The Holy Water is Acid Chapter 4: SPILLING THE ACID (I), a soul eater fanfic

A/N: Brace yourselves. The Justin/Jeanne/Giriko dynamic is a goddamn rollercoaster ride with incredibly jarring shifts in mood and tone because (GIRIKO) it's difficult writing three-way limited omniscient. Content warnings include Giriko's cursing and chauvinism and Justin being TEZCA-KILLING LEVELS OF CRAZY and general violence.

SPILLING THE ACID (I)

"AND YOU CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF—"

The hollow din of metal clashing resounded through Jeanne's mind. Blood trickled down her chin and dribbled onto the dirt.

Justin… what had Justin become? Was this even Justin anymore?

She could only function as a spectator to the two demon weapons fighting before her. What the hell was she even doing here? They didn't need her. Even the world's strongest meister would be worthless to these two autonomous weapons, never mind someone as inept as her.

I'm useless.

Useless. So useless. If only she had been a proper meister, Justin wouldn't have gone down this road of evil. She could have protected him.

Right? Right?

…No.

Justin never wanted her protection. Never once sought it out. If anything, he actively rebuffed it.

She was completely out of her depth here. She wasn't ready for any of this—for this caliber of fighting, for this danger, for this madness. Thick and tangled, the madness was overwhelming, choking, consuming her soul, whispering words that were rending into her mind.

W̼̫͍͌̇ͥ̀ͅͅH̥̖̞̮̟ͪ̕ͅY̺͍̖̫̤̟̜͂͛͢ ̣̳̤̤̦ͨ͆͑̒̀ͅÀ̜̱̦̺̮̖̘̈͢R̦͍̠͕̎̎͑̐͜Ȅ̵̯̞̜̹̘͍̙ͫ ͕͕̗̠̳̘͛̿̓͘Y̧͍͖̰̯̿Ọ͕̘͓̱̲̭ͯ̀ͣ́U̶̘͔̇̈́ͥ͗ ̤̘͉̣̺͙̰͇ͪ͂́H͈̹͔͇͍̀͢ͅE̛͚̝̰̥̳̘̒͛̿ͅR̛͇͉͙̈́E̗͎̣͔̖̐̽ͮͩ͡.̢̭̣̥̻̞͕͇̻̈

Justin asked her this question again and again, but she was never able to answer. Why was she here? It was obvious, wasn't it?

It was to bring him back from the madness.

Except Justin made it so clear from the very beginning that words wouldn't get through to him. Fighting against him only made things worse… She wasn't going to give up, but…

Ḍ̢͕̬̓͋̍͌I̸͉̭ͪͪD̤̖̞͈̖͗̀ ̷̤̪̫͖̔̌͑̌Y̷̭̩͉͙̤̜̲͎͊ͪ͛O̺͖͎̔̎̀Ů̧̦͉ͧͭ ̰̩̝͕͇̣ͩ͝T͔̫̞͈̖̗̤ͯͫ͜H̛͔͔̰͖̖͇̱͚́Ỉ̯̳͕̜̝͖͉̐̋͟Ň̂҉̖͓̗͍̩Ḳ͙̪̄͌͐́ ̡̦̫̰̲͍̻̗̤̈́Y̸̝̤͙͍̓̋́Ǫ̤̭̟̳̫̃͑̂̋U̺̭̥̍̂ͦ̀ ̸͈̤̠̦̤͓̩ͤ̽C̬̬̳͖̳͔͕̦ͬͬ͊͌͢O͇̥̝̯̙̺̮ͮ̌̌͟U̗̭ͮ̊̑ͫ̕L̠̼̩̟̥̞̆̓͝Ḑ̞̖̻̯̥̗͚͈͛ ̴̳̙ͦ͐̒ͣS̛̜̱̘̲̳͉ͦ̾A͚̖̩̝̰ͪ̀̓̕V̛͎̥̖̞̖̬̞ͥȄ̫̞͉̎͡ ̮͎̳̘͙̇̿͛͟H̴͇͔̫͙̱͍ͩ̊I̥̲͙͂̑̆͊͠M̷̲̣̉͊ͩ ̬͎̜͎̮͓̦̞ͭ̀̊͑͝B͔̺̯̪̹͛̕Ė͔̯̪̙͖͙͎̣̅͑̚͜C̛̙̝̬̃Ä̮̹̣̰̼̠́ͤ̂͞Uͧ̾̊͂͏̩͉͍S͌͏͕̟̭̗͉͙͎Ė̴͉̟̲ͭ ͥ̉ͯ̚͏͔̬̹̞͖͓Y̙̖̜̭̗̻͇̼̿̄ͤ̀O͙̺̜̩̩̔̕U͉̠͓͎ͣ͒͟ ̧͇̰̞̪̖̇W̨̜̩̙͊̽̄Ě͇̪͎͎ͪ͒͆̕R̶̻̙̹̰̩̭̱ͫ͑Ẹ̦̝͇̫ͤ̎̇̓͝ ̩͉̭̫̝̣̉͢P͍̜ͯ̀͂͘A͎̳̦͔̞̣͚͑͘R͈̜̞̠̙̐ͫͤ͡T̸͙͇ͨͭ̍̏N̳͔̩̼̬̳͔̜̾́́E͍̺̟̞͍͊̀R͓͖͇͍̽̾ͣ́S̴̲̬͔̹̦̼̬̖̏̋.͚̥̝̉͞

Yes. Of course. She was his meister and he was her demon weapon. They shared something special, even if Justin denied it. They were partners.

W̷̪̫͍̆ͮ͐Ę͈̪̲̻̣̬̺͆́͋̔ͅŘ͇͎͚͑̂̕Ě͉͙̠̱̲͢ ̈́͛ͧ͏͔͙̺̲̯̳̰ͅŸ̥̼̟̱͉͞O͔̣̠̖͚̟͔͌͌̃̅̀U̘͚ͯ̋͢?̤̪̬͒͞ͅ ̫̫̙̝͙̝̍ͦ̽͡ͅW̮̳̟̊̄͘Ḧ̴̙̲̺͙̙̞́̑̔ͧY̢̟̞̦͈̮ͦ ̧̰͈̳͗̌D̞̠̮̱̥̬̟̰͑̑̌͡Iͦ̆̂ͬ҉͕͎̩̞̻͎Ḋ̨͉̖͎̱͍̟̳ͧ̄ ̧̗̬̬̳͕̲ͦ͗Y̭̼̟̾̊̑́͞Õ҉͉̩̰̗̖̰̣U̧̫̣̱̖̙̫͑ͦ͑͐ ̊҉̝̰̪̳P̰̜͎̱̯̝̄̾̑̚͝Ị̸͎̂ͤC̛̰̺͇̳̞͙̯ͤ̍̃͂K̵̺͔̤͈͎̐ ̛̼̬͖̙̳͇̩͐̓Ĥ͉̹̟͈̪͝I̸͔̻͍̋̇M̱̪͖̜ͦ͝ ̭̩͙͍̹̀͛̄̉́Ṫ̴͕ͅÖ̩̱̭̙̚͡ ̨̼̲͔̗̯̣̄B̈͗͌҉̫̝͔̭̹É̶̲̥͕̲̦̭̜̖̾͗͐ ̸̭̰̫̫͈ͯͫYͩ҉̟͖͇̤̰͓Ô͓͓̳ͯ͞U͈̘̤̤͎̠͈ͭ͡Ṛ̷̬̣ͫͣͬͅ ̵̲̖̰̲̫̚D̨̙̗̉̌̈E̤̲͙̬̫̪̖ͭ͟M̨̠̻̗̣̺͂ͮ͌O̯͍̳̪̓ͪ̎̆͝N̶̪̯̆ ͙̯̭͋ͥ͞W̢͚̗̬̦̱̱ͬE͕͇̫̤̮̓̒̈́͊͠A̱͕̩͇̼̘̳̱ͯ͞P̮͕̖̱̪͇ͤ̔͠O̜̞͕̣̦ͥ͊͗͜N̛̩̖͉͉̄̈́ͩ̎?̺̲̼̣̺ͧ̎͌͢

Justin was a holy boy with a radiant soul and a faith as strong as hers. The wavelengths were compatible—

L͎͖̬̱̻̋̕Į͍̮ͮ͆ͭ͆E̴̼͓͖̭͚͒ͭͨS̵̖̤͍͚̽́.̡̱͔̣ͮ ̌Y̛̟͎̳̥̗͛O̪͈̎̓̐̏͢Ǔ̧͕̱̰͓̣͎̟͉̒ ͍̦̹̬͚̹̌͘Ĉ̢̹͔̺̝̝̪̯̈̇̆H̡̦̳͒͋̽Ö̵̭̹̜̼Ş̭͚͕̯̲͓̈́͋ͅEͬͧ̿͏̜͙ ͔͓͎̦͉ͭ̌́J̢͓͙̥̼̼̥͊͑͆ͪU̫̩̜̳̠ͬ͊͜S̷̮̖̀̏̏T̜͓̯͉̲ͫͩ͆ͤ͘I̠͉̞ͬ̕ͅṊ̝͕̤͖̤̘ͧ͋͞ ̟̤͍̥̼͇ͯͮ͌̋́B̦̟͉̺̟̲̘̳̈́͘Ȇ̯͎͍̥͑ͩ̏͟C̝͙̈͋ͥ͜A̬̰̺͐̑̇͗̕ͅU̴̫̮̲̻͎͓ͫ̾͋S̷͔͓͈̍͊Ȩ̬̬̲̳̘̱̞̈ ̼̭͐̅͜Ḧ̡͚͚̗̻̙̲̠̐͗ͅĘ̠̦̙̰͈̱̯̒͊ ̷̻̖͍̐W̡͙̭̙̥̻̲̽̐͗À̛̮̰̝̪Ṣ̼̙ͩͧ̋ͅ ̬͖͕̤̂̒ͤ̈́͝Ṭ̣͐ͣ̏̕H͓̤̣̘̏ͨ͛͑̕E̜͓̝̣̺̟̞̰ͣ̑͞ ̻̪̬͖̮̲̙͊͘O̘̼̪͚͖̝͒ͫ́͞N̂̉L̜̼͉̱̠͓͈̞ͦ̈̌̕Ÿ͍̜͉̫̟̟̗́̕ ̷̞̻͕̠ͨ̍ͯ̾O̯̘̥̩̬̙̰͓ͮ͡N̯͔̺͖̑ͣ̓̀E̬̳̻̹̟̳̎͞ ̵͖̖͓͒̀ͤ̓W̻̿ͮ̂̀ͅH̢͎͈̜ͣͧͩ̈́Ò̴̩̖̖̱̖̙͖̖ͩ ̤͓͈͖̭̘̤ͭ͜D̨͕͇̺̻̣̳̖̉ͥ̐ͅỊ̠̅͐͝D̅̄͌҉̰̼͈̱̱͎N̮̹̒̋́T̷̙̮̫͈͙̪̆ͯ̈́ͅ ͉̙̞̹̭̯̫̙̚͘Ş̮͈̬̗̤ͦͤ͐C̩̪͉̯̘̪͎̾̑̈́͋͞A̵͉̜̯̣ͭͥȐ̦͕̟͖̙̞̼͌̊ͣ͞E ̼͚͖̯̜͓̲ͦ͊̈́̌͝Y̧̩̭̒̋O̢̦̙̱̟͙̯̮͔ͥ̊̓Û̗̖̕.̺̦͇̭̅̈͘ͅ ̟̙̯͛ͧͯ͑̀

