Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pain, that secret conspirator between flesh and spirit, is the whispering ghost that lives in the bones of existence. It is the ancient language written in nerves and blood, a tongue older than words, older even than breath. Pain is the sly herald of life's edge, the ink with which suffering signs its name upon the skin of the soul.

It is a trickster god. one foot in the shadows of agony, the other in the dawn of awakening. if you dare to endure its trial. It seduces with the promise that if you can bear its bite, you might unearth some feral truth about who you are when everything else is stripped away.

Do not mistake pain for a loyal companion; it is fickle and cruel, delighting in games that twist the mind and bend the will. It scrawls riddles in scars and laughs at the futile ointments of the world. It feeds on your fear but feasts even more on your hope. hope that it might one day loosen its grip, even as you clutch it close for the lessons it brings.

In the end, pain is the question and the answer, the blade and the balm, an ever-shifting phantom that reminds you, with every sharp kiss, that you are still gloriously, devastatingly alive.

And alive he was, withering with agony on the cobblestone of a busy city, away from the eyes of the masses as he twisted and turned in phantom pain. His hands clawed at wounds that weren't there. His mind reeled at the absence of pain signals, unable to process the incomprehensible horror he had endured only moments prior.

He should be dead, Natsuki Subaru knew this. His failure to warn Satella against coming inside the loot-house not only put her in danger but ultimately got her killed. It was as if he could still feel her hand under his own as she was slowly bleeding to death.

Only it wasn't the first time it was happening; the boy had tried more times than he could count on both hands to save the kind silver haired girl from her untimely demise. Yet the more he tried the less success he achieved. Always just a step behind fate's cruel hands as the more he pushed himself, the more unforeseen consequences piled up.

The black-haired assassin -Elsa, as she called herself- was not just skilled, she was unkillable. On one occasion he had even seen her entire head blown off, courtesy of the finest of knights' spell, only for her to surprise them with an ambush which took Julius off-guard. Which resulted in their gruesome deaths in the last loop. She took her time with him in that loop as well, too euphoric to let him die fast.

He was hyperventilating now. Leaving the city was not an option either as the moment the sun's last rays went behind the horizon a deadly blizzard would freeze the entire city and the plains around it, no matter how early in the loop Subaru decided to run away from the city.

It was Hopeless. HOPELESS. HOPELESS.

He was doomed to suffer in this preternatural singularity. He wondered, weakly, if this was his personal hell, designed by whatever god that was overseeing the universe to punish him for his lackluster behavior with his parents. For being a disappointment and a burden. If not that, then why would he be punished so severely? Subaru could not tell for he wasn't a person with many -if any- crimes or sins to his name. He was so, SO tired and the only thing he wanted was to go to his home. To his repetitive and boring life without fearing that he is going to die every 12 hours or so.

His nerves finally calming, he leaned against a wall, then slowly dragged himself along it, collapsing at its base while hugging his knees to his stomach. Cursing his ugly and horrendous fate as he tried to think of more ways he could perfect his approach to this unhallowed day.

"Hey, kiddo. Hand over everything you've got and maybe we'll let you go."

Speaking of accursed fates, running into these three idiots felt more like a scripted game event than real life. But Subaru knew better by now, there was nothing fantastic about this nightmare. They must have picked him out long before his 'save point.' His terrible luck knew no bounds.

"Can we, like, not? Like for once in your worthless lives take pity and just don't mug a defenseless guy. Three on one? What happened to chivalry?" Subaru said, his tone too tired to carry much bite.

"Huuuh? Rachins, the hell is this brat talking about? You know the scumbag?" asked the dumbass with a -likely- malnourished and small body. Camberley or Kan as Subaru liked to call him in his head.

"Of course not, do I look like I hang around Aristocrats and noble brats?" answered Rachins Hoffman or as Subaru liked to remember him, Chin.

Hearing that Subaru got up to his feet with a resigned sigh.

"Now listen here, how many times do I have to tell you that I'm not a noble? It's honestly against my rights as a human being to be treated like this." Subaru said while dusting the back of his pants.

"The hell are you even talking about you damn brat? It's the first time we've seen you. Don't go act all familiar with us you noble brat." said Gaston -or Ton- cracking his knuckles as he started to get close to Subaru

Subaru looked at them with empty eyes. Dealing with these three ceased to be an actual problem for him many loops ago. They'd been demoted to mild annoyances, routine obstacles at the start of every loop. He got ready to deal with them again, putting his fists in front of his face. He mused with himself how amazingly fast someone can learn to fight when put through the real deal.

"Huma"

Before he could do anything however shards of ice struck the earth a breath away from the thieves' feet, skimming the tips of their boots.

"Scatter and leave heretics. How dare you try to harm someone so beloved, so blessed and so faithful to LOVE?"

Came a feminine voice behind Subaru, fevered and zealous, trembling with impatience and fury.

He turned to see a girl of moderate height, with bobbed blue hair that partly covered her right eye. She was wearing a maid uniform reminiscent of French-style uniforms.

"Shit Rachins, this one smells like trouble. That's a magic user; we need to get the hell out of here before it's too late." said Camberley, running away without waiting for his friends as they high-tailed it right behind him, getting away as fast as they could. Leaving Subaru and the mystery girl alone in the dim alleyway.

"Believer in LOVE, are you alright? Do you need me to enact retribution on them?"

The girl asked with an intense voice and Subaru had a strange thought that if he gave his blessing this girl WOULD attack the thugs until he told her otherwise.

"I…I'm sorry, but who are you?" Subaru choked out, his gaze not drawn to anything else on her but the wide Muzzle-like mask that covered her entire lower face and mouth.

"I am but a humble servant of Lord Mathers. Here to accompany my liege and the face of LOVE herself. I was searching for her But I could not help but notice the wonderful LOVE that accompanied you. Tell me, brother, do you have your gospel?"

Subaru couldn't see her mouth, but he was sure there was a maniacal grin lurking behind that muzzle-like mask.

Chapter Text

Rem could hardly comprehend how vilely careless she’d been. To lose sight of LOVE’s face. the vision her marrow had sworn to guard, all while her worthless eyes rotted in her skull. Unforgivable. She was blind, unworthy, a mutt who’d let her master drift free. Such betrayal deserved blood. She would carve penance from her flesh until LOVE forgave her.

******************************************************

The day began in sacred perfection, the same perfection she demanded from her bones and blood. She woke with dawn’s pale kiss against her window, the birds shrieking their hymns of praise for the face of LOVE. Her eyes were hollow pits, shadows sunk so deep they might never fill again, but what was sleep beside devotion?

She had spent the night exactly where she belonged, pressed into the darkest corner of her liege’s chamber like a spider in its web. She watched every flutter of those lashes, every shift beneath the covers. She counted each heartbeat, each soft murmur of a dream she would one day pry open and swallow whole. Sleep? That was for those without purpose. She had a purpose so grand it rattled her bones.

She pulled herself from her humble excuse for a bed and drifted to the wardrobe like a ghost coming home. The uniform waited there, a confection of lace and cloth stitched together by Roswaal’s inane orders. What did he know of guardianship? These sleeves were chains, this skirt a mockery of freedom.

Yet she would slip into it gladly, yanking each ribbon tight enough to dig into her skin. Impractical, yes. But she would look immaculate. The vessel of LOVE deserved perfection, and perfection would be given. If she must choke in silk, so be it. If she must snap her limbs into pretty shapes, so be it. Let Roswaal wrap her like a doll for the world to gawk at. They would never see the fangs beneath the frills. Only she and LOVE would ever know how deep the devotion went. And when the last bird fell silent, she would creep back into that room, slip beneath that blanket of hush, and drink her fill again.

Roswaal was not a believer. She knew that with the same certainty she knew the shape of her own heartbeat. He had no scent of LOVE on him, not a drop of it clung to his skin. But his plots -twisting and crawling toward whatever end he chased, she did not know- had guided her steps to the holiest of altars.

LOVE did not demand belief from every pawn. Sometimes a vessel is hollow, sometimes a blade is blind. And Roswaal was useful, yes, so very useful. If not for his moment of forgiveness, after that wretched stain on her record, she would never have touched the hem of HER blessing. She owed him nothing for that. He was a cracked bridge she had crossed. And bridges are never worshipped for what they bear across.

To gaze upon HER visage, to kneel for HER vessel. it left her giddy, sick with relief. Rem was so LOVED she felt it wrap around her bones like wire and nails. She had been born for this, to serve that trusting, gentle vessel with every last scrap of her soul. Her liege did not yet reek of the delicious stink of true faith, not like Rem and the blessed did. But that would come. It would. And if not, so what? Not every piece must sing the hymn.

Roswaal was proof enough, that good little lord, blind and soft, never knowing the snake coiled at his feet. His foolish mercy flung the door open, and that was enough for HER plan to breathe through the cracks. He did not need to believe. He did not need to know. LOVE needed only tools, faithful or not. One piece at a time. Her liege would be the same, believer or not, she would play her part. She always would.

Four hundred years ago, LOVE tried to bathe the world in her mercy, to cleanse it all with a single breath, but the blind worms the world calls heroes tore that chance away. Even so, SHE never turned her back. The faithful always drank from HER cup, always tasted the sweetness of HER promise. And now, after all the dust and years and filth, after so many wasted centuries, there was a vessel at last. so pure, so soft, so perfectly shaped for SALVATION to fill again. Surely it was a sign, proof that HER will still bled through the cracks of this ruined age.

Rem clung to this miracle with rabid joy. She would serve the vessel, cradle her, guard her every heartbeat with claws bared and prayers whispered. One day, when the world begged for it, HER chosen would hold SALVATION in her body, and all would be LOVE again.

She shook herself free of her blissful musings and slipped into her maid attire piece by piece, uniform first, crisp and spotless, then the headpiece, snug and precise, then the gloves to hide hands that might tremble with too much wanting. She studied her reflection, a marble statue in a maid’s garb. Good. Perfect. She had to be. To serve HER, to brush against even the hem of HER vessel’s shadow, demanded flawlessness. With her image secured, Rem moved to the drawer beside her bed.

From there -tucked just beside her gospel- she drew out her mask and a battered tin of polish. Perching at the edge of her bed, she set to work, each careful stroke a silent hymn to the mask’s gleaming perfection.

It was no mere mask but a muzzle, a grim artifact of necessity. wrought from dark steel and shaped to cage the lower half of her face with clinical precision. Its curved plating clung to her cheeks like a vice, pierced with narrow slits that allowed breath, but not freedom. The inside bore the faint scarring of teeth marks reminders of nights when control had nearly slipped. a cage for the savage truths her mouth longed to speak in screams and tearing teeth.

When she finished tending to the mask, she fastened it over her face, tightening each clasp until it bit firm against her skin. It was never her choice to bear this restraint, of course. Roswaal’s one demand for forgiveness was simple: if she wanted to walk among others, she’d wear the muzzle. No excuses.

She obeyed. She would wear the muzzle, kneel, smile, crawl through glass if she must. Anything to stay near the light of the witch’s daughter. If she slipped, that flimsy excuse for a sister would be shoved forward like a pitiful stand-in, all trembling nerves and hollow phrases. The witch’s daughter deserved real worship, and that was hers alone. She would carve her own throat open before letting that honor slip to anyone else.

She stood before the mirror, inspected every detail, then slipped out to find her liege. A shiver of feverish delight crept up her spine. Today the vessel of LOVE would walk the capital under her watch alone, all day, far from the prying eyes of the mansion’s worthless meddlers.

She wandered the halls and found her sister just where she expected. Ram, slinking away from the library, fresh pride wounds stinging where the librarian had finally bitten back. Day in and day out, the same: scratching at the girl’s patience until she was thrown out. What exactly Ram despised about the librarian’s work, Rem neither knew nor cared. Soon enough, Ram would stalk into the Lord’s office, ready to sink her teeth into the man who only kept them close to LOVE’s vessel. Pathetic. A target as pointless as her spite. Such wasted fangs, all that rage squandered on him instead of kneeling where it truly mattered. Rem would see to it that her sister never dared forget where she belonged.

“Sister.” Ram gave her the barest court greeting, chin dipped just enough to make a mockery of the form it was meant to honor. Rem answered with a crisp nod, posture straight as a blade. Letting her manners slip would be beneath her. even if they were wasted on that pitiful thing standing there, pretending at virtue.

Politeness was not for Ram’s benefit but her own. A daily ritual, like brushing dust from a relic, to keep her edges sharp and her mask pristine. Rust gathers quick when one forgets the shape of courtesy, and once it sets in, it devours every good thing until all that’s left is something dull and pitiful. Just like Ram.

Rem would never be that. She would polish her words as she polished her mask. Keep her spine unbending, her smile pleasant, no matter how the bile rose for the sister who wasted her fangs pretending to be good. A servant of LOVE must never be found wanting, not in her worship, not in her civility, and certainly not in her hatred for traitors who didn’t deserve to kneel at LOVE’s feet in the first place.

They drifted past one another, neither willing to spare a word more than required by that morning’s farce of courtesy. No need, their roles were etched into the mansion’s very walls by now. Rem preferred it that way, less filth to stain her ears. her steps gained speed, the brush of her skirts whispering her eagerness to the dim corridor. The witch’s vessel -her radiant purpose- would be waiting. Always waiting for the devotion only Rem could offer. Outside the door, she knocked three times, each tap a promise of service renewed. She kept her eyes lowered, a faint smile twitching behind the muzzle. Soon she would bask in her liege’s presence, and all the world would fade to nothing but LOVE.

“Ah, Rem.” Something toppled behind the door, the brittle snap of porcelain, the scrape of furniture. Rem stood unblinking, head slightly cocked, drinking it all in.

“Wait a second, I’m not dressed yet!”

A tiny laugh slipped out before she could stifle it. “I would be all too happy to help you dress, my lady.” The promise slid from her tongue like honey over barbed wire. improper, unasked for, yet all too honest to keep hidden.

A few seconds passed, then her liege’s gentle voice fluttered out again, soft and sweet: “Alright, you can come inside now.”

Rem wasted no time. She slipped through the door with quick, precise steps, urgency coiled tight beneath her elegance, a contradiction that made her spine shiver with delight. There Emilia stood: draped in her usual white robe, hair a tangle of silver threads spilling like moonlight over her shoulders, amethyst eyes still heavy with sleep’s shadow.

