A City in Chains
As Emilia took a determined step forward, Sirius raised her arm high, and from her grasp dangled a small, blond-haired child. It was Lusbel, clinging to her with wide, terrified eyes. The crowd gasped, their attention captured in horror and awe as Sirius held the boy aloft, her grip almost gentle yet possessive.
"This boy is here with me out of pure love and adoration!" Sirius declared, her voice an eerie mix of affection and mania. "See him? This precious child is bound to me, just as you all are, by the powerful chains of love that hold our hearts together!"
The crowd began to murmur in agreement, some captivated by her words, others drawn into her intensity. It was as if her fervor seeped into their souls, stirring an irrational urge to join her, to feel the embrace of this twisted idea of love she spoke of. She began to sway, her chains rattling like music as she chanted louder.
"We are all bound! Bound by the pain we share, the love we yearn for! Love is binding, love is consuming, love is everything!" Sirius's voice rose to a fever pitch, the crowd echoing her words as if under a spell, their faces alight with admiration, some weeping as though feeling a shared euphoria.
Roswaal, observing from the edge of the square, stifled a yawn, appearing unfazed, even disinterested. "Ah, how tiresome. They do have a tendency to… go on, don't they?" he muttered.
Emilia, however, was fixed on Lusbel, her face stricken with concern for the child in Sirius's grasp. She clenched her fists, unable to tear her eyes from his frightened expression. Just as she was about to move, Roswaal's voice broke through her focus.
"Emilia, my dear," he said, his tone measured, "are you completely comfortable taking on a Sin Archbishop of the Witch's Cult? The strength required here is… formidable, as you knoooow."
Emilia hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly. She'd faced many foes, but this was a Sin Archbishop, an embodiment of madness itself. She swallowed hard, her mind racing through everything Echidna had taught her, every spell, every mental preparation. She looked up at Roswaal, then back at Lusbel in Sirius's clutches, and found herself mustering the resolve she'd honed.
"Yes, Roswaal. I can handle this," she replied, forcing the words out firmly, though a slight tremor betrayed her lingering nerves. She steadied herself, holding onto her resolve with both hands.
Sirius's gaze suddenly turned to Roswaal, then back to Emilia. Her face twisted with sudden recognition, and her expression darkened, a sickly sneer overtaking her features. Her grip on Lusbel tightened, her fingers digging into his shoulders as her chains clanked in agitation.
"And here we are," she spat, her voice dripping with disdain, "approached by the fools of the past." Her gaze bore into Emilia, as though seeing through her to the very soul. "The stains of a bygone era, reeking of old sins."
Roswaal raised an eyebrow, maintaining his calm, but his eyes narrowed. He understood her meaning, the veiled insult tied to his own past and his connection to Hector. Emilia felt a strange pang of discomfort under Sirius's intense scrutiny, realizing that the Archbishop was not only speaking to her present self, but something deeper, something that bore the mark of her bond with Echidna.
"How disgusting," Sirius continued, her voice a low growl, the adoration she'd shown the crowd morphing into pure venom. "To walk this earth, dragging the stench of that witch's legacy with you. You, of all people, dare to challenge me?"
Emilia straightened, brushing aside the unsettling feeling and meeting Sirius's enraged gaze. "I'm here to stop you. Whatever grudge you have with the past has nothing to do with the lives you're endangering right now."
Sirius let out a shrill, maddened laugh, her eyes ablaze. "Oh, but it has everything to do with it, my dear! The love, the pain, the chains that bind us—they are everything!" She raised Lusbel higher, the boy whimpering, and looked to the crowd, her fervent expression pulling them further into her twisted embrace.
Emilia readied herself, summoning her magic, while Roswaal observed with a faint, watchful smile. This was a battle not just of strength but of ideals, one that Emilia knew she could not lose.
Sirius's gaze burned into Emilia, and her voice took on a venomous edge as she leaned over the crowd, her chains rattling like thunder. "And here we have this girl, the half-witch who pretends to be something more—what do you see in her?" she jeered, her voice a sickly blend of honeyed malice. Her words dug into the crowd, twisting their perceptions, bending their emotions to match her seething fury.