H͓̮̻̱̤̐ͧ͒͝Ĕ̵̦̼͈̮̹̻͓͓ͩ ̭̗̗͊͜D͔̹̮̯͈͇͖̟ͧ̋͟I̛͕͙͔̖̜ͦ͒̀̆D̷̜̖̜̪̱̪̘̈ͨ̎N̠̘͖̅͘ͅT͇̩̙̰̰̞̜͋͊͋͜ͅ ͫ͒҉̬͕̖͚L̮͎̺͈̙̊̀Ợ̦̜͉̠̲̺ͦ͗O̵̮͎̭͗ͣ̑͋Kͣ̋ ̶̤̣̭̯͙̝̅Ǎ̘͚̤̫̭ͫ̄͆̕T̢͖͙͉ͪ̈́̉ ̿̐ͮ̚҉̯̞̼̤̲Y͆̂̂͏͚̫̬͇̥̩Ö̴̦̰̥͚́U̖̱͍̰̯͙̰͑̆̓ͣ̀ ̮̺̲͔̫͔̝̼̏̎͡T̟̪̤͚̲̂ͥ̅͞Ḥ͍ͧ̊ͫͮ͘Ė̡͔̠͖̞̦̣̼̇ͮ ̴͓̝̝͚ͯͪ̂̐ͅW͈̮̥͔͊ͮ̚͜A͇̯̜Y̹͇͛͜ ͓͕͔̰̻͙̣ͤͥͦ͡Ǟ̝̼̳͇͚̇͛̀ͅL̡͇̼͖͇̇L̜͚̻̦̝̪͎͖̄̋͘ ͕̦̺̣̦͆̊͌̊̕ͅT̟̼͚̮̯ͫ͞H̦̬̬̀ͨ͗̍̕E̶̤̙͔̗ͫ ̟̮ͫ́̃̔́Ŏ͎̻̺̩̒͝Ť̫͓̘̬͙͉̞̻́͆̾̀Ḣ̗̱͓͉͕͞E̡̟̰̻͖͂ͦ͒R̷̫͍͎͈̪̈ ̧̲͚͇̗͈͙̹̈̾̀ͩB̷̰͍̬̙ͯȎ̬͇̱̫̳̂͢Y̨̙̺̳̫͙̦̔ͨ͆ͅS̻̥̺̣̩̎͘ͅ ̛͚̺ͤ̽͌Ḍ͖̯̳̭͂̌I̷͍̠̬̱̫͚ͭD̵͚͉͙͖̄̄̋̑.̧̰̻̜͙͖̫̣͔̈ ̹̞͙̄̍̌̿͠

(There were eyes looking at her.)

(Stop looking at her.)

H̳̹̞̻̞̝̲̔͜E ̹͍̠̪̖̊ͩ͂͗͢ͅW̳̖̯̳̙͔̹̞̑ͨͬ͠Á̷͍͙̰̺̩͑ͅS̪̜̻ͧͪ̌͒͢ ̛̻̼͔̗ͭWE̵̠͚͔̖ͣͫͯ͐ẠK͍̜͙̳̟͍ͩ̇ͨ̂͡ ̟̗͋͛̇͜Ȃ̠̮͖̫͌̀N̡̼̺̝͎̯̐̌ͬ̽D̛͍̭̱͇̰̭͔̝̆ ̬̼͙͔͍͛̂̃͢U̷̮͉̙͉͙̙̜̟̔N̻̹̲̩̪̥͑͒ͨ͢T̺̬̰̙̱̠̻͛ͪ͐̾́H̽҉̟̟̮̟̱̻̘̯R̝̭͕̘ͨ̎͊͟È̳͔̭͟Aͭ͊͏͎̞̭̜̤͈Ṭ̢̩ͬE̳̘̻̟̜͔̖̹ͨ͐͐́̀N̷̞͈͙̻͍̉̚ͅI̟̬͚͚͇̓̔̆̈͜N̦͔̺̜G͙̥͖̱̺ͣ͜.̧͉̭͍̰̞͕̎́ ̮̖̲̘̱̼͙̞̈͡Y͚͈̮͓̺͇͑͒̈͟Ọ̷̯̻̈́U̪̖͎̱̫͇̦͍̎̈́̚̕ ̯͓̱̟̇͟T̫͈͈̜̯̖̯͎̓̃͞H̷̙̹̯̳̮ͬ̍̚O̲̖̺̬ͦͣ̎̉̀U̩̦̮͚̩͒̀̅͢G̪͈̮̈̅͠H̶̬̼̼̤̳ͧͧ͛ͅT͖͕̩̠̩̠̺͌͡ ̶͖̹ͮ̅͂̅Y̞͔̜͈̯̖ͤͫͮ́O͔̲ͮ̕ͅṲ̦̜͖̽̒ͣ͝ ̝̼̜̥͎̂̆̀Č̨̖̮͔̺O̡̘̹̎ͤU̵̝̦̠̪͓͔͎̥ͣͨ̀ͥL̼͎͕̙͓̾ͦ͢Ďͣ͒̑͏̮̱͈͈ ̰̳̞̒͗͜C̘̤͚͔̻ͤ̎ͥ̚͠O̯̙͐̇̇͠N̠͓̗ͥ͢T͙̝̻̩̤̤̊͊̀͡R̙͖͈̹͋͗ͩ́͝Ȏ̢̦̖̖̟̭͙͌͌L͓̣̥̩̭͔ͤ̾̿ͥ͢ͅ ̶̬̱̣̲͈ͫ̒H̅͐̓̈҉̹̳͈͎͖̣̥̪I͇̼̫͒̉͘M̰̹̱̳̤̔͞ͅ.

That's not… true.

̛̺͕̭ͩ̚Y͙̮̳̲͍̼̪͓̾̎̊̃́O̪͉̪̎͑͞Ȕ̱̖͉͔̹̀ ̷͔͉̤̠̣̝̹̎̏̒̋ͅW̶̰̩̤̫̒͒E̼͉͉̿̑̅͡R͎̜͓̲̺̭͔̗͐͛̎͆́E̶͎̩͉̥̓̏̋ ̧͍͓̿ͪ̑ͦŅ̙̬̣̎̐̌E͚̙̝ͧ̇́ͅͅṾ̡͖̖͈̒̌͗ͫȨ̝̯̺̂̈́͐R̛̲̙͓̮̋ S̴̱̳̙̯̫͂Ę̥͙̾̆̓E͋͏͚̲͖̫͙̠K͎̠̤̃̆̚͝Î̼͓̆̃̆͝N̵̘̫̥͂͛ͭĞ̢̳̲̑̅̅ ̰͙̦̝͈̤̠̆ͬ͢Â͕̯͖̈̆̚͝ ͎̹̆ͧ͗͘P̜̲̬̲̳̩͔͔̆̾̏͋͠Ȁ͎̖̫̰̍͒͟R̋͂҉̙̝̤̮̖̤̯͈T̨̬͖̓͗͗̈N͙̟̽̊͜ͅẼ̪͕̜̘͞R̴͓̲̞̲̗̐̑̚ͅ.ͥ҉̞̬̞ ͕̱͍͖̘͈̲̣ͨ͒ͨ̎̀Y̐ͩ͏̪̳O͈̙̟̮̘̠͂ͦͣ́Ȕ̓҉̠̜̙ ̅͏̗̟̯̝̖̰̮̘W̨̹̲͕̝͍̟ͯͩ̈Ě̷̺̣͓ͤṚ̹̭̩̭͇̖̳ͪ̂͑̿͞E̙̻̟̖̪̒̽́ ̜͙͚̘ͪ͗͆͞ME̯̙̯̝̳̠̙̊ͧ̌͘R̨͓̼͉̘̱̹͖̮ͥ̒E̷̺͎ͦ̾̅̈L̡̪̣̭͕̋Y̧̖̞͎̖͖̪̺̮̍͊̍ ̄͏͚͓̭͇̱S̲̟̟̰̫͇̍ͦ̍̊͡Ḙ̖̦͕̫̟͚̽̆͐̕Ą̗̤̟̫̦͓̗̝͊R̙͙̱͑̄̅ͯ͘Ç͓͍̦͍̼̆H̲̦̙͍̰̰̙͑͌͂́I̐҉̩̙N̨̰̣̺̫̔ͧG̢͍͉̳ͤ F̷͈̯̞̓̇Ȯ̯̤̳̖͍̓ͦ͡R̥͎͙̣̦̎̿̆͂͢ͅ ̷̹͈̮̣̄͑A̷͍̬͈̼̞̅̊̾ͯ ̨̥̭̝̟̥͕͊S͕̫̯͚͉̠̱̀͋ͤ͌̀Ĭ̶̯̗̣̳ͩD̠͍͈͇͍̝̰̟̒ͣͣ̚͠Ḙ̘̫̻̘̺́͗ͬ͢ͅK̴̜̣̤̯̣̺ͤ̄ͯͮḬ̱͎̺ͣ͠C̄̿͏̮̤̜̗͙̮̬Ḱ͏̼̣̻.̗̖͔

That's not true! She cared for him. She wanted to protect him—

Y̘̪ͪ͞O̶̦̝̟̜͖̰͆̈͛Ų̬͙͓̬̝ͤ̔͂ͪ ̷͉̣̟̹͎̠̱͕̓̎Ḍ̻͕̫̭͖̂͗̿̕I͈̝̙͊͢D̷̗̟͈̩̠͇͚͙̽ͩ͋N͈̤̈͢T̷̬̳̯͓ͮ̓̍̌ ̸͎̩͚͙͙̿̊̈́T̤̼̝ͬ̽̌͆͞H̥̫͎͍͇̆̈̀I̧̠̞̪̰̗̠̫͊N̡̹̻̜̮̘͕̉̾̇K̛̟̦͔̟̠̙̼ͦ̈́͗͛ ̮̞͈͖͕̊̕H̡͙̝̩͕̞̭̙̞ͪ̓ͯ̍E̡̳̘̫̰͎͐ ̛͓̫̉̓̑W͔̦͈ͥͩ͝Ọ̱̼̩͚̞̬͚̔ͤ́̀U̵̙͓̜͕̞̥̐́ͨ̑L̩̝̜̤̮̹͈͐̾ͤ͠Dͤ͑͂̅͏̠̦̠̫͔ ̩̙ͯ̌͝S̴̠͇̪̟̲̥̠ͩͅU͓͚̘̾ͬ̀ͪ͞R̟̟ͥ͋̒́P̦̫͎͆̋͝A̴͔͇͙̜̘̞̖͋ͮ͋S̥̟͍̺̹̙̝̳̆̇͞S̒̿ͭ͏͎͇͚̫̟͍̠ ̱̯̪̺̟̜͎̺́̌͡Y̠͈̣͉͊̿ͩ̚̕Ợ̮͛̉̐Ú̹͉̤̞̬ͥ͢.̖̲͈̤͎̞͙̽̀ͅ ̨̜͍̲̪̠̆̂ͪ

He had been a child.