How dare the world exhaust those eyes? How dare her liege greet the day in such disarray? It was preposterous. HALF AN HOUR since sunrise and still undone? The vessel of LOVE, undone! But no, NO, she told herself, this was not failure. This was trust. Trust that Rem would see it, fix it, polish the flaws until nothing remained but perfection worthy of LOVE.

She would brush each strand smooth, wipe the drowsiness from that divine face, shape the morning into a gift for her mistress. This was her burden. Her ecstasy. To sculpt imperfection into worship. to shape imperfection into something worthy of the LOVE’s vessel.

She drew a long, tight breath, the muzzle bit her skin where it pinched her jaw. Good. Let it hurt. Pain was a ribbon to bind her tighter to this moment. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the sight before her. Those half-closed eyes, heavy-lidded blessings. That silver hair, a snarl of moonlight only she might tame. That skin, so white it mocked winter.

LOVE. Waiting. Beckoning. Hers. All hers.

Of course, she was LOVE herself, LOVE personified, LOVE prophesized, LOVE promised, LOVE given, LOVE stolen, LOVE bled, LOVE sworn, LOVE broken, LOVE devoured, LOVE risen, LOVE eternal, LOVE whispered, LOVE burned, LOVE branded, LOVE chained, LOVE bitten, LOVE tasted, LOVE torn, LOVE crowned, LOVE worshipped, LOVE spoken, LOVE howled, LOVE hidden, LOVE hunted, LOVE carved, LOVE dreamt, LOVE drowned, LOVE screaming, LOVE alive,

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE.

She felt herself spiraling, eyes fixed too long on the vision before her, she forced a breath through her teeth, metal digging into her skin. Enough. There would be time to watch her liege later tonight, curled soft in sleep, helpless and perfect under Rem’s careful gaze. She never wasted those hours. She would not waste these. daylight demanded discipline. LOVE deserved a servant, not a statue. Now was not for staring. Now was for serving.

“My liege, please allow me to make you fit for the day ahead,” Rem said, tongue heavy with the taste of the word 'liege' sweet and perfect on her lips. Rem breathed, fingers twitching to grasp at her uniform’s hem, fighting the urge to kneel and prostrate herself before the miracle standing there.

“Mou, Rem, I told you not to call me that. Just ‘Emilia’ is fine.”

As if she would. As if the vessel of LOVE would ever be ‘just’ anything. Of course, Of course LOVE would test her with such words, to probe for cracks, to see where her faith might falter and flake away. Sasuga Emilia-sama. How blessed she was to be purified daily.

“Just let her be, Lia,” purred the so-called beast of the END, his voice low and smooth as thunderclouds gathering. He flickered into form behind Emilia like a flame at dawn’s edge. “She won’t break etiquette, you know that. Even if you told her to stop, she’d only savor the words more. I’ve never sensed a scrap of malice from her, anyway. Let the poor thing have her fun.”

Rem didn’t flinch when the majestic spirit solidified at Emilia’s back. That a creature so mighty would stoop to curl at LOVE’s feet like a spoiled pet, it was only right. The weak must bow to the strong, the strong must bow to the divine. What is power but the instinct to kneel before LOVE? What monster wouldn’t yield before LOVE made flesh? The strong devour the weak, but nothing devours LOVE. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

******************************************************

It was humiliation made flesh. She, the most devoted of servants, now just a trembling wreck of failure. A disgrace to her duty, a disgrace to LOVE itself. She had failed the living vessel of LOVE. One moment her liege had been exactly where she belonged, and in the next, her liege was simply… gone.

Beneath her skin, the storm raged: RAGE, FURY, BLOODLUST. Each heartbeat thundered ruin through her veins. She forced it down. Tearing the city apart would only slow her search; making a scene in the streets would win her nothing but delay. The single comfort she clung to was knowing the beast of the END stalked at her mistress’s heel like the loyal hound that he was. Surely he could guard her liege until Rem could crawl back to her feet. right?

She would fix this sin. She would drag her sister to Emilia-sama’s feet, throat bared for the knife. LOVE demanded blood for such an insult, sacrifices were the price of devotion. But was that enough? Her failure stank so foul. would one life suffice? Perhaps she should carve her own throat open as well. She would wait to see what her liege required. LOVE always knew best. LOVE would have its due.

Suddenly, her nose flared at an eruption of faith, potent enough to choke the air, too heavy to belong to any common worshipper. That wasn’t the petty stink of a street preacher or a common zealot. No, only a cardinal of sin could bleed that much belief into the air. Anything less she’d dismiss outright, her liege was the only truth. But this… this demanded investigation. How could it appear so suddenly? it was too grand, too grotesque, too strong to ignore. Why was a believer so restless, so blazing with devotion here and now? Why had she sensed no miasma before, and now enough to rival an Archbishop’s soul. That demanded her attention.

She followed the smell like a dog chasing blood. The trail dragged her to a forgotten alley, tucked far from watchful eyes. Four bodies stood there. Three pressed close, vermin waiting to pounce. One lone figure faced them, fists buried against his eyes as if to stop the world from leaking out. He reeked of LOVE. Too strong for his own good. If this believer dared draw steel here, the spectacle would spread like rot. Rem’s lips twitched behind the muzzle. No. This could not be. If this faithful fought here, there would be screams and blood and watchful eyes. A scene would only chain her down when she needed to find her liege. Rem flexed her fingers. She would calm the situation and protect this believer in LOVE.

“Huma”

Her right hand floated up like a marionette’s limb, ice forming in the hollows of her palm. With a flick of her wrist, half a dozen jagged shards hissed forward, slamming into the cobblestones inches before the thugs’ toes. The next volley, she promised with a tilt of her head, would aim higher.

“Scatter and leave heretics. How dare you try to harm someone so beloved, so blessed and so faithful to LOVE?”

Possessing the barest scrap of sense, the thugs turned tail and bolted, not daring to glance back. Vermin knew when the predator had arrived. Rem almost pitied them. Almost.

“Believer in LOVE, are you alright? Do you need me to enact retribution on them?” Rem asked, watching him, and the air around him throbbed with miasma so potent her gums stung.

Her heart kicked. Her thoughts turned to glass shards. Her spine locked up. Her mind blurred.

LOVE.

No… not quite. Not the pure devotion she bled for every day. But something close, dirtier, softer, sharper. Love. Not LOVE. Love. And that difference clawed at her skull, made her brain tremble. The word rattled around her skull. Why did that shift matter? Why did it cut deeper than any blade?

She wanted to drink it in. To kneel in that stink, smear herself with it until she reeked like him.

Something deep in her chest cracked open and laughed, half-feral.

She inhaled.

And she fell.

“I…I’m sorry, but who are you?” The blessed man’s voice pulled her deeper. If her liege was the visage of LOVE, the beautiful face the world must worship, then this man was its breath, the will of LOVE made flesh. Faith personified. Its gospel exhaled into a rotting world. Her liege was the vessel and mirror of divinity, yet carried not a single drop of the scent she so deserved. Not yet. She was not a believer, but that was fine. Rem would teach her. Rem would cleanse that sweet naivety away. Rem would scrub her soul raw until she stank of faith as she should. But this man, oh, this one was already baptized. He was already soaked in it, rancid with it, so blessed Rem nearly collapsed at his feet right there in the filth of that alley. Her mind stuttered behind the storm in her veins. When her thoughts caught up, she opened her mouth to answer.

“I am but a humble servant of Lord Mathers. Here to accompany my liege and the face of LOVE herself. I was searching for her But I could not help but notice the wonderful LOVE that accompanied you.”

Rem felt the muzzle dug deeper into her flesh, the grin stretching so wide it might split her skin if the muzzle didn’t hold it back. the iron taste of blood mixing with the sweetness bubbling in her throat. She should have laughed, how could he not know her by her scent? Her frown was hidden by iron and faith. She leaned forward, voice slipping out like a secret between lovers.

“Tell me, brother, do you have your gospel?”

Chapter Text

Subaru was not having a good day. Then again, he hadn't had a good day since waking up in this endless nightmare. And really, this 'day' was doing a lot of heavy lifting wasn't it? Hell, did it even count as 'days' if the same stupid day refused to die? How many times had he watched the sun rise on this same street, heard the same cries, made the same screw-ups? If the sun could talk, it'd probably laugh at him before resetting everything just to see him squirm again. And this time? This loop was winning some prize for 'most miserable yet.' And like an idiot, he still thought, "Well, it can't get worse, right?" Idiot, of course it could. It always could. The universe was very creative that way

The girl he'd run into in that alley was basically the spark that lit this dumpster fire of a loop. Which, to be fair, was kind of impressive, given the competition. But hey, new blood was new blood. He'd been stuck wringing blood from the same stale cast for what, thirty loops now? puppeteering the same miserable cast to smooth every ruffled feather, flatter every ego, micromanaging every tiny detail, all to avoid dying the same humiliating death. And every time, something still slipped through the cracks like an inside joke he never got.

Then came her. The girl with the creepy grin and the sugar-sweet voice and the muzzle like she'd escaped from some medieval kennel. She was fresh chaos, and she was so, so eager to help. Too eager, really. she glued herself to him like a lost puppy with a butcher knife, hanging on his every word. Which, sure, sounded like a dream sidekick. Until she decided "I'd die for you" also meant "well, maybe I can kill half the town if it helps you feel better." Sometimes you didn't want your loyal stray to start mauling everything in sight.

So yeah. New variable. New piece on the board. Fantastic. Amazing. Lucky him. What could possibly go wrong? Oh right, everything.

CURSE YOU, REM!

Right now, he was busy trying to peel his brand-new murder puppy off the wreckage of what used to be a teenage pickpocket and her half-crippled guardian. Felt was face-down in the filth, her cheek split open so wide he could literally see her teeth through the wound. Like Rem had decided impromptu street dentistry was part of her holy crusade today. Which was… honestly not even the worst part. somehow, the fact that Felt was so completely limp -that she hadn't made a single sound since hitting the ground- was so much worse than the gore….

And Old Man Rom? He wasn't moving either. Not because he was dead, though honestly Subaru was pretty sure it was fifty-fifty at this point. but because both his arms and legs were snapped like cheap twigs. Not dislocated, Broken. Each limb carefully ruined. like Rem had a grocery list of bones to crack and was making sure she didn't miss a single one. Subaru could practically picture Rem standing over him, all polite and serene, ticking off "left leg, right leg, left arm, right arm" like she was doing grocery shopping for her imaginary church. He should have been screaming.

If Subaru wasn't so completely horrified, he might have given her points for dedication. But no, here he was, just standing there like an idiot. He should have felt something like horror or grief or something. But all he felt was that dull pit in his stomach, that old familiar exhaustion that came from dying badly too many times to count. This wasn't even in the top ten worst things he'd seen lately. That was the worst part maybe, how normal it felt now.

This was supposed to be the good loop. The one where he'd finally done everything right. Elsa the Bowel Hunter? Driven off, The insignia? Within reach, Emilia? Safe, for once, and what do you know? her name was NOT Satella. he would have been grateful to know that 20 loops ago!

All the puzzle pieces lined up like neat little dominoes and all he had to do was ask Rem, sweet, helpful, smile-too-big Rem, to go grab the damn trinket from a girl who was literally willing to hand it over. That was it. He said, "Hey, Rem, could you please get that back from her?" And instead of, you know, accepting the obviously unguarded handover, his devoted cultist decided the best way to retrieve it was by turning its current holder into shredded meat and her guardian into human kindling.

How did "Please kindly take the insignia" become "Please shred them into wet origami and present their bodies to your imaginary witch goddess"? He wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or maybe just bash his head into the nearest wall until the loop restarted.

He was supposed to be the wildcard, the impulsive idiot, the one who made everything worse by being reckless and stupid and squishy and human. The dumbass who charged in, died in spectacular fashion, and then got to try again. He was not supposed to be the designated voice of reason, scolding his personal murder maid to please stop pulverizing the local street urchins.

Please. Just once. One single time, could he have help that didn't come with a trail of broken bones and arterial spray? Was that so hard? Was that complicated?

Apparently, it was. Apparently, the moment he smelled like a buffet for unstable fanatics, he lost his rights to a normal, non-bloodstained help. He hadn't read the fine print. Did the whole "summoned hero" gig come with a clause that said, "Congrats, you now have a pet murder maiden who sees disembowelment as her love language"? He needed less help. Significantly LESS help. Preferably zero help that came packaged with compound fractures and cracked skulls.

Maybe he should have asked for a receipt when the universe dumped this girl on him. "Hi, can I return the overzealous fanatical servant? She's a bit murder-y, and I was actually hoping for more of a helpful sidekick vibe." But Nooooooo, He was stuck with her. Sparkly eyes, a FUCKING muzzle strapped to her face like a rabid dog, polite voice, and all.

And the worst part, the really, truly insulting cherry on top? was that this was technically a success. Elsa was gone and Emilia was safe; this loop was supposed to be over. He'd won. Except here he was, with his victory soaked in other people's blood again.

If he actually made it out of this loop alive, and that was a huge IF, he was putting "Rem, please don't kill anyone today" right at the top of his daily to-do list. Maybe even tattoo it on his arm for emphasis so she'd see it every time she made that delighted little murder grin at him. He'd scribble it right next to "Subaru, please don't die today" and "Subaru, please stop jinxing yourself." He was so tired. So, so tired. And the day hadn't even restarted yet.

.

.

.

.

"Tell me, brother, do you have your gospel?"

The hell was a gospel doing in this conversation? Subaru just stood there, blinking like she'd asked if he had a frequent flyer card for cult meetings. Gospel? Really?

He was still catching his breath from nearly decking the same three thugs for what felt like the thirtieth time -because it probably was- when this weird girl showed up, masked like she was in the silence of the lambs, flinging ice shards around like they were confetti. And now she was looking at him with those wide, too-bright eyes and asking about his gospel. His gospel. Like he was supposed to keep one tucked under his coat for moments just like this.

Was this normal here? Was "hand over your wallet" supposed to be followed by "and your holy scripture while you're at it"? Subaru wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Thirty loops in, and he still hadn't found the page in the nonexistent 'How Not To Die Screaming in Lugnica' guide that covered "religious recruitment after your daily mugging."