The crowd murmured, their faces contorting with resentment. One by one, they were taken by Sirius's Authority of Wrath, her influence seeping into their hearts like poison. They began to mutter in agreement, their voices rising.
"Why should we trust her?" one voice called out.
"Does she even belong here?" shouted another.
Emilia's eyes widened, feeling the weight of their accusations and the unnatural influence Sirius held over them.
Sirius laughed, her voice rich with mockery. "Do you hear them, half-witch? These people see you for what you really are—a pretender, grasping at power you don't deserve!" Her eyes gleamed with malicious joy as she watched Emilia struggle under the mounting disdain of the crowd.
Just then, Sirius shifted her gaze back to Lusbel, who squirmed in her grasp, eyes wide with terror. "This boy, in all his innocence… Do you think he'd ever understand your so-called 'mercy'? Let him fall, let him learn what it feels like to have nothing!"
With a vicious smile, she opened her hand, and Lusbel began to drop from her grasp. Emilia's heart seized as she saw the boy plunge toward the unforgiving ground below.
"NO!" Emilia screamed, extending her hand instinctively, but she was too far. Her magic gathered at her fingertips, yet she could feel that she wouldn't reach him in time.
In an instant, Roswaal moved. His form blurred, leaving only a faint trail in the air as he moved faster than the eye could follow. Within a heartbeat, he was beneath Lusbel, catching the child just before he hit the ground.
Cradling the boy in his arms, Roswaal straightened, looking up at Sirius with a smug, unyielding gaze.
"My, my, how tragic it would be for a precious child to be lost," he remarked smoothly, his voice almost amused. "But it is my duty as the kingdom's mage to preserve life, after all. Such virtuous acts—so very much my… responsibility." His eyes flicked toward Emilia, subtly letting her know he had her back.
Sirius's twisted smile vanished, her face darkening with fury as her chains snapped and tightened, the metal links hissing as though alive. She leaped down from her perch atop the clock tower, her landing a thunderous crash against the cobblestone. Her gaze locked onto Emilia, her face contorted with a rage that was barely human.
"You and that self-righteous mage—are you here to cleanse me? To stand as examples of purity?" she spat, her voice dripping with scorn. She swung her chains, the heavy metal whirling around her as she advanced on Emilia, each link alive with a malice of its own. "You don't fool me, half-witch. You're nothing but a lie wrapped in ice, pretending to be anything but your filthy origin!"
Emilia stood firm, gathering her mana and summoning her magic, channeling fire in her palm to counter the raw, thrumming energy of Sirius's chains. She steadied her breath, her silver hair flowing around her as she focused on the twisted figure charging toward her.
Sirius lunged, chains whipping through the air like coiled serpents. With a flick of her wrist, Emilia ignited her magic, a blazing wall of ice erupting in front of her to block the attack. But Sirius's chains didn't halt—they twisted through the ice, blackened by the heat of her own chains undeterred, and lashed out at Emilia with seething fury.
Emilia dodged, barely avoiding the burning metal as it slashed past her, but Sirius was relentless, her voice a torrent of slurs and venomous taunts. "Little half-witch, what do you think you are? Savior? Hero? You're as pathetic as the rest of them—no, even worse!" She swung her chains again, one aimed at Emilia's legs, the other at her side.
Emilia leaped back, but the chain at her legs caught her just enough to throw off her balance. She stumbled, regaining her stance with a sweep of her arms, summoning a thin shield of ice to deflect another oncoming blow. The chain shattered the barrier, but not before Emilia managed to pivot and send a blast of ice shards in Sirius's direction.
The shards collided with the chains, sending fragments of ice scattering across the square. Sirius laughed, her tone maddened, relishing every moment of the confrontation. "Come now, half-witch, show me the strength you claim to have! Show me the resolve that hides beneath that cursed blood!"
Emilia felt a pang of fury at Sirius's words but forced herself to remain focused. She unleashed another blast of fire, this time wrapping it with her chains of ice to create a fiery, whirling barrier that protected her from Sirius's assault.
Roswaal watched intently, his arms crossed, his gaze flickering with approval. Emilia's strength had grown beyond his expectations, and it was clear she was holding her own—but the fight was far from over.
