Chapter 1 - The Endless Interrogation
Drip*
Cold walls pressed in from all sides.
Drip* *Drip*
In the oppressive silence of what could only be presumed night, marked solely by the changing of the guard, the only sound was the sickeningly slow rhythm of blood dripping.
Drip*
"1 Min"
Drip* *Drip*
"3 Min"
The prison cell was a tomb, not for a body, but for a man's spirit. Time had become a meaningless abstraction. The guards, his sole link to the outside world, moved with a monotonous regularity, their footsteps a fragile thread in the vast emptiness. Then, silence. A crushing, deafening silence that swallowed even his own thoughts.
He was alone.
In the corner of the cell, a boy with haunted eyes sat, marking his slow demise with each passing second, each drop of blood adding to the ever-growing pool beneath him.
He surveyed his broken body. His arms, thin and skeletal from malnutrition, were barely more than bone. His right eye socket was a gaping void, the bloodshot eye a distant memory. His remaining eye struggled to adjust to the perpetual darkness, the effort accompanied by a sharp, throbbing pain. His fingers and toes were gone, severed by his torturers after they misinterpreted his self-harm – the desperate scratching at his wrists – as a suicide attempt.
He tried to glimpse his reflection in the pool of his own blood, but fate, in a rare act of mercy, spared his already shattered sanity from witnessing the true horror of his ravaged face.
"Uuh, I lost count again," he groaned, his voice raspy and weak. "How many times was it?"
"How many months has it been?" he whispered, the question hanging in the stagnant air, unanswered.
Slowly, the dripping of blood began to fade, his eyelids grew heavy, and he collapsed onto the cold stone floor.
The boy died.
A shadowy arm plunged into his chest, caressing his heart.
(Note: Play "Call of the Witch" by Kenichiro Suehiro)
A dark miasma engulfed him completely. He had eyes, yet he couldn't see. He had a mouth, yet he couldn't breathe, suffocating in the thick, cloying darkness.
His "eyes" snapped open, his mouth agape, some teeth missing, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
"Nyow Nyow, don't get so excited! We are here to play with you longer than usual, nya!" a voice chirped, eccentric and feminine, with a tone that might sound sweet to a first-time listener.
He looked up. He touched his right eye socket. The pain was almost gone. His eyes widened, pupils narrowing. He clutched his head, a single tear escaping. How many times had he repeated this?
He had returned, through death, to the very beginning of his personal hell, the start of the unending test to preserve his sanity – a torment he wouldn't inflict on his most hated foe.
"Today, I'm going to shatter that pride of yours, nya," the cat-boy sneered. "Acting like an innocent, selfless individual while talking big about being the knight of one of the royal candidates! A weakling like you can't even beat a kid who aspires to be a knight. You look pathetic and cowardly, spewing lies when you're finally caught." The cat-boy glared, barely containing his rage, eager to break the boy down to his core.
"Natsuki Su… no, you damned witch cultist don't deserve the respect of having your name acknowledged," the cat-boy spat, his eyes like daggers. "Archbishop of Pride, we'll give you another chance to spill everything about your filthy fellow witch worshippers," he yelled.
Pride felt a sickening sense of déjà vu. He knew, from countless deaths and Returns, that he had stood at this same checkpoint countless times before. Each death might dull the sharp edges of humiliation, shame, and torture in his mind, but his body always reset, healing his pain receptors that should have long since gone numb, reminding him, with excruciating clarity, of how he had failed.
"Acting as if you can't hear me, nya, won't help you," the cat-boy said, his gaze fixed on the silent Pride, who stared blankly into the abyss.
(Note: Play "Requiem of Silence" by Kenichiro Suehiro)
The cat-boy watched Pride, whose face was a canvas of red, black, and yellow – the colors of anger, grief, and a desperate, unspoken apology.
"NYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHH!"
The cat-boy unleashed a hysterical laugh that echoed through the silent, dark abyss of the cell.
"HAAA! Did… did you finally realize you're done for, nya? And… and now you try to look like an abandoned animal?" he mocked.
It was shocking. These murderers, these disgusting witch worshipers who had taken so many innocent lives, now suddenly looked like a painting splashed with every color of human emotion. The cat-boy refused to believe it. He wouldn't fall for the oldest trick in the book.
"You are truly slothful, Pride," he said with a smug grin.
"FFFFFFEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLIIXXXXXXXXXXXX!" Pride roared, his voice hoarse and strained, using the last of his breath.
Memories flooded back – the day he fought Sloth. He remembered the countless times he had endured the pain, the countless times he had failed everyone.
