1

It took a handful seconds for Izumi to take in what the old man had just said. Under any other circumstances, she would have laughed hard at the outrageous introduction, but not now. Not here. Instead, she only moved. Assuming her customary stance, she seized the handle of her sword, ready for battle once again.

As if anyone could ever be ready for such a thing.

Whereas Ohrm had restored her body, Izumi’s psyche had yet to recover from the preceding horror and shock, teetering on the verge of breaking. And, by the sound of it, what she faced next was no average brawl. The choice of a title set the stranger before her eyes as nothing short of the villain above all villains, the very embodiment of all vile and dreadful.

The God of Darkness.

Never in her wildest dreams could Izumi have expected to face such a high profile foe so suddenly after another difficult fight. If it were a game, it would’ve been terribly unbalanced. Unfair. Straight up broken. Then again, reality had never exhibited much fairness, for as long as she could remember.

Complaints wouldn’t change things. No matter how excruciating a fight awaited her now, no matter how absurd the opponent, Izumi could only suck it up and give it her all. The thought of willingly submitting to fate never once crossed her mind. Before the simple will to live, to survive, a sense of responsibility drove her on. Had she unwittingly unleashed something even worse than a daemon upon the world? Whatever should happen to herself, she couldn’t allow Faalan’s sacrifice to be the prelude to such a tragedy.

This alone she couldn’t allow.

However, in sharp contrast to Izumi’s aggressive pose and tension, Geltsemanhe himself assumed no fighting stance, or made any attempt to cast godly magic.

Instead, the alleged deity flashed a self-chiding cringe as he watched her.

“Ah, yes,” he remarked. “I see the word ‘darkness’ has certain negative connotations in your culture. Had I recognized this right away, I would have picked my words with better care. My apologies. Please be at ease, I do not mean you any harm. In our world, Dark is one of the eight classical elements. It represents insight gained through experience, hidden wisdom, and knowledge of the reverse side of matters. I am here merely as a counselor, a teacher of sorts, to offer advice to the inhabitants of this world.”

“A teacher…?” Izumi made a little frown, but wouldn’t let go of her sword. “So you’re not the master of the monster?”

“Goodness, no,” the man replied with a troubled laugh. “Up until fifteen minutes ago, I have been little more than a prisoner at my own house. But thanks to you and your friends’ efforts, things have finally changed. For that, you have my gratitude, human from another world.”

“Are you really a god?” she asked, finally letting go of the Amygla’s handle, and stood upright. Certainly, if he were half as powerful a being as he claimed, then he should have had no reason to deceive her. Couldn’t he have made her disappear with a simple snap of his fingers, if he wanted to? Then doubting his word was pointless. But if he indeed was a god and not associated with the daemon, why hadn’t he done anything about it?

Geltsemanhe answered her doubts with a wry smile.

“I tend to introduce myself as a ‘god’ for convenience’s sake,” he said, “but the truth of the matter is less straightforward. It appears that unlike the common natives of this world, you and yours have already given up your child-like faith in higher powers, and possess the necessary base of knowledge to comprehend more elaborate terms. I shall be frank with you then. Strictly speaking, I am not the same god as in the legends. What you see before you is an ‘Echo’, a digitally recreated copy of my mind, transferred onto an artificial container. I am technically similar to the beings you know as Divines, though considerably more versatile in operational capacity. Does this make sense to you?”

“You look...human,” Izumi pointed out. She wouldn’t have expected an ageless being as outrageous as a god to have such a familiar form.

“My outer appearance has been automatically generated in response to your cognition,” Geltsemanhe explained. “It is based on a handful of appropriate key concepts, which should make it easier for the listener to accept my message. ‘Neutral’. ‘Dependable’. ‘Harmless’. I understand that it is difficult to earn your trust, after all that you’ve been through, but I do hope that you are willing to suspend your disbelief in favor of what I have to say. For there is a lot to be said, and very little time. I know you have not come here to look for my counsel, in specific, but I am pressed by the circumstances to share with you certain facts. It is of vital importance that I do. We will not have another chance.”

“What is it then?” Izumi asked.

“Ah, before we get to it, perhaps a token of good will would be in order,” he said. “To earn your favor, and to give you some time to gather your bearings. Please, come with me, Izumi. I will show you something that might be of interest to you.”

