All living creatures carried in their breast a soul, that which gave them life, the core of their existence.

Their very consciousness itself.

But for a select few… yes, only for a scarce few was that a simple thing.

Intertwining feelings. Years, decades, perhaps centuries or millennia of experiences. Inherent and taught biases, and the values built upon them.

Souls were complicated things… and yet, there were also those scant few souls that were simple and straightforward, and thus shone all the brighter.

Simplicity was by no means a bad thing. Complex souls would lead to moral dilemmas, wavering decisions and regrets.

On the other hand, a simple, straightforward soul could see one single path to happiness, and stride down it with pride.

Their one, singular craving. Their blessed path to happiness.

“I want to know everything.”

“I won’t let anything get in my family’s way.”

“I want to be with my family forever.”

Or, perhaps—

“I want to be alone.”

These simple, straightforward feelings carried immeasurable strength.

With a little help, the power to turn one’s craving into reality.

Angra Mainyu.

To create one’s personal, tiny part of paradise, that allowed for nothing other than one’s personal rules. To subject all others to a hell of one’s own creation, without mercy, without malice, without holding back a single feeling.

And, perhaps.

If one acquired the power to turn one’s ‘craving’ into a ‘decree’.

From “I want to be alone” to “I will be alone”.

From “I want to make her happy” to “I will make her happy”.

Then perhaps.

Perhaps, one could reach the next stage—

***

Complete and utter darkness, broken through only by the light of the shining, malevolently red moon. Certainly, it was nowhere close to noon, but at the same time, it was far from midnight.

So then, what was causing this darkness, and in the first place, why was the moon visible?

To answer that question, all one needed do was look up at that very moon.

Beneath it, a crack in the sky. And from that crack had, earlier, emerged a girl, skin white as snow, with sharp fangs resting on either side of her smirk, clad in military uniform and with a white stole draped over her shoulders.

And she had announced herself with the words—

“I am the first Apostle o’ the Demon King, Abyssal Princess Knight Charlotte Wright! As a representative o’ the Demon King, hallowed be His name, I hereby d’clare your deaths f’r the sake o’ this world!”

Spreading her wings, the vampire had declared such, and the very next moment, she’d spread out her artificial night.

The city’s many guards were flabbergasted… why here, of all places? This was nothing more than a city for nobles to take vacations. They could never even have imagined that it was merely due to geographical location.

But there was one person with a stronger reaction… a person who’d come here on a much-needed break, after his carefully constructed criminal syndicate had been reduced to a devil-worshipping cult.

Count Lucent.

He’d never forget that face. She looked significantly paler, and her eyes were blood-red as opposed to sky-blue, not to mention she never exposed her fangs this brazenly before…

But this was the very girl who’d enthralled his carefully trained criminals and turned them into husks of their former selves.

“That’s… That bitch…!”

Within seconds, before he even realised it himself, he was barking orders at his men, yelling at them to capture her as quickly as possible.

With several yessirs, they were soon rushing in her direction, joined a few seconds later by the servants and guards of several other nobles, who happened to be on vacation at the same time…

But they were all slaughtered before they could even get close.

As an Abyssal, the vampire possessed the ability to manipulate night itself, and she used this ability well. With absurd ease, she created darkness to hide herself in, not to mention that her artificial night possessed the power to rob the life force of all that existed within it, as though all her prey were already in her stomach.

She didn’t even need to launch an attack. Her debilitating, all-destroying night would end the life of a ninth-grade monster in a minute at most, let alone all of these humans.

Absolutely astonished, Count Lucent decided his only option was to run away…

But, not to mention the fact that he was trapped in the Hexagram’s voracious jaws, he was stopped by a humanoid figure.

And yet, they were far from human.

Skin like rusted iron. Blood-red eyes, with black sclera like the surrounding night. Long, muddled black-and-white hair. In place of the armour he had once worn, black vestments, with a dark red cloak.

“Forgive me.”

It spoke in a low voice, almost like a growl, and despite its plea for forgiveness, there was not a hint of remorse to be found in its tone.