Emilia's focus slipped for a crucial moment, her eyes darting toward the frightened crowd. In that instant, Sirius's chain snaked forward, coiling around her ankle and yanking her down. Emilia hit the ground hard, her breath escaping in a sharp gasp as her concentration faltered. She pushed herself up, her vision spinning, only to see Sirius advancing, her face lit with savage joy.
"Oh, poor little half-witch!" Sirius cackled, her eyes wide with a sadistic glint. "This is the 'strength' you boast of? Weak. Pathetic."
Roswaal's bemusement faded, his expression turning wary as he noticed Emilia's vulnerability. He clenched his jaw, his usual confidence wavering as he watched Sirius approach Emilia, her chains sparking with fire. Sirius lifted her chains with a twisted smile, the flames coiling up each link in anticipation.
"Time to end this little gaaaaame," Sirius sneered, her voice echoing over the square.
As the fiery chains swept toward Emilia, a shockwave of energy shattered the air, and suddenly, a blinding flash appeared between Sirius and Emilia. In a heartbeat, a figure stepped out, disrupting Sirius's attack as easily as brushing aside a stray breeze.
Average in height but imposing in presence, with white hair and an immaculate suit that fit him as though custom-made, Regulus Corneas, the Sin Archbishop of Greed, stood before them with a confident, disdainful smirk.
Without a word, he bent down and scooped up Emilia's unconscious form, cradling her as if she were a prized possession in a protective bridal carry.
"Disgraceful," he sneered, looking down at Sirius with a mixture of disgust and boredom. "To think someone like you, flaunting attachment and pathetic sentiments, claims to act in the name of our great Witch. Do you even understand the concept of individuality? Of freedom?" His voice was sharp and condemning, each word dripping with contempt. "You, Wrath, are nothing but a slave to a twisted, messy display of attachment. And to think you have the gall to call yourself a Sin Archbishop."
Sirius's face twisted in fury, her mouth a hard line, eyes wide with barely contained rage. Her chains rattled, the fiery aura flaring up as she leveled a look of pure hatred at Regulus.
"You dare speak to me of love, you self-centered, greedy wretch? You know nothing of devotion!" She seethed, her voice trembling with unfiltered wrath. "You know nothing of the bonds that hold people together, the pain that makes us whole!"
In a blind fury, she lashed out, swinging her flaming chains toward him with full force. Her chains sliced through the air, fiery and vengeful, aimed directly at the one who dared belittle her ideals.
Regulus didn't flinch. He held Emilia effortlessly, taking a step back with casual disdain as Sirius's chain struck the ground where he'd stood moments before. His face remained indifferent, as though her attack was a minor annoyance at best. He looked back at her with a disappointed frown, eyes cold and unyielding.
Roswaal watched the scene unfold, his gaze narrowing. Though he despised these twisted bearers of the Witch's Authorities, he couldn't help but feel a strange fascination at the spectacle. Here stood two Sin Archbishops, Wrath and Greed, each rooted in their own corrupted ideals, neither willing to yield.
Regulus let out a disdainful huff, adjusting his grip on Emilia as though she were a prized item he'd just acquired. He cast a look of pure, unfiltered contempt down at Sirius, his voice dripping with derision as he began.
"Do you have any idea, any concept whatsoever, of individuality?" he sneered, the word laced with venom. "You, Sirius, are infringing upon the most sacred, fundamental right of any existence—to simply be! Forcing your deranged notions of love and attachment onto others, binding them to your whims. It's disgraceful. Disgusting. I stand here, peacefully, exercising my right to exist without interference. And yet you"—he gestured to her with an irritated flick of his hand—"you come here with your flames and chains, attempting to drag others into your pitiful, pathetic vision of reality, trampling on my right to choose to be left alone."
He glanced down at the unconscious Emilia in his arms, his eyes narrowing. "And then there's this," he continued, almost hissing. "My future wife, injured by your reckless, inconsiderate behavior. It's beyond shameful, Sirius. How dare you attempt to harm someone as pure, as ideal as her?" He paused, as if truly bewildered by the audacity. "Do you even realize what you've done to me by injuring her? Harming her affects my future, my happiness, and my peace of mind. To injure her is to infringe upon my own well-being! Her pain, however momentary, is a direct assault upon me."