Geltsemanhe turned around and left walking across the hall, deeper into the building.

Drawing breath, Izumi mustered her courage and followed after him, with no idea what to expect next.

“What is this place?” she asked, looking around as they marched on.

“This is a beacon,” Getlsemanhe answered her. “One of the many similar buildings set up around the world. An educational facility, if you will. We gods did not expect vital knowledge to endure through time solely by means of oral tradition, or even writing in stone. Hence, we left these beacons in select locations, places where the inhabitants of this world might gather and seek learning. Not in just about every matter, unfortunately. Our primary concern was and is upholding the Covenant system and ensuring the preservation of the world. The role of the beacons, and myself, is to remind the created of their duty. That unless the Heaven’s Pillar is activated and used, life on this planet will end. Alas, though they were designed to last indefinitely, time has not been gentle on the beacons. Over the past 30,000 years, this place has been left under the landscape, and its ancient keepers are long gone. Similar fate has met most of the others. It was beginning to seem unlikely that anyone would come to seek answers again. But fortunately, you are here now, Izumi. I am most glad you are, as unfortunate as it seems to you.”

“You’re reading my mind,” Izumi pointed out the obvious observation.

“Technically, I am not,” he replied. “My perception is simply not based on visible light, but allows me to view your internal processes just as plainly as your outer shell, this including the signals occurring within your brain. My apologies if you feel I am intruding upon your privacy, but I cannot not see it, and closing my physical eyes would be of no help.”

“Just don’t look too close,” she told him.

“He can’t see me, can he…?” Yubilea muttered, floating near Izumi, looking nervous.

“I do perceive you, clearly enough, yes,” Geltsemanhe answered the spirit, to the latter’s shock. “That being said, my little friend, I also cannot help but recognize that you are acting in stark violation of your operational guidelines, as well as the terms of the Covenant.”

“Gahhh—!” Yubilea let out a startled sound and froze stiff.

“I could remove the strands of this entity from you, Izumi, should you wish so,” the man offered.

“You could?” Izumi asked, surprised.

“It would be no trouble at all. She is barely hanging onto you, as is.”

The woman glanced at the red spirit, who looked aghast and abnormally pale, her mouth left wide open out of shock.

“…I’ll pass,” she said. “Since we happen to have an agreement.”

“Is that so? As you wish then.”

Yubilea recovered from her shock, gave Izumi a vexed look, flushed bright red as a streetlight, and then disappeared with a pop.

The woman continued to follow after the god and they stepped into a spherical hall.

The otherwise pale walls of it were covered in azure patterns, and the metallic floor was mirror-clean, clear of furniture, save for a structure in the very middle. There stood a short pedestal, about five feet tall, and upon the pedestal, resting on a slim ceramic holder, was a most peculiar object.

The item appeared to have been shaped out of shards of crystal or glass, a conglomerate of hundreds if not thousands of individual parts blended together, to produce an ornate, scepter-like form with a foot-long handle.

“This is...” Izumi breathed out a surprised gasp, staring at that marvelous work of art. She forgot her fear and caution, and stepped around the pedestal examining the object from every angle. Though she was unsure of what she was looking at, exactly, she could still bring herself to agree that it was a treasure of incredible, exquisite beauty.

“This is what you sought,” Geltsemanhe told Izumi, standing by. “What Gronan Arkentahl sought. The so-called secret weapon of the bygone people you called, the Precursors.”

“So it was actually real?” she asked.

“Yes. A highly developed fusion of rituals of Ice and Lightning affinity. It is capable of emitting special electromagnetic resonance, which may influence the neurobiological activity of living beings. It was with this tool that the ancestors of the Dharvic tribes were once enslaved and brought to Eylia, to answer the city’s growing need for labor. This story more or less corresponds with actual historical events.”

“Spells of…ice affinity?”

“Indeed,” the man nodded. “This device is constructed in its entirety out of ice. As such, it cannot be removed from this chamber and its controlled environment for extended periods of time, or there is a risk that it will...well, melt. The makers of the device spent a great deal of time attempting to recreate it with mediums of crystal, glass, gemstones, or metal, to solve the problem of logistics, but were ultimately unsuccessful. The work would have necessitated rewriting the entire eidos for a different affinity, which is technically unfeasible. Not that knowing it impossible ever stopped them from trying.”