Perfect. Amazing. He'd finally found a new flavor of crazy to sprinkle on top of this world's usual brand of homicidal fairy tale nonsense.

Did he miss the hidden religious side quest back when he was busy dying for the fifteenth time in that creepy loot house? Probably. Maybe there were loyalty stamps. Ten sermons and you unlock the 'not getting murdered this week' perk under 'legendary sword mastery'.

God, what if there was a uniform? He eyed the muzzle strapped to her face, like a steel grin that had no business looking so comfortable there, and immediately regretted the thought. No way in hell was he signing up for whatever club needed you to wear that.

Focus, Subaru. Focus. This was the part where he should say something smart. He should thank her for technically helping, even though he didn't need it, because these punks were practically a warm-up routine by now. He should definitely not start ranting about how if she wanted a gospel so badly, she'd have to go find someone who wasn't trapped in a horror Groundhog Day with zero clue about the local religions.

He forced a smile, because that was all he had left to give. Gospel. Sure. Amen. Praise be. Please don't decide he needed to be converted by force. He'd been stabbed enough already this week, thanks.

"Gospel? What gospel do you mean? Was I supposed to be summoned to this world with it? Wait, it's not that stupid guide I never got, is it?" Subaru's eyes widened, mouth going dry. No way. No way. Surely this wasn't the missing piece to his endless death parade, right? Surely the universe wasn't that cruel. Did it really throw him into a divine pop quiz and let him fail it thirty deaths in a row?

The girl cocked her head, mask glinting under the sunlight. Her voice came out soft and dreamy, like they were chatting about the weather instead of whatever this new religion nonsense was.

"You know nothing of the gospel? Nothing of the Cult?"

Cult. With a capital C. Subaru felt the word lodge in his spine like an icicle. He might as well have stepped on a landmine, he could practically hear the wires sparking under his feet. He barked out a laugh that sounded more like a dying goat.

"Ha ha, oh. No, nope! Nobody ever mentioned that to me!" He forced another laugh that cracked halfway through. "Is it… uh… the common religion around here? Like Sunday sermons and bake sales, right? Ha. Ha. Ha."

The girl's eyes or at least what he could see of them seemed to shimmer. "Incredible."

Wait. What? That didn't sound threatening, but the way she breathed it out made him want to bolt for the horizon.

"You are incredible, oh blessed one." She clasped her hands together, voice dripping worship with every syllable. "You knew nothing of the gospel, nothing of the Cult, yet you walk with so much faith. So much LOVE. So much blessing wrapped around you like a cloak! You are a true follower of this world's LOVE, even though no one ever taught you how. You believed without ever being told. You are… incredible."

Subaru's brain stuttered. He was pretty sure his soul did too. What the actual hell? Why did the word LOVE feel like it was being screamed in all caps directly into his skull? How was that even possible? And then -oh no. Oh no no no- she dropped to one knee right there in the filth of the alley, head bowed, hands clasped like he was her personal messiah. Like he was Pope reborn. Subaru could practically see the worst possible outcome twinkling on the horizon like a brand-new game over screen.

He should tell her she was wrong. He should. He should. Except every last instinct in his battered soul screamed 'do not correct the masked zealot who throws ice at people for fun'. Not unless he was feeling really enthusiastic about unlocking Loop Thirty-One RIGHT NOW.

So, he just stood there, smiling the world's fakest smile, nodding like a bobblehead. "Yep. Sure. LOVE. Hallelujah. Blessings to you, I guess." Please please please don't kill anyone over this.

"Oh, blessed one, tell me. Is there anything I can do for you? I was in the middle of searching for my liege, but if there is anything I can do for you first, just say the word."

She was really taking this too seriously, wasn't she? Like, way too seriously. Knee still half-bent, mask catching every stray ray of sunlight like a halo from hell, voice dripping with a reverence that made his skin crawl. He could practically hear imaginary organ music swelling behind her.

Subaru forced the weirdest grin his stupid face could muster. "Please, just… just get up. And stop calling me that. Please. I'm begging you." His voice cracked right on the please. Pathetic. He didn't even care. He'd beg God himself. if it would stop her from kneeling there like he was the Second Coming of Who-Gives-A-Damn.

He cleared his throat, desperate for a scrap of normalcy. "Also, what even is your name?"

The girl's eyes gleamed like he'd just handed her a holy relic dipped in gold. "This humble servant's name is Rem."

Rem. Okay. Fine. Sure. Not a normal name by Earth standards, but at least it wasn't something out of a demonic baby name book, Lilith the Skull splitter, Mother Morgana, Aura the Guillotine. Rem was… fine. He'd take it. He'd tattoo it on his brain if it meant she stopped bowing.

He clapped a palm to his chest, striking his stupid signature pose, forefinger jabbing the sky like the world's most exhausted anime protagonist. Not because he wanted to, oh no, he hadn't wanted to do this for the last fifteen deaths, thank you very much. but because routine was the only duct tape keeping his sanity from leaking out his ears.

"Nice to meet you, Rem. My name is Subaru Natsuki. Not only am I clueless, I'm also broke beyond compare!"

He let the words bounce off the crumbling alley walls and come back to him with all the enthusiasm of a funeral echo. Great. Amazing. Did she look impressed? Of course she looked impressed.

"That is completely fine." She said it like it was a fact of nature, not even missing a beat. "I can give you all of my money so you may never be broke again. What's mine is not mine or ours. It's only yours, Subaru-Heika."

Subaru nearly swallowed his tongue. Heika. Did she just….

"No! Bad girl! Absolutely not." He wagged a finger at her like she was a puppy that'd chewed through his only pair of shoes. "No adding Heika to my name. Just, just use my first name. Only my first name. Try it. Say it with me. Su-Ba-Ru. Subaru. Not 'lord,' not 'blessed one,' not Heika. Just Subaru."

Rem's head tilted, slow, graceful, like a devout altar maiden being taught how to drop an f-bomb for the first time. "Su… ba… ru."

"Good! Great! Wonderful! Perfect!" He clapped his hands together, praying the universe wasn't laughing at him too loudly. "Now let's keep it that way. No royal titles, okay? And keep the money. Really. I'm used to starving. Builds character. Makes you appreciate instant noodles when you're not dead."

He was practically vibrating with forced cheer. Inside? Pure dread. He could feel the universe snickering at him from on high, tallying up new ways to flip him upside down and shake the coins out of his pockets. Of course, his first useful ally would be an obsessive ice-witch murder puppy who worshipped the mud he dragged through her shrine.

Awesome. Fantastic. Just another day in the life of Subaru Natsuki. the world's unluckiest punching bag. Oh wait. It hadn't been another day for the last thirty days, had it?

Nope. Just the same nightmare on repeat. And now with extra cultist flavor. Lucky him.

"Say… you told me you'd help me with anything, right?" Subaru asked, trying to keep the tremor of reckless hope from cracking through his voice. Maybe, just maybe, this loop wouldn't spiral into its usual flaming trash heap. A new variable. A dangerous one, sure, but new. And new meant possibility.

"Yes, Subaru-sama. Whatever your heart desires. Ask, and this humble Rem shall fulfill it with her power … or her body."

Fucking cultists, man. Always five seconds from stabbing someone or offering their body. Or both. Heads always in the gutter. Or in the guillotine. Or both.

"Nope. No. Absolutely not. First of all, no adding 'sama.' Second, I don't want your body. I want you to help me save someone."

He straightened, trying to salvage the moment before it spiraled into further lunacy.
"She's a silver-haired half-elf with a big magical cat and some serious White Witch energy. She called herself Satella. She's in grave danger, and I need to …."

"…. Rem, why are you looking at me like that?"

Her eyes lit up like someone had just handed her the holy grail wrapped in wedding vows. Subaru immediately regretted opening his mouth.

"Oh, how delightful," she whispered. "My liege is finally accepting her rightful place as LOVE's vessel. That must be LOVE whispering… LOVE answering… LOVE yearning… LOVE manifesting."

How. How did she manage to pronounce LOVE in all caps like it was echoing through the astral plane?
And why was Subaru even surprised anymore? Of course the murder nun worshipped her boss. Of course his last shred of sanity was being snorted like incense at a cult meeting.

Then her expression shifted, something sharper now, dangerous and intent. She latched onto the last part of what he'd said like a hawk spotting prey.

"Did you just say my liege is in danger?" she asked, voice suddenly cold and calm in the worst possible way. "Oh, blessed one, point me in any direction you desire, and I shall fight beside you. Until my final breath."

Subaru didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't blink. He was too busy mentally writing Welp, guess I die again on the chalkboard in his head.

He was done. Cooked. Fried. Emotionally deep-fried and served with a side of existential dread.
Forget saving the girl. Forget the loops. He just wanted to go home. To Earth. To his bed.
And sleep for fifty years until he forgot this nightmare.

Chapter Text

"In, not so far," Julius called, watching the flash of white dart across a fruit stand awning like a spark too eager to catch. "We're patrolling, not performing."

As expected, In didn't listen. Warm weather always brought out his showmanship. Julius couldn't fault him; the day was pleasant enough. The sun hung high, the light soft, and the streets of Lugunica gleamed beneath it. Even knights could admit the city looked beautiful like this.

Nes, by contrast, pressed against his collar with a pulse of cool displeasure. She never enjoyed the heat. Never pretended to.

"I know, Nes," he murmured. "We won't be long. Just a little more."

A faint chill traced over his skin, quiet acknowledgment. Not complaint. Just weariness. Julius reached up and brushed the space near his shoulder, a familiar gesture of reassurance.

She settled again, her form nearly invisible against his uniform. Just a whisper of darkness, patient and still.

Julius walked on, boots tapping a steady rhythm down the stone path. The streets were calm. People moved at a relaxed pace, laughter mixing with market chatter. No shouts, no panic. Just peace.

He liked days like this. They meant his duty was being fulfilled. They meant people were safe.

But calm never lasted. It never did.

He should have remembered that before letting himself grow comfortable.

"Yo Julius, how are you doing?"

The voice struck an odd note. Too relaxed. Too sure of itself.

Julius stopped and turned. A boy stood behind him. Young. Disheveled black hair. Loose posture. And yet… his eyes didn't match the act. sharp and tired, like someone who'd seen far too much.

Strange.

Black hair wasn't local. Vollachian, perhaps? A noble's son? His clothes were fine but carried like hand-me-downs, carelessly worn.

And he knew Julius's name.

That was the real problem.

Julius prided himself on memory. Faces, voices, he remembered them. And this one, he didn't. No family crest. No name given. Just confidence and a tone that suggested history between them.

His spirits stirred.

In drifted a little closer. Nes clung tighter. The others lingered, still and restrained. No alarm, only curiosity.

The boy's affinity was strong. Evident. Natural.

Julius watched in silence. Calm, alert. A stranger who acted far too familiar.

"Hello, what can I do for you, my friend? Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but have we met before?"

Julius spoke with his usual calm civility, polite but measured. His tone was warm, not guarded, though the question behind it was sincere. Whoever this boy was, he clearly knew Julius even if Julius couldn't say the same. Still… something about the boy's presence tugged at his instincts, and Julius had long since learned to trust those.

"Nope, but I do know you. And I'm here to report a crime that's going to take place very soon. It's going to be done by Elsa the Bowel Hunter."

That gave him pause.

Elsa the Bowel Hunter. that name wasn't one tossed around lightly. A killer with a reputation soaked in blood and precision. And this boy had just spoken it aloud in the middle of a public street like he was ordering tea.

Now that was a bold claim.

Julius's gaze sharpened, though his expression barely shifted. A stranger predicting an attack, one that even the knights had no forewarning of. It could be a warning… or it could be bait. A distraction. Was this some ploy to draw attention elsewhere? A false alarm planted with purpose? Or worse, a trap meant to lure him away from something more important?

His spirits pulsed around him in restrained alertness. Not hostile, just ready.

This boy might be nothing more than an informant.

Or he might be a spy.

"Oh blessed one, do we really need to waste time talking with knights? I assure you, we can take care of any danger ourselves. The radiant visage of LOVE needs us by her side as soon as possible. Subaru-sama, please, let's make haste."

The voice was feminine, reverent to the point of discomfort. Julius watched as its source stepped into view from behind the boy, a young woman clad in a maid's uniform and… a muzzle?

Subaru didn't miss a beat.

"Shut up, Rem. Don't talk to me about hurrying up. I had to give a talking to you against attacking almost every single person we passed just to get here. If you weren't such a hassle, we'd have arrived an hour ago."

Julius stiffened. His first instinct was reprimand, that tone was far too harsh, bordering on cruel. No knight worth the title would tolerate someone speaking to a lady like that.

But then recognition struck.

Wait… muzzle, blue hair, black and white maid dress, that was the Mad Oni of the Mathers domain. Roswaal's personal enforcer. Emilia's handmaiden. Rem.

What in the Dragon's name was she doing here? Alone and with no sign of her mistress? following this strange boy like a mere attendant?

"Subaru-sama," she said gently, eyes sincere despite the cold steel over her mouth, "I assure you; I would never have done such a thing without your permission."

"You would have," Subaru shot back, voice rising. "This is the fifth time we've tried to come find Julius. Not that you'd even know."

He threw his arms up like a frustrated stage actor. A dramatic flair that felt oddly genuine.

Rem tilted her head, confusion flickering behind her eyes. "I'm not sure what you mean, oh blessed one. This is the first time we've come here, no?"

"I said shut it." Subaru's voice cracked, sharp as a whip.

And she obeyed. Instantly.

Just like that, the infamous mad Oni, known across the capital for ignoring orders from anyone but her lady, went quiet. No protest, no pause. Just obedience.

Julius's eyes narrowed.

Everyone knew the unspoken rule when it came to her: avoid eye contact, change streets, don't engage. You turned around and walked the other way. The Mad Oni of the West wasn't one to be trifled with.

And yet this boy -Subaru- had her on a leash. Figuratively, if not literally.

That kind of control wasn't just rare. It was unheard of.

Either Roswaal himself had given this boy authority, or Emilia had. Either way, that meant Julius wasn't speaking to a mere traveler. This Subaru… wasn't a stranger after all. Just a stranger to him.

Whoever he was, he had influence, and Julius had better listen.

