When Mephistopheles’s maw receded, Ebstrea was still there…

But in the centre of her chest, where normally one’s heart and soul would sit, there was a gaping hole.

Seconds later, blood started gushing from her wounds—

“Ebstrea!”

Reynald threw his sword to the ground and rushed over to support Ebstrea, in an attempt to prevent her from falling to the floor.

“Rey… nald…?”

With an absent-minded smile, she looked straight into his face…

And not a second later, she was—

“Eb… Strea…”

Reynald looked at the gushing, lifeless corpse in his hands.

His ‘craving’ was to build the ultimate, shining future…

And yet, now, the very core that that future was built upon had collapsed.

His craving had become an impossibility by definition, so it fell to pieces, broken and ruined. In a mere moment, the light surrounding him was gone, leaving the poor Kobold to protect him and his friend… no, his lover’s corpse, all on her own.

Yet a collapsing craving would not mean the death of one’s soul. In particular, a soul as strong as Reynald’s would rebel to the very end.

As though by force, he picked the pieces of his craving back up and joined them together. Akin to forcing a jigsaw together without regard for the pieces’ shapes or the picture it depicted, he crammed the shards against one another.

The result was mangled and misshapen without a doubt. Ugly to the point it was sickening, it was something no longer worthy of the name ‘craving’, instead warped into an abominable source of power.

It devoured the blessing of light he possessed in a single gulp, and his outer appearance warped to reflect his misshapen insides.

His hair turned into a muddled black and white mess and grew out to reach his waist, long, black claws grew on his fingers and his eyes went blood red, their sclera black.

It was an appearance worthy of being laughed at if a middle schooler came up with it, but it was very real, standing right there.

He laid Ebstrea’s body on the ground, walked over to where he had dropped his sword and picked the thing up.

And then, he turned his eyes to the demon king and Mephistopheles in turn.

The demon king was preoccupied dealing with the eye injury of a girl Reynald vaguely knew to be his sword. And yet, Reynald was perfectly aware he couldn’t defeat Mephistopheles on his own.

So then, all he could do was buy time.

But for the sake of his vengeance, buy time he would—

***

Pitch-black darkness wrapped itself around his body, but it was unlike the darkness Mephistopheles controlled… no, he knew instinctively that this was his own.

He moved his arm to the side, and it moved with him. He moved his arm back, and it slid into place.

This darkness was like an extension of his very body, and he could control it as naturally as he could his fingers and toes—

And thus, it was very useable in combat.

Beyond just shielding him from Mephistopheles’s darkness better than the Golden light ever did, it also served as a more simple, direct shield. He used it to fend off Mephistopheles’s ravaging fangs and all-consuming jaws, and once more managed to place himself in melee range.

“Haaaaa—!”

With an energetic shout, he brought his sword’s blade down upon the gluttonous god’s head… Once more, like before, it bounced off without even leaving a scratch, and the sound it made was rather akin to metal clashing with metal.

“Ghhk… Come on…!”

But this time, he was not discouraged by a single setback. With more speed than he had ever possessed, he slashed, again and again and again, filling the air with the sound of clashing metal.

This power was clearly beyond his limits… With every swing of his sword, another wound appeared on his body and more blood filled the air.

And yet, he couldn’t allow himself to collapse here.

In order to make her sacrifice worth something…!

“So I go, away into the dark of night.

And forever renounce the light of day, the sun never to shine again.”

As though the words were coming from his very soul, he sang his aria, the clashes of his sword and Mephistopheles’s body drowning out the sound for all but himself.

“If the light refuses to protect me, then so too, shall I cease asking for its guidance.

And thus I become reborn like the creatures of yore, forever doomed to live under the gentle moon.”

As his current self, he could not even buy time, let alone protect anything. What his craving had warped into, even he himself did not know, and yet, without hesitation, he sang the aria to make it manifest.

“Just as you, o my lover, have collapsed before my eyes and withered to dust, so too shall I meet my end.

And thus we shall become reborn like the creatures of yore, forevermore living on only in each other’s hearts.”

An aria without hope. Without sense. Without outlook. Filled with pure despair and grief, his heart cried out.

“Ah, my lover, take my hand and fall to pieces. Together, we shall become as ashes.

And with us, I swear, our enemies, too, shall fall to dust.”

An aria of condemning, striking not only himself, but also anything he stood against. Beautiful self-destruction as the source of ultimate power. Nothing to be left, not even himself.

Manifest, my Craving -

“Angra Mainyu—

Legendary Sword of Ruin

Claiomh Fothrach!”

A deep, all-consuming darkness surged forth from his heart, bringing ruin and death to all it touched. His sword, consumed by the darkness, was stained black…

Around him, Mephistopheles’s darkness gave way, eroded by his broken craving, and fell to the ground, becoming nothing but dust. Yet he himself, too, could feel his wounds widening with every passing moment.

Ultimate, absolute ruin, at the cost of complete self-destruction. A new craving, born of a broken desire to be with his lover at all costs… And, more specifically, a craving of hatred and resentment at the world that tore that lover from him.

If she’s not here, then this world has no value to me.

Anger consumed his heart, leaving only a burning, pitch-black flame in its place, and a red haze dyed his vision.

Mephistopheles must pay.

Mephistopheles must die.

Die, die, die, die, die, die, die, diediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediedie—

His feelings manifested as an angry, warped roar, which dyed his surroundings the colour of blood.

Like a rusted blade, stained red, his skin took on a colour that could only be described as disgusting, and he lost the advantage of speed… indeed, the more power this new craving gained, the more his original craving, which had provided him his superhuman speed to begin with, was eroded and lost. In its place, the darkness around him fell to ruin, more thoroughly and at a larger distance with every second.