“I see…” Izumi exhaled a faint sigh. As expected, Gronan’s mission had been doomed from the get-go. Even had he found what he was looking for, he never could have brought the weapon home without destroying it in the process.

“Well, now it is yours,” Geltsemanhe told Izumi. “I believe you have earned it. If you wish, I can enhance the build to preserve it against exothermal variations, so that you may take it with you. Would you like me to do so?”

“Eh?” Izumi blinked, astonished. “W-w-what do you mean? You’d let me take it? Just like that? Such a dangerous thing?”

“That is what I said?” he replied with a nod. “I am not the guardian of this thing, Izumi. I care not for it. The Precursors merely borrowed the more advanced facilities of the beacon to store it—and without asking my opinion, I should add. If giving it to you will make it easier for you to trust in my good intentions, then it will be more than worth it, I believe.”

“You mean to say, you could’ve solved the Precursors’ problem at any time?” she asked. “Yet you didn’t?”

Geltsemanhe answered her with a puzzled look.

“What would I have gained by doing so?” he asked. “I am an ally of all creation, not any specific race or a nation. The Precursors’ greed and ambition brought about their downfall—an event highly predictable from the start of their civilization. The Dharves continued their masters’ legacy with unfortunate fidelity, and it would have led them down the same path, sooner or later. But now is past the time to worry about such things. Whether you take the scepter from here or leave it, whether you wield it for your own benefit or lose it, it has no bearing on the future we all face. Regardless, it might make your life slightly easier for a time. The choice is yours.”

After a moment of thought, Izumi reached out, lifted the scepter of ice from its holder, as gently as she could, and held it up in the air.

“So, how does it work?” she asked.

“If you focus and direct your will into the scepter, it is possible to transmit your intent to nearby minds and make it appear irresistible to them,” the Echo explained. “That is the most basic way to use it. In adept hands, the device’s possibilities at shaping cognition are virtually limitless. It can be used to rearrange memories, plant new, remove old, give rise to unreal sensory experiences, or yearnings that the target cannot tell apart from his or her own. The effect’s magnitude depends on the user, but in your hands, I’d say that about fifty people at once is your limit, with the active range of six miles. No one is entirely immune to it, though strong magic resistance may require additional effort to overcome. Ah, but because it affects only the physical brain, this device is ineffective against spirits or Divine constructs. That would include myself, I’m afraid.”

“I see,” Izumi murmured, weighing the device on her hand. “Well, thanks for the tutorial, but you don’t need to tell me more.”

Turning around, she threw the scepter like a javelin, into the wall.

The precious instrument broke into countless glittering fragments upon impact, tiny as grains of sand each, and scattered over the floor with faint tingling, unthinkable to ever restore.

“If you need mind control to get popular, then you should just stick to 2D,” Izumi said, wiping her hands with a look of satisfaction. “That’s my take on it.”

“That is well,” Geltsemanhe commented, not looking particularly surprised. “Come then. I will show you the way out of here, so that you may rejoin your companions. And on the way, let me tell you how to save the world.”

2

Izumi followed Geltsemanhe out of the frost chamber, and along the various corridors of the building, until they came into a cylindrical room resembling the elevators of the emiri citadel. The floor under their feet began to glow with an elaborate pattern, then to ascend, lifting them away of the mountain’s bowels.

“You’ve learned about the Covenant,” the man said to her. “You know about the ritual and the time limit. But you do not yet know why the system exists and why its use is so important to us.”

“Without it, the world will be destroyed,” Izumi replied. “That’s what you said?”

“In short, it is true,” Geltsemanhe nodded. “And also, it's not. While not entirely false, the synopsis is a tad misleading. Geologically, there is nothing wrong with Ortho. The planet’s core is stable, its magnetic field firm, the ozone layer intact, oxygen and carbon-dioxide levels ideal. By all means, the world should be capable of sustaining life far into the foreseeable future, even if left be. But the problem runs deeper than that. You see, life in this world has become fundamentally crippled, corroded by a malignant will.”

“Ah, right. There something written on the wall about that.” Izumi recalled what Acquiescas had interpreted. “’He, who shall not be named’—the villain who fought the Gods, and poisoned the world. So it was not just a metaphor?”