“That face is-?!”

“As you say. I wield the god-sword.”

A Hero with a fair bit of renown across the kingdom, as the only one who was allowed to wield the god-sword, Claiomh Solais.

But why was he asking for forgiveness…? Why was there so much malice in his voice…? Why did he look like that…? And most importantly, where was that all-important god-sword…? All he carried was a sword, black as everything around, with several mysterious runes drawn on one side of the blade—

Before Lucent could ruminate on it further, his head was severed from his body. Instant death.

“Forgive me,” the Hero… the former Hero repeated, still lacking even the smallest hint of remorse.

“Oh?”

Having finished thoroughly slaughtering the entire vacation city, the vampire descended in front of the former Hero, her sword dripping with blood both her own and of the humans.

“Come t’ hon’r the prom’se, hast thee?” she asked, a light smirk on her face.

After all, this city lacked noteworthy individuals, and it couldn’t exactly make up for that using numbers, either. A different sacrifice was needed.

“Yeah. It’s time.”

A promise they had made, back when Ebstrea’s death was still fresh.

“As r’quested, I shall grant thee death.”

“And as you asked, I’ll put up the best fight I can.”

Without Ebstrea, he had no more reason to live. To begin with, she was the only other person whom he’d properly connected with. If he didn’t give his life over here, surely he’d take it himself someday, and soon.

So at the very least, he could use it to allow the vampire some enjoyment, and to serve as fuel for the Hexagram in the point that lacked it.

“Aye. In that case, o Hero—”

“Yeah. In that case, you fuckin’ vampire—”

““To the death!””

Metal clashed with metal, and the entire building they were in was reduced to rubble in mere seconds.

“That sword of yours… is quite something, isn’t it?”

Slightly impressed, the Hero spoke, but all he got in return was a disapproving glare.

“Thou hast time t’ make leisur’ly conv’rsation in the midst o’ battle? Prideful one…”

Although her tone was as though she were lamenting a child’s faults, her intentions were clearly closer to ridicule as she swung her sword, again and again.

Each strike held more than enough power to pulverize his neck if he let her, and in actual fact, just the shockwaves she was producing were causing severe damage to the walls around them, adding an extra layer of difficulty as he found himself having to dodge the rubble.

Although her attacks were certainly the weakest amongst the Apostles, that by no means meant she was actually weak. If she wished, she could easily level a mountain with one finger.

“Ghk…!”

But at the same time, the former Hero was no pushover, either. Drawing upon his sword’s inner mana and mixing it with his own, he produced superhuman strength and reflexes, blocking or parrying every blow she sent his way.

“If thou art going t’ speak, speak with passion!”

“Passion?! Alright, got it, you monstrous freak!”

Needless to say, his personality had undergone a… change since the loss of his beloved. To add to that, the vampire was egging him on as best as she could.

“In that case… How about you hurry up and die so I can kill myself and we can both go to the hell we belong?!”

He took to the offensive, forcing her to use her offensively-minded sabre as a defensive blade. However, her muscular strength was simply much higher than his, so he was unable to break through her defences.

Clang. Clash. Clang.

With every strike, another building was reduced to dust and rubble, whatever corpses happened to be inside splattered around as fragments of flesh and bone.

“Fine, then… I’ll go all-out…!”

Swinging his black-stained sword this way and that, the former Hero opened his mouth, singing a song… A prayer, directed at the warped, dark lustre of his own soul.

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

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

Sure, the one directly responsible for her death was Mephistopheles. But in the first place, the reason she participated in that fight was the demon king’s decision.

“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.”

Or rather, the attack it launched that killed her was the demon king’s fault, to begin with. Thinking of it that way, wasn’t it like the demon king himself had killed her…?

“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.”

The demon king’s fault… The demon king’s responsibility… and thus, the demon king would have to pay. If not by death, then by losing that which was precious to him, just as the former Hero had lost his precious lover…!

“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.”

The malice in his voice grew so thick it dripped off his body, eroding all it touched. His sword, glowing with a dark light, clashed with the vampire’s, again and again, slowly forcing her back.

“Angra Mainyu—

Claiomh Fothrach—”

With the deafening boom of manifesting power, darkness coiled around him, eating at everything that so much as came near him. Though it dug away at his flesh, he found himself easily capable of controlling it, forming it into blades to slash and spikes to thrust as he liked.

Even so, it took too long, far too long, for him to hit the vampire even once, nor did she seem very perturbed by it. Though her blood stained the air, she did not so much as wince in pain. No, in fact—

Unlike her usual wry smirks and cocky grins, she laughed merrily—

“Aah, wond’rful! Thy passion is truly wond’rful! Allow me t’ recipr’cate!”

She took distance for a moment, drew her ceremonial dagger with her empty hand, then rushed forth, pulling with her her hall of the Obsidian castle.

“Aah, my Lord, thou art truly the very embodiment of beauty!

To thy splendour and thy darkness I could not hope to compare!”

Her Lord, who stood at the ultimate summit of all light and the ultimate abyss of all darkness. Who ruled supreme in every imaginable way. Let alone the same platform, she could not stand to be counted amongst the same world as His grandiosity.

Her power flooded out, staining her skin black… this was far too dark a black to be a mere matter of skin colour, as though she was an incarnation of the night itself.

“I swear, my Lord, I shall one day stand by thy side!

Yet for that sake, I must sprint, faster, faster, faster than anything!”

To reach His side. So as to proudly call herself His companion, His family, His friend.

Paying no attention to the wind cutting at her face, she increased her speed, going far beyond anything she was normally capable of.

“I mind cuts nor wounds. Though my blood may be spilt, my heart shall always be by thy side.

I cannot shine like thee… Ah, I shall never be able to shine like thee. But by my name, I swear—”

Drops of viscous blood dripped from her wounds, and she soon left them behind. The sweet ache of her Stigmata filled her with sweet relief, enough almost to make her forget this was a fight, to begin with.

She splattered the air crimson, in the name of her Lord, and in her own, staining the town with the stench of iron.

“I shall forever be thy ally, thy stalwart ally, striving to be by thy side!

Faster, faster, faster than anything, I shall sprint!”

To reach her Lord, before anyone else could, and proudly stand by His side, no matter how covered in blood she had to be to reach that point.

She beseeched Him to allow her craving to manifest.

“Amen.

As the Apostle of Slaughter, I invoke—

Stigmata of the Loyal—

Manifest, my Craving -

Angra Mainyu—

Demon God of Idolatry

Daeva Buht—

Infinite Acceleration!”

Her blackened face was all but covered in blood, almost all of which was her own, and her beautiful grey uniform was splattered head to toe in dark crimson stains, but even so, her grin did not fade.

To reach her Lord, she would go faster than anything else.

Infinite acceleration.

Faster than the opponent could move. Faster than the opponent could think. Faster than the opponent could process information.

She unleashed countless strikes against the former Hero in a single second, using her sword’s special ability to rob him of his strength.

Faster than the opponent could hear. In accordance with the laws of physics, she broke the sound barrier and created a sonic boom as her speed surpassed that at which sound travelled.

He was relegated to just his senses and his inhuman reflexes to try and locate her, but every passing moment, she opened up countless more wounds on his rusted skin, stealing his blood along with his life itself.

Faster than the opponent could see… faster than light itself. She took those very same laws of physics she was obeying, earlier, and smashed them to pieces, all in her pursuit of limitless speed.

A thousand strikes in a second. Ten thousand in half that time. A hundred thousand slashes in a tenth of a second.

An arm went flying off. A leg was pulverized and reduced to scraps of bone and meat. The other arm was jabbed full of holes, the other leg was pounded into the ground.

To finish off the execution, she severed his head.

From the armour he was wearing, to the cross around his neck, to the sword he wielded, all of it was pounded into fine dust and stolen by the Hexagram.