"Fwooo~! Now, that's a spectacle!"
Slow clap reverberated in the freezing air as the translucent veil that blurred reality from a fragmented truth granted its blessing. High above the battlefield due North, a pair of luminous violet irises— unfiltered, discerning, visceral— pierced through the eye of chaos, ecstatically anticipating as the next chapter of this discordant prelude unfolding.
"I told him to go wild, but… to think he'll actually nuke those kids." Luxion mused, his curious gaze lingered on the massive cloud of billowing smoke.
"I hope he didn't forget the plan."
The explosion was massive. Packing an absurdly dense mana output capable of reducing everything within this barrier to deep-fried tempura in an instant. And yet, despite such capacity, it displayed near surgical precision, containing its damage only to its intended mark.
A level of control that even Luxion would struggle to replicate… though, for entirely different reasons.
"What a cold-blooded comrade, hogging all the fun for himself. Didn't even let Rein have a go at it, even for a little bit. That poor guy— OHHHHHHH~!!! WHAT IS THAT?!"
Luxion jolted, vibrating with excitement, his eyes locked onto another development.
{Author's Note: Rein's arrows were actually useful. It was the trigger for Liam's spell. He made the flames follow the line it made, that's why it was so precise.}
"Gill— that crazy girl, she's stacking physical enchantments one after another so casually as if she's just changing clothes." His grin widened, expression warped as his mind was plunged in a pool of frenzied theories.
"How many was that? 2— 4— 8— 10— 13 layers!? Seriously!? And those spells are all [Class 3]'s, too… That's absolutely mental! I've only seen this kinda thing in Overlord!"
And those movements… she seemed to have perfected, at least, the prototype version of her original technique.
Luxion pondered.
That's… odd.
His vignette— a contrast in space, as though planted and not birthed. The sheen of his armor— outlines of something that shouldn't be, yet existed. He hovered against the stars. Arms crossed, head slightly tilted, hair let down in a silky flurry as his world… turned upside down.
{Author's Note: This my [Shirako Hinji] impression.}
Another anomaly. Another corrupted ripple in the seams of the indefinite loom.
An unprecedented divergence that I may need to keep a close eye on… Who knows what could happen to those threads, now that they've chosen a path that isn't theirs.
"Speaking of that golden child… Ah-ahh~ there she goes."
Luxion's gaze flickered skywards from the silver twin— eyes, brilliant with awe, yet also laced in a sliver of malicious interest. A sigh escaped through his barely restrained smirk, the radiating Silk fixated in his calculated glance.
"Eclipse, Translocation, and now, Mjolnir. She's just nonchalantly whipping out Arcane-level magic without even breaking a sweat." Luxion muttered under aroused chuckles.
"Girl, you're not supposed to be able to do that until you're 18, you know."
The frame of the sisters' blurring edges painted an uncertain tale— ominous as it was amusing, sprawling while remaining still.
"I'm not one to talk about excessive altering of the programmed script, but like every time-travel fiction I've consumed thought me… Butterfly effect can do some nasty work down the line if this continues." He softly chuckled— hollow, cold, unattached.
"Or… perhaps."
Luxion's mind shifted briefly, thoughts sharpening, the lighthearted hum in his unfolding madness vanishing into something venomous.
Perhaps, it was already irreparable?
[Human child.]
"And as for this side… yeah, just as expected— Two-face Hulk is leading the charge. Hmm… maybe throwing in thirty of 'em was overkill, after all." Luxion calmly continued his commentary— tone eased back to its usual jolly.
"Having this many useless bodies just gawking around kinda kills the aesthetic— Hm?"
Luxion halted mid-thought, his eyes widened with piqued interest as he caught an unfamiliar flicker in the battlefield.
"Who's the blonde dude? Did we have someone like that?" He muttered, tone analyzing.
"I don't recognize him from Haf's crew, but that guy… he's stronger than an average knight— No, actually, give him a little more time and he might even reach the captain's level."
A mischievous grin sprawled across his face, an almost immature giddiness flaring behind those eyes of amethyst, gleaming uncharacteristically bright as it scanned the battleground.
Finally, acting like the normal child he was supposed to be.
"Didn't expect to find one, but— heh, this guy might just be a candidate."
[Hey… Hey! I said!! Don't ignore me!!!]
Luxion ignored him.
"For a completely improvised plot— I'd say this is as perfect as it gets."
With a languid flick of a wrist, he wove into the air an intricate series of magical sequences, — too fluid, too fast, too efficient, that it defies all laws of known Arcanum constructs— complex enough to make any sages' head explode in frustration.
And yet, he made it look like nothing more than a toddler's scribbled work.
Shadows merged at his beckoning. From the swarm of runes, formed nameless matter— and from the dough of this black canvas, emerged an obsidian throne inlaid with intricately unique carvings, and ornate composition fit for a king.
{Author's Note: Imagine the most chuuni throne you can think of— skulls, spikes, wings, and the like— but mixed with the slick design of a gaming chair.}
He swatted away the withered husk of what was once the shield of Aegis— supposedly indestructible, though clearly not, considering it crumbled into dust— and sank his bottom onto the comforts of his conjured chair, legs crossed, entirely engrossed in the battle below.
That is, until a gust of wind— unnaturally cold for any season, sliced through the air, blasting him with an avalanche of thick fog that hindered his viewing.
"You insolent insect!" A voice howled, dripping with fury and venomous intent.
Luxion didn't flinch.