Regulus looked back at Sirius with a sneer, shaking his head in disgust. "You—you—call yourself an Archbishop of Sin, yet here you are, violating every concept of individual freedom and personal boundaries. To believe in anything, to attach yourself to anyone or anything—it's to degrade yourself, to strip away the purity of being unbound, unchained by such miserable notions. Your so-called 'love' is nothing but a crude insult to the sanctity of independence. If you had any respect for your own individuality, you'd leave others to theirs and stop dragging them into the cesspool of your miserable ideals."
He took a small step back, cradling Emilia as if she were a prized artifact, his expression cold and resolute. "As if you could ever understand what it means to have something so precious that you'd shield it from anyone. Someone like you, who cannot stand alone, can't comprehend what it's like to respect another's autonomy."
The crowd, stunned and fearful, watched in a mixture of horror and confusion as Regulus turned his scathing words on Sirius, who was practically shaking with fury. Her eyes burned with a dangerous light, the chains around her vibrating with her wrath as she took in his scornful words.
Sirius's face contorted, the veins in her forehead bulging as she gripped her chains tighter. "You… selfish, arrogant monster!" she snarled, her voice trembling with fury. "You know nothing of love! Nothing of sacrifice!" She swung her chains forward, flames roaring along the links as she lunged to strike him down.
But Regulus stood unmoved, his expression bored, as if Sirius's rage meant nothing to him. Roswaal, watching from a distance, felt a surge of morbid curiosity. Here was Greed, completely detached, entirely dismissive of any attachment, clashing against Wrath, who was fueled by her obsessive vision of love and devotion. And as dangerous as it was, he couldn't help but wonder which twisted ideology would prove stronger.
Both Sin Archbishops paused abruptly, almost as if they'd received a sudden, silent notification that shifted the dynamic in an instant. Their expressions grew distant, each reaching into their robes to pull out a black tome—their respective Gospels. Sirius's face twisted with frustration, while Regulus's mouth curled into a pleased, smug smile.
"It seems our little free-roam period has come to an end," Regulus announced, his tone layered with both disappointment and satisfaction. He shut his Gospel with a sharp snap and turned his eyes to Roswaal, standing firm with his usual stoic expression. Regulus's gaze sharpened as he looked at the mage, annoyance flashing in his eyes.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said with cold irritation. His gaze traveled over Roswaal with disdain before he flicked a few small stones with the toe of his shoe, almost as though shooing away an insect.
Roswaal's eyes widened in the slightest, suddenly realizing the nature of what had just happened, but it was too late. With a slight gesture, Regulus activated his Authority. The air around Roswaal split, an invisible force slicing through him with a brutal, effortless precision. In an instant, Roswaal's lower body was shredded, his legs crumpling beneath him as blood sprayed onto the cobblestones.
Lusbel, still in Roswaal's arms, cried out in shock as his own right arm suddenly severed, splattering blood onto the stone. The boy screamed in agony, and, as if in some nightmarish ripple effect, the entire crowd, influenced by Sirius's Authority, mirrored Lusbel's pain. In horrific unison, dozens of citizens clutched at empty space where their right arms had once been, the square descending into chaos as people screamed, blood pouring from countless wounds.
Regulus let out a mocking scoff, glancing dispassionately at the carnage before looking back at Sirius. "See what happens when you fail to respect the boundaries of others?" He sneered, his words heavy with twisted irony as he gestured to the mangled crowd.
Sirius's expression flickered with a mix of shock and fury, her eyes wild as she processed the gory display before her. But as her gaze locked onto Roswaal's crumpled form, and Lusbel's mutilated body, her expression twisted into a disturbing smile, her gaze almost reverent as she muttered under her breath, "Love... pure, true love always brings suffering."
Roswaal, gritting his teeth, clung to consciousness, his face pale as blood pooled beneath him. He looked at the wreckage around him, his mind racing, yet unable to move as Regulus turned his back, completely indifferent to the chaos he'd just inflicted. The Sin Archbishop of Greed held Emilia close as he strolled away, a look of satisfaction plastered on his face, oblivious or simply uncaring of the horror he'd just unleashed.