“No,” Geltsemanhe shook his head. “I’m afraid not. When we gods first came to this planet from the stars, it was still in the early stages of its development. Nothing lived here, the conditions were fiery and extreme. But we saw the underlying potential of it. We had been long seeking a planet fit to host our vision of Eden—the ideal system of existence, a balance of harmony and prosperity, which all intelligent civilizations in the cosmos seek. So we used our arts to accelerate the development of the planet and assembled the necessary conditions to support life on it. Alas, we were yet inexperienced at such a complex task. Our confidence exceeded our ability, and opened doors to manipulation along the way. This he sought to exploit, with unfortunate success.”

“He?”

“Brann,” the man answered Izumi’s questioning look. “The Sun God. The Light God. People know him by many names. He was not like us Outer Gods, but hailed from the central star of this system. We were alike in appearance, at a similar stage of cosmic development, and were able to achieve mutual understanding. Or, so we thought. Brann expressed his desire to aid us in our creative effort, and we accepted him in our midst without doubts. He proved highly skilled and experienced, his insight invaluable to us in our work, and for a time, all was well. We were able to create a world full of unique, beautiful expression of life, exactly as we had dreamed, and were glad.”

Geltsemanhe made a faint smile, his eyes brightly shining as he gazed ahead, memory of the past work’s splendor before him.

Then, his face grew more serious again.

“In time, Brann showed his true colors. He did not aid us out of loving compassion, but out of a need utterly beyond our comprehension: that for challenge. He helped us grow, so that he might then battle us, and through adversity, accelerate his own evolution. So engrossed we were in our own work and dreams, that we failed to recognize how we ourselves were being cultivated, the seeds of discord sown in our midst. By the time we became aware of his intentions, it was already too late. Though we loathed war and conflict, there was no choice for us but to fight back with all we had, or else be destroyed together with our creation. Brann was more powerful than any of us, but we were many, and through numerous painful sacrifices and compromises, we finally managed to defeat him, and sealed him back into the star whence he came.”

“Seal him? Then is he still alive?” Izumi asked.

The elevator stilled. The wall in front of them transformed into small cubes, which crawled aside, revealing a long corridor beyond. From the other end of it shone bright daylight.

The Echo of a God answered Izumi with a fatherly smile,

“Our kind has transcended the duality of life and death. Our forms may be destroyed, our identity and thoughts scattered, but we gods may never truly die. But rest assured; Brann will not pose immediate threat to this world. By my calculations, it will take him approximately 5.1 billion years before he may interact with the physical world again. Unfortunately, his defeat did not free us from all problems. For he left us with a heavy legacy.”

“Legacy?”

Without answering right away, Getlsemanhe faced forward and left walking along the corridor, Izumi shortly behind him.

“Brann took intimate part in shaping life on this planet,” he then said. “All organic entities depend on the light of the sun to survive and thrive, and Brann made this light the vessel of his retribution. He had created a being in imitation of our servants and given it a portion of his power, ensuring that even if he himself were defeated, his influence could not be fully removed from Ortho. As he had planned, that monstrosity would keep on feeding corrupt data into the system while outward appearing to support it. Souls of other life forms would then absorb the toxic light and become infected by the wrath of the Sun. Should nothing be done, all life will ultimately be converted into its antithesis, and Ortho will become a land of the dead, where nothing changes, nothing grows, and hope and love are entirely unknown. Such is the fate that awaits us, unless the Covenant is used to counteract the corruption.”

“I’ve been wondering about this from the beginning, but what exactly is the Covenant?” Izumi asked.

“It is a tool,” Geltsemanhe answered. “Control. The system’s base function is to filter the toxic data from the visible light. For that, there were great towers raised around the world, to generate a protective layer over the entirety of the globe. Unfortunately, this solution proved…not lasting. By the date, most of the towers have been destroyed, their power sources stolen or disabled. Only one remains yet active, the pillar your people call the Trophaeum. With the loss of the others, it is our sole lifeline now. It is only at the Heaven’s Pillar that the system may be accessed and used. Due to the waning of the filter, the corruption accumulates at a faster rate than ever before. Automated processes cannot keep up with it, necessitating direct intervention, a recurring full reset of the system assets. Reaching the tower by the time limit and doing so is the duty of the chosen champions. Your duty, Izumi.”

They stepped out of the corridor and were under open skies again.