Subaru turned his head back toward Julius. "Listen, I know you have no reason to trust me-"

"I trust you. Tell me what that was about the Bowel Hunter," Julius cut in, more quickly than he meant to.

He caught himself too late. The moment the words left his mouth, he felt the weight of a glare, cold and sharp, from the Oni standing behind the boy. Right. Her. He needed to be more careful with his tone.

"Wait… just like that? It was never this easy!" Subaru practically exploded with joy, hands shooting into the air in wild disbelief. "Man, I'm so happy I don't have to try to convince you to at least listen to me."

Julius glanced again at Rem, or what he could see of her through that dreadful muzzle. She remained silent, unreadable, but alert. Watching everything.

He shuddered inwardly.

Julius blinked. The boy was… unusual, to say the least. But despite the dramatic flair and the strange cadence in his words, there was no deceit in his face.

A secret agent of Roswaal, maybe? That would explain the authority, and also why Julius hadn't heard of him before. Roswaal did enjoy keeping cards close to the chest. And if the Mad Oni followed him so obediently, then the boy's words carried weight, far more than any title could.

Julius frowned slightly. The boy's theatrics aside, something was strange here. If Subaru was a secret agent of Roswaal, it would explain the girl's obedience. It made sense why Julius wouldn't recognize him. But why did Subaru act like convincing him should be difficult?

The answer, perhaps, didn't matter just yet.

Because whatever his origin, the presence of her was more than enough to lend weight to his claims. The Mad Oni didn't follow just anyone. And Julius wasn't about to ignore someone she obeyed so willingly.

"Right. The Bowel Hunter," Subaru said, the name tasting like a bitter curse. "Around sunset, she's going to hit a loot house in the slums. She's after a insignia. It belongs to a silver-haired half-elf girl with amethyst eyes. Her name is Sat-"

"Subaru-sama is referring to Lady Emilia," the Oni girl suddenly cut in, voice firm and rushed, eyes wide with urgency.

Subaru blinked, thrown off. "What are you-?"

"O Blessed One, please," she interrupted again, eyes wide and pleading behind her muzzle. "There is much you've yet to understand. Trust in your Rem. just this once, please."

Julius watched the exchange in stunned silence. Rem was agitated in a way that didn't match her cold reputation. It was filled desperation, not bloodlust.

Subaru rubbed his temples, clearly fighting the urge to argue. "You left your judgment somewhere between the fruit stand and the alley, if the last five attempts are anything to go by," he muttered, then sighed. "But… fine. Have it your way."

He turned his gaze back to Julius, and something shifted. Gone was the sarcasm, the exasperated tone. What remained was cold, steady resolve.

"Point is, she'll be there. At the loot house. Just before sunset. If you're half the knight your title implies, I assume you'd want to arrest her. I'm giving you that chance."

Julius felt the weight of the boy's words. No theatrics now. Just grim certainty. Subaru wasn't asking for trust anymore, he was demanding action.

And if Julius hadn't already decided to listen… this moment would've sealed it.

.

.

.

.

About an hour and a half later, Julius, Subaru, and the mad Oni were making their way through the slums. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows over crumbling rooftops and narrow alleys. The mood was quiet, but not at all comfortable.

He could still feel the girl's hard glare now and then, sharp as ever, as if she were waiting for a reason to not trust him. His Buds clearly felt the same. They hovered uneasily, refusing to drift too close to her, as though something about her presence repelled them on an instinctual level.

It was a sharp contrast to their response to Subaru.

Had Julius been walking between the two of them, he was certain all six of his spirits would've clustered around the boy like moths drawn to flame. The affinity was undeniable. But that arrangement wasn't possible, not because of him, but because Rem wouldn't allow it.

She stayed close to Subaru's side like a shadow stitched to his heels, and the space between them was non-negotiable. Even a single person's width seemed too far for her liking.

Julius didn't argue.

He had no desire to be near her either.

Every time his eyes met hers, a wave of nausea tugged at his stomach. It wasn't fear, not exactly. but something deeper. Older. As if his instincts, the same ones honed in battle and tempered by spirit training, were warning him without words.

Look away. Do not linger. Stay sharp.

There was something wrong with her. Something off in a way he couldn't name.

And that, perhaps more than anything, unsettled him.

Subaru glanced at the sky and frowned.

"If we keep this pace, we'll make it in time. It's better we get there before she does. we need to prepare them first."

"Subaru," Julius asked, more out of desperation than curiosity, "how can you be so sure about the information you have on the infamous Bowel Hunter? What if she's not there?"

He didn't care much for the answer. He just needed to speak. Do something, anything to fill the silence and become distracted from Rem's glare. It was starting to claw at his sanity.

"I can't explain how I know," Subaru said, his voice firm. "But she will be there. Don't doubt it."

There it was again: the voice of someone who knew too much. The possibility that he was Roswaal's secret agent, or even something more, grew stronger with each word. Julius was nearly convinced of it now.

"How dare you doubt the Glorious, world-revered, The All-Loved, Ever-Brilliant Subaru-Sama? Blasphemy! Treason! To question the wisdom of our divine Subaru-Heika Why, I should cut your head off where you sta- Ow! Why, Subaru-sama?"

Without so much as turning, Subaru had struck her on the back of the head. Her eyes welled with tears, voice wobbly and vulnerable, and for a moment, she looked less like the bogeyman of every mother's warning tale to their kids at bedtime and more like a fragile girl.

As if. Julius knew better.

"I told you, no murdering anyone. How many times do I have to say it before it sinks into that thick, muscle-bound nun skull of yours?"

Subaru looked exhausted. On the way here, he had stopped her no less than three times from attacking random pedestrians, all for having the gall to look at them the wrong way. once from attacking a vendor who glanced at them sideways, once from drawing her weapon at a girl who was crying too loudly, and once just because someone had sneezed too close.

She'd nearly attacked the lost child for crying too loudly near Subaru, claiming the noise was "offending the ears of the world's beloved."

Had Subaru not been there to rein her in, Julius suspected he would've been forced to arrest her.

Well, try anyway.

The Mathers domain certainly had a way of attracting strange individuals.

First, the mad Oni, all muscle, menace, veiled and unveiled threats and sheer brute force. A terrifying presence

Then, the silver-haired half-elf with amethyst eyes, one who bore the visage of the Jealous witch. Hated by the virtue of existing

And now this boy, this Subaru, who commanded the Oni as though she were no more than an unruly and rowdy servant.

It was... curious.

If this was the kind of presence Emilia's camp was presenting to the outside world, then the structure behind it must be formidable indeed. Chaotic, perhaps, but undeniably confident. There was strength in that.

If the boy really was Roswaal's agent -and all signs increasingly pointed that way- then it followed he was working to elevate Emilia in the Royal Selection. Perhaps he was her secret knight, a private guardian kept hidden from the public eye. It wasn't entirely unheard of in the capital, but Subaru certainly wasn't listed among the known Royal Knights.

So, a local knight, then? Someone sanctioned by a lord or margrave, operating only within their estate's bounds. That would explain his odd lack of decorum, and his startling effectiveness.

Julius exhaled quietly, glancing away.

What would it feel like, he wondered, to stand beside a candidate? To be part of a camp with a real stake in the future of Lugunica? Both of his closest friends -Reinhard and Felix- had their roles, their allegiances. Masters they served, causes they upheld. Julius had once brushed close to that path himself... and then stepped back. He had passed the responsibility of supporting Anastasia to Reinhard, telling himself it was the right choice.

And perhaps it was.

Not that it mattered now.

Such thoughts weren't helpful. Dreams of crowns and camps and influence. Hah, mere idle indulgences for someone like him. He had his own path. He was content as he was.

...Perhaps, if he said it enough, he'd start to believe it.

Subaru stopped in front of a shabby-looking building that was leaning on the city wall and what might generously be called a vegetable stall was just to the side of the building, though the vegetables appeared to be actively plotting their own escape.

"This is it," he announced. "The Loot House. We've got maybe half an hour, less, if we're unlucky, to explain everything to them and convince them to cooperate. I don't think that'll be a problem. Ready?"

He cast a look back at them. Julius nodded once, sharp and composed. Rem, on the other hand, gripped her weapon with fervent enthusiasm.

Her weapon.

Wait.

Julius squinted.

A morning star?

Where in the Dragon's name had that come from? She certainly hadn't had it ten steps ago. He was quite sure of it. Was she hiding it in her dress? Had it spawned out of raw devotion and spite?

He shook the thoughts away.

...You know what? It didn't matter. He was not curious. Absolutely not.

Not at all.

Nope. Not even a little.

Subaru raised his hand, preparing to knock, then abruptly froze. His shoulders twitched, and he clutched at his stomach with a sharp breath. slowly, he turned his head and looked at Rem. There was something... guarded in his posture now.

"Hey, Rem."

"Yes, beloved Subaru-sama!" she replied far too brightly, as though she hadn't nearly brained a cabbage vendor earlier for breathing in their direction.

Subaru's expression twisted into something unreadable. "When the Bowel Hunter arrives, she's going to introduce herself. At some point, no doubt. Do not, under any circumstances, introduce yourself back. Got it?"

Julius blinked. Subaru was… eyeing him now? What, was he the problem all of a sudden? That was new. Annoying, but new. Was that suspicion? Of him?

Now? After everything?

Julius raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, saying nothing. Subaru's paranoia, it seemed, was contagious.

"But Subaru-sama," Rem protested, visibly pained, "the sacred spirit of battle demands the exchange of-"

"Shut up, Rem," Subaru interrupted, throwing up a hand like a stage actor mid-monologue. "Just do what I tell you."

"Hai, Subaru-sama," she answered obediently, giving a theatrical little bow that nearly took her morning star through the floorboards.

Julius, for a moment, considered turning around and walking directly into the sea.

But no. He'd committed to this madness.

Julius sighed. Loudly.

He didn't know what unnerved him more: the fact that Subaru had apparently rehearsed a specific do-not-greet protocol for a serial killer… or the fact that Rem, unpredictable engine of destruction that she was, was actually listening to him.

Either way, he suspected his headache was about to achieve new and terrible heights.

Chapter Text

Subaru would've loved to say things were going well, but that'd be pushing it. Still, compared to some of the flaming disasters he'd crawled through in earlier loops, this one was hanging on by a thread. A bloody, frayed, screaming thread, but a thread all the same.

His shoulder throbbed, wet with blood where Elsa's knife had carved into him. The pain was sharp enough to blur the edges of his vision. He was down, again. Not exactly a surprise. But at least he wasn't dying. Yet. That already made this version of the day easier to stomach than most.

Puck was still here, holding up a shimmering wall of ice around Felt and old man Rom. The spirit's ears were flat, eyes glowing, tail flicking like a metronome counting down to something violent. Emilia -not Satella, Emilia, he reminded himself- was behind the shield with them, quietly tending to their wounds. Her focus didn't falter, even as blades clashed behind her. trusting Puck to hold the line. Subaru couldn't tell if that trust was admirable or naive.

Subaru gritted his teeth and tried to rise. Julius reached down without a word and helped him up, firm but careful. His glove pressed against Subaru's good arm, keeping him steady. The pain in his shoulder flared hot, fresh blood seeping through his jacket.

He winced. But he could still stand. Still fight. Still scream if he had to.

Hey, he was still alive. That had to count for something.

Across the room, the Bowel Hunter danced through shadows.

Every step she took was weightless, almost delicate. But her blades flashed with lethal promise. Elsa moved like water and death. smooth, patient, certain. Watching her made Subaru's stomach twist. How could something that awful look so elegant?

He hated that most of all.

In the middle of the room stood the root of Subaru's latest string of breakdowns, Rem.

The girl who had, without even meaning to, sabotaged every single loop since he met her before they could even reach Julius, let alone the loot-house. Five times. Five painful, wasted, ridiculous, gut-churning loops, all lost because she couldn't walk past a fruit stand without trying to murder someone for "looking at the most blessed by LOVE without respect."

And now, after all that, here they were.

Rem stood ready. morning star in one hand, her other hand crackling with ice-laced magic. Her head tilted ever so slightly, and the grin in her eyes -because her lips were obscured, it was in her eyes- looked like it had always belonged there. Subaru didn't know what exactly burned in that stare. Zeal? Maybe. Madness? Much more likely.

Across from her, Elsa straightened her back and smiled. That slow, sultry, spine-crawling smile she always wore right before she tried to take someone's intestines out for a walk.

"The Bowel Hunter," she purred. "Elsa Granhiert."

Subaru clenched his teeth. He hated how she said it, like it was supposed to impress people. Like being a walking butcher knife was glamorous.

Rem didn't flinch. If anything, the introduction only seemed to excite her.

She raised her head proudly, her voice a hymn of fervor wrapped in bloodlust.

"Ecclesiarchess of the Witch's Cult," she declared, loud and clear. "Sect of the Sin of Sloth, Rem Mathers, DESU."

...Wait. Mathers?

Subaru blinked. Was that her last name? She never gave him one before. When he asked in the alley, she just called herself "Rem of the Mathers domain." He hadn't thought that meant she was a Mathers. Maybe it did? Maybe it didn't. Frankly, this was the least confusing part of his long repeating day.

One more mystery tossed on the ever-growing Rem-shaped pile of question marks.

But there wasn't time to dwell on it.

Magic was building. Bloodlust thick in the air. Elsa's blades were already gleaming.

And Rem, grinning like a devout lunatic, looked like she was about to show him exactly what "Ecclesiarchess" meant.

He thought he saw something flicker behind Elsa's eyes. just for a second. A crack in that sultry, unbothered mask she always wore. Something cold, something like fear. But before he could process it…

"What?"

He heard Julius gasp beside him. sharp, like it had been yanked straight from his lungs. Subaru glanced over and caught the look in his eyes. Wide. Shaken. Something between horror and betrayal. Like he'd just seen someone burn down his house with his family inside. What the hell?

Was it something Rem said?

But why? What did she even say? Just her weird culty intro, right? Something about being the Ecclesiarchess of the Cult of Sloth or whatever. Was that weird? …Okay yeah, it sounded pretty damn weird when you actually said it out loud.

But like… wasn't the Witch's Cult the religion here or something? That's what Subaru thought. That's what he assumed. He asked her, didn't he? Back in the alley? No wait… no, no he didn't get an answer. He asked, and she dodged. He was so used to people dodging questions he didn't even think twice. She just called herself part of the "Witch's Cult," and Subaru thought, Yeah, cool, religion stuff, I've played JRPGs, I know how this works. He just… went with it. Assumed it was a religion. Maybe the official one, even.