Emilia, Ram, Petra, the villagers of Arlam, and Rem… he had failed them all. Because of his weakness, Rem had become a victim of Gluttony, her name and memories devoured, reduced to a lifeless doll that once smiled brightly, cheered for him, and, at times, cared for his well-being, calming his self-loathing and halting his undeserved harshness towards himself.
Suddenly, Pride's mind went blank, echoing with a single, damning phrase: "You are truly slothful, Pride. You are truly slothful, Pride. You are truly slothful, Pride. You are truly slothful, Pride. You are truly slothful, Pride. You are truly slothful, Pride. YOU ARE TRULY SLOTHFUL. YOU ARE TRULY SLOTHFUL. YOU ARE TRULY SLOTHFUL. YOU ARE TRULY SLOTHFUL. SLOTHFUL. SLOTHFUL. SLOTHFUL. SLOTHFUL."
He saw again, in his mind's eye, the cold, lifeless bodies of everyone he cared for. Bile rose in his throat.
"My brain trembles. Aren't you a slothful one?"
"I have been waiting for you, dear believer of true love," he heard Betelgeuse's voice whisper.
He relived the horror of Rem's torture at the hands of Sloth, the sickening memory of Betelgeuse twisting and breaking every bone in her small body.
"No matter what painful things happen, even when it looks like you'll lose... when no one else in the world believes in you... when you don't even believe in yourself..."
"I will believe in you!" Rem's words, her unwavering faith, flooded his mind.
Pride, in a surge of raw emotion, lunged at Felix, his face contorted in an expression that made the cat-boy flinch and recoil. In the blink of an eye, Pride was seized and slammed onto the cold prison floor, held down with brutal force. Desperate, he thrashed, trying to break free, even attempting to bite the hand that held his head pressed against the blood-soaked stone.
His attempt was cut short by a sharp slap that snapped him out of his blind rage. He looked up at the individual holding him captive.
The man wore the uniform of a royal knight, identical to Felix's, but his presence radiated an aura of pride, perfection, and unwavering determination. He looked down at Pride with undisguised disgust and anger.
He then stepped back, turned to Felix, and bowed deeply. "Felix-sama, please excuse my unannounced and sudden intrusion, but we should be more wary of him. After all, he is a part of the cult that worships the Witch of Envy," the knight said calmly and respectfully.
Felix was taken aback by Pride's sudden burst of energy, the complete absence of the guilt and despair he had displayed moments before. This observation confirmed his suspicion that Pride had been feigning weakness.
"You don't have to be so formal with me, Julius. We are friends, after all," Felix replied, still recovering from Pride's outburst.
"I am honored to be bestowed the title of friend and ally of the greatest healer in the kingdom, the holder of the title 'Blue,'" Julius responded with a warm smile. "Felix 'Blue' Argyle-sama."
Felix frowned, witnessing how much Julius had changed. His memories, consumed by Gluttony, had altered him drastically. While traces of his former self remained, it was shocking to see how deeply a person's identity was rooted in personal interactions and memories.
Pride, meanwhile, grinned from ear to ear at the display of friendship before him. "Man, these torture methods are getting creative, loop by loop," he thought. "Because if that's not the case, then this has to be a fucking sick joke."
"Friend, you say? Ha! Ha! Ally, you say? HA HA HA!" Pride cackled.
"HAHAHAHA HA! Then what was my status in your minds? Was I always the weak, unknown boy, the half-elf royal candidate adopted from the loot house attack?" he mocked himself.
"HA HAHAHA HA HAHAHAHHA HAA HAHAHAHA!"
"I know this laughter," a voice murmured.
"HAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAH HAHAHHAHHHA!"
"The voice of the man I hate to the point of death."
Pride's laughter was a self-deprecating, bitter sound, mocking his own repeated failures. Internally, he accepted the abuse and torture, rationalizing it as divine punishment for his inability to follow the "correct" loop.
He wasn't Natsuki Subaru. He wasn't Pride. Then what was he? he asked himself.
"A fake," he whispered, the word hanging heavy in the air.
Pride tried to speak, his throat dry and scratchy. He was parched and starving. The prison rations were barely enough to keep a person alive, just enough to speak.
"Julius!" he croaked, his voice hoarse.
He knew Julius hated him. That thought was always present in the back of his mind. They had fought and defeated Sloth together, a memory of camaraderie, of being brothers-in-arms against a common enemy. "Weakness is something to feel shame, not pride," Julius's words from their duel echoed in his mind, the day his hatred for Julius had solidified into something far more toxic.