As Roswaal's consciousness began to fade, that dreaded voice seeped into his mind like a relentless shadow. Hector's tone was slow, heavy, each word dragged out in that familiar, weary way that somehow managed to feel both mocking and utterly devoid of energy, as if just existing was too exhausting for him.
"Rooooswaaal… look at you," he drawled, with a sigh that seemed to pull every bit of air from the room. "All that planning… all those long, long hours… all for this. You really thought you could avoid it? Avoid this… mess?"
Roswaal's body lay motionless, his mind struggling to hold onto what little focus he had, but Hector's words seemed to wedge themselves into every corner of his thoughts, taking root, filling the silence.
"So much effort," Hector continued, voice dipping even lower, as if he was sinking under the weight of his own words. "All that energy... just to wind up in the same place. It's almost too much, isn't it? Watching you scramble… trying so, so hard, only to fail... again. It's just… so sad, so, so sad."
He let out a drawn-out sigh, each exhale dripping with mockery and resignation. "You thought you were different this time, didn't you? Thought you were clever. But here we are… again. Same old Roswaal... same desperate little game."
The faint glimmer of Roswaal's vision began to blur, and yet he could almost see Hector's bitter smile through the darkness, as if his voice alone painted the scene vividly.
Hector huffed again, his tone sinking further, more exasperated, each word tinged with that heavy, inescapable weight. "It's... always the same with you. Chase this, grasp that, thinking you'll be stronger. But it's pointless... just so… pointless. Do you even see it, Roswaal? You'll never… never be anything but… weak."
Roswaal's fading sight brought an image—a ghostly figure at the edge of his mind. A faceless teacher, the one he'd sworn to follow, but whose features remained forever hidden, distant, unknowable. Echidna. His teacher. His guide. The very image seemed to pulse with the emptiness of his ambition, the years he'd spent chasing after something he couldn't even see.
Hector let out a final, drawn-out sigh, a huff of pity, or perhaps disdain. "You're stuck, Roswaal… bound to this… hopeless cycle. You keep pushing, reaching, but it's always… always just out of reach. You'll always be weak, Roswaal. No matter what you do."
Roswaal's vision dissolved into complete darkness, Hector's drawn-out words lingering, each syllable settling like a heavy stone, pressing him deeper into oblivion.
Just as Roswaal felt himself slipping entirely, Hector's voice shifted, his tone suddenly sharpening with an eerie hint of something close to… delight.
"And thiiiis time… it's different," Hector murmured, dragging out the words with a disturbing, almost gleeful anticipation, as if he'd uncovered some hidden revelation. His voice picked up, a dark curiosity weaving through the usual exhaustion. "Yes… yes, it's different. You thought you were close, Roswaal… closer than ever. But I see now," he huffed, "oh, there's something… something else at play here."
There was a pause, an exasperated sigh of strange satisfaction, as though Hector had just witnessed a piece of providence unfold before him, some twist in fate that delighted him in his own hollow way.
"Do you feel it, too?" Hector continued, a mocking tremor in his tone, almost amused by the irony. "Your desperation… it's rippling. Changing the very threads of fate, in ways you'll never grasp. This time, Roswaal, it's beyond you. Far, far beyond… You'll never reach it. Never touch it. You're weak. Powerless."
Roswaal's final grip on consciousness slipped entirely, and Hector's dark laughter—dry, slow, with that insufferable, heavy exasperation—faded with him, leaving Roswaal in a void deeper than despair, a silence that echoed the words he'd dreaded to hear:
"This time, Roswaal, fate has left you behind."
The scene unfolded like a twisted nightmare. Chin stumbled upon the chaos, his eyes widening as he took in the devastation—citizens writhing in pain, their cries piercing the air, the cobblestones awash in blood that pooled and rippled like a sea of suffering.
And at the center of it all, lying broken amidst the carnage, was Roswaal, his body torn, barely clinging to life. Chin's breath caught, dread creeping through his veins. He knelt beside the shattered figure, his hands trembling as he realized the extent of the horror he'd walked into.
But as Chin reached out, a chill unlike anything he'd known before seeped into his mind, like shadows spilling through the cracks of his thoughts. Something ancient, heavy, and oppressive settled over him. It wasn't just grief or shock—it was a deep, gnawing despair that rooted itself in his very soul. Chin staggered, his chest tightening as he struggled against the sudden weight pressing upon him.