N̟͍̞͊͑̕O͐̃ͨͪ҉̞ͅT̷̮̭̦̲̥̣̆͑ͤ ̼̖̬̎̎̾ͯ͠T̡͈͔̟̼̺͕̞̋̑̈H̶̜̟̪̤͇͆̇A̙͕͓͖̺̫̮ͯͩ̍͡T̝̲̫̠̅͝ ͇̙̙̺̹͋̓ͤ͜Q̨̦̺̭̺̅̽ͤ͒U̯̗͕͈̳̼ͦ͋̄͞ͅI̷̺͇̦̬͋̄Ċ̹̱̳̯̗ͨ̄͠K͕̯̝̘ͦ͋͟L̺̤͍̳̻̱̟̂͠Y̠̫̬̲̲͍͔̬͒̅̃͜.̨̺̮ͫ ͛̽҉̝̝̰̮͕͇̝

He surpassed her years ago.

N̬͉̳̻̙͖͚̞̔͛͌̈́͢Ö̵̥͔̩́T̡̗͎̥̩̝͋͋ ̶̖̺͉̲̒ͮ̓Ŝ̵̲̰̞̺̼͉͖͎ͪǑ̙͎̪͋͋͟ ̶͈͕̰̖̮͎̯̜̀̍S̰̘̰͙͓ͯ͜Ö̵̰̟ͥ̓ͤO̸̦͇̭̖̱̝͂̒͆N̥̬̰̠ͨ͋ͥͦ́ͅ.̶͚̝̙̠͂̒ͧ

He surpassed her in the first six months of their partnership.

Ê̢͎͎̳̪̱̳̠V̶͍͈̹͍͊̚E̯̬͌͘N̷̘̩̙͈͙͕͚ͫ͑̽̌T̺̖̱̞͔͈͐̅̈́͢Ų̝͔͕͈͈̆A̷͉͈̰ͯ̾L̛̼͈̜̦̟ͣ̀̑L͎͓̖̳̰̥̠͑ͮ͟Y͖͙̙͇͍͋ͣ̓͐͝ͅ ͚̹̳̥̉͞H̒ͫ̐̐҉̗̼̘̬̞͈͚Ȇ͈͕̲̗ͥ̓̀ ̦̬͔̥̮͉̝ͤ͟S̨̼̲̗͙̰͐̎́T͚̯̰̥̘̺͙͊ͩ͟O̰̜̦̖͓̩̔͡P̵̱͕͖̈́ͤ͗̽P̘̝̜̮̭̤̈́̚E̙̺ͦ͢D̨͓̳͖̩̮̱̯͗̀ ̳̩͔̻̱̇ͨ̂͢L̛̘͕͕͚̮̗̻͍͑O̡͔̱̭̒͐ͫͅOK̤̮̤̓͊̀Ḭ̟̤̙̠̰͔̫̊͠N̛̼̦̏ͦ̈̚G͈̭̱̖̣͇ͭͩ̓͜ ̡͖͔̟ͬUP̢͚̜̑ͫ͗ ͮͪ͏̜̝̖͕̟͙̮̞T͙͇͍̩̿̇͗ͨ́O͒̋͏̼͍̯̩ͅ ̨͈̦͖͈̭̱͐̆͆Ẏ̴̮̝̘Ō̩͇̭̮͇̏̎͟U̢̫̠̮̬̗͔͖̔.̶͚̩̳̮̬̜̏̔̆ ̃҉͎̳

Justin didn't need her.

S̥̝̳̜̃̀̉͐̀Ȏ̯͉͍̜͔́ ̈ͮ̚҉̱͔̼̝Y̷̗̭̙̳̖̳̑͋͊ͧÕ͉͈͖̮̱̟̺͍͑̅͡Ṳ̥̭͂̋̊ͪ͞ͅ ͤ҉̦̠̫̩̗͉͚͈Ǫ̞̜̣̜̼̤̃ͫ͋̆ͅF̢͚̬͇̮̭͚̳̣̈́F̲̭͊́̈ͩ͘Ȅ̡͓̙̱̬̎R̀҉͓͖̦̟̱̲ͅE̎̑͏̭̣̤D̡͈̭̣̼̖̉ ̭̜̲̬̓̎͛̇̀U͔͚̥͐̍ͬ́P̵͕͙̞͓̱̩̞͍͑̓̍̈ ̡̗̠̫͖͕̮̗̏ͯ͛Ÿ̧̩͓͎O̢͙͙̮͈̮̽͌Ů̢͓̥̼͙̯̣̮Ŗ̰͓̺̹̈́̏ ̮̻͕̞͎ͦ̉͛͟B͑҉̱̰̟̥̭͚̟̫O͕̼̲ͤͫ͊́̕D͒̍҉̟͎̝͖̫͓͎͎Y̬͈͈̊ͣ̆́ ̏҉̺̯̦̫I̢͚͔̼͔̠̼̟̥͊ͧ̑Ņ̰̯̪̔̊ ̢̬̜̀̑ͭS̵̱͉̩͚̰͔̰͕ͬǑ͕̱̼̽̚͝M̢̲̫̲͉̮̝̼͓͋Ě̴̞͓̲͉̤͈͛ͭͪͅ ͧ̌P̬̼̩͍̜͓ͥ͘A̹̹̙͙̳͓̙͆̔̚͠T̵̞̖͙͍̊̈́H̬͉̜̿͡E̥̘͉̺͉̹͙̝̔̌ͫ́̚T̡͙͚̹̬͈͈̀͛ͅI̤̪ͮ̓͋͟C̨̗̪̱̫̤̩͔̹ͣ͂͊̄ ̭̻̖̇ͥ͝A̶̙̭̻͉͓͑͛̆T̷͍̺͓̮̙͖̣͊̆͛̂T̛̺͍͔̂ͭĒ͇̭̥̜̩̓ͩ̚͞M̜̘̗͉͎̼ͩ̍̅͝P͎̥̞͙̩̦̥̙͑̉͘T̢̪̭̹̯͔̆̍̉̆ͅ ͙̟͓̰͊̑́Ț̴̜̤̮̱̈̾̆ͯO̭̘̠̮̻̥͛́ ̘̝̺ͧ͛̚͜F̛͎̺̜̙̟͔̉ͣE̶̲͈̣̻̲ͯ̔̿E͗͏̝̥L͈̝̬͇͍̿ͩ̊͝ ͈̜͕̘͓̭͂̚͢I̍̾̋҉͈̥͖̤M̴̟̱ͭP̵͙̖͓͙̦̥̫̱̉͛ͣ̑ÕR̞̘̺͓̼̞͙̊̃͟T̈҉̲̱ͅA͕̹͎͉ͧ̑͜ͅN̠̞͙̉̿͛͢T͕̰̳̩͉̍͟ ̷̩͈́͊ͥ̓A̼͚̼̩͔̯̞ͪ͞G̝̗̭̻̯̱͎̖͛͒̒͢A̩͙̦̺͐͒̈́ͬ͢I̧̟̰̺̟̰̙̟͒͌ͅṄ̢͚̰͙͐̃.̴̥͈̳̲̟̙̜͒ͫ̄̓ ̢̹̪̟̳ͪ

He didn't need a meister.

Ṳ̡̖̯̠͎ͣ̒N͉͚̹̬͎̖̓͘Tͥͥ̐҉̮͇͍̮͚̲̙Ȉ̜̻͚̼̫̒̆̚͢L͇͚͍̔͆ͪ͢ ̴̹͍̟̫͉ͣH̛̤͚̝̪͕̘͓̳͑̿̀̈́Ẹ̡͈͚̆̓ͮ D͔̥̟ͤ͝Iͪ̊҉̘̣̲̩ͅS̞̼̤̫͉̺̱̽̾ͬͬ͝C̢̦̰̙͔̺͚̰̰͒̑ͬA̮͓͕͍̪ͯ͝R̷̺̯ͫ̿͂D̹̭̘̖̲̗̮̔̀E͇̤̦͎̪D̜̳͚̍͐͠ ̳̜Ë̹̟̜̲̱́͠V̠͕͍̫̘̰̬ͧͨ̎ͯ͡Ȇ̡̩̤̫ͩ̉N̷̖̻̍́ ̛̲̗̙̋ͩ̓Ŷ̩͈̰̭̟̺̥́O̬͔̣ͭ͊̈́ͥ̀U̡̙̖̤̬̼̻̠ͧR̔͌͏̲͕̘̜̳ ͎̟̘͎̤̙̅͝B̗͈̽̆̀O̷͈̣̣̠̮͛D͕̬͖͔̑̾͢Y̮̜̌̒͆͘.̢͎̬̥̩̠̳̻̠͆

He didn't need anyone.

Ÿ̹͕̲̙̻͕̼ͣ͝O͔̬̦̩̲̗͒̅ͮͧ͠U̘̞̾ͪ͟ͅ ̛͖̺̬͚͙̃ͅMͮ̾̽҉̯͕̞̟̟͕̩Ë͍͓̬̝͎̘̣̱́̌ͬ̃͟Â̻͙̖ͥ̅͝Ñ̢̺̞̟͍̭̘̯̣̊ ̪̬̱̹̮ͮͭ̋͑͠Ǹ̶̞̳͖͎O͛ͣ͏̮͙̗̭̯͉̞͙T̡̼̜͎͑̆̒̐H̺̤̔͋̆͝I̡̳̭̼̪̔Ñ̛̫̲͛Ģ̤̼̰̞͉̖̆ ̸̜̗̜̻͊ͫ̏̀Ṱ̶͔͖̙̗ͯ̊O͍̤̗̔́͛́ ̮͍ͥͭͧ͗͟H̨͈̙̦̣̓ͨͅI̖̺͓̱̭͕̤̓̀M͇̥̞͓̪̩̈́̃̚͞.̫͙̻̘̳ͤ͑̐̑̕

She was useless.