But now?

Now Julius looked like he'd just heard the princess of the country declare she was secretly a dragon. And Subaru was standing there like a dumbass holding hands with the dragon.

Wait, was the Witch's Cult some kind of heretic sect?! Was it illegal?! Were they being hunted or something?! Was he harboring a literal fugitive?! What if… what if the Cult was not the local religion? What if it wasn't some big, national faith with temples and robes and complicated scripture? A fringe? A heretical movement? A wanted group? Like, one of those groups nobles whisper about before executing people in the town square?

And what if he, Subaru, idiot supreme, just walked up to one of this country's finest knights with a proud, grinning Cultist at his side and basically said, 'Yo, arrest this assassin with me, by the way meet my super-devoted witch priestess, she calls me Emperor.'

Oh crap.

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.

Rem did call him the "Blessed One," didn't she? And "Heika." Which definitely sounded like something way above his pay grade.

Oh god. THEIR Blessed One.

THEIR Divine Subaru-Heika.

Holy. Shit. Oh god he was going to die.

Not from Elsa. Not from the Cult.

From a really bad misunderstanding and a knife to the back from a horrified knight.

He whirled toward Julius, brain scrambling, panic flaring in his chest like a fire.

"Wait! Julius, I can explain…!"

"Quiet."

Like a gunshot.

"I will not listen to your mad deceptions any longer."

Subaru froze.

That voice, that voice, wasn't confused or uncertain anymore. It was all sharp edges and fire. HATE, all-caps, bolded, underlined. Spat like poison with every syllable.

It hit Subaru like a fist to the stomach.

This wasn't just misunderstanding. This was condemnation.

He saw it in Julius's eyes, the knight had already passed his judgment. And whatever Subaru was in his mind now; it was nothing short of vile.

It felt like standing in front of a friend and watching them turn their sword on you without hesitation.

Subaru hadn't even done anything yet.

And the worst part?

He didn't have an explanation.

Julius's blade rose, steady as stone, sharp as judgment.

The spirits swirled around him, all six of them converging near the hilt of his sword, light bending and warping under their pressure. Magic laced the air with heat and static. Subaru felt it even from where he stood, it made his skin prickle and his heart lurch.

"No, wait, Julius, don't…"

His voice died on his lips.

Julius's expression didn't waver. No hesitation. No mercy. The knight's blade pointed directly at Subaru, like justice incarnate, clean, righteous, and unshakably sure.

Behind him, Subaru could hear the clinking chain of Rem's morning star as she advanced on Elsa, he whipped his head behind to get her attention, but she was blissfully unaware that her so-called "blessed one" was about to be executed from behind.

Figures.

"Rem…!"

She didn't hear him. Or didn't care.

He turned back, and yeah, that was a glowing sword.

"Clarista."

The word rang like a bell through the broken loot house. beautiful, terrible, final.

Subaru saw the glint of the blade just before it carved through the air. There was no time to dodge. No time to scream. No time to understand.

The world turned sideways.

Then... stillness.

And then he saw his legs.

Oh. There they go.

The last thing Subaru thought, just a flicker of resignation in the dark, was:

At least he made it quick. Honestly? Not a bad way to go. Not even that painful. Just warm. Kind of floaty. Was this what people meant by a quick death?

Okay. Not bad.

Just… maybe next time, less of this, yeah?

And then...

Nothing.

.

.

.

.

.

Flash of light. That gut-deep pull, like reality itself had yanked his soul back like a bungee cord.

Return by Death.

Again.

Subaru clutched his stomach on instinct. No searing pain. No sliced torso. Still had legs. Still had a chance.

But something was wrong.

No alley. No thugs. No sunrise. No slow crawl through the day.

He was standing at the loot house door.

Hand raised.

About to knock.

Oh.

No.

This was a mid-checkpoint reset.

He wasn't at the start. He was near the end.

Not good. Not good at all.

This was like loading a save right before the boss fight. except you brought the wrong gear, and your healer was a religious maniac who thought murder was a love language.

Everything he and Rem had said on the way here? Every eyebrow they raised in Julius's mind?

Permanent now.

Locked.

No re-rolls. No sidesteps.

This was the route.

He could feel the trap snap shut.

...Shit.

He dropped his hand slowly, staring at the door like it had personally betrayed him.

CURSE YOU, REM. AND YOUR BIG, CRAZY, GODDAMN CULT MOUTH.

He turned slowly, cautiously, toward Rem and Julius. His eyes lingered a bit too long on the knight.

He could still see it, that look. Julius's expression just before cutting him down. No hesitation. No mercy. Just cold, beautiful justice from a man who thought he'd been betrayed.

It hadn't even been a fun death. Julius had sliced him clean in half like a particularly offensive vegetable, carrot? Cabbage?

Subaru didn't care. All he remembered was the part where his legs weren't attached anymore. Subaru had died a lot. But something about being executed by someone you thought was on your side hit different.

"Hey, Rem," Subaru said. His voice cracked. Wonderful. Just the kind of energy he needed.

"Yes, beloved Subaru-sama," she chirped, eyes shining like a puppy being told she was a good girl. radiant. So radiant. Like she hadn't just shouted her cultist résumé at a knight of the Royal Guard. Like she hadn't accidentally served his guts on a silver platter last time. Like she wasn't one introduction away from turning him into red confetti again.

He scowled. He wanted to wipe that joy off her face. maybe with a pillow, Maybe with a chair. Definitely with a BRICK, He decided.

He took a breath, forced some calm into himself.

"When the Bowel Hunter arrives," he began as evenly as he could, "she's going to introduce herself. At some point, no doubt. Do not, under any circumstances, introduce yourself back. Got it?"

It was the only lever he had. The only variable left he could still maybe, maybe control. He couldn't redo the walk here. Couldn't unsay what had already been said. And he definitely couldn't stop her from being a cultist. The lock-in had happened. His scenario was picked and sealed. All he had now was damage control. Maybe, maybe he could still plug the leak in this half-sunken ship.

He gave Julius a sidelong glance. The knight was still calm. Composed. So was a guillotine right before it dropped.

Subaru didn't blame him for last time. Not entirely. Julius didn't know. But still… Subaru had enough enemies trying to kill him. He didn't need a friendly sword in the mix too.

Rem blinked up at him like a scolded puppy.

"But Subaru-sama," she said with a pout, visibly distressed, "the sacred spirit of battle demands the exchange of-"

"Shut up, Rem."

It came out like a reflex. It was a reflex at this point. Like sneezing. Or flinching when someone says "loop". God, it was becoming a catchphrase. A tragic, necessary one. He flung up his hand in theatrical frustration, trying to make it look playful. Light. Anything but desperate.

"Just do what I tell you."

"Hai, Subaru-sama," she replied brightly, bowing so deeply she almost clobbered her own feet with her morning star.

.

.

Subaru turned to the door again and knocked. Once. Twice. He already knew the drill. A voice floated out from behind the wood, gruff and half-bored:

"For a rat?"

"Poison," Subaru replied, deadpan, like a man who'd taken this quiz way too many times.

"For a white whale?"

"A harpoon."

"To our honorable dragon we are-"

"Shitbags," he snapped, cutting the last phrase short with a roll of his eyes.

The door creaked open with all the enthusiasm of a dying ox. On the other side stood a mountain of a man, dark-skinned, shirt stretched to its limits, arms crossed in a universal 'don't start anything' stance.

Subaru didn't wait for an invitation. He breezed past him like he owned the place.

"Keep calm, citizen," he said, projecting authority like he was handing out tickets for speeding. "We're not here to arrest you, yet. In fact, if you play your cards right, we might actually be saving you from your own impressively tragic life choices."

His voice was casual, confident, like he was walking into a tavern instead of a den of thieves. He gestured loosely to the knight behind him.

"Don't worry. He only judges quietly."

He threw a wink over his shoulder for good measure and strutted in like a man who'd rehearsed this exact entrance about thirty times. Which, incidentally, he had.

Julius followed behind him, quiet and polished as ever, the knightly yin to Subaru's smug, chaotic yang.

He made his way over and dropped into a chair beside Felt with the kind of relaxed arrogance only someone who's died here before could pull off. Felt -who was standing, arms crossed, eyes suspicious- looked ready to either bolt or bite. Subaru just gave her a lazy smile and a mock salute.

He slouched back and gave her a once-over, taking in the guarded look she shot him like a thrown knife. "Missed me?" he muttered, mostly to himself, propping an elbow on the table like he had all the time in the world.

"Who the hell are you?" Felt snapped, eyes narrowing.

Old Man Rom didn't speak. He just quietly shut the door behind them and lumbered toward the counter, where Subaru knew that massive club of his waited beneath the shelf. Good. Predictable. The man had instincts. Shame they'd never actually helped.

For once, blessedly, Rem was silent. Subaru didn't trust it to last.

"Who we are isn't important," he said, voice flat, almost bored. "What we're here for is."

He stepped forward, hands in his coat pockets, posture casual like this wasn't the thirty-somethingth time he'd lived this exact goddamn mess.

"To put it simply," he went on, "you, Felt, bless your cold little heart and tragically underused brain, have stolen an insignia from a very important person. Now, under normal circumstances, that wouldn't be enough to warrant us-" he gestured lazily toward himself, then Rem, then Julius "-getting involved. But the person who ordered you to steal it? Not normal. Not even close. You've stepped in it, big time, and you don't even know how deep the shit goes."

Felt scoffed. "Who said I stole anything? I never-"

"Nope!" Subaru cut her off, snapping his fingers like a teacher halting a particularly stupid student mid-sentence. "Don't even try. The insignia is in your left pocket. Oval-shaped. Black frame. Red gem. We both know it's there. I could ask my friend over here-" he tilted his head toward Rem without looking "-to turn you upside down and shake you until it falls out. But wouldn't it be easier if you just handed it over?"

His eyes sharpened as he leaned in, voice dropping just a bit.

"Especially since your buyer? The one who wanted that trinket so bad? She's going to come here. And when she does, she's going to try and kill you. I mean really kill you. Not 'rough-you-up' kill. Not 'scare-you-into-line' kill. Kill-kill. You hand over the insignia to us, you might live long enough to regret ever touching it."

Subaru let that hang for a beat, then he leaned in, voice low and flat. "But if you want to cooperate and, you know, not get murdered by the lady you're planning to sell it to? That's the smart move."

He sighed, tired. "Let's not add 'death by serial killer' to your evening plans."

"Felt," Old Man Rom grunted, warily eyeing Subaru like he was a ticking bomb in a nice coat, "what the hell kind of mess have you gotten yourself into? A knight shows up at my door and who knows what else standing behind him?"

Subaru gave him a finger-gun and a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Ah, see, I'm glad you asked. Because what she's gotten into is Elsa. As in, Elsa Granhiert. As in, the Bowel Hunter from Gusteko. You know, the scary bogeywoman that guts people like fish."

He let the words hang in the air. Let the gravity of them settle. The room dropped a few degrees colder.

Felt's expression flickered, the cocky little smirk she always wore shifting ever so slightly. She wasn't scared yet, not quite. But she was thinking. That was enough.

"…Fine. Fine," she snapped, crossing her arms like it was the only shield she had. "I'll cooperate, alright? You don't have to threaten me so much."

"Threaten?" Subaru tilted his head with a scoff. "No, no, Felt. This", he waved a lazy hand between them "this is not a threat. This is me warning you that you've bought yourself a front-row seat to a massacre, and I'm doing you the kindness of showing you the exit."

He clapped once, too loud for the room, all fake cheer and empty bravado.

"Great. So, in just a few minutes, a very polite silver-haired girl is going to come through that door, because someone-" he gave Rom a side-eye "-forgot to latch it. Again."

Rom grunted something under his breath but didn't deny it.

"She's the rightful owner of that pretty little trinket in your pocket. Half-elf, regal posture, big eyes, very nice. Now listen closely, because I know how you lot get around half-elves: you're not going to insult her, glare at her, or mutter anything nasty under your breath. You're going to smile like you're at a tea party and wave her in. No defiance. Got it?"

He pointed first at Rom, then at Felt. They both nodded, just like they always did. First Rom, slow and reluctant. and then Felt, who did it with an eye-roll so aggressive it could have sprained something.

"Perfect," Subaru said, his tone shifting, darker now. "Because right after that, Elsa's going to stroll in behind her like she owns the place, and she's going to try to carve up the girl before anyone even says 'hi.'"

He walked toward the counter, dragging his fingers along the edge of the worn wood as he passed. When he got to the corner, he pointed down.

"That's when you and me, Felt, are going to dive behind this counter like cowards and hide next to where your old friend here keeps his club-" Rom's eyebrows shot up, "-because trust me, we're not helping. We're liabilities. If we try to fight, we'll just die. Badly."

He leaned on the counter now, voice low and dry.

"You want to live through tonight? You do exactly what I say. No improvising. No heroics. Just duck, shut up, and let the professionals take care of the monster."

There was a moment of silence. Then Subaru clapped again, softer this time.

"Alright. Positions, everyone. Let's get ready to not die, shall we?

Julius -who had been standing in regal, contemplative silence for longer than Subaru liked- finally spoke up, his voice measured, suspicious, and far too curious for comfort.

"Subaru... just who exactly are you-"

The door creaked open before he could finish. Subaru almost sighed in relief. Divine intervention. The gods might not be kind, but they were timely.

"Hello?" came a voice from the door, soft and melodic, like silver bells, like wind chimes stirred by gentle rain. Subaru tensed automatically.

And then she stepped in.

Subaru didn't even have to turn. He knew that voice, could practically map its cadence. And there she was, Satella- no, Emilia stepped inside with the same soft grace she always had, shoulders poised, feet gliding across the dusty floor like the grime didn't dare cling to her. A small smile bloomed on her lips when her eyes landed on Felt.

"You," she said, not unkindly, "you're the girl from before. Please, can you give me back my insignia? I'd be so grateful. I won't report you to the guards, I promise. I just… it's something very dear to me."