Chin stumbled forward, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he surveyed the grotesque scene—the twisted bodies, the rivers of blood pooling around the broken form of Roswaal. But before he could process the horror, something thick and dark slithered across the ground toward him. It was like tar, oozing and pulsing with a sickly life of its own, an unnatural black substance that seemed to defy light itself.
In an instant, it lunged, a cold, sticky mass that clung to Chin's skin and sank into his flesh. He tried to scream, to pull away, but the substance wound itself around him, pressing inward, worming its way through his veins, a chill that burrowed straight to his core. His body convulsed, and he staggered, fighting desperately against the invasion, his mind fraying under the overwhelming weight of it. But the force was relentless, swallowing his will and filling the cracks in his soul with a suffocating, oppressive darkness.
For a moment, Chin went utterly still, his face vacant, his body slumped forward as if lifeless. Then, slowly, his head lifted. His eyes, once his own, were now transformed—empty, hollow, yet gleaming with a faint, unsettling light. They were no longer the eyes of Chin.
The scene shifted to a livelier part of Pristella, where Natsuki Subaru, Priscilla Barielle, and Lillian the Songstress moved through the winding canals and bustling streets. Pristella's waterways sparkled under the midday sun, casting a glimmering light over the entire city. The sound of water lapping against the canal walls filled the air, mingling with the chatter of merchants and the soft hum of Lillian's singing.
Earlier, they'd taken a short ride on a boat drawn by a sleek, scaled sea dragon, its form graceful and imposing as it moved through the canals. Subaru had promptly regretted the decision, his face turning an alarming shade of green as his stomach roiled. No sooner had they set foot on solid ground than Subaru had stumbled off the boat, clutching his chest with relief as he tried to shake off the queasiness.
Priscilla had shot him a look of pure disdain, her crimson eyes narrowing as she regarded him with barely concealed irritation. "Pathetic," she snapped, folding her arms as she looked down at him. "To think you would allow yourself to be defeated by something as trivial as a boat. I wonder if the tales of your so-called courage were exaggerated."
Subaru, still wobbling slightly, managed a weak grin, brushing off her words with a half-hearted wave. "Hey, I've faced down monsters, spirits, and cultists. Boats, though? They're in a league of their own."
Priscilla huffed, clearly unimpressed. "Perhaps if you had a stronger will, a stomach for more than just ground-bound challenges, you wouldn't be so easily undone. And yet…" Her voice softened slightly, almost imperceptibly, as she lingered close by, her presence unwavering despite her harsh words.
Lillian observed the exchange with a curious smile, her fingers idly twirling a strand of her hair. "You two make an odd pair," she remarked, chuckling softly. "The knight in shining armor and the fire-tongued princess. I never would've expected to see you together."
"Don't misunderstand," Priscilla retorted, her gaze fixed on Subaru. "This commoner simply provides… a curious diversion." Yet, even as she spoke, her tone lacked the usual bite, and there was a faint hint of something softer beneath her words, a strange attachment that neither she nor Subaru fully acknowledged.
With a sigh and a lingering glance back at the now-distant boat, Subaru steadied himself, hoping his face wasn't still as pale as it felt. As Subaru, Priscilla, and Lillian walked through the lively streets, a voice suddenly echoed across the city, reverberating like a thunderclap from every corner.
The voice, shrill and mocking, taunted from above, its owner dripping with cruel delight.
"[Well, well, well, was there any idiot who died from shock just now? If not, well, it doesn't really matter, but if there's anyone brave enough to dare ignore this lovely lady, then my mood will be ruined!]"
The citizens paused, looking up as if the very sky had split open. The sheer force of the voice wasn't from volume alone—it carried a chilling resonance, infecting everyone with a creeping sense of dread.
Subaru stopped dead, his eyes narrowing as he tried to pinpoint the source. Priscilla barely flinched, though her lips curled in disdain. Lillian's song faded, her cheerful expression turning wary.
The voice continued, venomous and vile, as though relishing every word.
