Twenty years have elapsed since that day, though the concept of time itself remains elusive in its precise measurement.
Depending on one's perspective, a span of two months could appear as a mere blink of an eye or an expanse of two hundred years. Therefore, for the sake of clarity and consistency, I shall adhere to the timeline established by the organization to which I belong.
Twenty years have come and gone, yet if comprehending this interval proves challenging, consider it similar to the maturation of a child into adulthood. However, even this
perception may differ among races and cultures, for I myself have remained unchanged since my birth. Regardless, in order to avoid further confusion and facilitate understanding, I shall continue to employ the customary conventions of time, distance, weight, language, and the like. I apologize if this appears self-centered, yet it aligns with the shared understanding among those who now hear my voice. In the future, when we have the opportunity to meet and stand united, such familiar conventions will help us avoid unnecessary inconveniences. With that clarified, let us delve into the events that transpired during these two decades.
Only seven years after parting ways with my father, I reached a planet inhabited by sentient beings. Although the journey through space was long, from an objective standpoint, it seemed relatively brief. However, the subsequent phase proved more challenging.
Finding individuals with both the ability and willingness to assist, even among those who ostensibly belong to the same side, proved to be no easy task. I came to realize that not everyone possesses a comprehensive understanding of the Avesta. Only the strongest and most knowledgeable among us, commonly referred to as heroes, have delved into the profound mysteries contained within its pages.
Ordinary inhabitants and animals, on the other hand, possess a rudimentary understanding limited to identifying which side they align with – the right or the left. They know little beyond the fact that these two sides are irreconcilable enemies. In essence, their comprehension mirrors my own at birth, vague and lacking in depth.
During my seven years of existence, I managed to acquire some knowledge. Yet, to progress further, I needed to encounter individuals on par with, if not surpassing, my own level of understanding. These individuals, whom we call Yazatas, represent the warriors of righteousness, the true champions of good aligned with the right, the Ashavans.
Alas, they are few and far between. Considering that not much time has elapsed since my father decimated a multitude of warriors, I embarked on a long quest in search of them.
On several occasions, I encountered warriors from the opposing side – formidable Dragvants, or Daevas of the Left – and each encounter inevitably culminated in a deadly
clash.
While depleting the ranks of our adversaries served some purpose, my ultimate goal could not be achieved without identifying our allies. Ironically, in my pursuit of miracles, I was left miraculously with just one warrior by my side. The vastness of the cosmos became all too apparent as I realized how daunting this search had become. Even the initial planet I visited loomed immeasurable in size, rendering thorough exploration an impossible feat.
Consequently, I embarked on a meticulous process of inquiry, employing my unique "function" to narrow the scope of my search.
Finally, four years ago, I found a comrade, a friend who met the criteria. Thus, my search spanned nine years, encompassing a multitude of indescribable emotions. Yet, this was merely the beginning.
To earn their trust, I devoted an additional year to assisting them in any way possible. Eventually, I received a summons to the headquarters of the heroes and was acknowledged as a Yazata. However, it was far from a straightforward journey. Hence, my heroic endeavors
extend for a mere three years.
Though I am relatively young and lacking in experience, it does not set me apart from the rest. I was informed that over a million warriors existed two decades ago, whereas now we number barely a thousand.
My father claimed to have "let some go," but I was stunned to learn that only a few dozen survived the carnage. We endured a devastating defeat and teetered on the precipice of extinction. Yet, through some unfathomable resilience, we have managed to regain our footing and are now charting a path toward revival. Our current position is one of
precarious hope, and it is vital for you to comprehend the gravity of this situation, which I shall now explain.
1. Everything in this world is divided between two incompatible aspects - what we call good and evil.
2. The belonging of everyone and everyone to their side is obvious. It's impossible to make a mistake.
3. Both sides have groups that are the core of their combat power. The main condition for victory is their immediate destruction.
4. If the destruction is delayed, the vacated places are filled. In other words, heirs are born.
5. One should elevate oneself to new heights and put all one's being on the line with the help of the Commandment.
In essence, the Avesta encapsulates these five crucial tenets. While many are aware of only the first two, we, the warriors of righteousness, must delve deeper and grasp the knowledge of how to bring the battle to its ultimate conclusion.
Despite the universe being divided between the Ashavans and the Dragvants, the third tenet teveals that it is not imperative to annihilate every last enemy. There exists a more efficient method - the elimination of the core.
Achieving this feat guarantees victory, as it inevitably leads to the collapse of the remaining foes.
We, the embodiment of goodness, stand as the core within our Sacred Realm, governed by our righteous king and the unwavering will of its inhabitants. It is here, within this temple of daring champions, that the mighty yazatas gather, and we invoke the name of Wahman Yast.
The core of evil is Father and his brethren - the seven calamities who lead the Daevas, sowing destruction and vice. They represent absolute evil, the Seven Great Kings of Evil.
Twenty years ago, Wahman Yast teetered on the brink of annihilation, and the loss of thirty more warriors would have spelled irreversible doom. The fact that we managed to avert this catastrophe and now plan, albeit imperfectly, to launch a counterattack is truly remarkable. As stipulated in the fourth tenet, we replenished our ranks to reach a number nearing a thousand, far from an inconsequential force.
However, it is equally true that the other side can prevent the birth of heirs through a single, decisive elimination of our elite. I have heard tales of the strife among the King of Evils themselves, with subordinates vying for leadership. Yet, the fact that the core of evil remains intact even in such circumstances underscores the vast difference in our military might. In the two millennia of our Sacred Realm's existence, only three instances are known where a Yazata managed to vanquish an King of Evil.
Painful as it is to admit, our enemy is formidable indeed. The magnitude of this truth becomes evident when one recalls the Annihilation Star Cluster and the awe-inspiring
power it embodies. The father alone commands such unimaginable might, and there exist six more beings akin to him, all of whom must be overcome within a limited span of time.
This, without a doubt, requires a miracle. This is precisely why the fifth tenet and the Commandments hold such significance. I must refine my purpose and wholeheartedly strive for victory.
Though both sides harbor a genuine desire to annihilate their adversaries, I believe that this commitment holds the key to the miracle. After all, twenty years ago, my father chose to spare the Sacred Realm.
If he so-willed it, he could have eradicated every single warrior of good, but he did not.
Why?
Perhaps there are instances where the third and fifth tenets of the Avesta contradict one another. I do not know the Commandment my father took, but by pouring his entire essence into his own path, he refrained from extinguishing the sacred kingdom and brought forth my existence.
In my estimation, this represents a significant flaw. It is conceivable that the power of the King of Evils stems from such contradictions. In essence, their vulnerabilities can be
exploited to our advantage.
"Quinn... Quinn!"
The urgent call echoed through the air, beckoning my attention. In this tumultuous battle, neither I nor my allies entertain the notion of surrender. Such a course of action is simply inconceivable, for the Avesta, our sacred bindings, leaves no room for such a possibility.
"Cease the broadcast," a voice commanded, cutting through the chaos.
"Tell us about 'him,' and we shall ascertain the situation here."
I turned towards my colleague, acknowledging their request with a solemn nod. Steadying my gaze ahead, I focused on the task at hand. As a Yazata of the revered Sacred Realm, it falls upon me to confront the daeva that afflicts this land, to gather miracles and forge them into a sword of victory.
"In the name of the sacred wings of Vohu Mana," I declared, my voice resolute and unwavering,
"Vanish from this realm, you malevolent fiends of evil!"
Making grand proclamations had become second nature to me. For I am not alone in this fight; I stand alongside comrades, and with each passing day, our ranks continue to grow.
Rest assured, I eagerly await the day when we can march together, shoulder to shoulder, in unison.
The scene unfolded like a tempestuous inferno, resembling the wrath of a volcanic eruption. From the very outset of the battle, a relentless onslaught of sand and shards of
stone erupted from the ground, transforming the air into a swirling maelstrom that obscured the sun. The once-clear distinction between day and night became an enigma, as
the thick storm of debris and smoke enveloped everything in an eerie, otherworldly haze.
Though the time dictated that it should be noon, the atmosphere remained cloaked in a shroud of impenetrable darkness. The sporadic bursts of flames and billows of smoke further distorted reality, turning the surroundings into a disorienting phantasmagoria.
The intermittent disappearance and reappearance of light sources made it impossible to acclimate one's vision, leaving a person disoriented and struggling to discern their exact position in the vast expanse of space. Amid this chaos, the remnants of shattered edifices, foliage, wildlife, and even the mingling of lifeless bodies hurtled toward us like projectiles.
Evading this supersonic barrage of shrapnel proved a formidable task, demanding every ounce of strength to stave off further deterioration of our perilous situation. Time itself seemed to conspire against us, as three cities had already been reduced to mere dust, claiming the lives of countless ashavans trapped within their desolated ruins.
Even among our small group of five comrades, two had succumbed to the relentless onslaught, yet we remained powerless to mount a counteroffensive. This Daeva, this
formidable adversary, possessed an astonishing strength that defied belief. It was unfathomable that such a monstrous entity had eluded our previous encounters. From whence had it emerged, with its nefarious intent and insurmountable might?
"Quinn, watch out!"
The urgent cry pierced through the chaos, alerting me to an imminent threat. Emerging from the billowing veil of smoke, a colossal tentacle materialized, capable of obliterating an
entire fortress with a single blow. Its appearance was reminiscent of a menacing tongue, adorned with countless spiky protrusions. Each spike rivaled the length and girth of a towering tree, rendering evasion of this gargantuan appendage highly impossible..
I instinctively retaliated, delivering a swift kick that, while failing to repel it entirely,
miraculously spared me from a catastrophic collision.
My chosen combat style revolved around unarmed hand-to-hand combat, a discipline often questioned by others. Perhaps they were right, for I possessed no inherent aptitude for wielding conventional weapons.
Countless attempts had proven that my skills with a sword were woefully lacking, reducing me to the gracelessness of an inebriated dancer. The realization that tools were not meant for me had initially come as a shock, but ultimately, acceptance was the only viable path.
Upon parting ways with my father, I had come to terms with my existence as a mere instrument, destined to be utilized by others.
This was the Commandment—the self-imposed restriction that bound me and defined my purpose. While abiding by the Commandment, I could access a power akin to the reverse side of the taboo.
As an instrument, my actions were rendered inert without the directive of another. I existed solely to fulfill the prayers and commands of others. Thus, I stood incessantly awaited instructions, for the moment I received them, my abilities would be augmented.
I was a pawn, an entity whose skills and capabilities were intrinsically linked to competent
leadership.
"Right, shoot! Don't forget to cover Kira!"
The familiar voice rang out, punctuating the chaos with a command that guided my every movement.
When ordered to "kill" or "defeat," I could execute with ruthless precision on autopilot.
However, if a more nuanced directive tailored to the situation at hand was provided, my accuracy and effectiveness correspondingly increased. Yet, given my reliance on the strategic abilities of my comrades, it would be remiss to claim consistent excellence. After all, my Commandment had not been undertaken with the expectation of engaging in battle.
My primary duty lay in the pursuit of miracles—the honing of my father's bestowed function to "read the thoughts of others." On the battlefield, I became a weapon, a formidable force to be reckoned with. In times of peace, I transformed into a radar, a transmitter, and a repository of knowledge. It was within this latter role that my true value resided.
Alas, in the midst of the relentless tumult, such considerations were relegated to the
periphery of my consciousness.
My trump card, though potent in battle, proved ineffective against a mindless beast-like
adversary. My fortunes had not granted me the fortune of facing such a foe.
Nevertheless, I am bound by the unbreakable Commandment I have undertaken. To violate
it would invite heavenly retribution—an instant death, as the Avesta suggests.
"What about 'feathers'? Do you still have enough of them?" questioned a companion.
"N-no, I've already spent them all... Aw!"
I lamented, realizing their depletion. However, I remembered that making an "offer" and
leaving the final decision to others did not constitute a breach of the Commandment.
Seeking aid from a friend, I turned to them, yet my voice proved a fatal distraction, causing their demise. Only three of us remained, including myself.
"Teleport, Quinn! This bastard is up to something!" came the urgent command.
"…Ah?!"
I exclaimed, catching sight of an ominous light ahead, faintly discernible through the smokescreen. It pulsed, seemingly counting down to an impending devastating assault upon everything in its vicinity.
"Shebatir!"
I cried out almost simultaneously, as the destructive light finally erupted.
The ensuing explosion unleashed searing heat and radiation capable of vaporizing even
stone. Avoidance proved impossible, let alone retaliation.
"Kh-ha-ah..." I gasped, my entire body scathed by the intense heat.
Yet, miraculously, all my limbs remained intact. I realized I had traversed the world, now positioned approximately ten kilometers away from the previous location. I had evaded the wave of destruction by employing a 'feather'—an instantaneous supernatural movement, a power bestowed upon me by Vohu Mana, the Star Spirit patron of the Sacred Realm.
These Star Spirits were extraordinary beings born from the souls of stars. Incarnations of celestial bodies, they possessed unimaginable power.
Vohu Mana, specifically, took the form of a continent-sized snow-white eagle, although now lacking a corporeal presence due to grave injuries suffered two decades prior. Yet, some of his power remained accessible to us in the form of gifts.
As warriors of the Sacred Realm, we earned 'feathers' of Vohu Mana as rewards for our deeds or other merits. These feathers bore a mark upon our bodies, granting us the ability to harness the Star Spirit's power.
Each feather corresponded to a specific gift: Saam for attack boost, Kshatra for defense boost, Haoma for regeneration boost, Fravard for flight, and Shebatir for instant teleportation.
I had employed teleportation, a gift typically reserved for traversing between our home planet and other stars, to dodge the imminent attack. Had it not been for my colleague's precise command, my demise would have been certain.
"Thank you. Please accept my... gratitude..." I faltered, turning towards my nearby comrade.
But instead, a charred mass resembling a human form hung in its place. It disintegrated into nothingness, leaving me speechless. The grinding of my teeth filled the air as I gently gathered their remnants, carried by the wind, and placed them within the fold of my garments.
It pained me that not even a trace of their body remained, and I could no longer touch them.
Yet, this was yet another sacrifice inherent to the path I had chosen. Resoluteness and
triumph were the aims of the Yazata.
Everything unfolded in accordance with the instructions of the Avesta…
Moments later, composed and unfazed, I turn my gaze towards the epicenter of the explosion. The smoke screen dissipates, revealing the enemy in all its grotesque detail. It
resembles a multi-legged heart, gleaming with impurities and adorned with scattered eyes and mouths. Though dwarfed in comparison to my formidable father, this daeva still poses a mountainous threat.
"So... What to do?" I ponder aloud.
Another explosion is unlikely, given that the enemy unleashed that devastating attack only once during our eight-hour battle, it requires time to recharge, providing a temporary respite. However, my own resources are dwindling. I have just two 'feathers' remaining, and my gifts of protection and flight are nearing their limits.
Without intervention, they could last approximately a day, but if I continue evading attacks and engaging in aerial
maneuvers, their endurance will diminish.
In grueling battles, 'feathers' are quickly exhausted, leading to the deaths of comrades. It is evident that my own supply will soon run dry. Thus, I must bring this to a swift conclusion.
Perhaps the enemy is also fatigued.
Their powerful attack betrays annoyance and weariness. Now is the moment to seize the
offensive. However...
"Quinn, help. I'm trapped, unable to escape," a voice echoes, shaking me to the core.
I had assumed everyone else perished, nearly resigning myself to the inability to make a decisive move. I had not expected her to still be alive.
Though we are not acquainted well, she had endured everything, even without any feathers to aid her.
"Samluch, you're alive? Where are you?" I inquire.
To my surprise, she responds with a request for assistance, prompting me to take action.
The scorched desert surrounds me, but even from above, her location remains elusive.
"I told you, I'm trapped. That hulk trampled me into the ground, but I emerged unscathed from that explosion," she explains.
"Well... it seems you're a mole now?" I jest.
"Don't be silly. It wasn't by choice. You may have a stoic demeanor, but you have your moments too... Shall we play the roles of contrast?" she retorts.
"If you're underground, you shouldn't be able to see my face," I remark.
"That's the point. Anyway, I'm here, hurry!"
Throughout our conversation, she never divulges her precise location, but that is no issue.
Her resolute and candid consciousness is easily detected by my ability. Samluch is situated south of the monster, a hundred meters below the surface. The enemy is nearby, albeit at a considerable depth. It seems I must create some distance and execute a diagonal dive.
"There's one problem. I'm not a mole," I confess.
"Well, that's just how you are, isn't it? Your Commandment is quite inconvenient, huh? But don't worry, everything will be fine now," she reassures.
If I were to impact the ground at high speed in my normal state, I would either bounce off or suffer a crash. If a drill is required for our salvation, then let me become the drill.
"Make a bigger hole, Quinn. And simultaneously pierce through this hulk," she directs.
"I'll be utilized... I mean, what?!" I stammer in response.
Upon receiving the dubious command, my body transforms into a comet. The approaching tentacle shatters, and I plunge into the monster's main body, tearing through an
unimaginable mass of flesh.
Pain.
Stench.
Filth...
I cannot suffocate, but it could crush me.
My comparison to a heart was accurate—the monster is a mountain of muscles. Fibers stretch and contract, enveloping and squeezing me, attempting to expel the foreign intrusion.
"Show me what you can do. I know you can," she urges.
Reckless order, once again.
With explosive acceleration, I finally break through the flesh mountain. Solid ground awaits me behind it, and I must now fight relentlessly against the bedrock. Such rough
treatment—I may be an instrument, but even I refuse to endure it silently. She was fortunate this went well. If it had gone slightly less successfully, only a heroic death would
await us.
I underestimated her. I must remember that. Wild creatures are formidable. I encountered Samluch here, a potential warrior candidate. She occupies the same position I assumed three years ago. Whether I truly have the right to bring her with me to the Sacred Realm remains in doubt... but I lack the decisive vote, so it is inconsequential. In any case, I am here.
"...Sorry for the wait. Glad to see you're safe," I finally speak.
Underground, where I made my way, lies a small space—apparently, ancient ruins—that trapped the girl I sought.
Only her head is visible. She resembles a wild animal, with flaming red hair. An optimist might call her a beauty with a spark, while a realist would liken her to a barbarian.
"Oh, how filthy and smelly you are," she remarks.
And whose fault do you think that is? I pierced a colossal lump of meat and immediately burrowed into the ground, leaving me covered in an incomprehensible mixture of mud and slime. It's all her fault.
"Don't be angry, Quinn. I'm sure someone like you will love that scent," she teases.
"We're not discussing that. The situation is grave," I retort.
I don't have time to chat with her. I inform her that we are the last survivors and that my impromptu flight could not have killed the Daeva.
"Just great. Incompetent men got themselves caught. Is the Sacred Realm lacking capable personnel?" she scoffs.
"Unfortunately, that's the reality. We are currently regaining our strength," I explain.
"After being at the forefront twenty years ago?... It doesn't matter. Just get me out already."
Having received her request, I proceed to excavate the rubble. I will fulfill the order regardless, but I must admit, I do not fully comprehend it. It seems unlikely that Samluch's
condition is so severe that she couldn't escape on her own.
A savage like her wouldn't easily allow herself to be buried alive. As I ponder these thoughts, I continue my work, and soon, the answer becomes clear.
"Samluch, you..."
She has lost an arm and a leg. Her right arm is missing up to the elbow, and her left leg is severed at the thigh.
"Why didn't you mention that the wounds needed urgent treatment?"
She didn't show any signs of it, so I was unaware. Despite the severity of her injuries, there is minimal bleeding—dangerous in its own right. Without utilizing the feather's gift
promptly, there will be no chance to help her. But I refuse to admit it.
Don't waste time.
"But..."
Had she ordered me to heal her, I could have achieved a greater effect. While regrowing limbs may not be possible, I could have eliminated the threat to her life. Yet she refuses,
wanting me to leave her because a cripple is useless in battle.
Then why did she call me?
I cannot decipher her thoughts.
"It's nothing to me. Well, it's my first time losing an arm and leg, but it's for the best. Lucky,"
Samluch says, leaning on her arm and looking at me fearlessly.
Suddenly, the surroundings tremble. The Daeva above has noticed us and draws nearer.
"No time for explanations. This is my Commandment," she declares.
In an instant, a tentacle breaks through the ceiling...
"Quinn, grant me the gifts of attack and flight," she demands.
...followed by a burst of crimson light.
"Oh-oh-oh-or-ra-ah!" she cries out.
Flashing alongside her battle cry, her "left leg" shatters the tentacle into pieces. The surrounding rocks crumble, revealing the sky through the opening.
The enemy is visible.
"I'll handle the rest. Leave it to me," Samluch confidently says, flashing a not-so-rude smile.
Taking off with a jump, she soars into the air. And that is only the beginning of her dance.
Arriving late to the surface, I become a witness to an indescribable spectacle.
Right punch, left kick.
For a woman, Samluch possesses a large physique, yet she remains human. However, each of her strikes seems to land on a colossal, mountain-like creature, causing the earth to quake with every motion. Her limbs may be absent, leading an observer to perceive her actions as futile. But Samluch continues to unleash blow after blow upon her target. And they hit.
Her strikes cause the air to tremble like a tsunami. The movement of something incredibly fast, heavy, and immense. As though an invisible giant stands in her place. Perhaps the answer lies in the flickering red light at the moment of impact. I focus on it, and then understanding dawns upon me, rendering me speechless.
Samluch possesses both arms and legs—not made of flesh and blood, but rather auras.
Ghostly limbs woven from pulsating life energy. This radiance transforms into a scarlet light, taking shape for a brief moment, growing exponentially upon impact. My rough estimate suggests nearly five hundred of them.
My comparison to an invisible giant seems apt. Samluch's height now exceeds nine hundred meters, even with just her right arm and left leg. It is only logical that a being of such mass can pulverize mountains. Impressive is an understatement. And the determination of a girl who can bring such absurdity to life elicits nothing but reverence from me.
Clearly, she has undertaken a weighty and stringent Commandment.
In essence, it represents the following: Samluch refuses treatment. Samluch smiles and claims that such occurrences are commonplace. She even considers the loss of limbs fortunate, and judging by her current state, the more injured she becomes, the stronger she grows. Her limitation likely lies in her inability to heal wounds. Though they may appear closed from the outside, they remain open. She endures constant pain, both physical and
mental. In a way, she embodies the ideal warrior.
With every battle and injury, Samluch grows stronger. Her ghostly limbs are the trophies she has earned, a source of pride. By neglecting treatment, her missing body parts
regenerate in a bizarre manner, fueled by her fighting spirit.
Using this power in combat seems to amplify her abilities in proportion to the wounds she sustains.
How long can she draw upon this compensation for pain?
And what happens if she exhausts it?
Losing her spectral limbs is manageable, but an extended reckless battle may violate her Commandment.
This technique is undeniably dangerous, necessitating a swift end to the fight. I consider intervening but remain still, as she told me to "leave the rest to me." The situation is
precarious.
Samluch holds a significant advantage over the daeva, increasing our chances of victory. Yet, I can't shake a foreboding feeling. This daeva couldn't have appeared out of nowhere. It's immense size and destructive potential make it a second-ranked threat in the Sacred Realm,
comparable to the kings of evil.
Could we have missed such a menace? If it's a newborn, it's already too powerful. Our primary objective is to find a certain yazata, someone who defies rules and orders. In this Sacred Realm, they are known as the most violent. Their presence here suggests something extraordinary. The locations they visit always turn to ash, drenched in blood.
We were tracking their trail, but instead encountered an unidentified daeva. Could this be a sign?
The sinister thoughts drag me into a bottomless swamp.
Since I'm currently ordered to hold my position, I can only return to our original mission.
Find him.
Summon him.
He is more dangerous, more violent, and more monstrous than anything else. But I believe he can disperse even the darkest clouds, surpassing them with an even more concentrated darkness.
So, please, answer. Where are you, Magsarion...
Just as words of hope escape my lips with his name...
"Ha-ah-ah-ah!"