(Note: Play "What it means to love" by Evan Call)
But Pride had endured it all. He hadn't succumbed to any of the Sins. He had maintained his loyalty, his morale unbroken.
He remembered the moment Sloth had ignored him, turning away after Rem had rejected his desperate plea to flee to Kararagi.
"I've decided, Rem," he recalled saying. "Run away with me. As far as we can go."
Tears welled in his eyes. If only he hadn't let that idea slip away. If only his childish self hadn't tried to be the hero. His failed attempt at heroism had caused so much pain for everyone. No wonder they had all forgotten him.
"No no no," he thought, fighting back the despair that threatened to consume him. "I will not give in so easily." He clung desperately to the remnants of his sanity, battling the overwhelming urge to simply surrender.
If someone could have peered into Pride's mind, they would have witnessed the desperate struggle to patch the cracks in his crumbling morale, a frantic attempt to avoid sinking into the ocean of guilt and grief that threatened to engulf him.
Lost in his internal battles, Pride failed to notice that Felix had already chained him like livestock, ready for slaughter. Heck, even livestock received better treatment before the butcher's knife.
"Ew, disgusting," Felix murmured to himself as he secured the chains. The proximity to a witch worshipper made him feel unclean, disgusted. He could never quite rid himself of the miasma's stench, that wretched, choking smell. It was one of the primary reasons his suspicions about Pride were so strong, fueled partly by his own biased anger and hatred. Unable to decipher the look on Pride's face, he chained him tightly, fearful of any potential escape plan.
"Nyow, speak up and cleanse your sins," Felix demanded. "Tell us the cure for Gluttony and Lust's dragon blood, nya, and I'll make sure to end you in a single blow." He growled, his voice laced with venom. "How do we treat Crusch-sama's condition, nya? Answer me, you scum!"
Suddenly, a flood of memories washed over Felix.
(Note: Play "Never Coming Back" by Evan Call)
"It's a fine name."
"Your original name feels somewhat odd due to that attire. Ferris has a nice ring to it. If you like it, I would like to call you that too… What do you think?" Young Crusch had said.
"Yes, then please call me Ferris. I would like My Lady and Your Highness to call me by that name from now on," Felix, still adjusting to his new feminine style and tone, had replied, accepting the change wholeheartedly.
Tears pricked his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away, his gaze hardening as he looked at Pride. "I couldn't save the one person I wanted to save the most," he whispered, a self-deprecating sneer twisting his lips.
His inability as a knight and a healer had placed the life of his idol in jeopardy – the proud duchess who embodied strength and will, shining majestically in her military uniform. Her words were like a lion's roar, her sword capable of cutting through a person's very soul. With her divine blessing of wind reading, she was never deceived by lies, always guided to the truth she so fiercely valued. That majestic Crusch Karsten had been reduced to a wheelchair-bound girl by the damned Authorities of Gluttony and Lust.
"I do not know," Pride replied, shattering any lingering hope Felix might have harbored.
Pride knew very well that he could, to some extent, stabilize Crusch's deteriorating condition. He knew he could transfer the remaining dragon blood into his own body by touching the affected area.
But he had learned from his mistakes. He had learned, the hard way, the art of self-preservation. This was not the first, not the second, not the third… time he had tried to prove his innocence. Every time he offered a suggestion to help Felix's cause, he was met with a fearful, enraged outburst. His blood would boil instantly, as if his skin were melting. No matter how many times he endured it, the reaction never lessened. How dare he even desire, show interest in, or even think about touching, let alone tainting, the magnificent idol before him?
Unlike most torture techniques, some were so deeply ingrained in him that he had developed PTSD, flinching at even the slightest hand movement from Felix. This subtle behavior only made Felix more wary, assuming that Pride was always cautious and calculating, and that any lapse in observation could lead to their immediate demise.
Felix sighed. "Well, I never expected this to be this easy to begin with," he admitted. "They might call me a healer, nya, but I am still a knight," he explained. "These gentle palms of mine have been soaked in the blood of many, both enemies and allies, and I'm excited to add you to that never-ending list, nya." Felix spoke, a broken smile stretching across his cheeks.
"Julius, do your thing, nya," Felix ordered.
Julius unleashed his fire spirit toward the chained Pride, intending to burn him alive. But, of course, they needed him alive.
Pride wailed in fear and pain as parts of his skin burned and his clothes caught fire. His trademark orange and black tracksuit, his last connection to his original world, the only thing left that reminded him of his mother and her love, was now aflame. He cried, not from the increasing pain or the heat, but from the loss of his beloved tracksuit, the one his mother had bought him multiple pairs of, knowing how much her "baby boy" loved it.