There it was. The same soft plea she always used. Sweet. Earnest. Almost naive. The same exact pitch. The same careful offer of mercy. That was Emilia. Kind to a fault. Asking nicely, even when she had every right to be furious. There was something painfully earnest about her, like someone who still believed the world could be persuaded with decency.

Subaru felt absolutely nothing.

Once upon a time, those words would have made his heart skip a beat. Back when he was still soft. Back before he had held her cooling corpse in his arms. Before he'd seen the blood blooming across her chest. Before he'd watched the light in her eyes vanish like smoke. Again, and again and again.

He'd watched her die, violently, senselessly, more than thirty times. He had sobbed over her still-warm body more than he cared to count. He had promised vengeance to her ghost, whispered broken oaths to her blood-soaked hair, gritted his teeth through screams that never reached her ears.

And now?

Whatever flutter of affection he might have once felt had dulled, worn down like a blade over too much stone. What remained now was duty. A grim sort of loyalty. Not love, not anymore. Just the knowledge that if he didn't do this right, she would die again. And again. And again.

Now she was just another point on the checklist. So, he would save her. No matter how many times it took. Not because his heart told him to, but because he had to. For his own sake, and maybe, if there was still a scrap of himself left somewhere deep down, For her.

Chapter Text

Rem was LOVED.

LOVED.
LOVED.
LOVED.

The word pulsed beneath her skin like a second heartbeat, hot and dizzying and absolute. It filled her lungs, thick and heavy like smoke from sacred incense. It throbbed in her throat like a prayer clawing to be screamed.

She had always believed it. But today, today, SHE had SHOWN it to Rem.

SHE had touched the world. SHE had let the veil slip. And there, in the ashes of failure, in the burning wreck of Rem's worth, SHE had placed a gift. A divine whisper curled in flesh.

HIM.

The boy. The boy with the foolish grin and trembling hands and eyes like scraped stars. The boy SHE sent. The boy SHE gave. A messenger? A warning? A test?

No. A sign.

Rem had lost her liege. Even now, the shame twisted in her stomach like thorns. To misplace Emilia-sama, to fail to guard the vessel of all grace and purpose and LOVE, was not a mistake. It was not even a failure. It was sacrilege.

A betrayal not of loyalty.

But of LOVE.

And what cleanses betrayal? BLOOD

At first, Rem thought of Ram. Her sister. The burden. The cracked mirror she never asked for. Wouldn't it be elegant to offer her? One clean cut, one scream, one act useful from Ram at last. Her spine against the altar. Her throat parted like red ribbon.

But it wasn't enough.

Could the death of something so meaningless atone for a crime against divinity?

No.

No.

Rem's hands trembled, not with fear. Fear was for those who didn't understand. She understood perfectly. Her fingers shook with longing. With devotion. With a need so sharp it bordered on rapture.

Her own body, her own soul, all of it must be placed at the altar.

She would kneel. Naked. Stripped of name and shame. Let her bones break into prayer. Let her skin blister in offering. Let her scream until her voice dissolved into worship.

Let her liege step on her.

Let her grind her heel against Rem's throat. crush the air, the thought, the self, until only loyalty remained.

And if SHE -glorious, unknowable, infinite SHE- smiled down once more?

If SHE turned HER gaze to Rem again, even for a breath?

Then what agony could not be endured? What flame would be too hot? What death could dare call itself enough?

And to be LOVED by HER was worth everything. Even the extinction of Rem.

And Rem was LOVED. She knew she was.

The moment the boy, no, not boy, not mortal, not something so base, the will of LOVE itself, the chosen vessel of HER affection, Subaru, was shown to her, she knew.

It wasn't chance. It wasn't mercy. It was GRACE.

SHE had opened the clouds of sin and let fall a single beam of sanctified light. Not warm. Not gentle. Blinding. Searing. Absolute.

Earlier today when he walked ahead of her, towards that faithless knight, a shadow of justice wrapped in pride, and with every step, Subaru's scent grew stronger. Thicker. Like the musk of divine wrath laced with honey. A fragrance that was not perfume but proof. The scent of LOVE burning away doubt. Peeling back the rot of hesitation.

And every time he turned back to her, furious, radiant, blazing with purpose and struck her…

Ah.

AH.

When his hand, his blessed, blessed hand, met the back of her head, hard, fast, a blow born from fury and belief and necessity, something cracked inside her. Something important. Something impure. And the shattering of it was EUPHORIC.

It wasn't pain. It was communion.

To be hit by Subaru was to be noticed. To be punished was to be seen. It was LOVE itself purifying her weakness. Each strike a sermon. Each bruise a hymn. His strength was the arm of HER will, and how unworthy she was to be touched by it!

She was LOVED. Not passively. Not distantly. But actively, violently, undeniably.

Each time the force of it rang through her bones. Her blood pumped in fevered rhythm. Not with life, but with worship. She wanted to fall to her knees and thank him, her prophet, her pain-bringer, her Subaru. To kiss the floor he walked on. To breathe in the dust he left behind.

He was proof SHE still watched. That HER LOVE still reached this wretched earth.

And Rem, lowly, impure, trembling Rem, had been TOUCHED by it.

So when Subaru walked forward, shoulders square, voice hard, rage righteous, she followed.

Like a shadow. Like a disciple. Like a DOG.

Because she was LOVED. And to be LOVED was to obey.

The moment they reached the loot house, that wretched little place of thieves and mongrels, it happened again.

A miracle.

The kind that made her bones quiver and her mouth water with shameful awe.

Right before Subaru knocked on the door, foolish, unnecessary gesture, her Subaru needed no permission to enter a space, any space, every space, right in that sacred moment, his scent changed. Again.

No, not just changed. BLOOMED.

The perfume of his FAITH, the fragrant miasma of his divine resolve, flooded her senses. Her knees went weak. Her teeth clenched to keep in a sob of delight. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw herself on the ground and roll in the scent like an animal.

It was ecstasy.

He didn't hesitate. Didn't falter. Didn't lose himself like lesser mortals. No, her Subaru, her Prophet of LOVE only GREW.

Where others would doubt and despair, would crumble under the weight of duty. he surged forward with greater devotion. Stronger than before. More certain. More radiant.

It was enough to make her weep.

Truly, if there were any justice in this world, Archbishop Romanée-Conti would have wept beside her. Oh, how the Sin Archbishop of Sloth would have adored him. would have clasped Subaru's hands with trembling fingers, and declared him a brother. A fellow disciple. A lover of LOVE.

And who could doubt it?

Look at how HER LOVE responded to Subaru. How it curled around him like smoke to flame. How the air grew heavy with his presence, how LOVE itself seeped from his pores, staining the world in invisible ink.

Inside, Subaru was already commanding the room, ordering those filthy rats, those thieves, who had dared lay their hands on her liege's sacred possession. The nerve. The blasphemy.

They would pay. Oh, they would pay.

Rem would see to it. She would make sure they understood the weight of their sin. Not just with words, but with broken bones and spilled blood, if need be.

They had stolen from her liege.

And LOVE does not forgive.

They couldn't see his LOVE. Of course they couldn't.

They didn't have her eyes. Eyes sharpened by suffering, polished with tears, guided by HER will. SHE had opened Rem's eyes and shown her what was true.

Subaru wasn't just walking forward.

He was leading.

He was delivering her from sin.

Every word he spoke, every command he gave, every breath he exhaled, it was all a scripture. And Rem, lucky, filthy, weak little Rem, had been chosen to bear witness.

And so, she followed.

With her head bowed and her heart thrashing, she followed her Subaru.

Because he was LOVED.

And she was LOVED THROUGH HIM.

.

.

The door creaked open, and she stepped inside.

Her liege. Her Mistress. Her reason for waking up.

Emilia-sama.

Rem's hands flew to her mouth, eyes wide, sparkling, glowing with unfiltered glee. Oh, what a perfect, divine, glorious day! Her liege and her Subaru in the same room?! What had she done to deserve such mercy? To bask in their shared radiance? It was too much. It was everything. She could have died then and there and ascended with a smile carved into her corpse.

"You," her liege said, her voice so pretty, so perfect, like light bouncing off snow. pointing toward the filth-girl thief. "You're the girl from before. Please, can you give me back my insignia? I'd be so grateful. I won't report you to the guards, I promise. I just… it's something very dear to me."

Rem nearly squealed. Her liege was just so... perfect. That soft voice, that sweet tone, that beautiful, gentle way of asking so kindly when she could have demanded the thief's fingers instead! Her liege could've demanded heads. She could've ordered Rem to flay the thief alive and Rem would've volunteered. But no. No! Mercy. Humility. Dignity. She was everything Rem had always known she was and more.

Merciful! Humble! Just! So radiant! So pure!

"Emilia-samaaaa~!" Rem didn't actually scream it, but her soul did.

Oh, if only she were allowed to throw herself at her feet! If only she could crawl like the worm she was, wrap herself around Emilia-sama's legs, and purr her praises like the beast she longed to be in service!

She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet, fists clenched at her sides, grinning far too wide, eyes just a bit too shiny.

Emilia-sama. Emilia-sama. Emilia-sama.

The name spun around her skull like a child's melody played on sharpened bells. Her liege was mercy incarnate. Grace made manifest. The thief should have offered her own throat in apology. Rem would've helped. She still could!

Oh, how happy she was.

Oh, how much fun it would be when the punishment began.

"That ship's already sailed, lady," spat the little gutter rat, tossing her thumb toward Subaru with a cocky tilt of her chin.

The nerve.

Rem stiffened. How dare she gesture at him like that, pointing at him like some common thing, like he wasn't the chosen vessel of LOVE itself. A prophet. A sign. Rem twitched forward on instinct, hand tightening near her flail's grip, but stayed her wrath. For now. There would be time to correct the disrespect later. Oh yes. She made a mental note, in red.

Emilia-sama blinked, her expression soft with confusion. Her eyes slid to Subaru -Rem's Subaru, the boy blessed by the fragrance of devotion, his soul etched in stubborn light- and she tilted her head, curious.

Of course she didn't recognize him. How could she? This was the first time. Her first time. And Rem…

Rem felt something swell in her throat. Something warm and sharp and a little silly. They were meeting! Her liege and her Subaru, in the same air, breathing the same dust, sharing the same sacred moment.

Then, then Emilia-Sama's gaze drifted past him.

And there, there she saw him. The faithless knight. Standing proud behind Rem's Subaru like a faded statue in the corner of a cathedral.

Recognition dawned.

"Oh! Julius!" Emilia's voice lifted, surprised. Delighted.

A beam of sunlight broke through the roof's cracked slats. Birds might have sung. Trumpets might have blared. Rem didn't care.

Because her liege had noticed someone else first.

Rem's eye twitched. Just a little.

But she took a deep breath. Her Subaru would be patient. Would understand. Their time would come. After all… LOVE always reveals itself in time.

"I didn't know you were here! If I had, I wouldn't have been so… um… jittery." Emilia-sama exclaimed, her whole face lighting up like the sunrise cresting a snowy mountaintop.

Rem's lip twitched. Jittery? Her liege could level nations with a sigh and yet she felt jittery? Oh, how impossibly humble. Truly, even her anxiety was elegant.

The knight -that knight- straightened with courtly precision and bowed low, taking her hand with just enough grace to earn a grudging point in his favor. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles like a knight should, and for a moment, Rem allowed herself the indulgence of not completely hating him.

"Emilia-sama," Julius said smoothly, smiling like he wasn't standing in a literal den of thieves. "You bring light even to a place as dim as this. I only regret that our reunion could not take place somewhere more… fitting to your radiance."

Rem made a small, almost inaudible hmmph. A bit dramatic, but fine. He had taste. Her liege was radiant. Maybe he wasn't entirely faithless.

Not like those disgusting little rodents over there, clutching at stolen stars like they belonged to them.

No, Julius had his faults. Many, many, many faults. But at least he knew how to kneel.

"My liege!" Rem gasped, breath catching like a prayer caught between sob and worship. She rushed forward, skirts fluttering like wings, and nearly collapsed into a kneel at her feet. "Forgive me! I failed you. I lost sight of your radiance. I…I let the shadows steal you from me…"

But her liege -her divine, blessed, flawless liege- lifted her hands, palms out in gentle denial. "No, Rem, please. Don't apologize. It wasn't your fault, I should have told you where I was going. I just acted without thinking. Really, I'm the one who should be sorry for making you worry."

Rem could have screamed. No, no, no, NO. How could she, a goddess in mortal form, mercy wrapped in silver, apologize to something like her?

"I must have caused you a lot of trouble," Emilia-sama said with a soft, radiant guilt that made Rem's heart twist into confetti.

Trouble? TROUBLE?!

Rem bit back a sob. Her liege was too kind. Too pure. She had sinned. Failed. Lost her and yet Emilia-sama forgave her. No wrath. No condemnation. No divine thunderbolts to cast her down.

And so, Rem resolved.

The thieves. Those festering little rats. They who dared touch what belonged to her liege. Their dirty, grease-slick hands had sullied something sacred. And Rem… Rem would cleanse it.

They would bleed for her redemption.

They would scream until their throats were raw with regret. They would writhe in pain until even the dirt pitied them. Through them, Rem would sing her apology. She would paint the floor with penance, stroke by stroke, until the ground itself wept red with understanding.

Only then, maybe then, would she be worthy of that smile her liege had already given her.

Such mercy. Such impossible beauty.

Rem did not deserve her liege.

But she would earn her. With blood and bone and LOVE.

.

.

"PUCK, SHIELD UP. NOW!" her Subaru screamed, voice cutting through the room like the swing of a guillotine. And oh how right it sounded. To command so boldly. To protect so instinctively. He knew. He always knew.

He called the name of the beast of the END, the ancient terror in feline skin.

In a blink, a gust of frozen wind tore through the room, and from it rose a jagged wall of glittering ice, pure, cold, unyielding. A shield fit to protect divinity itself. No sooner had it formed than-

CLANG! THUNK!

-two curved blades, sleek and silver with the cruel design of Gusteko's death artists, struck the barrier and fell. Harmless. Powerless. Laughable.

And in that moment, the air shimmered.

"Thank you, stranger. I owe you one," said the Spirit.

The Great spirit of fire, Puck, appeared, tail flicking, eyes narrowed as he perched protectively beside Emilia-sama.

Rem's breath caught in her throat.

"Ara~ so troublesome."

The voice was silk laced with blades, teasing from the shadow of the open door.

