The blonde exclaimed. "Mister Cretelet...!" In such a small hamlet, it wasn't too surprising how she knew a few people— especially those who live close enough.
He turned towards the Supreme Being, who now stood up, dusting himself off. "...A-and the man to thank for it. For all of us." The serf spoke, offering Momonga a shaky smile and a clumsy bow. "—I'd shake your hand, milord, truly... But..." He grimaced, showing off his grimy hands, caked in mud and blood. (The slight spark of fear in his eyes stung a bit more than it should have.)
"No offence taken." The Fallen Angel followed up magnanimously, not missing a beat. "—If you'll excuse me, I shall be taking my leave." Though Enri looked somewhat shocked, she accepted it. Seeming not too uncomfortable being accompanied by a neighbour.
"—Heavens damn it...! It was just this morning we were discussing ox-feed... Here. Let me help you carry him." Ainz could hear the man lament the death the girl's father, voice fading away as he the distance between them increased.
Through the village.
Through the devastation.
Past the living with dead eyes, staring unblinkingly as if they were a thousand miles away.
There was relief of having survived, sure. ...But the sorrow was still the more prominent emotion, it seemed.
'Forget it.' Momonga sighed, no longer wanting to even consider it anymore. As it stood, the gratuitous violence... The absolute atrocity that the raiders had committed...? His patience was softened by adrenaline and promptly shot full of holes. 'Don't even bother. —Nazarick doesn't need to see me as weak.'
Deep breath.
'Just smile. It was... Easy enough when I killed the first two. Confidence. Certainty. That's all you need.'
Finally, he arrived.
An elderly couple mingling with the well-dressed butler.
"Lord Ainz." Sebas greeted the very moment he noticed the Supreme One's approach— the villagers following suit upon seeing the servant.
"My sincerest greetings and thanks, master Gown!" The village elder (mayor?) followed up with a voice brimming with genuine respect.
"Oh please." The Fallen Angel waved away with a smile pulling beneath the mask. "—It was our pleasure to aid you. Though my attendant Sebas is definitely more deserving of gratitude, I'd say." The elderly couple seemed to relax a little. Sebas' politeness in spite of their low status coupled with this Ainz Ooal Gown fellow's amicability made the situation a lot less awkward.
"Yes! And we must thank you oh-so-much for the assistance, lord Gown! We all would have ended up dead if it weren't for your kindness." The village leader grimaced at the idea before allowing the troubled expression to fade, shooting the angel a smile, as if his odd appearance (and concerningly brutal execution of enemy leader) was no concern at all.
"Now..." The Supreme Being cleared his throat. "—Shall we proceed to the 'transaction' in question?"
"Of course!" The elder spoke chipperly. "...But your asking price is... Very kind. Will this be enough for what you have done for us...?" Seeing no dissatisfaction from the elderly couple, the Fallen Angel took on a more relaxed pose and gave the villager a curt nod.
"It is all I ask."
The older man paused, seeming to think about it. "...Very well. Then, please follow me." With a hum of affirmation, the village elder led the way into his home.
Chapter End
*Silver fox = handsome older/grey-haired man (a simplification, but generally easier to understand)
I always envisioned that "Touch-Me" was in English and nobody but the Supreme Beings realised how wacky the name was since they all speak Japanese. Or maybe the denizens of Nazarick knew, but they just took it in their stride due to their zealous devotion. Well, this is fanfiction, and as such, things are just a bit different here...