"[You boring creatures do nothing but ruin my mood. There's no value here at all—you're all just garbagegarbagegarbage! If all you're thinking of doing is having that disgusting breath, thinking those disgusting thoughts, and drooling your way through life, it'd be much better if you just plunged your head into a ditch and drowned! Please go die soon, please, I beg you! Gahahaha!]"
Subaru felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, a sick feeling twisting in his gut. He knew immediately: whoever this was, their malice ran deep.
As they stood frozen in place, the voice shifted to a mocking tone of revelation.
"[Well, well, then, since the big, dull, rotten meat creatures can't seem to figure it out, I'll explain it. I have control of the radio! Meaning, meaning, meaning—]"
The voice shifted to a singsong pitch, practically delighted with itself.
"[That—I, no, we—have control of this City Hall, right? Ah, by the way, do you know those control towers at the edge of the city? Those are also ours now!]"
"Kahahahaha—!" The laughter twisted and rang out, filling the air. "[By now! At this moment! Only now are you realizing that you're all going to be decimated! It's shocking how brainless you all are! It's too much for me! Ah, garbagegarbagegarbage! Gahahaha—]"
The three exchanged looks, Priscilla's face twisted with disgust as Lillian's face paled, a hand moving to her mouth as if to suppress a gasp. Around them, civilians were frozen in terror, glancing at each other as if seeking answers.
The voice quieted, almost pitying, before it resumed, "[Oh, this won't do. I'm sorry. If I go on any longer without giving my name, you're all going to try running away from reality, right]" A pause, then, dripping with an exaggerated tone of politeness: "[Why don't you allow this gentle and benevolent lady to teach you what's real in a very simple way?]"
The voice swelled to a fever pitch. "[I am a Sin Archbishop of the Witch Cult, representing Lust—]"
A high-pitched, deranged cackle echoed throughout the city.
"[Capella Emerada Lugnica! Gahahaha! Respect me! Worship me! Then cry and beg and die tragically like worms! You rotten slabs of meat! Kahahahaha—!]"
The sinister laughter trailed off, leaving an unnerving silence in its wake.
Subaru's jaw clenched, his fists trembling as he processed the depravity he'd just heard. This voice—it was vile, mocking, and dripping with malice. The Witch Cult had struck again, each word laced with cruelty toward the innocent, dehumanizing those beneath them with glee. It boiled his blood. How could they take pride in sowing despair, in treating people as nothing more than expendable pawns in their sick games? His vow to destroy the Witch Cult flooded his mind—a promise he'd made not just to others but to himself. These monsters weren't just a threat; they were a plague, corrupting everything they touched. That they dared to wreak havoc in broad daylight, with him right here, only fueled his rage further. To act so brazenly in Pristella, without a shred of remorse or fear… well, they'd learn the cost of such arrogance soon enough.
He shot a glance at Priscilla, feeling the resolve harden in his chest. "That voice... it's coming from the central government building, right?"
Priscilla nodded, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her crimson eyes, as if she were watching a game unfold. "Indeed," she replied with a smile. It wasn't so much a reassurance as it was a challenge, a test to see what he'd do.
Turning to Lillian, he squared his shoulders, determination sharpening his gaze. "You're a Royal Selection candidate," he said, his voice steady but intense. "You don't have to come with me, but I'm going to that building—and I'm pretty sure I'll be taking down another Archbishop."
Priscilla's smile deepened, her expression almost approving as she met his gaze. "No, I won't be accompanying you. There are other matters at hand." She gestured to the direction of the shelters, her tone cool but resolute. "I'll be there, raising their spirits. Even in these bleak moments, my people should know their ruler doesn't cower."
It took him a second to grasp her meaning, but when he did, he gave her a single nod, swallowing his frustration and focusing on his own mission. His body tensed, a final rush of resolve flooding through him as he prepared to head toward the central building.
Just as he took off, he heard Lillian's voice ring out behind him, "Other way, bro!"
He skidded to a halt, glancing back with a sheepish grin, then turned and sprinted off in the right direction, his mind set on one thing: stopping the madness at any cost.
Authours Note:We continue through Pristella and everything is kciking off.
A character I want to get right is Hector, but due to the mysterious nature of Melcanholy, and the little information we get in cannon I have to substitute certain aspects or concepts with theories and speculation.
As stated constructive criticism is always encouraged!