A thick darkness that blotted out one’s sight completely, allowing not a single bit of light to reach one’s eyes.

Whenever he moved his arms or legs, the rattling of chains filled his ears. On his wrists and ankles, he could feel the thick, heavy metal shackles that bound him to the wall.

Underneath him and at his back was cold stone, which didn’t feel like it was warming up no matter how long he sat unmoving in the same position.

When deprived entirely of outside stimuli like this, it was simple human nature to start thinking, just to have something to do.

And he had plenty to think about.

His humiliating defeat. His miraculous survival by the hand of Lady Luck. His current, powerless state, now that he was robbed of his sword. The ridiculous, warped narrative that that Vampire was trying to spin.

But thinking about negative things wouldn’t bring him anywhere… so he decided to try and think positive, instead.

Like about the fact that, even though it was a clone that couldn’t even use magic, he’d managed to defeat the demon king.

That miraculous burst of power… just what on earth had it been?

He didn’t recall the sword ever having that sort of power before… If anything, it felt more like he’d pulled the power out using the sword as a medium, and the power itself had come from somewhere else entirely—

The moment he conceived the thought, a powerful, painful static took over his mind.

An existence that didn’t want to be known about.

Beyond the physical and magical limits of this world, existing somewhere else entirely, beyond human comprehension…

An existence which loved everything, and which would stop at nothing to express that love…

Yes, nothing at all.

████.

An existence which had given him power… probably wasn’t quite right.

An existence he had taken power from seemed more accurate…

So perhaps, if he could reclaim his sword, he could gain more…?

Enough power to protect his precious girl.

Enough power to protect this world.

Enough power to defeat the demon king…!

… No, that was a pipe dream beyond pipe dreams.

If he took any more power from ████, he would surely be noticed, and then—

“... eynald… Reynald!”

Her voice snapped him out of it, and at once, the static cleared up.

“Jeez, what’s up with you? Not responding like that…”

“Ah, sorry.”

After all, he had not been imprisoned alone… no, she was here, too, together with him. He couldn’t see her, but at the very least, her voice managed to penetrate the darkness.

“So, did you need something, Ebstrea?”

“No… I just wanted to talk. It feels like if I stop, I’ll fall into a spiral of bad thoughts…”

A self-destructive spiral. Negatives compounding upon negatives, dragging one deep into the pits of despair, and then digging out the bottom just to fall even deeper.

If that happened, there’d be no way back.

Thinking she wanted to prevent that, she’d raised her voice to him… it seemed.

With every little movement she made, too, the clattering of chains resounded throughout the cell, reminding the pair of their situation.

“Hey, Ebstrea…”

“Hmm?”

“What… What should we do? What should I do? Do you think… we should give up and join their side, after all…?”

“Don’t throw the ball into my court, I don’t know the rules of the game either!”

“Heh… I guess that’s true…”

“Heh… Heheh…”

“Heheheh, heheh…”

Before they knew it, the pair of Heroes were leaking despairing laughs from their mouths, staring into the empty void.

Even if there had been a source of light, surely their eyes would not have reflected a single ray of it.

They had been thoroughly, completely, utterly broken.

The two professional torturers, from outside the cell, looked on, their smirks twitching, at these prisoners who’d gone and broken themselves.

***

Swirling power, going around and around.

The words ‘demon king’ were a nebulous concept, to begin with… there was not possibly anyone who could give a proper definition of the term.

But, now that he had acquired the final aspect, no one would dare claim he was unworthy of the title.

In fact, with this much power, he swiftly ascended to the tenth grade… which was to say, the limit of GAME’s ability to process power.

Protection, Blessings, Termination, Improvement, Restoration, Deliverance and Trickery.

All seven colours of the Prism were together once more, and he had all the right to borrow them all he liked.

After all, the Prism’s Ahura… which is to say, her consciousness, loved him with all her heart.

Thus, he ascended the throne of true kingship and gained the right to rule the world.

And yet, the new power he received as his prize…

“This is… Completely useless…”

Was the ability to ‘remake’ a monster, causing them to lose all their memories and personality and turn into but a soulless husk.

Without some major improvements to this ability, it had no meaning to him at all.

No, ‘some’ major improvements wouldn’t cut it—the entire ability needed to be remade from the ground up.

But at the very least, the improvements to his other abilities were useful…

A restriction on all limits to his authority. Anything ‘of this world’ had to obey his words, if he spoke them with that intention, no matter whether they were magical and no matter how long he spoke.

Souls were like a plaything to him now.

His other abilities gained similar improvements, too…

And, more than anything, he could sense a strong ‘connection’ between himself and his believers… and his subordinates.