D̵̦̰͉̦͖̯͑̉̚Ì͎͓͂͜D͍̞̘̫̐̓͌͛͡ ̆̊͏̰̳Y̆̿ͧ͏͖̲̝̬͚O̢̘̜̲̙̳̰̺͓͐̚U̡̩̜͛͆ͪ͂ ̵̼̮̗̼͖͆̐T̺͙̣̞ͪͪ̚͡H̛͕̮͈̤̰̦̄͒̈ͨI̗̘̝̪̰̺͉̿̈́͝N̛̘̺̼̓͋̒̾K̶̠̣̻̯͔̭̱̱̏̇ ̑ͨ͋҉̟̩̘̘̩̬̼S̅̄̀ͪ҉̭͇͉̭̫Ợ̞͚̩̱̭̖̏ͣͥM̵͓͉̟ͭ̑̌̌ͅÊ͚̜̹̮̟̹̫͟ͅŎ̼͓͉̤̗̺̓͝N͈̯̰̟̄͜E̛̮̩̩͋ͯ̓̔ ̶̻̣̞̬͚̮͇̋̚L̗͉̥̣͖͌͟I̷͚̩͍̼͇̘̖̥̅͂K̡͖̫̍E͍̯̼̖͇͙͍̥ͩ̈́͗͘ ̴͙̱̠̙̠̟̈́̏̇̚Y̷̦̪̱̌̽O̬̯̠̲̝͔͇̰̊̋͌̈͘U̹͓̫͔̭̦ͭ̍̏͢ ̼̱̂̀C̢̩̫̙̖͍͙͉͉͛ͣO̵̤̬̥̯̣̞̱̊͑̚U̶̟̘̳̞̐ͩ̉͐Ľ̸̗̗͎̥̹̪ͅḌ̴̪̳̌̔̏ ͎̰͎̰̭̭̟ͭ̈͝B̙̗ͦ̔̀͝R̺̻̹̭̱̥̲͑̕I̡͍̽͋͂̍ͅǸ҉͍̹̟G̺͎̮̮̺͖͎̪ͫ͊́ ̨̞̯̝͇ͥ̉̔H̠̝̥͚̼̖͋̀Í̻̜̺̉ͤ̑̀M̜͉̖̯͚͎͊͟ ͙̰̬̼̥͒̇͟B̮̭͙̯̍͌͂͠A͋ͤ̑͒͏͈̫Ĉ̺̬̰̪̮̀K̝͖̀̓͠.̡̦̰̪͖͖̹̩̍

Blades striking.

W͖͓̣̼͈͚̠͛́͢H̭̱͓͒͞Ý̢̟͎̹̺̖̇̃ͬ.͎̫̪̓̐̀ ̟͕̙͈̆͞

A̘͍͋͛͆́Ŕ͖̞̪͉͚̳̜̈̑̊̀E̘̹̗̗̟̎̎̽͢.͈̭̪̅́̈͌͘ ̽̓҉͕̺̗͓͎͓̰

Y ͦ͒ ̆ ̷̮̯̭̞̞̻͕̚ͅ O ̋ ̼̙́ U ̾ͭ ̌ ̜͔͝ ̦̦ ͚̪̱͖ . ͧ ̂ ҉̪̰͎

͖͍̠̮̩̍͌ͧ͡ E ̧͉̼̝̲̒ V ̏̿ͩ͏͈̝̠̯͍̰̭͈ E ̥̩̼͗͘ N ̓̇̄ ̌ ̨͚̺ ̣ ͅ .

ͫͨ͡ ̣ ̻̲̩ ̣ ͇ ͓ H ͭ̍ ̉ ̥̘̞̩͚͞ E ̖̖̻͎ͨ̒͝ R ̎͐ ̋ ͫ҉̺ ̣ ͉̫͓͎ E ̊̊ ̉ ̙̩͜ . ̎͏̭ ̳ ͍̰̜ ̦ ̺͖

Jeanne choked out a sob.

Several feet away, Giriko was scrambling to fend off the attacks from Justin's guillotine blades, kicking one to the side while blocking another at the last second with a whirl of his chain armor. Not sure what was the deal with the jester getup, but he gotta admit that the kid was surprisingly agile for a twat without legs—

"Are you having trouble keeping up, Giriko?" the priest hissed with malice unfurling from his tongue. "Seems like your body is falling apart from too much boozing. What a shame."

"SCREW YOU!" he barked back, "I still got enough juice left in this body to take you out!"

A fight was what he came for and dammit, a fight was what he was gonna get.

There was a flash of light and a roar of the motor before Giriko's leg swerved to a 180-degree angle that came crashing down towards the Justin's wooden body. But surprise, surprise—the priest lodged his chain arms into a nearby pillar and swung out of range, causing Giriko to slash away the displaced stone before it collapsed on him. He growled. It wasn't like brawling with the old Justin Law at all. This one was a fucking trapeze artist.

Damn, he'd never seen the priest this goddamned riled up before. The bastard was always so calm and snarky in their previous skirmishes. But things were personal now, right? Except not towards him. Justin harbored a raging murder-boner for his meister and Giriko was just a barrier to slice through which sucked major balls. Shit, he hated playing second fiddle to someone else.

The girl in question was just sitting there holding her head like she was having a fucking aneurysm. Justin didn't conk her that hard, did he?

Justin was multitasking: two chains, four chains, six chains shooting from his sleeves and propelling blades at Giriko's ass.

Fuck. Fuck. "For the love of god, girl, do something—" he shouted, backflipping from a blade that tore up the bricks under it.

"Y-you… you don't feel it…?" she gasped, her eyes as large as saucers.

"Feel what?"

"…the… madness…"

Giriko gawked. Madness? Huh, come to think of it, he did feel the atmosphere morph faintly with Justin's transformation, like a slight wind chill ruffling at his coat. Is that what was getting to her? Did she have no immunity to this shit or something?

Before Giriko could wrangle any more info out of her, a wooden pillory shot from a chain and snapped around his midriff, ricocheting him into a stone pillar accompanied by a loud 'fuck!'. There was the futile grind of chainsaw against metal-encased wood, but Justin had more than enough appendages to spare for both his opponents. Two more chains fired out from his Kishin-adorned sleeve, the sharp slabs of metal attached to each end sure to make riveting playmates in keeping Giriko entertained. The heretic would receive his punishment in due time, but right now, he was little more than an obstacle blocking Justin from his intended target.

The distant din of slicing and cursing drew overhead as Justin stalked over to his wretched meister. Jeanne offered no resistance when a pillory ensnared her torso, hauling her body towards him until only a few inches of air and a faceplate separated them. He surveyed her petrified expression with an eerily calm demeanor.

"Witness my true form, you sow."

With the clown, Justin could be a fully functional weaponized guillotine—a form that he could never achieve with her. He wanted Jeanne to witness him in all his splendor, but her gaze was clouded, her pupils dilated, and her eyes barely tracking. She couldn't even see him.

…ah, she was feeling the effects of his madness wavelength.

A tilt of the head. It was disappointing how quickly Jeanne fell. Even he had held out longer than this, clawing and struggling against the tendrils until they dragged him beneath the surface—…

"Justin…" she whimpered, terrified and desperate. "Please stop…"

"Why should I stop after all the insult you've subjected me to?"

"I'm sorry…"

Justin broke into a bloody grin. "Absolution is not granted so easily to sinners."

His response to her apology was the sickening thud of her skull colliding against stone. For all her pride and posturing, Jeanne was on the cusp of consciousness from a single attack. She was so fleshy and small in his hands. Justin breathed as he ran his gaze over her limp body, feeling the desire to kill her transform into a desire to hurt.

Jeanne was so, so foolish for thinking that she could reach him. She was arrogant enough to challenge him. To insinuate he needed her help. Showing off her filthy scarred arm. Calling him broken. He hated that word. She knew he hated that word. He was not broken, and he didn't need her to fix him—

"Will you friggin' cut that shit out?!"

The grating of a chainsaw reverberated through his other limbs, causing pause. Without so much as a glance, Justin slung the offender into the adjacent pillar, waiting for the rubble to bury Giriko before dispatching another blade at him for good measure.

His real prey was right in front of him, pathetic and helpless and far more deserving of his attention. Justin caressed Jeanne's blood-stained cheek with the flat surface of his pendulum blade, pressing the cold metal into her skin to keep her from submerging beneath the depths.

"Wake up," he murmured, "You weren't given permission to pass out."

A light thwack on her cheek caused her eyelids to flutter open.

"Justin…" she whispered.

For a fraction of a second, Justin wished his earphones were muted just to hear his name spill from her lips.

"Justin? Will my name be your final words? That was all you could ever say—Justin, Justin, Justin~" he mocked, his tongue practically lapping up the madness oozing from her pores. "Always calling after me, desperately clinging on as a way to realize your own failed ambitions."

He smirked at how her head jerked in frantic disagreement and tears welled up in the corner of her eyes. Really, now. Jeanne was so willing to dredge up shameful memories of their shared history that it would be rude of him not to be equally sentimental.

"Don't you remember, Jeanne? Don't you remember how you tried so, so hard at DWMA and still accomplished nothing?" He leaned in to absorb her panicked whimpering. "You couldn't wrap your feeble mind around your failures, so you looked to a higher power for answers. Don't pretend as if you don't remember. I watched you pray to your God for guidance."

(Not merely watching but partaking. Kneeling side by side with clasped palms and closed eyes as they whispered hopes, dreams, and fears that were swallowed up by the empty abyss.)

"You had so many questions—why couldn't you be a proper meister? Why did he create you like this? Were you being punished? Was it all part of his divine plan?" He traced the blade over her trembling lips. "You wanted to know, so you prayed and prayed and prayed. But did he ever reply?"

(No. There was never a reply.)

Justin's smirk twisted into an ugly open-mouthed snarl.

"NO, HE WAS SILENT. YOUR GOD WAS ABSENT WHEN HE WAS NEEDED THE MOST. SO YOU LEECHED ONTO ME INSTEAD. SEARCHING FOR YOUR WORTH. FEEDING OFF MY HOLY BLOOD. LIKE A PARASITE."

He hurled her into the ground like a ragdoll and she screamed—

"WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW, YOU SOW?! WHERE IS HE NOW?! WHEN WILL YOU REALIZE THERE IS NO GOD IN THIS WORLD EXCEPT FOR THE HOLY KISHIN-SAMA?!"

"—SHUT THE HELL UP!"

A sphere of pink light slammed into Justin's side, sending his frame reeling and releasing Jeanne in the chaos. Giriko landed on the spot where Justin just was, cursing at the priest's newfound abilities.

"This is why I fuckin' HATE you religious assholes! Always rattlin' on and on 'bout your sanctimonious bullshit—give it a break already!" Giriko bellowed, before hurling his gaze at the discarded girl and scrambling over to her. Great, now she also had a concussion. "Nnnghh…"

How the fuck was he supposed to help this dead fish? Madness resistance? Religious doubts? What was he, a psychiatric rabbi?! He had to be the least qualified bastard on the planet to deal with this kinda crap. It was a real shame he left his Torah in his other coat so she shouldn't mind if he just slapped her outta her coma instead.