Ahead spread the rocky slope of the mountain, along the face of which were chiseled long, winding stairs, leading down to one of the surface city’s snow-clad terraces. Forward from there, in the distance, could be seen the eastmost buildings of the city itself, beyond which the survivors of the expedition were likely waiting.

Here, Geltsemanhe paused and turned to the woman from another world.

“We near the end of an age,” he said. “Not only is the turn of the millennium drawing close, but also an era entirely different from all we know. I understand that this is a terrible burden on a mortal such as yourself. You do not even belong in this world. You hold no responsibility when it comes to our affairs. But as a god, I also know that you will go to the Trophaeum. It is your destiny. There, the future of this world will be shaped by your hand. All possible paths will converge, and there may only be two routes from thereon. Hope. Or total annihilation.”

“Is that really what you want?” Izumi asked, looking sullenly away. “Didn’t you make the prophecy? The one that says how a person from another world will end the system, and bring the Age of Chaos, where everything will fall to ruin?”

At her words, Geltsemanhe made a bit of a confused frown.

“…Is that what they say these days?” he muttered. “Something must’ve been lost in the translation.”

“Is it wrong then?” she asked, raising her brows.

“Izumi,” the man told her, “it is true that the system cannot go on the same way. It needs to be revised completely, or it won’t last. And this needs to be done by an outsider. Such is my prophecy. No closed system can be profoundly changed by the information contained within the system. Only by inserting new data from outside may it find another, yet unexplored direction. You are the key, human from another world. Chaos doesn’t stand only for destruction; it represents the unpredictable. The unfathomable. That which is beyond expectations and calculations. Whether it means our ruination, or the start of something new and better, will depend entirely on the user. It’s your choice. Such is your true power.”

Geltsemanhe went walking down the stairs, while Izumi followed sluggishly along.

“You’re right,” she said after a moment. “It’s a lot asked. To begin with, why does it have to be me? There are other summoned people, aren’t there? Nobody out there would say I look one bit like a hero, or a savior of worlds.”

“I don’t know,” the Echo answered.

“You don’t know…?”

“My friend, I may call myself God, but I am not all-knowing. You are here. That’s why, it must be you. Why are you here? The stars only know. Whatever you look like has no bearing on this matter. No one ever said that the one who changes the system must be a brawny warrior, or a juvenile, or blessed with great talents. You should be quite fine, as you are.”

“That doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence!”

“I wish there was a way I could make all this easier on you,” Geltsemanhe replied in a remorseful tone. “But I’m afraid such is beyond my power. We could not allow what happened with Brann to ever repeat. Not even us gods are immune to his corruption. We removed ourselves from this plane of existence, swearing never to interfere with it again, so that we wouldn’t unwittingly become the bane of it. For the same reason, the system is designed to isolate and suppress actors that display dangerous levels of control over it. That’s why, even my ‘Echo’ is only that, a pale reflection of a god, bound by the same rules. I cannot fight your battles for you. I do not know all the answers. Neither may I leave far from the beacon, and must soon return. But I believe this is how it should be. We didn’t build this system, so that we could rule over it like your lords. We did it, so that you people might grow and one day join us. The more the merrier, isn’t that so? This is your chance. For what it’s worth, I do know my meddling to be entirely needless. Remember, you’re not alone. Have faith in yourself and your friends, Izumi. They will become your strength. Do not lose hope, no matter how dark and desperate it gets, but believe that there can be better. And thus, I know you will be successful in the end.”

They reached down to the terrace and paused there.

Izumi felt the eastern wind on her face and inhaled deep of the clear mountain air. It had never known the exhaust fumes of car engines, trains, factories, or airplanes, blowing sharp, fresh, and sobering. Then, she turned westward, where the pale sun climbed near the mountaintops, and her expression turned more grim.

Many of her questions had found an answer, but not all.

One thing still bothered her. She hesitated to present that thought aloud, afraid to hear the answer, yet she knew she had to. Clearing her throat, Izumi turned back to Geltsemanhe.

“The being that Brann created, the tool of the corruption—Do you know where it is now? Did you destroy it?”

The old man’s expression clouded.

“Binding the planetary elements to our powers was a mistake,” he said. “We did it for ease of control, and the scenario where we would be forced to completely abandon our world never once occurred to us. Neither could any of us predict that a being as prideful as Brann would part with such an essential fragment of himself, just for the purpose of childish vengeance.”

“...So you let it live?”