Julius placed his hand on his blade and, in a flash, sliced through Pride's burning clothes, leaving cuts and scratches on his bare skin. He was skilled with his blade, but he was torn between cutting Pride to pieces and simply humiliating him before the final blow. His heart and his mind were locked in a fierce internal struggle.
He was the second most deeply affected by the Witch Cult's attack on Watergate City. He had lost his memories, and his brother had lost both his name and his memories to Gluttony, leaving him in a comatose state. He didn't even recognize the lady he served, but his ingrained ideals remained, and those ideals wouldn't allow him to accept this disrespect, this failure. The once finest of knights was now lost, only faint hints of his muscle memory acting in place of his lost memories. How worthless he felt when his lady still took him into her camp, even though his useless self was no longer the Julius Juukulius the royal knights spoke of. He deserved to be stripped of his title immediately, not shown kindness. How disgraceful it was that he couldn't even remember the name of the lady he served. Was his bond with her so weak that a mere witch worshipper could erase it all in an instant? He felt like an imposter, wearing the skin of someone worthy of the praises heaped upon the name Julius Juukulius.
"But this will all end here and now," Julius vowed silently. He would mend himself, even if it meant facing an Archbishop alone. He had sworn it to his lady.
Pride stood naked and chained, more humiliated by the scars marring his body than by the exposure itself. These were not just physical scars, but the remnants of countless failed loops, a grim testament to his repeated failures.
"Pffft!" Julius scoffed, attempting to humiliate him further.
Pride remembered. The memory resurfaced with chilling clarity.
His duel with Julius. The brutal defeat. The humiliation of being soundly beaten in front of the entire royal court.
"I Just wanted to do something for you," Subaru had pleaded, his voice laced with desperation.
"For me?" Emilia had echoed, her voice laced with disbelief.
"It was for you, wasn't it?" she had questioned, her voice hardening.
"I Never asked you to do any of that!" she had snapped.
"I'm sorry, I didn't do as you asked," Subaru had mumbled, his breathing hitching.
"B-But you're wrong, You're wrong!" Emilia had cried out.
"I didn't do it for myself," Subaru had continued, his voice trembling.
Subaru had held his hand over his mouth, attempting to stifle the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
"I want to believe you," Emilia had said, her voice laced with doubt.
"But you're the one who won't GIVE ME A REASON TO!" she had yelled, her voice filled with hurt and anger.
"There must have been a reason, right?" she had asked, her voice softening.
"Hey, Subaru," Emilia had begun, her voice gentle.
"Why do you keep trying to help me like this?" she had questioned.
"When I first came to this world, you were the…"
Time seemed to freeze.
Subaru's vision blurred and faded into darkness. His eyes snapped shut, but he could still feel the icy touch of two shadowy claws.
A chilling sensation spread through him, like an icy grip on his very soul.
The hands caressed his heart with an eerie elegance, their icy touch sending shivers through him, a chilling warning of what was to come.
Time resumed its relentless march.
(Note: Play "Stay Alive" by Rie Takahashi)
Subaru gasped, his eyes flying open as he clawed at the air, clutching his chest.
"Once again, you won't tell me anything," Emilia's voice cut through the silence, laced with disappointment.
Tears welled up in Subaru's eyes, his voice heavy with emotion.
"The version of me that lives within you must be amazing," Emilia continued, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Let's end this," she declared, a note of finality in her tone.
Pride remembered his pathetic attempts to insert himself into every situation, causing so much pain and suffering. It was his fault. He was the reason for all the casualties.
"Those scars suit you," Julius's voice cut through his thoughts, drawing his attention.
Julius felt a twinge of unease at the sight of those scars. He saw Pride as a monster, and his goal was to reclaim what these monsters had stolen from him.
Though born a commoner, Julius had been adopted into the Juukulius household after the death of his parents.
"—Julius, you should introduce yourself."
"Y-Yes, Father!" the young Julius had replied, encouraged by his father to step forward.
Julius had stood before Joshua, who looked gentle and shared the same hair color as Julius and his father – a mark of the Juukulius bloodline.
"My name is Julius Juukulius, and I will be living with the main branch of the family starting today. I know it is weird that I will be your elder brother even though I came here later, but… I hope we get along well," Julius had said without hesitation, as if he had rehearsed the words countless times.
He had then extended his hand in greeting.
Joshua, unsure how to respond, had hesitated. It was his first encounter with someone he was expected to spend a significant part of his life with.