But shit, there was no time for that now 'cause the holy shitbag was returning with an enraged snarl, acting hella pissed that his torture fapping session got interrupted.

"GIRIKO. Interfering again?!"

Goddammit, he couldn't keep the chick alive and fight off the priest all at once. Time for a change of terrain.

"Suck a fat one, fuckface!" and the finger was all Justin got before Giriko scooped the limp girl into his arms. "You're a real handful, y'know that?!" he yelled at her.

Sawleg on, and Giriko was shredding the hell outta there, zigzagging from the guillotine blades trying to spear him and the moribund flounder. The screeching of a chainsaw against stone morphed into a muddy grind as he crossed over from the church into the dark forest towards fuck knows where. If Justin's madness wavelength was the cause of the girl's stupor, then maybe putting some distance between her and her murderous boyfriend would do the trick.

"YOU WON'T ESCAPE ME—"

Chains fired into the night sky and Giriko just ogled when he caught Justin swinging from tree to tree like an overhead predator. The ambulation on this deranged clownfucker, why. Kicking his motor into overdrive, he zoomed forward enough to shake the priest off, rattling the lifeless girl in his arms once there was room to breathe. She was outta it.

"Oi, girl, quit floppin' around! So what—there's a bit of craziness in the air an' you're down for the count?! You're stronger than this, ain't ya?"

His only answer was a weak whimper. Dammit.

Giriko just wanted a fight. A simple, clean, no-strings-attached fight strewn with blood and guts—not this emotional shitstorm of teenage drama and angst where he basically got relegated to the third wheel of a lover's spat. How did shit even end up like this anyway?! It was a downright cosmic coincidence that the three of them wound up meeting here, some real fucking irony of the stars.

He knew the girl. Forgot what her name was, but he knew that he knew her. She was a freshman studying abroad in Czechia who somehow found her hot ass into his shitty little village. From day fucking one, it was clear she was hung up over some twat that used to be her partner. She'd griped about her meister woes and how her gloriously aloof partner didn't need her and something about God (because of course religious bull was tangled in there too) and Giriko, being the psychological maestro that he was, told her to move the fuck on with her life.

Of course, he hadn't known she'd been referring to Justin Law back then.

…WOW, THAT WAS EVEN MORE OF A REASON TO MOVE THE FUCK ON.

But no, 800 years' worth of experience proved that people just don't change, 'cause here she was two years after their fateful encounter, pouring her heart out to the deaf bastard and getting her sticky emotions all over the place. He still couldn't believe that the girl's partner had been Justin Law. Justin. Fucking. Law. Shit knows how he didn't put the pieces together earlier; the pair were blond, smug, and religious and mirror copies of one another.

And speaking of the devil—Giriko let out a snarl when a blade nearly nicked his toes. He lobbed a gander behind him to see that, great, said deaf bastard was catching up. Kid really had it in for the girl, didn't he? Clutching the French chick tighter, Giriko made a sharp swerve into a thicket, hoping against hope that the dense foliage would throw Justin off their trail.

"Hey, you responsive or not?!" he yelled at the unresponsive blonde, "I can't keep doin' this forever, y'know!"

"He's right…" Jeanne suddenly murmured, green eyes still misted over. "I am a parasite."

That got her a squint of disbelief. Really. REALLY. This was the level of pedestrian bullshit that was mind-fucking her?!

"Shit—that's what's gettin' ya down?" An exasperated growl. "You gotta be kiddin' me with this! A parasite? You're the most goddamn independent chick I've ever met, refusin' to rely on nobody." Bitch had the balls to buy him a drink their first meeting, the insult to his sobbing masculinity that power move was.

"…so what? I'm still so weak…"

"The fuck you yammerin' on about? Are we livin' in the same reality, or didn't I just watch you beat the crap outta a Death Scythe?"

Sure, Justin was obviously handicapped, but that shit was hands down the most entertaining show Giriko enjoyed in a helluva long time, topping the sight of Gopher knocking the stuffing outta Death's OCD brat. Man, what he wouldn't do just to watch the holy twerp get kicked in the nuts again.

"That didn't count…" she mumbled, "It wasn't a real fight…"

"Well, duh," he snorted. "You're just a normal girl."

Jeez, what was her deal? The priest was a world-class demon weapon, and she was just some run-of-the-mill college chick who once tried her hand at the meister lifestyle. What was this obsession with keeping on par?

Giriko felt the blonde cling tighter to him and he growled, swiping a quick look backwards and grateful to see just darkness. Of course some simple affirmations wouldn't snap her outta it; Justin was the root of her whole goddamn inferiority complex. What the hell was he gonna with this sagging tuna?

COULDN'T HE JUST DROP HER?

"Hnnggh…"

…No.

Dammmiitttt…

Swallowing the itch to curse her out, Giriko cast a heavy-lidded gaze down at the various thin scars—the ones she adamantly hid from him—on her bleeding arm. So a guillotine made that, huh? It had to do with her weird-ass ability, the one that made weapons implode from her body or something.

This dumb bitch.

"…so you still can't let go of your partner, huh?" His concerned voice sounded alien to his ears. "Tch, figures you wouldn't listen to reason. You were always such a stubborn woman… even with a shitty bastard like me…" he trailed off into a brooding grumble.

Giriko's expression softened for the briefest of moments as he skimmed over hazy memories before his face hardened up again. No. Screw this. What was he—her fucking shrink?! Ain't nobody got time for Freudian psychoanalysis with a clownfucking guillotine hot on their tail, which was entirely her fault by the way! Growling, he gave the girl a real rough shake, earning him a surprised yelp.

"ENOUGH WITH THIS CRAP! You think I'm gonna just cradle you while you wallow in your stinkin' self-pity?! Listen up, girl—ya wanna know how you're worth somethin'?!" She shivered when Giriko bored down on her with a dark glower. "It's 'cos I don't just put my ass on the line for any ol' nobody, nice tits or not. Now I ain't protectin' no mind-fucked whiny bitch, so get your broken shit together an' make yourself fuckin' useful!"

Whether they'd left the radius of Justin's oppressive wavelength or if screaming abuse got through, something seemed to click inside of her.

"Sou…" she whispered and peered up at him with those green eyes, seeming so vulnerable and pure. Giriko grimaced, feeling his heart thud unbearably loud in his chest all of a sudden. Fuck, no, no, don't look at him like that—

Giriko was spared the burden of maintaining eye contact when a low-flying blade struck his sawleg and sent him tripping over his own feet into an undignified spiraling tumble. His eyes bulged at the pillory that hit him straight in the face, knocking him off the cliff side with another distant 'fuuuuuuck!'.

Dull pain exploded through Jeanne's body as she hit the ground and skidded away, eventually rolling to a stop on her back. The moonlight filtered through the trees. Hurt. Everything hurt. What was going on? Where was Sou? Seconds…minutes…hours seemed to pass before a thin shadow cast over her and she could hear the faint metallic clinking of chain links.

"There you are," uttered a familiar voice.

Through the haze of paralyzing despair, she could see Justin for all he was: a guillotine. His face was hidden by a mask of metal and a thin trail of blood dripped from his jaw. Her terror-stricken heart beat like a drumroll as the madness enveloped her again and the voices curled around her mind once more with cruel, familiar taunts.

A͗̐҉̭͈ ̴̙̫̺̟̬͍̄ͥ̉͌W̹̙̭͐͞E̗̼̊̑͒̚͠Ȧ̟̞͞ͅK̛̙͙͖̲̬̣̾̈ͯ ̸̺̳̫̘̦̄ͭͯͯṴ̮̌̽́S̫̙̻̣̎ͫ̃ͩ͜E͙̞̙͇̩͒̔͊͘L̡̰̲̭͖̱̞͈̞ͮ́Ḛ̩̮̞͈͍̏̈́̽͜S̭̝̗̯͔͎̭͑͢S̭͓̩͗ͪ̄̚͟ ̢̠͇̠̲͚̺͓̩̋G̦̬̹͇̱͚̈͆̇͢Ī̸̙̗͚̼̹͚ͧͥͤͅR̥̦͂̉̂̀Ḷ͖͇̱̗̈ͯ̍ͭ̀ ͋ͬ̓҉͕̙͙Ẃ̙̣͉̭̑̔ͯ͜H̫̟͕̾͟O̡͈̬̦̻̘̦͎̫͐̏̚ ͍̝̺͙̯̞͋͡D̯̞͕̭̼̯̠̈͂ͤ̀̚Ę̘̥̬͇̙̘͍̘̿͛ͤL̝̫͍̱͑̈́͊͋̀Ů̮͇͔̖̙͊ͮ͟ͅD̶͕̤̳̭̙ͬEͩ̎͏̥̘̦͍̼͎͕͕S̵̫̰̟ͪͨ̌̋ ̴̭̰ͮͥ̈́H͚̩̼͔̝̤̫ͫͧ̆̈͡ͅĒ̶̠̫̺R̵͍̺̻̬͙̎̽ͯͅS̞͚̽͟E̠̤̺̠̫̪ͫ̿ͦ͋͠L̨͉̫͆ͫ͌F̤̥̩͔̱̦̣̂͝ͅ ̷̝̞͂ͥ̏̆I̤̥͕͐͒͛̕N̯̼ͬͦ̎͑͘ ̏ͩ҉̭͉̙Ṭ͇̬̠͎͖̼̽̔̽͞ͅH͈͚͇̼ͪ̀Ḭ̮̓̾̄͆̀N͇̜̩͒̄͠K̈́ͥ̄͐͏͍̜̖̫̯̲̙̩I͐̔҉̯̺̬̯͕N͓͚̩̙̋͛ͩ͢Ḡ̴̺̻̠̦͇̞̖̖ ̖̜̰͚̲̼͊͊̎̕S̲̞͚̲̅͠H̪̥ͫ̆͜Ẹ̼͙̖͙͉͖ͣ̇̅̽͠S̨̝̰̅̓̆ͅ ̶̬͎ͫW̜̪̥̳̪̼ͥ͑ͬ̓͝ͅȎ̧̩͕̻͙͉̻̫̗̍ͧR̬͕ͨ͋͢T̃̂ͯ҉̭̩̞͚̘͉Ḫ̸̜̼͈̄̅̇͋ͅ ͓̖̱̻̪͖͂ͧ̾͜S̯̭̰͕͈̺̩͚ͪͭ̉̌͝O̯͍ͧͥ͛͡M̴̱̟̩̲̞̿E̦͙͈̰͎̥̟̜̓͑͞Ţ̙̩̤̐̒̒ͪH̴̩͚͓̭͓̽̃ͥI̢̤̫̠̱̫̘͉ͭ̏Ṇ̶̥̤ͬG̈ͩ̃͏͖͕̗͓͖̥̻.̺͔̠̈̇͡ͅ

Jeanne swallowed. She wasn't (W̷̻̫̗͈͚̅O̮̼͕̘̰̱ͤ͊͜U̸̞̖̦̤͕̒̇ͣL̸͕͖̖̹̹̩͓ͮͣͅD̛̻̮͖̣̫̺̐̔ͨ̽ ̡̞̲̐̌͑N̥͔͎̯̋ͬ̋ͣ͜ͅĚ̛͙̪͖͈̮͇͖V̤̮̟͖̹̘̔̅́Ē̶̮͙R̡͉͎͔͊̔͆ ͇̰̯̼͈̮ͫ̀B̠̹̘̯̭̎̓͊͊͜E͙̫̞͙̤̞̅͢ͅ) as strong as Justin… or Sou… but she wasn't weak at all. Strength came in different forms.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Jeanne focused on the directives given to her. Useful. She could be useful. Sou needed her to man the fuck up right now. The madness didn't seem to affect him, so there was no reason for it to affect her either. No more fears. No more moping. No more hesitations. The Lord was with her—and she needed to bring Justin back.