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

Mephistopheles, its gaze cold, barely bothered to look at Reynald. It was still furious with the demon king for even suggesting what he had, and though Reynald’s craving was unusually strong, it was hardly enough to be a real danger.

Every time Reynald approached, it simply batted him aside, though Reynald wasn’t discouraged. The part where he was eroding its darkness was slightly worrisome, but nothing major that really warranted consideration.

“Move. You Are In The Way.”

It batted Reynald aside once more, and he collided with the edge of Mephistopheles’s darkness, coughing up blood.

“Ghak…!”

He was done for. His body was battered and broken, his ribs lay in pieces, and he was practically swimming in a pool of his own blood.

“Not… yet…!”

He tried to jab his sword into the ground to stand up and keep going, but—

“That is enough, Reynald. I shall take it from here.”

The demon king’s words gave the former Hero pause, and just that moment of hesitation was enough for his consciousness to slip from his fingers. The next second, he lay there, knocked out.

However, there was something odd about the demon king’s tone.

“Ah, my love. How I have missed seeing thy face. Thy smile brings unending joy to my heart.

Ah, my love, oh, my love. All else pales in comparison to thy radiance.”

A tone he had heretofore never used, in any of his countless lives. Deep-rooted malice, amplified by his craving, and converted into pure bloodlust.

His outpouring will gave form to an unusual kind of transcendence, which left no traces of his original self.

“My love, I could dedicate countless hours to this poem and it would never accurately describe thy splendour.

Thy kindness, boundless as the sea, knows no limits, spreading out across all creation.”

And yet, his words were unmistakably those of a prayer. And prayers, by definition, were directed at a god, or another similar, unassailable, absolutely superior entity.

So then, who—or what—was this prayer directed at?

“And yet, thy kindness goes unrecognised by many, who would decry thee a despot.

Ah, my love, what is this unfairness? Why must thou suffer like this?”

The core of reality. The absolute existence sitting atop the shining throne. The centre of the universe. The Prism.

He demanded power from the highest authority in this reality, from this world’s highest form of existence.

“No more, my love, no more. I shall tell the world of thy radiant splendour, that, I swear.

So that all may forever admire thee as I do.”

And thus, his desire poured out in every direction. Layered atop the hell that was Mephistopheles’s Thousand Maws, another hell was created, like a dark, endless abyss.

If the Thousand Maws were representative of eternal, unending hunger, never to be sated, then this new hell was akin to a castle of eternal servitude, all for the sake of one undying master.

Manifest, my Craving -

“Angra Mainyu—

Demon God of Apostasy

Daeva Ashmogh—”

The world of eternal subordination. All would be for her sake. Without limits, everything existed just to make her happy.

This world could not compare to Reynald’s craving. It stood far above and beyond anything Reynald was capable of.

Shadows practically dripped from the demon king’s body, enveloping him in black, burning flames, as though representing his emotions.

“Mephistopheles.”

The humanoid, black flame spoke, turning its gaze to the devourer of worlds.

“I shall tell you one thing, and one thing only. I shall admit… That you have got guts.”

Mephistopheles turned its cold gaze to the demon king, in return, not a single speck of emotion visible in its face.

“First, you dictate an absurd fate on the second person in the world I would call a friend… And then you proceed to stab my daughter in the eye…”

Misery’s End, behind him, though she was still on her knees and clutching her newly-bandaged eye, let leak a distinctly happy gasp from her mouth.

“Make Your Point.”

Yet Mephistopheles did not care for the demon king’s theatrics, as it was getting impatient, for as little as it could feel that feeling to begin with.

“Then I will skip ahead.”

More and more shadows piled atop the demon king, and soon, his transformation was complete… His ‘craving’ was ready to undergo an ‘evolution’, and needed only two things.

An immediate motivator, which was not currently present…

And fuel, which was right in front of his eyes.

“You have got guts, yes. But guts are all you have, you miserable trainwreck of a false god.”

“Hah. You Obtain A Tiny Bit Of Transcendence, And It Is Straight To This? I Knew You Were Arrogant, But This Is Unexpected.”

“Save your bluffs for when you are at an advantage, Mephistopheles.”

“Hmph.”

It swiped its claw at him—

And once more, found itself unable to complete its attack.

“Speak, Mortal. Why Am I Unable To Assault You?”

“You have not even figured that out yet? It seems I underestimated you, Mephistopheles. To put it simply, your body is under orders not to attack me.”

“...!”

For indeed, that body originally belonged to Faust, who was under the demon king’s command.

With just that, he had…?!

“Impossible. Inconceivable. This Cannot Be. Then, I Shall Simply Swallow You Whole…!”

“Will you, now?”

Though it was a tight fit, the world-eater’s maw managed to fit around the devil’s hellish castle…

And right at that point, the demon king spoke the words that spelt absolute disaster for Mephistopheles.

Without even using the powers Daeva Ashmogh had given him. Simply with his own strength, and by borrowing that of his subordinate.

His dear subordinate… the strength of his second friend.

“[Turn The Tables]—”

“What—?!”

With only the use of a single ability, the demon king set his victory in stone.

Cleanly, in a single gulp, Mephistopheles was devoured, in its entirety, by its own Thousand Maws, now under the control of another.

Nothing but fuel for the demon king’s craving.

Its body crumpled to the ground as the darkness it emitted disappeared, and its physical attributes returned to being Faust’s. She lost a wing, she lost three horns, the claws shrunk, the ears shrunk, her clothes went back to normal…

His flames now gone and with new power—a revision to that monster creation power to make it actually useful, for one—resting in his breast, the demon king caught Faust in his arms to prevent her a hard landing.

“Nngh…” she groaned, her eyes fluttering open. “Astaroth…?”

“Congratulations, Faust. You are yet alive.”