"What's this? Is the little poodle hungry now?" He uttered, rolling his eyes, voice sharp with pricking annoyance.
"Can you not? I'm busy here."
It was only now that he partially acknowledged the presence buzzing like a pest at his side for quite a while now.
Not a playful gust, nor an unassuming insect, but a massively stupid chunk of salty meat wrapped in white fur known as a Fenrir. And what had brushed his cheeks just moments ago wasn't simply any random breeze, but the very same blast Fenrir had used to turn the district into frozen peaks a few scenes prior.
Luxion… was not pleased by the interruption.
"You've got some nerve speaking to me like that." Fenrir rumbled, his fury crackling in the air around him.
"It's infuriating beyond words, but… those wretched armaments of yours truly were capable of resisting my power. However, now that your proud shield and crystalline armor have shattered, you can no longer—"
"Just stay put for a while, will you?"
Luxion's words descended with unquestionable finality. He snapped his fingers, and the mist vanished in an instant. His devouring gaze didn't even bother meeting the beast's.
"Your turn in this charade is yet to come. So until then— sit still in a corner, pray to your Gods, and shut your mouth."
Luxion… seemed bored. Extremely so.
Uninterested in anything the beast had to offer.
{Author's Note: The armor was disintegrating because I stopped maintaining it— definitely not because it's broken from his attacks.}
"Charade…?" Fenrir's growl grew more intense.
"You dare… treat me like a joke? You!? A mere human— so blinded by his own stupidity that he failed to even comprehend the peril he's in!?" His fangs gleamed, a breath of the freezing tundra escaped his shivering maw.
"Don't get too conceited, child of monkeys. That scrap metal you're so proud of— it means nothing before my true power!"
{Author's Note: Gasp!!!!! He used the M-word!!!}
Before anyone could react, Fenrir lunged an assault at a speed that shattered the sound barrier, reality itself splitting apart in his blurry trail. His claws, primed to rip— craving to tear the flesh of that insolent brat into unrecognizable pieces, slashed forward with a force that cleaved through the heavens—
However… in a snap, he found himself back where he started— to the spot he had just been.
"What…?"
His attack had landed. His talons have reached his flesh— that sensation of contact was undeniably real… He felt its unmistakable whisper to the very marrow of his bones.
And yet, the world told him otherwise.
"Grr!!! Cheap tricks…!!!"
Undeterred by a confusing failure, Fenrir snarled, his wrath amplified. He struck again.
And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again… And again.
Each time, same result. Without fail, he found himself standing exactly at that very same space, his body reverted before its motion, as if he had never moved at all. The moment his claws came within inches of Luxion, threads of a fractured reality dragged him back.
The same place.
The same stance.
The same heartbeat.
Over. And over again.
It was as though time itself had been rewound.
And in a world where time doesn't flow in an absolute line, time itself is meaningless.
"What is this sorcery…?"
The divine beast hissed— his thoughts, once overwhelmed with rage, now trembled with something far worse, gnawing at his insides for answers he couldn't fathom.
"Is he manipulating space? Or could this possibly be a forbidden art of the element of the [Void]? But, I don't sense any fluctuations in the flow of his mana circuits to indicate his use of magic… No, this is…"
Realization— chills crawled up his spine like freezing water.
"This child… He has no mana at all."
Fenrir stilled as though time had halted.
"Is this boy… Could he be… a bearer of a crest like that man—"
"What's wrong, Fenrir?"
Luxion's voice, trailed with a velvety lilt, spliced his mental seclusion like sunshine at dawn— tone sweet, pitch upbeat, coiling in soft hums like clouds in Eden's skies.
For the first time that night, their eyes met.
Ancient. Cold. Dimmed to a shade that swallowed it light. It stared— not with wrath, vengeance, or the passion of a hero.
It was studying.
At that moment, Fenrir's soul screamed.
His body, frozen. His vision blurred into incoherent scenes. His breath came in rugged gasps. His entire being— every fiber that made his existence trembled in fear, petrified at the mere sight of… that.
"Y-Y-Y-You… Wh-What… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!?"
His own howl barely sounded like his own.
Luxion's eyes— those amethyst irises, gleaming with child-like wonder, yet brooding in the dark tint of a bottomless well— were not human. A void reigned by spectres where divinity had no dominion— forsaken by the heavens, loathed by the underworld.
The bloodlust— otherworldly. That malice— consuming of anything it gazes upon.
Those weren't the eyes of a child.
Those belong to no human he has met in his prolonged lifetime. Not any beastkin. Not any dragons or demons. Not even history's most detestable transgressors came to possess such a repugnantly tainted essence.
They were a curse.
Something that shouldn't exist.
A mistake that took the darkness as its vessel.
It wasn't just a threat.
It wasn't a promise of violence.
It was something way worse than the kiss of death— torturous, visceral in a way more corrupted than a taste of eternal suffering.
A horror beyond reason.
A plaything of a paradox.
Fear took its roots.
The sense of dread it evoked. The inescapable terror it projects, haunting its victim in its cold, shrilling touch. And the playfulness of a boy who donned the false skin of a saint.
This whole night— no, whole scenario— Why?
Fenrir had lived through multiple eras, battled many champions who proclaimed themselves to be incarnations of Gods. He has encountered existences beyond the grasp of this world's restraints, ones to shatter its chains, and, once— a being to conjure its rise.
But none of them— not a single one— not those horned heretics, their reptilian ancestors, or those accursed angels… not even that man held this much malevolence in his wake.