Her eyes snapped open when a semicircular blade nudged her cheek.

"Stay with me, Jeanne. I'm not done with you just yet."

Jeanne pressed her palm against the blade and allowed it to sink into her skin, feeling the iciness of his touch. This was… Justin's hand, wasn't it? He stayed silent, clearly not expecting her response.

This was her Justin—innocent, blithe, passionate, cocky, sarcastic, determined, and downright aloof Justin Law. Even with his face concealed behind an imposing helmet and the madness contaminating his mind, she could still feel her partner and the absolute clutter of contradictions that he was. Always so afraid to show weakness to others, donning a placid mask to hide his insecurities. It was little wonder Justin was so upset at her.

"…it's just like last year, huh?" She laughed softly at the irony, undercutting his momentum. "I'm sorry, love, I really am. I know I hurt your feelings. I shouldn't have called you broken."

Justin paused. "Are these paltry words your attempt at paying penance?" he uttered, "They're insufficient. You still need to repent for your sins."

Sins. She hated how Justin misused that word. Her conscience was clear. "Don't be foolish… You know my sins aren't for you to judge."

His face split with a blood-stained grin and he retracted his hand from her. "Oh, but they are. The holy Kishin-sama has granted me the authority to bestow judgment on sinners."

Those eyes. "Who the hell is this Kishin-sama?"

She suppressed a shudder a slab of metal larger than her skull suddenly snapped across her face.

"Do not disgrace Kishin-sama's name with your unworthy lips!" Justin growled, "He is the greatest god there is!"

Blood, warm and sticky, dripped down her cheeks, but her mind latched onto another word.

"God?" she gasped. "Really? Really? Another god, Justin?"

Again? This was the third god Justin had switched to in the six years she'd known him. Justin had been Roman Catholic, just like her, for heaven knows how long before he turned his starry eyes towards their academy's headmaster. Shinigami-sama was undoubtedly a god, a more corporeal deity than the non-material one of her Christian Lord. She didn't begrudge Justin for worshipping who he wanted and didn't press matters when his crucifixes gradually took on a skull shape. She was never bothered by the transition. It was what happened afterwards.

Memories of their last encounter flashed through her mind—arguing about his clergyman cosplay, how it riled her up that Justin didn't seem the least bit fazed he couldn't distinguish between Shinigami-sama and the Christian God, acting as if they were the same deity. The incident rattled her. It'd been the first time she'd seen the cracks in his virtuous demeanor and peered at the emptiness that laid beneath his piety.

And now this Kishin-sama? The groundwork had been there years ago. She should've seen a pattern forming.

"I finally found a god who listens to me," Justin drawled in a satisfied hum, "Kishin-sama listens to my prayers and answers me. Unlike your god. Unlike that false skull mask-wearing one."

Her expression suddenly morphed into a haunted look as the scattered pieces of his ramblings clicked together. Is this what all of this was about?

"…that's not God, Justin," she whispered. Were the voices in her head what Justin was referring to as answers to his prayers? Those weren't the voice of a god. "Justin—" But any further words were silenced when cold metal brushed up against her throat, toying with her jugular. "What… what does your God tell you?"

He seemed pleased by this answer. "That I may do as I please. I may live my life freely and execute those who I deem as unworthy."

Dear Lord, there were so many things wrong with his ravings.

"That's not…believing in a god, Justin…" she breathed, straining against the edge of the blade, "That's…self-serving…"

"Who are you to question my beliefs? I know what the Lord has told me. My unyielding faith in the holy Kishin-sama cannot be stopped by anyone, least of all by a sow with such fragile faith."

Thoughts of self-preservation vanished in a blaze of fury. "Your faith is a lie!" she hissed. The sacrilege of it all—

"MY FAITH," he snarled into her face, reeling the blade back in anger, "IS INFINITELY STRONGER THAN YOURS OR ANYONE ELSE'S ON THIS MORTAL COIL. Wretched pig—were you not the one who lost all conviction because God didn't answer your prayers?!"

Justin twitched from the sudden open-palm slap to his metal faceplate.

"You're right—He never answered me!" Jeanne shouted, tears blurring her sight. "Of course my faith fucking wavered from that, you asshole!"

Bringing up those painful memories was such a low blow. Justin knew how badly she wanted to be a meister and how her entire world crumbled when she realized she just couldn't. Her faith was shaken. God abandoned her. (Or even worse, perhaps her God didn't exist at all.) The cloud of doubt in her whole belief system hung over her for years as she searched for her path in life while Justin fought for a physical divine being he was employed by. She was jealous of how happy Justin looked to be with his God and the assurance he had knowing that his deity was real.

But her search was how she stumbled across Sou—the blessing disguised as a heathen—how she walked down a dark, dark road with the chainsaw (and his numerous lifetimes, just how many lifetimes?) that eventually led to the truth of her existence, tucked away in the folds of an offhand after-dinner dialogue in his chimney house. Sou didn't realize it, but he stood as the reason she regained her faith. In the end, all of it was God's plan. It had always been part of His plan. She'd just been too blind to recognize its scope in her youth and immaturity.

Just like Justin was right now.

"I struggled with my faith for years before realizing the errors of my ways," she yelled, "But you changed gods the moment the path became unclear! You've never once endured the trials of doubt, so how can you boast about the strength of your faith?"

The blade, which was ready to strike down in retribution, suddenly paused and hovered over her with an inquiring flick.

"…the trials of doubt? Why would I doubt? Doubt is a sin. Doubt makes people weak." The chain drew taut. "Doubt hampers and cripples you from decisive actions."

"Doubt isn't some sinful lapse from unwavering faith, you idiot!" she shot back, distantly amazed at how easily they fell back into their old dynamic, having arguments about religion while the threat of a beheading loomed over her. "Doubt is essential to the very definition of faith!"

"What is this drivel spewing from your lips?!" Justin growled, "Doubt is the very definition of NOT having faith."

She shook her head. "The opposite of faith isn't doubt—it's certainty. Certainty is missing the point of religion entirely."

"Certainty is the whole reason why the masses turn to religion in the first place," he asserted, almost spitting on her in his vehemence. "Religion exists to give people certainty that their inconsequential existence has a purpose."

Is that why Justin turned to Shinigami-sama? Certainty in a corporeal god?

"Justin, I have a lot of faith. But I am also always afraid and have no real certainty about anything. Faith cannot block out the darkness, Justin. That's what faith in a religion is. Faith includes noticing the mess, emptiness, and discomfort and letting all of that be there until some light returns. True faith means braving through the unknown, not just grasping at anything that feels like a concrete answer."

There was a pause. She had reached a standstill with Justin. It was clear he wouldn't pursue this topic any further.

"That is your myopic understanding of faith, worthy of a god you can't even see," he finally said. "I won't waste my time doubting when the answer is right in front of me. I will serve the holy Kishin-sama with all of my being."

She smiled, sad and wistful. "For how long? When will you toss aside this Kishin?"

And seeing that split moment hesitation in Justin's face, seeing that it was a very real possibility sealed any lingering skepticism Jeanne had.

She'd always sort of known it, always had a feeling that Justin's religious fervor was devoid of any actual substance. Justin hopscotched from god to god and mangled together different beliefs into a cancerous mass not to worship a deity but to worship the concept of religion itself. It was clear to her now: Justin's devout faith, overwhelming and all-consuming, was hollow. An empty, howling chasm so easily occupied by madness.

"Oh, mon chéri… is that how you succumbed?"

And for the first time, Justin just faltered.

Blinking away the tears clouding her vision, Jeanne reached out to her partner—this lost soul who was trying to murder her under a religion he didn't understand. Justin froze when her hands cupped his faceplate, her fingers grazing the underside of his exposed jaw to feel the only part of him that was human in his current form. His muscles tensed against her touch.

"What are you doing—STOP—"

Almost as a defensive measure, his madness wavelength suddenly flared up, propagating, trying to suck the warmth out of her body—but she refused to let go. Channeling her Lord's universal love through her fingertips, Jeanne started reciting words of her faith.

"Dear God," she murmured, feeling the faint glimmer of her own healing wavelength expand—so faint and delicate it once was, barely able to soothe Justin's traumas of having to transform into a broken, crippled version of himself just so she could wield him. "Please reveal to us your sublime beauty that is everywhere, everywhere, everywhere so that we will never again feel frightened. My divine love, my love. Please let us touch your face. Amen."

Searing light emitted from her hands and coursed through Justin, spider web cracks splintering through the dense madness like fragments of stained glass. For a fleeting moment, she felt Justin's soul deep beneath the black sea, tangled and gasping—before the madness swallowed him again.

Justin reeled back with a sharp hiss, and upon removing his hand from his helmet, there were a few cracks, the smallest fissures on his faceplate from which smoke curled up from. Jeanne rose to her feet with a new resolve as her healing wavelength cocooned her in a protective aura. It wasn't nearly enough—even drawing upon her faith, her wavelength wasn't nearly strong enough, not on its own. But she had hope now, something she lacked when first stepping foot into this dilapidated building.

Justin's soul was still in there somewhere buried under the thick, choking layers of madness.

Placing a hand over her chest where her silver crucifix laid, she made a silent vow to her God that she would get through to Justin, one way or the other.

No matter what it took.

No matter what it took.

Jeanne Arnett was, above all else, persistent.

"I'm not giving up on you, Justin."

Her partner trembled.

Off to the side, Giriko was gawking at the spectacle, having caught the tail end of the ecclesiastical hullabaloo.

…THE GIRL COULD DO THAT TOO?

What was it with these crusading douchebags and their wavelength-amplifying religious prayers?! His analysis was dead on—they were two sides of the same goddamn sparkly coin! At least the chick was responsive and ambulatory and firing religious death beams from her hands too—and it was all thanks to him. Maybe he oughta consider a career change to a board-certified shrink 'cause apparently yelling at assholes was the clinically proven method to get 'em to snap outta it.