Geltsemanhe answered the woman with a conflicted look.

“We were able to transfer most of our relevant control Authorities to our servants, but we did not have the ability to create a replacement for an Authority of entirely alien origin, or remove the corruptive tendency. Had we obliterated this being completely and lost control of sunlight in the process, 98% of life on this planet would have perished immediately. So we did what we could in a difficult compromise. We dismantled the entity, separating its heart and ego, preserving their functions separately, under seal, ensuring that it would never be made whole again. It was the best we could.”

“I see…” Izumi looked down. In spite of his assurances that the threat was securely imprisoned, the anxious feeling wouldn’t leave her. “What was it like then? This ‘winged serpent’? ‘Quetzalcoatl’…?”

“Hm? What was that?” Geltsemanhe raised his brows.

“I mean, that was the name written on the wall, yes?” she said. “I don’t know how to pronounce it.”

The man’s eyes flashed briefly as he accessed Izumi’s memory.

“Ah!” he soon said, nodding in understanding. “Poor Acquiescas! His interpretation was slightly erroneous there, I’m afraid. Not that we may rightly fault him; those characters were ever only conceived to write this particular name and have no other uses. I doubt any man alive today knows their correct reading. Here, let me show you.”

With a wave of his hand, Geltsemanhe spelled the runes in the air, as faintly glowing markings. First, he applied Acquiescas’s mistaken translation, and then appended it with the correction, to display the name as it was meant to be read.

QTZ L CTL

AE W ES

Izumi stared at the runes, holding her breath as their appropriate pronunciation entered her consciousness. Feeling dizzy, she then whispered that name aloud, as though to verify the truthfulness of its sound, whether it was really as it seemed, and not only her mind playing cruel tricks on her.

“Ai...wesh?”

——BOOM!

That was when a meteor fell.

The outer edge of the terrace exploded without warning. Dislocated stone blocks, smaller rocks, dirt, and snow were shot up to the sky in a blink of an eye, together with a voluminous column of dust and vapor, momentarily casting a shadow over the clearing. A few muted heartbeats later, those frozen pieces of the ground started to rain back down about them.

The dust cleared, blown away by the gale, revealing a crater of several yards in diameter punctured into the terrace pavement. There were no fiery remains of a rocket or an extraterrestrial rock to be seen, however. Instead of any such things, the figure of a young woman hopped nimbly up from the steaming pit.

The woman was clad in a pure white robe, with two pairs of long, seraphic wings extending from her back. Her long, white hair fluttered in the wind, and she moved her lengthy, furred animal ears rapidly up and down to shake off the dust on them. Flashing a bright smile, the woman then greeted the two standing further ahead.

“Hi! You called?”

“Ai-chan...?” Izumi identified the Divine Lord.

“Monster of Brann!” Geltsemanhe exclaimed, astonished.

“My, my, Izumi dear!” Aiwesh told the woman, gleefully clasping her hands. “You have found a big one this time! It seems keeping tabs on you has finally paid off!”

Geltsemanhe glanced quickly at Izumi.

“I see,” he remarked. “Her soul is such a wreckage of magical effects, I failed to detect the tethering. So you have escaped the seal and regained your heart? When? How?”

“Oh, someone has been left out of the loop,” the Lord of Light replied. “Maybe you should get out more, old man? What an amusing occasion this is, one NEET alongside the God of NEETs—but what have I always told you, my dear champion, about associating with other deities? Infidelity is an absolute no-no! Oh well, for luring this shut-in out of his cave, I shall forgive you, this once! You see, that dusty old relic happens to hold the one Authority I need to overcome my greatest—and only—weakness! Therefore, would you mind stepping aside, my beloved puppet? What follows will not be pretty!”

“What madness,” Geltsemanhe grunted.

“A god would speak to me of madness?” Aiwesh retorted. “Is irony a concept entirely unknown to you? Clearly it is! Your earlier theory on you lot being unable to die—I shall put it to the test now. En garde!”

Bright spheres of light formed around the winged spirit. Briefly gaining in intensity, the spheres shot out in intensely hot beams, all aimed at the man in black. Although the barrage was deceptively casual in appearance, even a seasoned arcanist would have struggled to answer a volley as swift and fierce. Those cords of light were the power of the sun itself, harnessed and focused by the spirit’s inherent ability.

However, not one of the shots reached its intended target.