How could a being like this be permitted to exist in this world?
WHAT IS THIS MONSTER!?
Luxion uttered no reply.
He didn't answer for that kind of mercy, only merits those of value. He refused to grant him a conclusive thread, and simply watched as the proud fiend collapsed on himself— devoured by demons of his making.
Paranoia breeds fear, and that fear festers from the presence of the unknown.
He allowed it to take root in his beating heart, spread its corrupting vines to each vessel, and occupy each passing thought.
Merely observing, letting his curious gaze trail its symptoms, graze every corner of his being— curious, patient, like a scientist watching an insect squirm under a magnifying glass, slowly as he sinks into the depths of a malevolent pit— real, only to his cognition.
"Hahhh~ Finally…!" Luxion leaned back, exhaling softly as he stretched his arms.
"—Some peace and quiet."
[Suggestion], a spell to ingrain a thought in an individual's subconscious.
[Confusion], magic of disorientation.
[Thought Acceleration], as it sounds, amplifies brain capacity, hastening its functions.
And at the centerpiece of this orchestra…
Made by yours truly, [Despair Aura]— a magic that extracts the target's deepest fears into reality, exacerbating them by a thousandfold.
Luxion, in fact, did nothing.
Neither did Fenrir.
Shifting to an external perspective, both sides remained unaltered. No one had moved an inch since the beginning of their bout— No, it hasn't even begun.
It never did.
Every fatal slash.
Every unhinged loop.
Every dreadful second.
Everything that has transpired up until now was, as the beast himself said—
Merely a [Cheap Trick].
"Call it a compound spell— though technically, its functions are coded too tightly that it may as well be just one magic." Luxion commentated, playfully breaking the fourth wall.
"So maybe I can call it something like [Nightmare Fuel] or [Mindbreak]."
Luxion stopped, fingers linked before his mouth like any good mastermind, his metaphorical round glasses gleaming to hide his eyes.
"Or worst— [NinAlexander]!!!"
No, no, no— NO!!! Absolutely not! I don't want my targets going— [Lu… xion…]— on me. That's too much cursed energy…
{Author's Note: It might even turn [Jogo-sensei] into a bar of Kit-Kat— Ohhh… whoops.}
Perception plagued with the terrorizing concept— Luxion is a [Devil]— the frazzled dog desperately ran.
However, his mangled senses, distorted beyond function, know not what is left to his right anymore. His eyes— once as clear as the skies, unwavering in their vision— showed him something he didn't hear. His fur, pristine white as the snow he conquered, suggested a notion that his sharp nose couldn't smell.
The supreme vessel he boasted so much— failed him when it mattered most.
How… Why did this come to be?
The great Fenrir, who ruled over the white wasteland the one-eyed hummingbird had vacated before ascending to his throne in the enigmatic sky fortress. The being who had single-handedly slain the empire of thorns overnight, devouring the thousands of souls that thrived on its lands.
The beast fell onto the blank floor— invisible, reflecting the ruined district below. He remained afloat— immobile, yet conscious— thanks to the magic of that child…
Child… Yes. A mere human child… Fragile… powerless… irrelevant…
"Lies…Vile Lies…!" The Beast groaned.
"Someone of a feeble race… couldn't ever hope to reach… those heights!!!"
"Now, let's see~ What did I miss—"
Suddenly, a burst of energy erupted from the drained beast. Its howl reverberated with a force that not even the transparent cage Luxion had encased him in could withstand.
"Ahh~ So you managed to escape that…" Luxion blinked lazily, a hint of exasperation trailing his voice.
"Good to know you're still twitching."
That command script needs more revisions than I thought… good thing I tested it here first.
"Using such… underhanded sorcery in a duel… What a disgrace as a warrior! You're a shame in the battlefield…!" He cursed defiantly, while practically grovelling.
"You humans can only rely… on your insufferable trickery to even hope to compare to much… superior beings like myself…!"
Not very convincing there, buddy.
"Hm, I suppose that is true. But— Pffft!!!" Luxion rebuts, fully intent on fanning the flames of Fenrir's already blazing temper.
"I wonder what does that make of you who is dumb enough to fall for basic trickery?"
The divine beast, at this point, was nothing but a hollowed shell of the dignified warmonger he appeared as mere moments ago. Luxion's psionic assault had left him with no physical injuries, but what good is a body that holds the strength to demolish a country when the mind that controls it had began to corrode into waste.
He has yet to realize this truth—
And likely, he never will.
"Hahhh… Hahhh… Stop spouting nonsense… only you can comprehend…" Fenrir howled, his voice hoarse and gravelly as he flickered between conscious states.
"This humiliation… won't go… unpunished."
His vision was a constant whirlwind— seeing four of the child, at times, eight. So are his limbs and cognition— deprived of the capacity to make sense of his situation. A perpetually ringing tune inhabited his ears, fluctuating with every motion— while grains of shattered glass seemed to scratch his throat with how difficult it was for him to breathe.
"Oh, you can't even understand words now." Luxion muttered.
"Well, that's only temporary… I think. It should fix itself in due time, so won't you behave yourself for the moment—"
His words were cut short as thunderous sounds, distant explosions, and almost rhythmic clashing of metal, were occurring at a way faster rate than he had expected— hastening the show's runtime.
"Wait, pause! Pause! Pause! Hold on for a bit! I wasn't watching!"