But religious power-up or not, the girl still wasn't ready to take on the priest who didn't seem impressed by her glittery light show.

"Fool. …you think this pitiful display of faith changes anything?" Justin rumbled, his chain arms suddenly ramping up to full sine waves. "You won't be praying to anyone once I sever your tongue!"

Oi, oi—the AUDACITY of this prick's fucking chains. He got chains too, y'know! With a firm stomp, Giriko snapped a loop of saw chain off from his leg and whipped it towards the incoming guillotine blade, deflecting its trajectory before it axed the alarmed girl. The ground tore up between them and Justin veered his gaze to the unexpected intruder.

"You again?!"

DAMN. STRAIGHT. Ain't no fucking cliff gonna stop him.

"Man, am I fuckin' glad to have missed out on all of your religious pillow-talk! Any more of this godly crap an' I'll hurl," Giriko growled, jogging over to French what's-her-face and side-eyeing her. "That goes for you too."

"Sou," she murmured with a relieved smile.

"…" Giriko looked at her, and then quickly looked at Justin instead. Dumb bitch with her wide puppy-eyed expression doing more harm than good, tch.

Anyway, the girl wasn't gonna be much help with her bleeding and head trauma, but at least now she was immune to the madness and could go hide somewhere. The hell was the deal with her sappy speech, anyway? WASN'T SHE TRYING TO, UH, LET HIM GO?! Christ, whatever, he got better things to do than ponder the workings of a woman's mind.

Giriko jabbed a finger at the guillotine. "Ain't you happy to see me, Justin? You an' I got some unfinished business!"

Clearly, Justin didn't agree because he looked annoyed and slightly puzzled. The bastard still wasn't taking him seriously, huh?

"Giriko," the priest uttered, "Why do you insist on protecting this sow? You could've left with your head attached to your body if only you minded your own business."

Pfft, yeah right. Hands shoved their way into trouser pockets as Giriko mulled over his answer. He had a shit-ton of reasons for his actions, ranging from wanting to piss off the priest and engaging in general douchebaggery to hating being ignored. Sure, he also had his own history with the girl… Joan, was it? Or was it Jane? Whatever. Pretty face and nice bod, but that was hardly the prime motivating reason.

Nah, it was… how would he put it? It was disillusionment. Justin's autonomy was his sole positive trait, and it warranted a grudging respect. Camaraderie was difficult to come by these days, y'know? Maybe that's what pissed Giriko off so much. The fact he even bothered respecting Justin to begin with, viewing him as a rival, an equal, a weapon brethren—only to have that thrown back in his face when it turned out the twerp had himself a meister the whole time.

Still. It was no mean feat to go fully autonomous at age whatever-teen he was, and Justin would've retained an iota of Giriko's respect if he wasn't trying to erase his past shames by razing down the girl. The kid lacked loyalty. He had no loyalty to his gods, his school, and now it turned out he got none for his hot-ass meister either. Giriko may have been a homicidal psycho with a downright pitch-black soul, but loyalty was something he had in spades and Justin's sanctimonious hypocrisy just ground his gears the wrong way.

But all that was a level of emotional self-actualization far beyond Giriko's capacity.

So instead with a sleazy grin, Giriko slid his hand under the French girl's skirt to squeeze that ass, prompting a high-pitched squeal from Jeanne and a muscle to visibly twitch in Justin's jaw.

"Yeah, alright. You wanna know why I'm hellbent on protectin' the girl? Hm? Yeah? It's 'cos I fucked her."

A mortified sputter. "Sou—"

"You… what?" Justin whispered.

"Do I gotta repeat myself? I. Fucked. Your. Meister."

Jeanne buried her flushed face in her hands, mumbling an 'oh my god'.

Justin drew up, looking like he suddenly forgot how to understand words, and then—

WHAM.

As Giriko was sent hurtling into a gnarled cluster of trees, he had a faint inkling he might've played some hand in causing the torrential shitstorm they were currently wrapped up in. Maybe he shouldn't have interfered in their little spar. Maybe he shouldn't have called a clearly unhinged Justin a cripple. Maybe he shouldn't have fondled the chick Justin harbored a raging murder-boner for. Maybe. Right? Right?

…Nah.

Fuck that noise, HE WAS ALL ABOUT THAT ZERO ACCOUNTABILITY LIFESTYLE.

Ignoring the wobble in his legs, Giriko hauled his ass up and donned a shit-eating grin. Man, the priest's reaction was fucking priceless. Not that Giriko could actually see his expression behind that shitty medieval jester headwear, but it didn't exactly take 20/20 vision to sense the unadulterated jealousy rolling off of Justin's body like a radiator blasting heatwaves. The bible-thumper was shuddering and grinding his teeth into dust, looking like he didn't even know why he reacted that way but knowing somehow GIRIKO WAS TO BLAME.

"… Is an insult of that caliber the best a vulgar degenerate like you can offer?" Justin finally spat out, giving the flustered Joan a once over as if he couldn't possibly fathom the idea that his smokeshow of meister had sex with another man.

Damn, the dipshit still didn't believe him, huh? Okay, once more with feeling—

Cranking the skeeviness up to eleven, Giriko yanked the blonde close until she slammed up against his rock-hard abs, really driving in that 'Catholic schoolgirl gone wild' message into Justin's retinas.

"Insult? You think this is just some shit-talk? Look, ya snivelin' prick, I'mma spell it out for your innocent little mind—I'm protectin' this hot piece of ass 'cos she's mine!"

And he grabbed a hearty handful of that titty.

"…" said Jeanne.

"…" said Justin.

1…

Justin's face contorted in livid rage. "SINNER!"

…SCORE.

Blondy McHotTits was shoved outta the way just before the barrage of blades and snapping pillories came crashing down on Giriko, prompting him to fly into a jerky dance of handsprings and backflips to avoid 'em. The frazzled girl was in plain sight ripe for the killing, but Justin's murder-boner got itself a new target and his attacks homed in on Giriko like heat-detecting missiles. And even if Giriko was barely dodging by the skin of his teeth, he couldn't resist flinging out another taunt—

"Hey, if ya think she called YOUR name a ton, then shit, you should've heard the way she moaned MINE!"

Justin's enraged roar was music to Giriko's ears.

"Oh my god… why are you telling him this?" the girl groaned as a chain whizzed straight over her head.

Giriko sneered as he flipped away from the attack and the blade splintered the tree trunk behind him. Because FUCK JUSTIN LAW, that's why. Fuck that choirboy in every conceivable position possible. It was refreshing to be armed with missiles to blast at the shitty father, getting under that impenetrable skin for once. Justin never took him seriously, all mocking retorts and smug smiles that steadily grew more sadistic over time but never less smug.

But for real, this musta been fate converging or something. What were the chances that he banged some random chick who turned out to be Justin Law's meister? Man, Joan was always so hung up on Justin, but the immaculate virgin probably never even laid a finger on her, which made this all the sweeter. Giriko hadn't even been exaggerating—the girl moaned real nicely—

OWW—

Pain blew through Giriko's rambling thoughts when a pair of blades smashed him straight through a bush and into another tree. The chain armor took the brunt of the blow, but fuck, that shit hurt. Motherfucking prick got a good shot in while his guard was down… huh, what's this? Anxiety spiked a million levels when he realized there was a delay in moving his legs. His body wasn't responding right.

Hold up. Hold up. Let's try this again—

"Mrrggh…"

Bump that number to a billion. Shit. Maybe he did go too far. This body was on its last legs, figuratively and literally. Alright, change of priorities. As much fun as it was taunting the priest, Justin wasn't his real target, and Giriko couldn't afford to kick the bucket from some wayward guillotine blade. He needed this rusty meat-bag to still be intact enough to limp back to his room where his new body was waiting for him. Right. Serious face on. No more dicking around.

…but, oh wait, oh fuck. Didn't he just paint a big, red bullseye on his ass? Made shit much harder now. See, this is what happened when he didn't think things through, didn't bother thinking about the consequences of his actions just like back at Baba Yaga castle—

Giriko breathed. His chest felt tight.

R-right. He'd better figure out how to wheedle his way outta this little bind. Maybe he could apologize—HAHAHA, okay, kidding aside… uh… maybe he could launch a surprise attack, bury the priest in a heap of trees, and make a mad dash back to the hideout. Oh yeah and grab the girl too. God knows nothing good went down when those two were left together.

As he trudged back to the battleground, Giriko caught a glimpse of Justin engaged in a heated staring contest with his meister, teetering over her like a feudal jellyfish with his gaggle of chain arms swishing by his side. The priest was surprisingly not trying to murder the girl for once but was instead… scrutinizing her. A quiet whirlwind of emotions churned beneath the faceplate.

"…Is it true?"

Her green eyes widened. "Why would it even matter to you?" she muttered, blushing slightly.

"Is. It. True."

She locked gazes with him for a few more seconds before faltering under his withering gaze. The girl's silence musta been enough of an answer 'cause Justin's wriggling arms suddenly lodged into the ground, and he wheeled around, hunting for the offender before zeroing in on a sheepish Giriko with laser-focused bloodlust.

"You."

WELP. Looked like a sneak attack was outta the question now. Whatever, that shit wasn't his style, anyway. Nah, it was time to do things the old-fashioned way—BRUTE FORCE, MOTHERFUCKER—but Joan was interrupting again.

"Justin, please calm down. Sou was just messing around…" she pleaded, gently touching one of his chain arms. The priest spun around.

"PIG-WHORES SHOULDN'T BE TALKING," Justin abruptly barked, the absolute venom in his voice silencing the blonde and causing her to edge a wary step backward. "PIG-WHORES SHOULD BE WAITING PATIENTLY IN THEIR CAGES TO BE SLAUGHTERED."

The girl looked equal parts horrified and offended and for shit's sake—STOP THAT. Every time these two exchanged googly eyes at each other, French what's-her-name ended up in mortal danger and Justin spiraled even deeper into gibbering madness.

"Hey, EYES HERE, ASSHOLE!"

Here's another kick—but Justin swung high into the sky, dredging up clods of dirt from his anchor points to fling at Giriko. Coughing and blindsided, he landed from the failed attack, swiping the grime from his eyes to see the gothic bastard now dangling from a tree branch.

"Giriko. Your execution is inevitable."

"Yeah, yeah—commence with the shitty execution already," he jeered, yanking the rope start to bump his leg into second gear, whining muscles be damned. "Don'cha got any other catchphrases worth spoutin'?! This holy executioner gig is really startin' to get stale!"

An upset Jane scurried outta sight as Giriko went on full offensive, whipping out every trick in the book to lay into Justin. Kick after kick after kick was dodged or parried, guillotine stalemating chainsaw, the force of the colliding impacts cutting sharp, resounding slices in the night.