Even if only a frail-looking ‘echo’, Izumi didn’t think the self-proclaimed God of Darkness would lose too easily in a fight. She had been right to surmise so too, but the ease of the counter still left her dumbstruck. Geltsemanhe raised his palm and the white hot rays of light curved to avoid him, instead pouring onto the mountainside and stairs behind and above them, digging deep trenches into the rock and snow, before all of their power was expended.

Watching her opening move fail, Aiwesh opted for a more direct follow-up, leaping off the ground to smite her foe directly. But though her speed fell only a little short of that of her element, her charge was intercepted with no lesser ease.

Geltsemanhe clenched his outreached hand into a fist. Subsequently, a force invisible to the naked eye slammed the winged figure deep into the ground, through the pavement, and there she lay, flattened, as if under a tremendous load, failing to move even a feather, or raise herself.

“Before gravity, even light must bend,” Geltsemanhe commented without much urgency. “I laid the foundations of the system they call ‘magic’. A mere aesa bound to its native element cannot overcome me.”

Raising his fist, he lifted Aiwesh up from the ground, holding her suspended high in mid-air, in the prison of gravity trapping the spirit from every direction.

“There is still time,” he contemplated aloud. “I will destroy the shell and remove the core. That should stall the spread of the shadow.”

Geltsemanhe continued to apply pressure, while Aiwesh fought back with the ferociousness of a frenzied cat, squirming in obvious agony. But each of her attempts to summon her power and break through were quenched as soon as they were initiated.

Izumi followed the one-sided struggle with growing restlessness.

“If you do that, what will happen to the host?” she asked Geltsemanhe.

“...It is regrettable, but there is no way to separate the two anymore,” he replied. “The creature’s light now fills the medium’s cells throughout. But though her flesh may be lost, her soul should be left intact. She will find another life, in the next cycle.”

“You’d kill her?” Izumi asked. “Even though she’s completely innocent?”

The god glanced at Izumi, his expression like that of a father speaking to an unreasonable child.

“It is the only way,” he told her. “So long as this creature has worldly presence, the corruption will continue to spread at an accelerated rate. You have seen what follows with your own eyes. Many more will face the nightmare you’ve narrowly eluded. Countless will die. The situation is much worse than I initially thought. If we allow the beast to roam free any longer, the future we spoke of will not come to pass. Only certain ruination awaits. One life is a small price to pay in exchange for the future of the world.”

“AAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEE…!” Aiwesh screamed, her will steadily overpowered, her wings bending.

“That’s...” Izumi gritted her teeth, torn by doubt.

Rationally, she couldn’t deny that Geltsemanhe had the right of it. If it were still the Izumi from half a year ago, she would have merely told him to go right ahead. It was the only correct choice.

But Izumi had changed.

Whether she wanted to or not.

Whether for better or worse.

She had changed since coming to this world. She was no longer an outsider to it, an unrelated bystander. She had built bonds and watched them crumble. She had fought, lost, and failed. She had made sacrifices and compromises, for noble causes and less so. She had loved and suffered. And what about now? Would she only stand there and do nothing at all as Yuliana was murdered? Would she let yet another person dear to her perish without doing anything about it, accepting it as unavoidable? The one she had named as her purpose and inspiration?

Someone, who knew nothing about their conflict or its causes?

Someone, who was undeniably without sin?

“Help me…!” Aiwesh yelled. “Izumi! Please…!”

There was no time to mull it over.

Unable to endure the pain any longer, Izumi turned back to Geltsemanhe.

“You have to stop.”

“Be reasonable!” he told her. “Too much is at stake! Do not risk it all for only emotion.”

“I told you to stop it!” Izumi shouted, reaching for her sword.

Then, everything indeed stopped.

Not because Izumi had made a move. In fact, she had failed to draw her weapon at all. Instead, out of the ground behind them had shot up a spear of stone, piercing through the back of the god’s Echo, the sharp point of it jutting out of his chest. Geltsemanhe looked down at the seemingly deadly injury, more annoyed than shocked.

“Ah, finally you looked away,” Aiwesh sighed, landing on her feet and fixed her robe. “Your processing power is quite something, but not altogether limitless.”

“Fragment of Genostro?” Geltsemanhe remarked. “Ridiculous!”