Stronger than ever before…

He was unsure how he knew this word, but he knew this to be the foundation for a 'Legion'.

But it would do no good to dwell on things that would bring about no results… instead, it was much more effective to focus on what this rudimentary Legion allowed him to do.

In particular, his ability to know anything his Legion knew.

And, in addition.

Another new source of knowledge.

The leftover path from Claiomh Solais’s connection to ████.

It was about as faint as could be while still existing at some level…

But it provided him some insight, anyway.

His theory about the Ahura was correct.

And, he could see the path to the back of the stage, outlined in clear steps——

At this point, all he needed do was follow it.

But before that.

Before he could start doing that.

Before he could declare his contempt for the Holy Astal Kingdom one last time.

There was one more thing to deal with, and the only thing he could do was wait.

But he was not one to enjoy waiting, as proven by his nonsensical inquiries about ‘victory’ when he was required to wait a while for the Heroes.

Thus, he set his mind to scheming, instead.

By probing as far into Claiomh Solais as he could.

By looking for any other potential connection to there.

By trying out his new power, to try and get used to it.

By giving her a highly specific order.

And, by developing new spells—

Spells which were specifically created with one target in mind.

That revolting, senseless, aimless, impossible ‘creature’—

In order to slay that.

Of course, he did not devote all his time to scheming… he had never been the type to do such a thing, and never would be. He made sure to take ample breaks, for the sake of spending time with his family.

And, amidst all that—

***

“So, Heroes… Why are you here?”

Atop his stone throne, the demon king addressed the pair of Heroes, lifting an eyebrow.

“We’ve made… a decision, Demon King.”

Unusually, the one to speak was the male. Normally, the female took the lead role during negotiations… perhaps there was something specific he wanted to say.

“Is that so? A decision… very well. Let us hear it.”

With a tone as though speaking from absolute superiority, the Demon King spoke, an amused smirk on his face.

“During our time in the dungeon… we realised something.”

The Hero spoke, his gaze firmly locked to the ground. The Demon King, in response, rested his head on his right hand, toying with Claiomh Solais with his left.

“Being a Hero… isn’t about what a lot of people say it is.”

People misunderstood what it meant to be ‘heroic’, and finally, it was time to make clear the true meaning of the word.

“It’s not… about the sword you slash with, or the fist you punch with.”

That did no more than determine who was the victor. Being strong was unrelated to heroics.

“It’s not… about how you treat people, or how much you help your allies, either.”

That only determined who was kind. Kindness was a virtue, yes, but one separate from heroism.

The Hero turned his gaze away and fidgeted with his hands for a few seconds, but finally raised his gaze, staring at the Demon King with a strong will in his eyes.

“Being a Hero… is about making hard choices. Sacrificing the few for the many… whether you’re part of the few or not. Or even, remaking an entire world because the current state is imperfect…”

He hesitated once more, providing the Demon King an opportunity to prod him.

“So, Hero? In the end, what is your answer?”

With Claiomh Solais’s tip pointed towards his face, the Hero hesitated, stumbled over his words and stuttered, but he managed to find what he was trying to say.

“I…”

For the sake of the people’s happiness. For the sake of her happiness, too.

“I swear…”

No, it was time to stop lying to himself. For the sake of his own happiness, so he could spend time by her side.

“We swear,” the other Hero corrected, patting the God-Sword’s original owner on the back.

“Right. We swear… our allegiance to thee, Your Majesty.”

With clumsy, unpractised movements, the Heroes got down on one knee…

“Kuku… Kuhahaha… Hahahahaha…”

And the Demon King allowed his diabolical laughter to slip free from his thin lips, a crescent-faced smirk on his mouth.

“Hahahaha… Ah, very well… Very well, very well! I accept your loyalty!”

With a mere wave of his hand, the Azalyths clinging onto the Heroes were gone, vanquished like they were nothing major to begin with.

“Then I shall give you this, o Hero. I believe you shall find it quite useful.”

He removed his glove and traced his black-nailed finger across the flat of the blade of Claiomh Solais, and when he lifted it, a variety of black characters were arranged across the blade.

If the Hero knew what it sounded like, surely he would associate those characters with the failed, ancient attempt at a common language—

“I shall call it… Aye, Claiomh Solais Zwei. Take good care of it.”

With a straight face, he declared that absurd name… and tossed the sword in the Hero’s direction in a gesture filled with nonchalance.

The Hero cautiously rose from his kneeling position and unlodged the sword from the ground…

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

And performed a clumsy, unrefined bow of dubitable quality.

The Hero had picked his side… and thus, truly and well sealed his fate.

And along with his own, the fate of his beloved—

Was carved in stone to be the great tragedy of this opera.