Luxion waved his hand, and from his palms were chains— riddled with dark spikes and what seemed like pores that hissed with potent magic. It ran beside the beast, slamming him down like stakes nailed through a cross. Straggling Fenrir's limbs, binding his torso, snout... and his tail— for symmetry.
Although, to his dismay, even with this much opposition, the stubborn wolf refused to listen.
It continued to growl— even louder now, thrashing from its shackles until it was able to actually damage the chains of synthesis with its bare fangs as though it was melting wax, bleeding to a purple dust.
Corroded— No. Dispelled. Reduced, into the raw mana it was constructed from.
This caught Luxion's eye.
Well… he would've if he was looking.
Luxion's attention was hopelessly fixated on the ongoing fights. He watched with stars in his eyes, intently, like a child who just witnessed his fantasies come to life— an author watching his creation tell its tale.
It wasn't just realized, he conjured them into existence.
This is epic anime battles in real-life. Things he had only seen in pages beyond his screen are now as real as he is, and he has a front-row seat to see it all. It would be a monumental waste of time and opportunity if he failed to enjoy this rare occurrence after all of the groundwork that he did.
Fortunately, someone was there to take notes in his stead.
"I'm back, my dearest half."
The voice slithered like silk across his shoulders, rich with sin and adoration.
Materializing from the depths of his shadow, a bewitching figure emerged, her body unfurling like a serpent made of starlight— dim, yet brilliant. Her form draped over the armrest of his throne, arms coiled loosely around his neck.
Her touch was both possessive and teasing, as though declaring her claim of her rightful place beside him… or perhaps, atop him.
Snow-white hair cascaded down her frame like a dancing gale, graceful as it flows, fierce as it is dignified. It danced with a spectral grace, each strand stroking the moon-lit heavens— fluid, refined, and in some way, wild.
An untamed beauty. A portrait of regality that mocked the vanity of kings and the shame of emperors.
Her crescent-shaped earrings swayed gently with every subtle movement like a tranquil wave, ringing a soft tune as though a siren had perched by the sailor's boat— soothing, alluring. These are ornaments handpicked by Luxion himself— gifts befitting of her unparalleled allure.
Her lashes, beautifully long and dazzlingly silver, kissed the edges of her piercing eyes. Black sclera, drizzled with whitened veins, framed devouring pupils, irises that bled in a deep, haunting crimson.
A sight both mesmerizing and mortifying.
[Oshiete, Oshiete yo~♪]— Luxion couldn't help but hum those syllables, unable to contain his boyish awe the first time he laid eyes upon this form of hers— nearly a perfected incarnate of her humanification, leagues above the half-baked mimicry of life she once had.
Still… must she always express herself every time in such a… provocative manner? It suited her— make no mistake in that. It suited her dangerously well, in fact.
This time is even more audacious than before…
Not that I'm complaining.
She adorned herself in a dress woven in pristine black and stitched with accents of gold. The silken fabric— however little there was— clung delicately to her frame, revealing enough to peek at her soul, while also hinting at far more.
A single rose brooch nestled above the deep valley of her bountiful chest, fastening together the twin strips of silk that wound around her nape and fell to meet the dark, hugging her thin waist like a vice. Her back— exposed to the candlelight, flawless like porcelain— carried the perfect balance of poise, mystique, and elegance.
And then, there was the slit of her ankle-length skirt. Bold. Daring. Riding up her thigh, rising teasingly high, dangerously close to her hip, beckoning the eye and daring the imagination.
A Goddess in both beauty and charm.
A sovereign crowned in moonlight.
And above all…
Black tights!
Majestically thick thighs!!!
MAGNIFICENT! 100/100.!!!
"Welcome home." Luxion stirred with a smile.
"How was it, Blanche? Did you manage to escape that banshee call in time?"
"Ahh! You mean jerk! You did that on purpose, didn't you!?"
She huffed, placing a hand on her waist— annoyed, yet tolerating. Her cheeks puffed out in a pout that should've been unbecoming of someone so divine, yet it only made her even more devastatingly charming.
"Gracious heavens~ At least warn me next time! That was quite the close call, you know? Another second, and I might've been caught in that nauseating whisper."
"Well, I figured you'd be quick enough to slither your way out of that whole ordeal just fine."
"I mean, I am. But— Ughh… did you forget you were the one who sent me to fetch your luggage in the first place? At least be a little considerate." She rumbled under a sigh.
"I'm not as immune to those parlor tricks as you are, so it's a real pain to deal with, I tell you."
And tell, she sure did— complete with exaggerated indignation, and an adorable pout that was far too rare to pass up. The contrast between her usual mature, seductive aura and this childish whining was so drastic that Luxion couldn't help but let out a genuine chuckle.
For the infamously heinous [Queen of Atrocity], the scourge of fallen dynasties, to act this carefree in front of someone… sulking like a needy girlfriend demanding attention.
Just how much had she changed from the cluelessly feral girl he once met?
He found himself staring at her face, lost in thought, endlessly smirking— which she mistook for mockery.
Smack!
"Ow— Hey!"
A not-so-light flick to his forehead snapped him back to reality.
"Don't just sit there grinning to yourself like a smug little gremlin." She grumbled, a hint of genuine irritation in her voice.
"You're not reflecting, are you?"
"Ahaha~ My bad, my bad."
Luxion reached out to poke her chest before realizing mid-motion and shifting at the nick of time, to instead tap her still puffed cheeks.
"Just a little joke. I promise I won't do it again, so don't be mad, yeah?"
Though his grin said otherwise.