Elsa Granhiert emerged like a snake sliding from velvet, curves accentuated by a scandalous lack of armor, her smile sharp enough to cut skin. Her clothes -what little there were- were ridiculous. A joke. A sin against practicality. Rem's lip curled in mockery.

No discipline. No protection. Just soft meat waiting to be sliced.

Rem's own uniform might have been prim and proper, but beneath the ruffles were hardened plates of boiled leather, tight wraps over joints, steel hidden in bows. She was dressed to kill, as a true servant of her liege should be.

"It wouldn't be as fun if it ended too quickly, now, would it?" Elsa murmured, dragging her tongue across her lips.

Rem's fingers twitched. She agreed violently. Her blood was singing. It was not every day one could exchange violence with the famed Bowel Hunter, that blasphemous beast. Elsa was notorious. And Rem? Rem was ravenous.

But still, she waited.

Waited because he hadn't spoken. Her Subaru. Her shrine of flesh. Her walking gospel.

So, she stood still, trembling. not from fear, oh no, but from expectation. From pure, vibrating euphoria barely leashed behind her teeth.

SHIVERING. SHIVERING. SHIVERING.

"Let me at her, SUBARU-SAMA!" Rem howled, thrumming with ecstatic fervor.

She could already taste the blood. Could already feel the crunch of Elsa's bones in her mouth. Could already see herself tearing that assassin's throat open to see if her heretical body bled the same red, if it, too, tasted of LOVE. as did all the creature, believer or not.

"Not right now, Rem. Wait until I say so!" Subaru shouted, vaulting the counter with the petty little thief in tow. Behind him, Julius stepped forward, elegant and infuriatingly calm, blade drawn with his usual knightly grace. Tch. Show-off.

Lady Emilia held steady at the rear, fingers glimmering with crystalline frost. Ice spears hovered, ready to fly.

"Ohhh, I wonder what the inside of a spirit looks like," Elsa cooed as she lunged, two knives flashing toward Puck, wicked and fast.

Rem's eye twitched. But she didn't move. Julius blocked the strike. Fine. He could have that one.

"Elsa Granhiert," Julius declared, tone like polished steel, "stand down. There is no need for further bloodshed."

What a joke. There was always need for more blood.

Rem's breath hitched. Her limbs locked, trembling. And then…

"Now, Rem! Off the leash! Sick em, girl!" Subaru roared from behind the counter, tossing a crude club toward Rom.

And that was it. That was the command. Rem's world turned white. There was nothing in the world that she could see. All was white, everything ceased to exist in her vision. All except Elsa

With a scream of joy, she launched herself at Elsa, all teeth and fury and divine ecstasy. Let them all watch. Let them all tremble. She would show the meaning of devotion.

For her Mistress.

For her Subaru.

For LOVE.

In her right hand, her blessed morning star sang as she swung it with all the elegance of a guillotine. At the same moment, her left hand flared with ice, birthing a vicious volley that screeched across the ground like shards of divine judgment.

The spiked head of her flail cut a beautiful arc through the air, a righteous curve headed straight for that blasphemous, mocking face of Elsa Granhiert. The ice volley didn't aim to kill, no, not yet. It aimed to trap, to bind, to discipline. Her feet would shatter if she dared to dance through this with arrogance.

And yet…

She moved.

Elsa twisted, turned, glided, her body bending and snapping like liquid shadow. She danced through the death Rem offered her. Her foot skated over the frost just barely. Her head jerked back just in time, Rem's morning star slicing past her chin, missing her face by the width of a prayer.

How thrilling.

Julius, faithless but not useless, closed in, sword gleaming with the light of his gathered spirits. His strike came like thunder wrapped in silk, fluid, impossibly fast, every movement precise as clockwork. Knight among knights, Rem grudgingly acknowledged. He clashed with Elsa mid-step, blades ringing, their dance somehow as graceful as it was deadly.

Elsa, mid-spin, smiled, smiled! even as steel hissed around her.

"Ahhh," she purred, licking blood from the corner of her lip, "such admirable swordsmanship. It's been a long time since I had to take a fight seriously."

"Thank you for the compliment," Julius replied coolly, parrying two of her knives with a flick of his wrist, "though I hope you won't be offended if I don't return the sentiment."

Hmph. Properly smug. Properly diligent. Rem could respect that, even if she wished it was her morning start splitting Elsa's jaw instead.

And then…

The old thief moved.

Rem's eyes flicked toward the club swinging from Rom's massive arms. Oh? She had expected screaming. Cowardice. Begging. But here the old fool was, hurling himself into the fray. It was foolish, it was hopeless, and it was so incredibly diligent that Rem's heart thudded in excitement.

DILIGENCE, so much DILIGENCE

So much devotion in one place! It was glorious! And she would not, could not, let herself be left behind in this holy frenzy of action. It would be truly slothful of her to not act while everyone was being so diligent

With a shriek of exultation, Rem surged forward again.

Her morning star spun once more, glinting like a second sun, she didn't aim to strike with it this time, only to distract. She flew past Elsa, who was locked in that elegant duel with Julius. Her every sense honed to violence; Rem saw her opening.

Now!

Rem thrust her hand forward like a claw reaching from the abyss. Her fingers closed around the edge of Elsa's cloak. The fabric, silky and vile against her holy hand, was no match for her zeal. She yanked.

She yanked with LOVE.

With a furious cry, Rem ripped the assassin clean off her feet, dragging her like a rag doll and hurling her full-body into the nearest wall. Stone cracked, splinters flew. Elsa slammed into the wooden structure so hard that the wall howled in protest and buckled inward, the very bones of the loot house cracking under the force.

YES.

But it wasn't over. No. Not yet.

"Puck!" her Subaru called, her sweet, furious prophet. "Now!"

And the world shattered.

A crystalline meteor of frozen death howled through the air. A monolith of ice, conjured in an instant by the Beast of the End himself, came crashing down with godless speed.

The impact was apocalyptic. The floor broke. The roof cracked. Half the loot house ceased to be in that instant.

The icy boulder buried Elsa where she had crashed, swallowing her whole in a blast of frost and dust. It struck with such force that even time seemed to pause in reverence.

Shards of shattered crystal clattered across the floor like bones in a temple. Frozen mist swept over the room. For a breathless moment, no one moved. No one dared.

Julius lowered his blade.

Emilia's lips parted, her eyes searching the destruction in stunned silence.

Rom stood frozen, clutching his club like it could still protect him.

And Rem?

Rem stood bathed in the storm of it all, eyes wide, heart racing, lips parted in silent prayer.

Please…

Please don't be dead…

Let her be alive. Let her be hurt, but breathing. Let her crawl out of that tomb of ice on trembling legs, bleeding and broken and laughing. Let her give Rem MORE. Let her spit in Rem's face and charge back in.

Because Rem hadn't earned her redemption yet.

Rem hadn't bled enough.

And this battlefield, this chapel of carnage, was far too sacred to end in a single act.

She grinned. She waited. And she shivered.

Suddenly, the ice trembled. No, not just trembled, it howled. Groaned. Wailed like a cathedral collapsing in on itself during the end times. The sound was divine. a cracking, rending noise like the shattering of stained glass in a house of worship mid-sermon. Then, with a thunderous BOOM, the crystal monolith that had entombed the assassin exploded into chaos.

Shards of enchanted frost were hurled in every direction like the furious teeth of a rejected god. A hole, gaping and black as guilt, had ripped itself into the side of the loot house. Through the mist -holy fog, Rem thought- something moved.

No, not moved. LUNGED. PIERCED. PUNCTURED.

A dark blur burst through the veil of broken ice, a dagger-like projectile screaming toward its target. That target was Rom.

The big, dumb, diligent thief.

The impact was thunderous. Rom's body flew backward, thudding against the floorboards with an ugly crack. He groaned. He writhed. Blood blossomed beneath him like a sacrament.

Rem?

Rem grinned.

No, 'smiled' is far too mortal a word. Her mouth twisted into a rictus of euphoric glory. The corners of her lips clawed deep into her muzzle, carving trenches through skin and flesh. Her jaw trembled, locked in place from the sheer ecstasy of it. There was pain in that smile, and oh, OH! the pain made it perfect.

She was shaking. Vibrating. Reverberating with rapture.

What grace. What unholy, unyielding grace. Elsa Granhiert, the murderous heretic of flesh, had emerged from her tomb as if death had kissed her cheek and let her go with a wink.

Rem's teeth chattered. Not from cold, no, but from the unbearable delight singing in her bones.

"This… this place…" she whispered, voice breaking like glass under pressure. "This place is HOLY."

Archbishop Petelgeuse Romanée-Conti, the great bishop of sin of sloth would be weeping, screaming, twitching in beatific joy if he were here. He'd hold her face in his trembling hands and tell her she was being SOOOO DILIGENT! And she would weep, because she'd be worthy. Finally, finally worthy.

Rem surged forward into the mist with a feral growl, ignoring the twitching mess of Rom at her feet. He had played his part in this sacred play, let the old man rest beneath the altar of his own courage.

It was HER turn.

With no need for caution or calculation, for those were for the undevoted, Rem attacked blindly, divinely. She launched five spears of ice to the left, jagged and screeching through the mist like the nails of an angry angel. At the same time, her morning star spun wildly in her right hand, carving the air with a whistling scream toward the right. Symmetry! Strategy! Surprise!

And in between the two paths of destruction, she herself sprinted forward.

Straight into the storm.

"GOTCHAAAAA!" she howled, her voice cracking like thunder wrapped in giggles. Her tone was unhinged, manic, almost playful, like a child bursting through wrapping paper only to discover a chainsaw inside the box.

She never saw the kick.

Elsa's left leg lashed out like a serpent from the mist, no hesitation, no mercy, and slammed into Rem's ribs. CRACK. Her world spun sideways, then upside down, then sideways again. She was flung like a ragdoll across the battlefield, crashing down in a heap right at the feet of her liege.

Ahhhhh.

AHHHHHHHHHHH.

This was it. This was the moment.

Rem lifted her face from the dust, dazed, lungs wheezing, blood in her mouth. And she saw her.

Emilia-sama.

Standing tall, radiant in her worry, her brows drawn together in concern, concern for Rem.

Pity bloomed across her face like moonlight on a black lake.

Rem's heart detonated. Oh, how right it felt to be looked down upon by her divine radiance. To be at the feet of her liege while she looks down on Rem.

She loves me, Rem thought, eyes wide. She looked at me. She SEES me. I am a wretched thing, and yet I am SEEN.

For a moment, a long eternal moment, Rem simply lay there. Staring. Worshiping. Drowning in the light of her goddess's concern. How could she be so lucky? How could she be so loved? Rem did not know how long she stayed there at Emilia-Sama's feet. Maybe five minutes, maybe fifty!

But no! No! After a long time, she came back to her own senses. There was no time to worship at the altar of her goddess's gaze. The enemy still lived. Still moved. Still defiled the sacred ground of this house of combat!

There would be time, yes, yes, so much time at night to stalked the room of her liege while gazing at her all night. But not now. Not yet.

Rem leapt to her feet, bones protesting, ribs bruised and howling. Pain lanced through her like electric glory.

Her eyes scanned the chaos before her. The carnage.

Old Man Rom -yes, Old Man Rom now, he'd earned his title- lay groaning, blood leaking from a monstrous gash in his stomach. His arms were purple with bruises, shattered in places. Yet he tried to crawl. Tried to move.

Rem felt a tear trace her cheek.

So diligent.

Ahhh. Yes. YES.

It was happening.

Rem stood tall, no longer the maid of Roswaal's estate, longer the silent devotee beside her liege. She stood as something else entirely. Something older. Something that burned from within. Oni. Blessed. Cursed. Chosen.

Her head tilted back and her jaw opened wide as a scream exploded from her lungs, tearing its way out like a feral hymn to violence itself. It was wordless, primal, a roar that shook the soul, that could be felt in the gut and in the marrow. The sound of something sacred breaking its chains.

CRACK, SSSSHHHH…

From her forehead, the red horn erupted. Not just a horn, a beacon. Gleaming, blood-hued, twisted in fury and elegance. Veins of light pulsed beneath her skin, radiating with raw, untamed power. Her eyes… no longer eyes. Twin furnaces. Twin LOVES. Bright red as rage, red as adoration. They glowed so hard it seemed they would melt her face off.

Energy surged around her body in wild arcs, rippling through her limbs in spasms of divine madness. Her breath came out in huffs, steam pouring from her nose and lips like a beast caught in ecstasy.

Elsa paused mid-step.

"Ara~ the mad Oni sees me worthy?" the assassin purred, licking the blood from her fingers, as if tasting sauce from a gourmet meal. "It's an honor. Your guts must be so lovely."

She stood straight, chest out, smile sharp.

"I am the Bowel Hunter. Elsa Granhiert."

Rem tilted her head slowly, too slowly. Her neck made a popping sound, unnatural and slow like something had been dislocated and never properly put back. Her red-glowing eyes locked onto Elsa's, unblinking. Then came her roar

"GRAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."

Not a scream this time. A roar. No. A declaration. A hymn. A death chant. A love confession, howled through the breath of a beast who knew neither mercy nor reason.

With elegant, ceremonial motion, Rem reached up and unclasped the metal muzzle on her face.

CLICK.

It fell from her, chains dragging against leather and clanking to the floor.

Her mouth was revealed. Bloodstained teeth. Lips stretched too wide. Her tongue hung lazily from the corner of her mouth as she stared at Elsa with adoration that was completely detached from sanity.

"Do scream for me," Rem whispered, voice like cracked porcelain echoing from the bottom of a well.
"Make it… FUN."

She lunged forward. Not ran. Lunged. The air cracked behind her as her body twisted with impossible speed. Her morning star came first, flying forward in a long curve toward Elsa's face, but at the last moment, she let it go.

Let. It. Fly.

Her hands already weaving ice, the shards exploding in jagged formations toward Elsa's legs. Elsa dodged the flail, smirking, only to find her ankle caught in an ice trap. Her face twitched, then without hesitation…

CRACK.

Elsa snapped her own ankle in two with a brutal jerk.

How admirable.

How DILIGENT.

Rem's admiration reached a fever pitch. This was art. This was worship. Elsa was a cathedral of violence, and Rem would kneel at the altar.