A resounding battle cry echoes, and Samluch's raised right hand ignites with a crimson flame. The multiplied strength pulsates in her fist, signaling the imminent strike of a
decisive blow.
"By... lu... chi-i-i-i!"
The ghostly limb slams its open palm onto the daeva, obliterating it with catastrophic force.
The mountain of flesh crumbles under the impact, reduced to a bloody mess. Only Samluch remains, panting in the aftermath.
"Well, how about that? Nothing to worry about," she says with a satisfied smile, though her fatigue is evident.
I fly closer to her and offer my praise.
"Excellent work. You truly surprised me."
"I thought home-grown warriors were nothing," she retorts, then adds, "Your Commandment is strict, but..."
Such a perilous power, teetering on the edge of life and death, could destroy her at any moment. It's an extreme case even among the Commandments.
"I'm carefree by nature. I don't act until the thunder strikes. So, don't make such a face," she says, ruffling my hair.
Her actions erase my anxiety, as victory at the cost of four fallen comrades should be celebrated.
"Meanwhile, we're out of feathers. What do we do if we're stuck here?"
"We can send a signal for help or wait for someone to notice our absence. Either way, it will take time. In the first case, my 'voice' will reach them in three or four days."
"Right, and in the second case, we can't expect an immediate response because they're not idle either."
"Exactly."
"Understood. Let's wait patiently. In the meantime, let the survivors provide us with sustenance. We deserve a reward."
Samluch's innocence surprises me, but I believe it's for the best. Even without medical intervention, she still needs rest.
"You should consider prosthetics. Regardless of your Commandment, it would make things easier."
"I'm used to it. I'd prefer Sacred Realm ones, but I'll settle for anything now. With this hand, even eating will be difficult."
Samluch shrugs wearily, then stands tall and mutters to herself.
"Am I finally a great warrior of good? Honestly, I prefer working for myself in the middle of nowhere..."
"With your strength, you'll be objectively more useful as a yazata. The Sacred Realm is home to a variety of people, and I'm sure you won't be bored when... Is something wrong?"
Samluch's face darkens, and I follow her gaze, finding no words.
"You're kidding... How is this possible?"
The crushed daeva begins to regenerate, its scattered pieces reassembling before our eyes.
"Damn it, Quinn, we can't just sit and watch!"
We can't silently witness what's happening here. We approach the monstrous entity and attack until it's fully resurrected. However, no matter how much we tear and shred it, its regeneration outpaces our efforts. It's already recovered by around fifty percent without showing any signs of a counterattack.
"Samluch, how many more times can you use your technique?"
"I'm not sure I can even use it once at full power. I'll try now!"
Samluch gathers her strength, coiling herself like a bowstring. The searing burst of energy indicates her resolve to give everything. Only unwavering determination could ignite such intensity. In her eyes, I see a readiness to push herself to the brink.
Is it worth it?
Is there no other way out?
No other options come to mind, but if this doesn't work, we'll be in a hopeless situation.
Still, I have no right to stop her. It goes against my Commandment.
In that case, what do I...
"Are you there, doll?"
"Ha!..."
Suddenly, a "voice" resonates in my head, jolting through my body like an electric current.
It's a chilling voice saturated with boundless bloodlust. If a speechless creature could hear it, they might compare it to a gust of dry wind. Yet, beneath the surface, there's heavy,
seething hatred and rage.
I recognize it. There's no mistaking it. It's "his" consciousness.
"You flew past me, unnoticed, until I caught sight of you. Don't overstep your boundaries."
"What?!"
Samluch exclaims, sensing something amiss. She halts the creation of the ghostly limb, and the Daeva's massive body begins to bulge in various places. It's as if something is about to burst out of it.
"This is my prey," a voice declares.
In the next instant, the monster's body explodes from within, showering us in a gruesome rain of blood and flesh. And there, standing before us, is Magsarion.
"Magsarion... What's wrong with him?"
Samluch asks, her shock tinged with aggression. And it's understandable.