It had been quite a while since he'd seen her act this way. Maybe he had gone a bit too far with his teasing— Wait, I didn't even do anything! I just laughed at something wholesome and got hit for it arbitrarily!
What kind of unreasonable savagery is this!? Totally outrageous!
Still, after a dramatic sigh, Blanche let it go. Her pout melted, and her ravishing smile returned, the corners of her eyes softening as her gaze drifted downward. A look of curiosity, tinged with anticipation, flickered across her face as she watched the world beneath them unfold.
"By the way, I've tightened the leash on that pug because it looked like he's about to break through your seal." She mentioned casually.
"Hope I'm not interfering with anything."
"Oh, yeah, no problem… Wait— really?" Luxion blinked, ears perked up.
As his senses contracted, her report was confirmed true.
Break through… she say.
A certain force obstructed his construct, coiling in its thickened edges. The tension of the bind had indeed increased in intensity, layers weaved through one another. At first, he assumed it was simply the beast's struggle that had caused it, but after a closer look at it, he recognized the delicacy of its interference, far too complementary to his own to be of anyone else.
[Unbind these seals, you pair of cowards…! Fight me… fair and square!]
The divine beast taunted. Immobile as he was, his defiance had yet to cease. Though a sense of desperation tugged his every breath.
"Forced telepathy?"
The air shifted.
Luxion, tone devoid of its lighthearted teasing, now glared at him with a gaze that tore to his flesh like a butcher's knife— disgust, annoyance, hostility. His silent intent alone was enough to make Fenrir foresee his ending.
"Suddenly hearing an irksome voice echoing inside my head… I can't say I appreciate that, Divine Beast."
For a moment, the boy had lost his cool.
And in that instance, Fenrir, trapped in an inescapable peril, felt as though his head had been detached from his neck.
He had dared to reach into Luxion's mind, and he reciprocated.
That [face] reflected his hallucination— the very phantom haunting his every thought. His obscure visions weren't just mere delusions. They were premonitions. A warning brought by his instincts, carved in the deepest annals of his fragile memory.
An advice he should've heeded.
It's too late now.
[You fools who know only to chain your opponents are nothing but weaklings who possess no real strength to show!]
He can't.
Regardless of his will, he mustn't. For the moment he does, his life will reach its conclusion.
These chains weren't there to restrain him, they exist to protect him— fragile safeguard keeping his heart from being pierced. The guttural growls that rumbled from his throat were nothing more than a desperate front to prolong the inevitable— a feeble attempt to mask the trembling child within.
A false display of defiance, concealing the raw, suffocating terror threatening to consume him whole from within.
[I'll crush your skull, along with your servant over there, once I free myself off these flimsy chains you seemed to be so proud of—]
"My~ What a vulgar dog." Blanche interrupted, her sadistic tone spread like poison mist.
"Quite the dishonest boy, aren't you?"
A futile bluff, it would seem.
That woman… Those piercing eyes that heralded the coalescent gluttony of this world… and that very smile that shattered the Titan's regime, and ruined the dynasty of the fallen behemoths… Why… Why is she here? How… is she still in this realm?
When had she awoken?
Blanche's eyes— deep, unfathomable crimson— glittered in a casual bliss— knowing and intent. And in them, Fenrir saw a nightmare that had just been made a fact. An anomaly that refused to be undone by fate's bidding.
The tomb… what happened to its gates? Why does she have this form? How did she attain this evolution after all those lost centuries?
She wasn't a written entity.
She wasn't supposed to exist.
Her existence should've been erased from the annals of history, and yet…
"Why… Who freed her from the depths? Who… in their right mind, would dare fuel her unbridled avarice!?"
His eyes, bloodshot from strain of simply opening his vision, sprawled his limited senses, searching for a desperate answer to quench his woes… then, he found him.
"It's him… That child…"
The way they interacted— the way he touched her without being devoured. The passion they shared as they conversed. Their seemingly equal relationship, unthinkable of that specter's corrupted character.
The heir to the Shadowed Crown of Vanity that accursed man had prophesied about—
It must be him.
But… Why is he here so soon? Wasn't he supposed to only reach his potential a decade from this point? Why does he already command this much power? …And—
Why is he with the [Queen], of all people!?
Have you deceived me… [Etkwtkxl]!?
Fenrir recoiled, ceasing his futile thrashing. He regained a smidgen of his composure, his mind decelerating in its paranoia, though his body— it refused to not shiver.
"He said that my turn would be after the others have concluded— that I would be the closing act… If that is true, then… I still have a chance of survival. I need to somehow extend that window…" He recounted, rationalizing.
"I need to buy time… Until she arrives, I can't allow myself to—"
"Change of plans." The voice coiled like death's personal hymn.
"Death will not be your verdict."
Their eyes met for but a second before Luxion rose, leaving a smile that declared an absolute prophecy. He reached out a hand, and threads of spectral glitter trailed his definite motion, shimmering like an eclipse at dawn— white light devoured by a consuming abyss.
And from there— voices.
"[Todeszentaur]. [Zhar-ptitsa]. [Vorakraken]."
Luxion spoke their names like a solemn decree, each syllable dripping with eerie finality.
Not a command, but divine summons.
Between his fingers, he held talismans— void-black, their astral surfaces inscribed with intricate, eldritch sigils drawn in designs incarnate of the titles they portray.
"Come forth, my children."
Hailed from the depths of his inner sanctum, they answered.
The fractured souls bound within those talismans— portraits of ancient pacts of fealty— began to stir. Their ethereal forms turned concepts to reality, silhouettes splintering from their prison— their utopia, and onto the world outside their Eden.
An oath of unyielding trust…
And in return, absolute servitude.
The talismans cracked. Their inscriptions faded, devoured by the flames of their existential essence, each— vibrant, yet differing in how they set ablaze.
One burned with a pale bluish-green glow— an enigmatic fire, glittering in a prudent crackle, haunted by unknown specters. Another erupted with the brilliance of an elegant gold, pulsating like a star on the verge of collapse.
And the last— a deep, menacing crimson torrent, rich as freshly spilled blood.
Their awakening had succeeded.
Hovering before their omnipotent master, they each manifested in form— the first one being…
"Master!!!"
A small figure leaped onto Luxion's lap, her voice effervescent with excitement.
The child, no taller than Lenard, was a confection of pure, unrestrained energy.
She had bright crimson hair that draped outwards like the petals of a blooming dandelion, brushing her narrow shoulders like bouncing seafoam. Her round, ink-black eyes shimmered like a starlit sky, framed by plump, rosy cheeks perpetually flushed with a soothing warmth.
She wore an oversized coat— half-black, half-white, trimmed with maroon linens— shaped in a design that bore the motif of a wailing orca perched on the beach, comfortably embracing her petite frame like a protective blanket.
Underneath it, was a snug black shorts secured by a crimson belt contrasted against the delicate frills of a crop-top white vest whose prim collar was adorned with a red ribbon that trailed down to her exposed belly where, etched onto her smooth skin, was a circular crest— a hypnotic spiraling weave of bands and curves constructing enigmatic patterns. An arc-shaped hairpin tucked her bangs behind her right ear, revealing large, ringed earrings, each adorned with three smaller rings resonating in soft, melodic chimes with her every step.
Brimming with joy, she sat cross-legged, her small fingers gripping the fabric of his coat as she nestled against the melting comfort of her master's chest.
With the pure, unblemished radiance of a toddler, she let out a delighted hum.
"Please hug Roux!"
Her bouncy cowlick swayed in rhythm with her anticipation, shifting left and right as if mirroring her ecstasy.
Luxion, ever composed, let out an exaggerated sigh before indulging her request, his arms circling her tiny waist as he rested his chin on her shoulder.
"Is this good?" He coyly asked.
"Ehehehehe~~~"
Roux of the [Squid].
The cherished jellybean of the family.
The sneakily mischievous gremlin with the sweetness of a sugar apple that melted demons.
The princess spoiled by unholy wraiths.
And undoubtedly, the mascot of their group.
"Aww…" Blanche mused, her expression soft, swooning into a melted puddle.
"That's making me jealous—"
"NOOO!!!"
Roux's sudden outburst was accompanied by a wild flailing, her hands balled into tiny fists wailing in protest before latching onto Luxion's arm— so abruptly and ferociously precious that it nearly gave him a heart attack.
"Mistress is already with Master all the time! It's not fair!" She whined, brows curled into a frown, cheeks puffed like an angry beaver.
"Roux wants to play with Master more, too!"
Blanche, meanwhile, froze— utterly helpless. Not to Roux's words, but by the sheer cuteness of her sulking.
Her glare, lighter than a mosquito's bite, tore through her like the twin blades of reality's severer. Her painfully endearing pout could end wars in an instant— so devastatingly adorable that uncontrollable envy sank into the very marrow of her bones.
Luxion was taking advantage of his unfairly blessed status… and he knew it!
"I want her to do that to me too…" Blanche conjured an innocent wish.
"No, you've got it all wrong, my dear." Blanche whispered cheerily as she sandwiched Roux's plump cheeks between her palms.
"What I'm referring to… is this one here!"
Roux was confused, tilting her head to the side, lips squished into a shape too adorable for mortals to witness.
"…mh? Mwishtess???"
The growing smile on Blanche's lips continued to spread further. Her eyes mellowed into a drooping fawn, as did her racing heart— trying to hopelessly resist the urge to embrace this irresistibly adorable creature in the cuddling warmth of her arms.
Hmm, a drop-dead beauty with thick thighs and a literal angel in the same frame… This must be what heaven is like.
I must have been a saint or something in one of my past lives to deserve this.
The sheer destructive force of her unparalleled cuteness was one of the few weaknesses Luxion still possessed.
Ahhh~ This is soothing my soul~
Though at this point, he didn't even care anymore. He had long since accepted this fate, resigned to the undeniable truth that this is how it would be until the very end of his time.
"It is my honor and happiness to be graced by your presence once more."
The figure that spoke was of a gallant knight bearing the imposing torso of a conquering warlord and the lower half that of a majestic Friesian stallion.
His voice— thunderous, wrapped in the reverb of shifting plates— was coiled in velvet, sweet and composed, as he stepped forth from the verdant flames of conjuring, clad in jet black armor that gleamed in an ominously otherworldly rhythm.
A true embodiment of a [Dark Paladin].
Veins of a faint turquoise underglow lit the edges and crevices of the metal plates, casting an ethereal haze that outlined his revenant form. The seeping flames intensified as it climbed upward, culminating at the three-pronged opening of his obsidian helm.
There, a fiery mane erupted— extending back along his spine like the fiery outburst of an unrelenting tempest.
In his massive hands, laced in flaking translucent scales that revealed his luminescent, ashen blue skin, he gripped a large spear, towering even his already humongous form.
An artifact of terrifying beauty and power.