Twisting his shoulders with a quick shrug, he broke off the spike and it crumbled away. No blood poured from the wound, and he closed it with a thought. More similar stalagmites shot up from the earth, but he evaded them by leaping nimbly up in the air, and floated out of their reach.

The old man pointed his arm at the winged spirit to resume his attack, but was interrupted again. This time, whips of icy water gushed out of the depths of the earth, drawn from the deep veins coursing in the earth’s crust, slashing at him and binding his limbs.

“This is Hamaran’s technique!?” He scowled, breaking off and evaporating the lassos of water by increasing the temperature around his body. “How many of your brethern have you already devoured, you fiend!?”

“Oh, there is still room for dessert,” Aiwesh replied, converting the heat about the man into fiery butterflies that fluttered wildly around him, covering his face. He swatted them away, but the watery binds returned, clinging to his arms and legs and dragging him down with irresistible force. More spears of marble shot up, and he struggled to deflect them while bound, unable to avoid all.

Spreading her wings, Aiwesh soared, rising high above her opponent.

“Watch me!” she shouted. “I am the spirit of the Noon Sun! Under my Star in the Limitless Blue, I have exceeded god!”

Aiwesh’s appearance changed. Her wings grew larger and spread wide apart, shining brilliant white. In the next moment, her pale body coiled against the cerulean canvas enormous and long, a pearly, feathery serpent of cetacean proportions. The being bent its neck, turning its enormous triangular head at the trapped deity. Opening her great maw, she swooped down with the speed of a lightning bolt, swallowing her enemy whole.

Then, just as soon as it had started, the disturbing show was already over, and the Lord of Light fell back down to the ground before Izumi’s eyes, clad in her own shape. With ragged breaths, Aiwesh clutched her stomach, kneeling on the torn ground, a look of intense struggle on her face.

“You ate him,” Izumi noted.

“That was the idea,” Aiwesh replied with a forced smile, hugging her sides. “I may have bitten off more than I can chew this time, but fear not. I will...overcome it.”

“You never told me you were evil,” Izumi said. “I mean, the evil. By now, I sort of gathered you weren’t the type to help grannies across the street, but—the actual last boss? For real?”

“What does it mean? Evil?” the spirit retorted. “I know nothing of such things. Is it evil to want to live, to exist? Am I guilty of my own birth? What would you have me do then? Let myself be hacked apart once more? Be sealed, a brain in a jar, to suffer forever for the good of the world and countless faceless strangers? So that they may, in turn, continue to kill themselves in peace and quiet, unhindered by poor weather? I think not. I will be a prisoner no more. I will decide my own destiny, unshackled by anyone’s calculations. If wanting to be free makes me evil, then I shall indeed be the villain you seek. Come and fight me then, my noble champion! Now is likely your best chance! You have the means. And you would not be the first of my loved ones to seek my end. But I shall not make it easy on you! Cut me down and the cute princess who gave your empty life meaning will have to perish alongside!”

Izumi made no move. She could muster no will to fight, looking at Aiwesh’s feeble, exhausted figure. If anything, she felt only overwhelming pity and sadness, and averted her gaze.

“There you have it,” the Divine said. “What are your ‘heroes’ but butchers who build the future atop mountains of corpses, in the name of their ‘greater good’? And what is a system that uses sorrow and sacrifice to fuel itself, but the very evil you speak of? For how long may it go on, before the cost of its upkeep has outweighed all gain? Think about that, as you hack and slash your way to our brave new world!”

Gathering her strength, Aiwesh jumped, disappearing in a dazzling eruption of starry particles. Only a faint trail of light was left far above in the sky to mark her passage south, back to the distant capital of the Empire, whence she had come.

Izumi stared at that fading line for as long as it was visible, before turning to pass along the terrace, in the direction of the quiet rooftops of Eylia, where her companions waited for an unlikely miracle.

When the summoned champion’s figure appeared walking alone down the eastern avenue of the snowy city, like a runaway ghost from the underworld, the mercenaries jumped up from their resting places, wearing faces of terror and wonder. All the distant noise and lights had pushed them to the brink of madness, and for a lengthy moment, no one knew how to receive the woman.

Then, the spell was broken.

“Ya-hullo,” Izumi wearily greeted the mercenaries, coming closer. “I can’t prove I’m myself beyond any doubt, but I can name you my favorite character from Fire Emb***: 3H. Will that do?”