Magsarion is different from everyone else. Clad in sinister armor without a single blemish, adorned with countless blood stains and dents from battles. His eyes emit an infernal glow, visible even through his helmet, concealing his face. The scent of the grave and an icy coldness exude from him, akin to the grim reaper. There's an aura of ferocity and cruelty, as if from the devil himself. In many ways, he defies the very essence of ashavans, with a way of life rooted in black emotions, bloodlust, and an unfathomable abyss of darkness that continuously brings destruction.
Even high-ranking Daevas don't emanate that level of danger. But he is a Yazata, a renegade of the Sacred Realm, a raging blade accredited with great military accomplishments. He is the most challenging individual for me to assess, which is why he piques my interest the
most.
"Hey, say something already!" Samluch demands.
"Calm down, Samluch. This is Magsarion. He is... our ally," I interject, turning towards her.
Since Samluch has expressed her desire to join the Sacred Realm, it's my duty to spread the word, and it doesn't breach my Commandment.
"For a long time, he ignored orders to return to headquarters, and finding him was our main task. We knew he was on this planet, but couldn't locate him for some reason..."
Now it's clear. Magsarion was inside the Daeva, and its malevolence acted as interference, making it challenging to pinpoint his exact location.
However, if you're looking for a devil, where better than hell itself?
I know from personal experience that with Magsarion, we will undoubtedly vanquish the enemy. But the problem lies not in that, but in the process, or rather, the precise outcome.
His fighting style cannot be deemed elegant. In a way, we need to brace ourselves for the worst, but time is not on our side. The accursed monster has begun to regenerate once
again.
"What are you planning to do... Maybe he'll answer you, Quinn. Since he was inside, he probably knows its weak point," Samluch suggests.
"Magsarion, can you tell us what you know?" I inquire, hoping for a response.
Magsarion listens to our pleas in silence, but soon he speaks, his voice low.
"What's the point if you couldn't handle such trash?" he retorts.
"What?!" Samluch exclaims in disbelief.
Oh, this is bad. I had a hunch, but Samluch and Magsarion are truly incompatible. Frankly, I'm uncertain if they can find common ground.
"Well, that's how it is... Yes, you yourself couldn't do anything. But he had been fighting this brute before we arrived" I say, attempting to bridge the gap.
"I can always kill him."
Magsarion states this nonchalantly, disregarding the shocked Samluch, and continues his monologue.
"But the source must be destroyed. That's what I was seeking. And to a large extent, I've obtained it."
His choice of words is peculiar, but he divulges nothing further. Instead, he crouches down and, assuming the form of a spear, points the tip of his colossal, bloodied sword toward the monster. It's evident he's about to do something reckless, so I raise my voice.
"Wait. You are strictly forbidden from taking anyone's life unless they are your enemies. This is a direct order from His Majesty Sirius. Violation of this order will result in your
exclusion from the Yazata."
Magsarion is solely focused on eradicating evil, and he seems to disregard the consequences or the weaknesses of others. His actions have often been met with severe
criticism.
So far, his achievements have granted him some leniency, but the leadership's patience is wearing thin. While it may be a formality, it will undoubtedly cause me great inconvenience.
Yet, despite everything, I can't help but feel a desire to observe him a little longer.
"Please, listen to me," I implore, my words devoid of personal opinion, merely following the
instructions given to me. However, there's a strain within me, an inner creaking reaching its
limits.
If I possessed a soul, it would be torn apart by the cold, the nausea, and the decay I feel.
Deep down, I know that, despite appearances, my motives are driven by personal interests.
"Hey, Quinn, are you alright?" Samluch asks, noticing my trembling and the crumbling of my insides. I continue to keep my gaze fixed on Magsarion, even as I tremble with small quakes.
Empty words hold no sway over him, and I know there's no other way to make him listen.
We lock eyes for a few seconds, and just as I feel myself losing consciousness...
"Then do your part. Lift him into the air," a sudden order pierces through me.
"What?" I gasp.
The overwhelming cold that enveloped me dissipated instantly. Simultaneously, I receive an order... Or was it just my imagination? Did Magsarion actually sigh?
"Do it, even at the cost of your life, doll," Magsarion's words reach me.
"It will be done," I respond, accepting my role without a hint of doubt.