No mere weapon, but an ancient relic.
The shaft of the weapon was sealed in dark leather— made from the hide of a bulwark scorpion, engraved with magical runes pulsing rhythmically, feeding off the energy of its wielder. The spearhead itself was an unsettling sight— crystalline, twisting, and serpentine— with twin wicked spires of purple, gleaming like conjoined vipers.
One was ahead, the other trailing like a slow, deliberate predator.
[Gungnir]— almighty spear of the Godfather.
The real deal— unlike this cheap replica that my ancestors mistook for it.
Luxion gazed upon the half-dissolved spear levitating by his throne, overtaken with frostbite, crumbling like shattered ice.
It's good timing. Might as well dispose of this useless thing.
Legends told that it had been a divine relic forged from the blood of its creator, deemed one of the most destructive artifacts in existence. The plaguing cause that prompted the demise of millions. A cataclysmic weapon so powerful— engraved within a consequence so dire, that it drains the lifespan of its wielder in exchange for its strength.
A tragic symbol of hubris.
The last will and warning of the foolish king who, blinded by his greed for ascension, failed to see his realm falling apart.
…
Or so the myth went on to be romanticized, but those who truly knew its origin understood its darker truth.
Gungnir was not a weapon. It was an entity cursed with the gluttony of a demon. Its famine wasn't simply a metaphor— it was a real hunger. A vampiric parasite made with a singular purpose— to devour.
The more mana poured into it, the more its instincts are stimulated, and with it— more energy to be consumed from its wielder… until it will inevitably empty its host's lifespan.
It's a cycle of death. A reaper's poison.
Every ounce of power, every surge of magical energy it siphoned, will eventually be fed back into its creator— Its true master.
Vesper of the [Horse].
Once a mountain centaur that evolved into the Divine Beast, [Sagittarius], before falling into a demonic frenzy— setting his flesh ablaze in the eternal flames of the purgatorial plane, shifting his existence to that of a Dark Paladin.
One regarded by many as the harvester of souls.
The Headless Cavalier— [Dullahan].
The part of the legend about it being forged with blood was apparently true.
Although, instead of it belonging to its creator, the spear was born after draining the blood of a king, whose heart it was stabbed into for seven days and night, in a promise of absolute wisdom and dominance over the world…
And he really believed that— What an idiot.
Just imagine being born that way. It's quite the gruesome way to be given consciousness… yet surprisingly, not the strangest one there is.
This world really is messed up to have these kinds of things happen on the regular.
"It is my utmost pleasure to be of your service, my Liege." The knight spoke, taking a graceful bow, a hand placed on his chest.
"You as well, of course, Milady."
And now, I have a badass knight waltzing with this mysterious and menacing aura, not to mention the absolute charisma to back up that mystique! Gaahhhh! You already know he's a total monster just by that Spartan gladiator look!
The chuuni side in me is screaming like a fangirl right now!!!
"Yeah. Good to see you, Vesper." The young master reciprocated, a fawning smirk hidden beneath his composed look.
"Glad to see you're still the same as ever."
"It has been a while, Vesper." Blanche greeted him back.
"Hello, Ves~!" Roux followed, waving enthusiastically.
"Sorry for not summoning you sooner. I refrained on doing so as I thought you'd much prefer to be asleep than be by my side in this lackluster period." Luxion continued.
"There's really been nothing interesting these past few months, you see."
"That…" Vesper paused.
"—could never be plausible."
"Hmm? Ah… eh? How so?" Luxion staggeringly asked, his curiosity piqued.
Have I been missing out on something?
"You are the most intriguing being I've ever had the privilege of witnessing in this decrepit lifetime of mine. A storm of chaos to break this world's corrupted monotony."
The voice was unfittingly jovial, almost reverent in its tone, a stark contrast to the dark, suffocating air surrounding his figure.
That's… something a stalker would say.
{Author's Note: In a sense, that's not wrong since he's living inside me… can't get any closer than that.}
"Just being by your side as you go about your normal day— I am certain that alone would be more fascinating than any adventure one could embark on."
Instead of answering the question Luxion had in mind, the response only deepened his confusion.
Ugghhh! I knew he's that type of character, but I still can't get used to this [Sasuga, Luxion-sama] treatment… I thought it would be great, but it's making my back itchy for some reason.
Well, being revered like this is fine, but not knowing the reason why is kinda unsettling.
At least for Blanche and Roux, I can tell to an extent, but with him… I can't read what he's thinking at all.
…are the idle thoughts floating in Luxion's playful mind.
However, to save both their faces and to not ruin this festive mood, he simply smiled in silence, straying his gaze from his servant as if to say that everything, even the words he had just uttered, was all according to his plan.
When in doubt, do an Aizen—
"I concur with Sir Vesper's righteous sentiment, Lord Luxion." Another voice chimed in, this one eerily calm.
Oh, for goodness' sake… here's another one…
Was it a boy? Or perhaps a girl?
One couldn't tell at first glance.
Their appearance was an enigma, suggesting an age on the verge of being a young adult, straddling between divine and alien.
They displayed a perfect blend of both masculine and feminine traits, creating a uniquely androgynous silhouette— one that even Luxion found impossibly perplexing.
The figure had light skin, practically shimmered under the glow of the dim night. Their hair, a long golden braid that reached the waist, cascaded like a thread of silk behind them. The fringe of their hair lazily draped over the right side of their face, covering most, while the left was open— a perpetually closed slit.