She was already in close, too close, close enough for breath to mix. Elsa expected more ice, more spells. Instead, she got a face full of Rem's open, rabid, smiling mouth.

CHOMP.

Rem's teeth sank into Elsa's neck. Deep. So deep her lips kissed bone. Blood sprayed, warm and rich and gushing like a love letter written in meat and sin. It drenched Rem's face. Perfect. Divine. Everything.

"AHHHH," Rem moaned, swallowing a mouthful, "You taste like LOVE. You did not disappoint."

Elsa staggered, hand raising reflexively. A blade flashed. She tried to slash at Rem's face, only to find the demon already withdrawing, teeth dragging out of her flesh with a final rip. Skin and muscle came with it, already inside the Oni's mouth.

Elsa slapped a hand over the wound, face pale. "Cannibalism is not something you want to do~" she said breathily. "Leaves your body… sick."

But Rem didn't answer. She couldn't. The sound of words was like rain hitting stone, unimportant, far away. She couldn't hear anything but drums. Battle drums. Holy drums. Her own heartbeat. The Witch's whisper. Her Liege's breath. The scream of existence bleeding itself raw through every vein in her body.

She chewed.

And she swallowed.

And she tasted her flesh.

And she smiled.

Then she lunged again. On all fours this time, Not with elegance. Not with tactics. She was a bullet made of flesh and reverence. She went low, claws reaching for Elsa's waist.

Elsa responded like the professional killer she was, blade arcing down with vicious force.

SLICE.

The kukri knife embedded between Rem's shoulders, tearing through layers of hardened leather armor. Blood gushed, a torrent from her back. She shrieked, not in pain but in joy, a laughter-scream that sounded more like a broken music box on fire.

The pain was beautiful.

Delicious.

Elsa kicked. A boot to Rem's stomach sent her flying backward, bones cracking from the impact.

She crashed into someone. Arms caught her. Gentle. Too gentle.

"Careful," said a voice. The knight. Julius.

He was bleeding. Bruised. Torn.

Good. He deserved the pain. For betraying his duties, the duty of all living creatures to worship the witch. For not seeing the brilliance of the Witch. For EVER daring to question the holy path of LOVE. But he caught her, held her like a comrade. Like someone worth saving. And for that Rem was grateful.

He laid her on the floor. She laughed. Blood dribbled from her mouth. Her teeth were red.

Around them, the world was on fire.

And there, Julius. Beautiful, boring Julius, his knight's uniform in tatters, his blood painting artless strokes across his silver breastplate. His sword gleamed like a sliver of the sun itself, his six spirits circling around him like adoring apostles. He was stumbling, limping, yet he charged.

Diligent. Diligent. DILIGENT!

"AL CLAUZERIA!" he shouted, his voice filled with exhausted fury.

The spirits responded.

They spiraled, faster and faster, forming a rainbow-sharp vortex of power in front of his blade. Then…

BOOM.

A holy cannon of rainbow light erupted, shooting toward Elsa with apocalyptic speed. It blinded Rem, scorched her eyes with its brilliance.

When it was over, when the dust finally settled…

Ruin.

Just ruin.

Julius collapsed, crumpling like a paper knight. A sigh escaped his lips as Subaru screamed and dashed from behind the counter, grabbing his broken body and dragging him toward Emilia.

"Shit!" her Subaru cried.

Ahhh.

AHHHHHHHHH.

Such kindness. Such diligence. Even for a knight who would never worship the Witch. Even for a man who spat on salvation. Her Subaru, her beloved mad prophet, was the living embodiment of LOVE itself.

Rem's eyes sparkled. Her grin returned. Split wide. Wider. WIDER.

And then…

Then the assassin returned.

Jumping through the gaping hole in the wall like a demon refusing exorcism. Her body, oh, her body, was a masterpiece of butchery.

Her right arm? Gone. Torn from the shoulder, nothing left but a pulsing stump.

Her jaw? Ripped away. Half her face dangled, peeled back in ribbons of skin and shattered bone.

And yet…

She smiled.

Not with her mouth. She had no mouth anymore.

She smiled with her presence.

Rem felt something warm leak down her chin, she had bitten her lip. Hard. Ahhh but the taste of iron and glee was delicious.

The assassin's body began to knit itself back together.

Flesh growing. Bone fusing. Muscle twitching. Skin slithering across wounds like silk reweaving itself.

This wasn't a fight anymore. This wasn't even battle. This was…

LOVE.

"YEEESSSSSSS," Rem moaned, falling on her back and kicking her legs like a child overcome with joy. "MORE. MOOOORE. I AM LOVED TODAY. TOU ARE SO LOVED"

She rolled onto her legs again, growling, teeth clacking, tongue licking blood from her cheeks.

No thoughts. No hesitation. No strategy.

Only LOVE. Only VIOLENCE. Only HER.

The battlefield was sacred. The blood was wine. The pain was worship.

And Rem was ready to PRAY.

"Love?"

The word left Elsa's lips not as a taunt, not as mockery, but as a fragile whisper. Her voice faltered for the first time. It cracked, just slightly, but enough to betray something alien in her: doubt. Recognition. Fear.

Rem, laying amidst shattered ice and bloodied stone, stared at her with wide, gleaming red eyes. Her breath came in animal gasps. Her blood-slicked teeth formed a grin too wide for the human face, a crescent moon of madness. She didn't blink. She didn't move. She simply existed, vibrating with power and something deeper, something faithful.

Elsa stared at her, frozen in place, pupils twitching.

"Mama…" she breathed, barely audible.

Her body stiffened as if a sudden cold wind blew through her bones. Her lips trembled, parting once more as understanding crawled like a centipede across her mind.

"You're one of them…"

She didn't say it with derision. She didn't spit it out like an accusation. She said it as one speaks to a nightmare that has stepped into the waking world. A truth she'd buried clawing its way up through dirt and blood.

Rem didn't respond. She couldn't. The words were meaningless syllables echoing through the thundering caverns of her skull. She heard nothing but her own heartbeat crashing like waves, her blood a rushing torrent of euphoria, her vision still painted red.

But Elsa's expression twisted. That ever-present smirk, gone. Her hunger, gone. The predator was replaced by something hunted.

"No. No no no…" Elsa muttered, stumbling back. "Not again… I want nothing to do with that…"

Her voice shook now, like broken glass rattling in a box.

She turned on her heel. She didn't leap, didn't flip or twirl, she ran.

Ran like a child from fire.

Ran like a survivor fleeing an old, undying fear.

She didn't even notice the blood still pouring from her half-regrown arm or the open, cauterized ruin of her jaw. All that mattered now was distance. From this house. From that grin. From that name.

"Mama," It was the only thing she could think about as she fled

This THING, this Oni, this girl with her lips peeled into a grin, her voice soaked in twisted adoration, her pain-wracked body still laughing…

She radiated the same madness.

The same LOVE.

Elsa disappeared into the fog.

Rem blinked, barely registering the retreating shadow. Her smile faded, just a little.

She tilted her head, confused, swaying where she knelt like a wind-blown doll.

"Whyyy… run?" she murmured.

But no answer came.

And then, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, her body slumped forward. The stone floor rushed up to meet her. Her horn flickered.

Thud.

Her head hit the floor. Her red eyes blinked one last time, gaze still fixed forward, wide and uncomprehending.

Then…

Black.

A vast ocean of nothing folded over her vision. No color. No sound. No heat. Only the memory of blood. The scent of it. The echo of LOVE.

And the shadow of her liege's face, still burned into the final spark of her consciousness.

The void whispered.

And Rem, finally, blissfully, collapsed into silence.

Chapter Text

Rem's eyes slowly opened, fluttering against the soft moon light that filtered through the broken windows of the loot house. Her vision was a watery blur, like the world was made of tears not yet cried. For a moment, she didn't know where she was. Her mind was fuzzy, tangled, deliciously disoriented, it floated somewhere between dream and memory. Something had happened. Something divine. Something holy.

And then…

The voice.

Gentle. Graceful. Radiant.

"Rem…"

Her name, spoken like a sacred chant.

The haze in Rem's eyes cleared just enough to reveal a shape, her liege. Her sun. Her beloved.

Emilia-sama.

Ah. Ahhhh. Her brain trembled.

Rem's gaze locked onto Emilia as if the sight of her was the only thing keeping her body tethered to this fragile world. And perhaps it was. After all, what was breath without devotion? What was blood without LOVE?

Emilia was kneeling beside her, cradling Rem's hand in her own, fingers cool and smooth and trembling slightly. Around her danced a small congregation of water spirits, flickering with gentle blue light. They circled Emilia like stars around the moon, eager, desperate even, to serve her. As they should. Of course they would. It was only natural. All beings, creatures, people, spirits, even the very bones of the earth, should aspire to be useful to Emilia-sama. Anything less was heresy.

Rem's lips curled. A soft smile. Just a touch of a grin. Not too much, her mouth was still bare. Ah yes. That was dangerous.

She forced herself to remain still, even as her shoulder blades pulsed with a sharp, bruising pain. The pain was perfect. A holy ache, a sacred reminder of her diligence. A kiss from battle. A reward for her devotion.

"Rem, no, wait," Emilia said quickly, as Rem began to sit up. Her liege's voice was laced with concern, each syllable a balm to the deepest parts of her soul. "Don't move too fast. You're not fully healed yet."

Ahhhhhh.

Rem wanted to weep.

Such mercy. Such softness. Such LOVE.

She imagined for one brief and sinful moment what Emilia's blood might taste like. Divine, surely. Sweet like spring water. Thick like melted silver. Not that she would ever, no. No, bad Rem. No blasphemous thoughts. One must never drink from the chalice of the divine unless INVITED.

"I-It is fine, my liege," Rem said, her voice restrained, polite, obedient. She tucked the madness behind her words like a girl folding lace. "A true servant should not be a burden. I am deeply honored to be graced by your healing hand. Truly… I am blessed."

She smiled. A small, disarming smile. Her muzzle was still off. She had to be careful. Too much joy would be… inappropriate.

Still… it was difficult. The grin kept wanting to stretch wider and wider, her cheeks tingling with restraint. A tongue too eager to flick across her teeth.

She needed her muzzle back.

Where was it?

There. On the floor, glinting in the debris like a lost relic. Her holy veil. Her seal. Her shield against herself.

With a quiet, pain-laced groan, she pushed herself to her feet. Her muscles screamed. Her joints crackled. Her body still burned from the fight, but ohhh, it was a lovely burn. A deserved burn. A just punishment and reward in one.

"Rem, wait! I could've gotten it for you," Emilia pleaded. "You need to rest."

Rem nearly collapsed from joy.

S-Such kindness. Her liege, lowering herself to assist a servant? No. No, no, no. That would be wrong. Improper. BLASPHEMY.

"Emilia-sama, please." Rem bent down, slowly, reverently, and picked up her muzzle. "You needn't worry for me. This Rem shall be the one to help YOU, not the other way around."

She brought the muzzle to her face and began refastening it, click by click, strap by strap, each metallic snap sending a shiver down her spine. When the final clasp tightened and bit into her skin, she sighed in contentment. Yes. That was right. All was good.

Her liege looked at her strangely.

Not with judgment, no. There was no cruelty in those amethyst eyes. Only… something else. Sadness? Worry? Emilia's lips parted, as if she wanted to say something, ask something, but stopped herself.

Ah, restraint. Another virtue of the divine.

Rem bowed her head, touched by her mistress's silent diligence.

She glanced around.

Julius lay nearby, half-conscious, his body propped against the far wall. His uniform -once spotless- was shredded, soaked in sweat and blood. A true knight. His wounds were grievous. He had risked his life for Emilia-sama. He had earned his place.

Rem felt no jealousy. None at all.

...Well. A flicker of envy, maybe. But it was soothed by pride. Rem had declared him worthy of LOVE, and she stood by that declaration. She would not revoke it. Perhaps she would send one of the lesser preachers to Julius later. A small sermon. A gentle prod toward salvation. He could be converted. He could be remade.

Rem looked down at her hands. Still stained with blood. Her own? Elsa's? She wasn't sure. It didn't matter. All pain offered to her in the name of her liege was beautiful. All blood spilled in service of LOVE was holy.

The air was quiet now. Soft. Reverent.

For now, all was still.

Old Man Rom was already up and walking.

His wounds, once torn and raw, were now closed, patched with water magic. He limped slightly, just slightly, but it was clear the old thief's vitality was as stubborn as his morals. He too had stood before danger for the sake of her liege, inserting his ragged body between blade and radiance. For that, yes… Rem granted him a sliver of sanctity. A droplet of clemency.

But only a droplet.

Because even now, even bandaged and breathing, Rom still bore the stain of his past. He had once, whether by hand or by complicity, helped orchestrate the theft of Emilia-Sama's insignia. That alone made him unworthy. Unworthy of peace. Unworthy of grace.

And even if he hadn't? Even if it was all some misunderstanding, some layered plot of chance and misfortune?

It didn't matter.

He was a lowlife.

A vagrant. A gutter-dweller. A man who scraped by in the filth of Lugunica's back alleys. Nobody would miss him. Nobody important.

Good.

It would be such a shame for someone else to rob her of the pleasure of killing him herself.

Rem's thoughts shifted as her gaze found her Subaru-Sama.

He was speaking animatedly with the thief girl. His hands moved wildly through the air, gesturing this way and that like windmill blades, his lips stretched into a grin so wide, so free, it made Rem's heart ache. Not with jealousy, no, she was past that.

No, the ache was joy.

She had never seen him smile like that before.

It wasn't a forced, cornered smile one might give under pressure. It wasn't a trembling smile one offered after a fight, or a heavy one wore in the dark. This was real. Unrestrained.

Like something heavy had been cut from his soul.

Like a prison door had opened somewhere deep inside him.

Rem nearly squealed, but stopped herself. Her muzzle, once again secure, helped. Her legs wobbled, but she walked forward anyway, toward HER beloved, toward her Subaru.

"Subaru-sama," she called gently, her voice muffled and warm behind steel and leather, "oh, the most beloved… are you alright?"

He turned.

There was a flicker, just a flicker, of frown on his face, something subtle twisting the lines of his mouth and brow. But it vanished quickly. It was replaced by concern, relief, and that brightness again. That radiant joy.

"Rem! