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“Don’t try it.”
“B-but!”
Montmorency cried out: why was this man refusing to be healed? His movements were sluggish, his defence as fragile as broken glass held together with rice paste— At this rate... He would die before it could ever get back around to his turn. How did it come to this? He was one of those who’d fought on the side of the Acolytes— she shouldn’t want him to live. But yet... as a sister of the holy order of the blue cross, even if he was their enemy—her enemy—she couldn’t turn a blind eye to someone who’d stepped in to save her when the others around her had fallen. Why had he even done it? Her nervous grip on her book tightened: it was her duty to help those in need, no matter who it was.
“Please... Let me take your pain—“
“You people who continue to cling to that goddess... Are you a fool? Can you even recognize the kind of situation we’re in? You don’t have the power to kill them, and you can’t restore me back to how I was before. Even if you could, we’d still be dead before our next breath,” Vildred spat out. Stabbing the edge of his blade into the ground, he steadied himself and rose up onto shaky feet, a bitter sneer curling up the edges of his mouth.
“If you don’t wish for your friends’ sacrifices to be meaningless, stay out of my way. Before she recovers, I have to...”
He trailed off, not out of uncertainty, but something else. The silence of recognition, the inward struggle to determine what next to do. The nun’s gaze darted between him and the fallen bodies surrounding them: then, up towards the silver haired man wearing an equally stiff expression, three swords wielded dangerously in his grasp. Behind him, the girl the dark-haired man had referred to who looked so much like the high priestess— and yet, was nothing alike. Both oozed an overwhelming power: no amount of debuffs would affect them, their immunity palpable. He was right: she was too weak to do anything to them, and even if she tried anything, the enemy would still move before he could. And yet, to just leave him to die—!
“Let go of your disillusionment. As a nun, aren’t you supposed to have faith? I’ll show you what I can do.”
His words were absolute, filled with confidence that bordered on arrogance despite the way he unsteadily swayed. Yet even so, in the face of his assuredness, his determination— All she could do was offer him that same belief. Palms folding together in front of her chest, she took in a breath, allowing warmth to spread across her own body instead. Injuries mended, leaving only a memory of the pain behind in preparation for the destruction to come.
She heard it before she saw it, the quick scrape of metal leaving its sheath, a spray of vermillion spattering across the ground as Vildred toppled forwards, buckling as the swordsman’s blade passed through. Instinctively, a hand moved to cover her mouth in horror, the image painting a reminder of the cruelty of battle in her mind.
“Fufu...”
The high priestess, no, her doppelgänger’s laughter echoed across the grounds. A light chime belying the true nature of its owner. It was over.
But not for who she thought.
“Ah?!”
A sudden flash of light, stronger and more brilliant than even the high priestess’ healing powers: it was as though a saint had descended in a ray of blinding brilliance to retrieve the body of... No... to breathe life back into him. He was standing, strength beyond anything she’d ever seen—even more than the other two’s—oozing out of him in dark coils. An ominous power, coarse and vicious. In his grasp his blade glinted wickedly, on it a promise to sever the lives of whoever found themselves at its opposite end.
“H-how... Are you really alive?!” She couldn’t help but squeak out: was this a miracle?
“Don’t mistake this as something from Diche. I said I’d show you what I can do: this is with my own strength,” the man scoffed, edges of his mouth turned up disparagingly. Hand raised, sword following steadily after it, and then:
“Descending blade!”
Chaos erupted, thundering loudly like a herald to the world’s destruction. Black tendrils burst forth, enveloping the area in a darkness she’d never before witnessed as winds whipped, gusting about and threatening to tear her off of the ground. It was like thunder multiplied a thousand fold, an ear splitting cry as the explosion rang out: the earth shattered like a sheet of ice dropped to the ground until finally— it was over. And in the dust, were two more bodies: those of their enemy, unable to move before revelation arrived.
With an elegant sweep of his blade, the man slid the weapon back into its hold. Without another word, he began to walk off. Just like that. As if everything he’d done, saving lives, taking lives– was nothing. She stumbled forwards, voice straining to reach volumes higher than her usual nervous chitters.
“Wait! You’re Vildred, right? You did all this... Why are you working with the Acolytes? You used to... I... I don’t think you’re a bad person, I don’t understand...”
Step. He paused, though his face continued looking forwards.
“...of course you don’t. Is everyone who walks a different path from the goddess wrong and evil? Our goals are the same, even if how we choose to get there are different.”
“Will... will we meet again?”
“...if we do, it’ll be on opposite sides.”
No longer inhibited by the enemies, the man disappeared. It was the first, and last conversation they would ever have together.