{Author's Note: He's not blind— just one of those slit-eyed characters.}
The one to emerge from the golden cinders, a presence— striking as it was regal, his pure white militaristic coat billowing like an intricate veil around their slender frame. Beneath it was a black and beige vest, the design so complex it could narrate his entire history.
As he knelt before Luxion, the inextinguishable white flames rippled across his back, materializing into four, searing, grand wings of unbridled, restless fire.
Chrysos. The [Raven] dyed in white, attaining the blessing of revival and rebirth.
"The Lord's very presence is the embodiment of the unknown and orthodox." The figure continued, his voice level yet coiled affectionately with unshakable admiration.
"Your existence defies the boundaries set by the creators, your actions twist the very fabric of fate, and your desires— whatever they may be, rewrites causality itself into the image of your divine visions."
The air around them seemed to grow heavier with each passing second of silence.
"Everything— every story, every thread— in time, shall grow undeniably more fascinating simply through your involvement alone."
Both he and Vesper nodded at each other, smirking like creeps as they— together, rejoiced in the glory of their pledged king's greatness. Even the innocent child in his lap followed suit, raising her hands in the air like a devoted heretic, not really understanding what was going on.
It's weird… I intended to summon my familiars, not a cult.
"It's good to see you again, Chrysos." Luxion said, cringing at this painful sight.
"It always pleases me to witness that radiant figure of yours."
That's not a lie. Those wings are really beautiful.
"Such praise…!" Chrysos gasped softly.
"My Lord, it is wasted on someone like me! Compared to your dignified visage, I am but an insignificant moth gravitating towards your unparalleled brilliance!"
"I-I see… well, no need to be humble, I merely stated the truth." Luxion replied awkwardly.
"Thank you very much! I will strive to be worthy of your high regards."
He knelt deeper, reverence overflowing.
"Lord Luxion praised me…! I… I am beyond delighted!!!"
(Squish~)
"Hmm…!?"
Chrysos felt a tender warmth land on his head. It ruffled his hair, caressing it gently like a refreshing breeze in an autumn afternoon… midnight in this case.
"This is… Lord Luxion…!?" The loyal vassal stirred, heart pounding.
"This gesture of benevolence and warmth towards his subjects…! To think he'd go this far to portray his appreciation for us…"
The realization almost made him tear up.
"Oh, how blessed I am to have such a compassionate lord!"
His thoughts and unwavering servitude were graciously answered. A sense of fulfillment welled up in his chest, lingering like the sweet memory of their fated meeting at that time.
It brought him utmost joy to know this fact… however…
"Hmm? Was his hand always been… this large? The young lord is still young. He might have had a growth spurt without my notice, but…" His brows furrowed, head slightly tilting.
"Is it normal for Lord Luxion's hand to be as big as my head?"
Was he mistaken? Perhaps it wasn't the Lord but his consort, Lady Blanche? Still, the hand seemed too large to be of her delicate mistress. Maybe it was of the valiant knight, Vesper's instead? But it felt rather too smooth for it to be his armored hands.
With these thoughts in mind, he lifted his head.
—Only to see neither the dark figure of his master nor his most trusted vassals. It's not even a hand, but rather the appendage of a squid colored in a wine-red pigment slithering through his hair like a burrowing rattlesnake.
"Eh…?"
In front of him, he found circular mouths filled to the brim with thousands of needle-like teeth, salivating like a starved lion, as their long, dark purplish tongues stick out from the depths of their throats to lovingly caress his face.
"GYAHH!!! You fish-brained freak! Get your filthy tentacles off of me!"
"Just a bite, Cy…" Roux pressed towards the scurrying Chrysos, eyes gleaming like an ecstatic fox stalking a helpless prey.
"It's been too long since Roux smelled something so tasty…"
Her extended arm transformed into multiple tentacles, possessing nodes which blossomed into gruesome mouths that wrapped themselves around the boy's silhouette.
"Nooo— ARRGHHH!!! I SAID, STOP IT!" Chrysos protested.
"Why is it always me!? Why don't you try and eat Sir Vesper or the Mistress for once!? They have just as dense of an aura as me!!!"
"Don't be stupid, Cy!" Roux argued confidently, nibbling on his head.
"The Mistress will seriously turn Roux into sushi if Roux do something like that! And Ves has no flesh to munch on… also, he stabbed Roux with his spear before, and it hurts a lot!"
"…I won't though." Blanche watches from a corner.
"Could you please… not phrase it like that." Vesper stated, face-palming. His tone awkward, almost begging.
"Who are you calling stupid— AHH! STOP THAT! DON'T EAT MY HAIR!"
Chrysos continued to struggle for dear life. Though it didn't seem to work, even when he cloaked himself in flames.
"It's fine, isn't it? You'll regrow it anyways."
"Cut it out already!!! Roux!!!"
With the exception of our resident spy, the group is assembled here.
The mastermind in the shadows who dictates the plot of this world— me. A top-class fan service, my queen. A dark knight with a shady backstory. A cinnamon roll. And…
…
Hmm? Now that I think about it...
What was he supposed to be again?
"Huhh… What's going on…" Chrysos felt a mysterious hole suddenly tore open in his heart.
"Why do I feel my chest suddenly aching…?"
"You okay?" Roux asked, chewing his ear.
"Ngh!? It's all your fault— I'm sure of it! Get off of me already!!!"
The heavenly bird that spawned the epic of reincarnation was again forgotten by his vowed majesty. Chrysos was catching strays, not even knowing where it came from.