"I am Joshua Juukulius. Nice to meet you too," Joshua had replied, trying to maintain a neutral tone.
(Note: Play "Margrave Roswaal" by Kenichiro Suehiro)
Julius gasped, clutching his head, his eyes wide with shock. He dropped his sword, his mouth agape. "What was that? What's this memory? Who was that other Julius?" he questioned himself, his mind reeling.
Pride and Felix exchanged shocked glances.
"Julius! Are you okay? What hap—" Pride began, a note of genuine concern in his voice.
"ARRGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Pride suddenly screamed, his entire body convulsing in pain.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?" Felix yelled, his magic flaring, boiling Pride's blood. He drew the wooden practice sword from his waist and began to beat Pride mercilessly. "You filthy scum! How dare you cause him this much pain!" Felix screamed.
"I… I didn't do anything! I don't know! What is this? Why is this happening to me?" Pride pleaded, his voice filled with terror. He began to wail and scream in agony.
"Emilia, Rem, Reinhardt, someone, no matter who, anyone will do! Save me, I beg you!" he cried out. "Anyone! Roswaal, Echidna… anyone, please, please!" He called out to anyone he could think of.
"Satella! Satella! SATELLA! SATELLA! SATELLA! SATELLA! SATELLA! SATELLA!" he screamed in his thoughts. "YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH ME, RIGHT? WHAT KIND OF A LOVER LETS HER BELOVED BE TORTURED OVER AND OVER AGAIN?" Pride begged silently, desperate for someone, anyone, to end this torment.
He collapsed to his knees, his arms outstretched, his nails digging into his wrists.
SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH
SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH*
"SATELLA SATELLA SATELLA SATELLA SATTELA"
The self-harm continued, a relentless cycle of scratching, the image burned into his mind. He clawed at his wrists until the raw flesh beneath his skin was visible, his nails and fingers coated in his own blood.
Julius, reacting instinctively, sliced off his fingers, mistaking the self-harm as a suicide attempt.
"I won't let you escape that easily, nya!" Felix snarled, healing only Pride's life-threatening injuries, his focus now solely on prolonging the torture.
Felix continued the agonizing cycle of boiling his blood and healing him, the initial purpose of extracting information about the cures forgotten. Seeing Julius's sudden panic attack had pushed him over the edge.
Pride begged them to stop, groveling at their feet. He collapsed onto the prison floor, broken.
Felix grabbed Pride's hair, lifting his head. "So, what are you, nya?" he demanded.
"I am Natsu—"
Urgh
Felix punched Pride in the gut, the force of the blow making him vomit the meager contents of his stomach, mixed with blood.
"I will ask again," Felix growled, his eyes burning with fury. "Who are you?"
"I am Pride," Pride whispered, his eyes hollow and empty.
"Tch"
Felix clicked his tongue and slapped Pride hard across the face, then threw him against the prison wall, ripping out chunks of his already singed hair. Pride's head was now a patchwork of burned and bald patches.
Felix seized Pride's lower jaw, pulling his face close.
Pride, terrified by this sudden shift in Felix's demeanor, saw a look he had never witnessed in any of the previous loops.
He was about to punch him again, but Pride spoke up with a broken Voice.
"I…I am the Sin Archbishop of Pride"
"The Sin Archbishop of Pride Natsu-"
Felix punched him anyway.
"That's it, nya. Good boy," Felix said, patting the few remaining strands of hair on Pride's head.
Felix pulled a mirror from his pocket. "LOOK!" he commanded.
Pride, still reeling in pain, didn't react.
"I SAID LOOK!" Felix raised his voice.
Pride, startled, looked into the mirror. His eyes widened, pupils shrinking.
"Who is this person in the mirror?" he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
His hair was now a patchy white mess. His right eye was swollen shut, a grotesque purple and black bruise. His ribcage was visibly misshapen, likely cracked from the relentless beatings. His left arm hung limply, clearly broken.
He tried to touch his face, but his fingers were gone, severed at the knuckles. His mind went blank, overwhelmed. He could only stare at his reflection with hollow, empty eyes.
"HAHAHAHAHAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA," Pride laughed.
He laughed with all his heart, a broken, hollow sound.
"Who is this pathetic guy in the mirror?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Such a loser," he proclaimed.
"HAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA," he continued, the laughter bordering on hysteria.
"Oh, I know who else could it be," he said, his voice dripping with self-loathing.
"HAHAHAHAHAHHA," he laughed again.
"It's ME," he whispered, the word a final, crushing admission.
Pride was broken.