Fuck, he was at a real disadvantage here fighting against a souped-up Justin Law in his scraggly old husk of a body. Breakdancing and spin-kicking up a tornado didn't have the same effect when his opponent was a chain-swinging trapeze artist. He was used to fighting more grounded opponents and most of his previous battle experience involved, um, MOTHERFUCKERS WITH BODIES—seriously, what the hell was he even supposed to aim at?! Justin's head was the only remotely fleshy part of him.

There were also about six chains whizzing around at any given time like a deranged game of double dutch, or, uh, sextuple dutch (hehe sex)—pillories trying to chomp at his legs and massive-ass blades trying to cleave him and GODDAMMIT, HIS ATTENTION SPAN COULDN'T KEEP UP WITH THIS FUCKING MEDIEVAL CIRCUS JELLYFISH—WHERE WAS THE OLD JUSTIN LAW. HE WANTED TO FIGHT THE OLD JUSTIN LAW.

O-or something. Even at peak condition, Giriko had only ever able to fight Justin to a deadlock. Their two previous skirmishes never got wrapped up in a satisfying manner, so who could say how things would've turned out, but even then, the priest always kept toe-to-toe with him which was both respect-worthy and hella annoying at the same time. Looking back at it now, he probably could've finished off the twerp on Lost Island, but he didn't 'cause he sensed something in the kid—something dark and familiar—…

A blade nearly nicked Giriko in the dick.

—OKAY, IN RETROSPECT, HE SHOULD'VE JUST KILLED THE INFURIATING LITTLE FUCK WHEN HE HAD THE CHANCE—DAMN YOU, NEED FOR CAMARADERIE RRRGGGGHHHHHH…

"WILL YOU JUST—DIE—ALREADY?!"

There was no cocky comeback from Justin this time. All the chains suddenly reeled back into his sleeves, and he thrust both arms into the ground with a feral snarl. A rumble was the only warning Giriko got before dozens of angular stakes violently erupted from the soil, one of them nearly impaling him like a shish kabob.

"Shit!" Shimmying away to a safe patch of land, Giriko surveyed the poles with a cagey squint, not sure what to make of the shit he was looking at it. "Uh…"

Well, this was new. Were Jesus flags gonna come out of these things?

Snap. Snap. Snap. To Giriko's absolute horror, a buncha frames clamped down on paired stakes like falling dominos and from those frames emerged razor-sharp guillotine blades to form a veritable maze of guillotines.

Ice cold sweat dripped from Giriko's balls.

WHAT KINDA TORTURE PORN NIGHTMARE WAS THIS?

And the blades started falling one by one, prompting Giriko to turn ass and run—blades snapping at his coat jacket while Justin ratcheted up the nightmare ambiance with his screeching laughter.

SNAP. SNAP.

HOLY SHIT, there were more stakes spewing from the ground and forming guillotines in real time—RUNNING HARDER—

SNAP. SNAP. SNAP.

Adrenaline blasting the limiters clean off his abilities, Giriko jacked up his sawleg to a gear he wasn't even sure theoretically existed and SAWLEGGED SO HARD OUTTA THERE—his world was a chaotic frenzy of metal and poles and splintered trees—HOW WAS THE RELIGIOUS LUNATIC EVEN DOING THIS—

FUCK—NO—

JUST—

NO—

SNAP. SNAP. SNAP.

—HE DIDN'T WANNA FIGHT THIS—

—BRING BACK THE OLD JUSTIN LAW—

—until finally, finally—the ground didn't rumble no more with eruptions and the sky didn't tear with falling blades—there was complete, dead silence, except for the chirping crickets, the rumble of his chainsaw motor, and downright psychotic cackling—

YO, THIS KID WAS NOT ALRIGHT.

Giriko ground to a screeching halt and caught his breath, cowlicks frazzled and his heart pounding at a healthy 1,000 bpm. He hawked a stare at the demented guillotine who was just sorta swaying on the other side of the now aerated field, not having moved an inch during the entire assault. Justin sucked his arms outta the ground and hunched over all crazy-like.

"Oh. So you somehow managed to evade my Schmidt with all your appendages intact," the priest leered with a mouth full of blood-stained teeth. "Impressive, I'll grant you that."

Schmidt? SCHMIDT? What kinda lame-ass kraut name was Schmidt? Why wasn't that shit dubbed 'guillotine trap death maze'?!

"You're a real messed up motherfucker, y'know that?" Giriko huffed.

POT CALLING THE KETTLE BLACK? MAYBE. But grrr, this shit was taking too long. Time to pull out all the stops and end this with a Wave of Slaughter. Launching high into the air, Giriko began charging up his wavelength for an explosive, avalanche-demolishing attack.

Except, WELP—that didn't pan out 'cause a pillory clamped its bear trap mouth on his left leg and stopped him mid-attack, the change in momentum causing whiplash, ow. Three other pillories immediately swooped in like vultures and gobbled up his other limbs and yanked them apart so that Giriko was now spread-eagled like a woman ready to be pounded. OH MAN, KARMA WAS A REAL BITCH—

Justin's frame emerged over him, a massive guillotine blade gleaming in the empty space where a torso oughta be—aimed squarely at his stocky, yet very t-tender neck.

A sickening smile graced the priest's maw. "It seems like I've caught another sinning piggy."

Giriko blanched. "LIKE HELL YA HAVE—"

Trusty old chain armor met the 90 pounds of solid steel head on with as much strength as Giriko's raggedy body could scrounge up, sparks flying everywhere from the hot metal-on-metal action. He stalemated the motherfucker, except Justin wasn't done yet. The blade withdrew—giving Giriko a second of breathing room to hack out a cough—before it slammed down again. And again. And again. And AGAIN.

After the dozenth or so botched execution, Giriko's eyes were bulging outta its sockets like a bullfrog's. F-fuck, he couldn't take any more of this shit. Yeah, his armor was stopping the blade from slicing through his neck, but his larynx was still getting crushed from the repeat blunt force trauma. If this kept up, his head was for sure gonna roll one way or the other.

"REPENT, PIG, REPENT YOUR SINS!"

The nutjob continued ramming his guillotine blade into Giriko's neck like some sorta broken rampaging slaughter machine, edging closer to the climax with each passing second—

No. No. NO. NO. He couldn't die here. 800 years of clinging to a miserable existence and he would just go out like this?! Nuh-uh, not like this—not to Justin fucking Law—not over some petty dumbass rivalry or whatever the hell they shared. HE WAS A FUCK UP, ALRIGHT, HE'D ADMIT IT! He fucked up so badly with Arachne, and he just fucked up again 'cause he couldn't resist rubbing his pussy juice-smeared dick into the priest's smug little face—

But he couldn't die yet, not just yet—not before he gave the pig-tailed scythe bitch what was coming to her—(And Giriko wasn't a religious man, no sir, but he found himself praying to a tattered memory of a long-lost faith he mighta once believed in—give him one more chance, not Christian God, one final chance to redeem himself before he finally walked off this shitty planet—)

"SOU!"

—dammit girl, WHY?! INTERRUPTING HIS PRAYERS LIKE THAT GRRR—

And if they weren't already in deep enough shit, the blonde got herself snatched up again for a front-row seat to his execution. Great. Wonderful. HOW DIFFICULT WAS IT TO FUCKING HIDE?!

"I'LL RIP YOU ASUNDER IN FRONT OF YOUR WHORE," the clownfucker screeched.

"Justin, stop!" she cried, as if her earnest pleas would somehow get through to him after failing to land so many times before. The maniacal bastard was stark raving loony at this point, tripping balls on the voices in his own deranged mind—

"THERE IS NO PENANCE YOU CAN PAY TO ESCAPE PUNISHMENT. WHAT WILL YOU DO NOW, PIG-WHORE? DO YOU THINK THE PRAYERS OINKING FROM YOUR SNOUT WILL SAVE YOU?" Justin's head jerked at a sharp downward angle, spittle spraying everywhere. "I'LL SHOW YOU THE TRUE MEANING OF PRAYER!"

The guillotine blade suddenly snapped to full height and a sparkling glow creased its edge. The girl gasped and Giriko's eyes were about to launch outta his skull and soar straight to the moooooon.

"I AM A SERVANT OF THY HOLY PEACE—" the unholy priest howled, his madness-infected wavelength surging so much that Jeanne visibly balked despite her healing wavelength and even Giriko could feel the stinging madness pierce his 800 years' worth of bloodlust. "—I AM THY PILLAR OF RIGHTEOUSNESS—"

WHAT IN THE HOLY FUCK WAS THIS SHIT? GODDAMMIT, HE FUCKING HATED THESE CRUSADING BASTARDS—FFFFFFFF—

"—I AM THY BLADE OF FAITH—"

NO—

WHY—

HOW—

WAIT—WAIT—HOLD UP—

"Sou!"

Someone was touching him. Giriko nearly sawed open the fingers catching the edges of his coat zipper and swung his wild gaze at a pale-faced Joan (Jane? GENE?) struggling to reach out for chest— What the hell as she planning to do, LEAD THEM IN A FUCKING PRAYER CIRCLE?! The girl's hand finally made contact. Mazel Tov, THEY WERE GONNA DIE TOGETHER NOW—CONGRATULATIONS ON BEING USEFUL—

"—IN THE NAME OF THE FEAR AND THE MADNESS—"

"You know this technique, don't you?" she shouted, her green eyes glimmering as a glow of energy coursed through her planted hand into his body.

W-wait…

…

…HUH?

WHAT WAS SHE TALKING ABOUUUUUUUUUT—

"—LAW-ABIDING SILVER GUN."

A shaft of light cleaved through the darkness.

Hah…

Satisfying. All was right in Kishin-sama's glorious world, Justin thought as the satisfaction of executing a sinning soul rippled through his core. This was how it was supposed to be, how he would maintain the peace and tranquility of his God's pasture by removing the swine that dare infest the land. But as the intensity of his wavelength receded, it vaguely dawned upon him there wasn't that familiar bone-rending crunch signifying a successful decapitation. Justin looked down at the bondage.

It was empty.

The pillory was empty. All of the pillories were all empty. Giriko was nowhere in sight.

What happened?

The miniature ornaments on his helmet jangled as Justin swerved his head around in search of the missing Giriko, eventually landing on the slackened girl in his only occupied pillory as the culprit. Jeanne seemed unconscious. Justin shook her with cautious curiosity and immediately drew back when a glint of metal snaked from her shoulder. No. No, she hadn't—

"What did you do?" he demanded, despite already knowing the answer.

Her Soul Stigmata.

Jeanne's eyes snapped wide open and glared up at him. Something deep, deep within the human part of Justin twanged with an undefinable emotion as he watched a whirring saw chain erupt from her hand which immediately balled up in anger.

"This is for calling me a pig-whore, you asshole," Jeanne growled and aimed her roaring fist straight at his jaw.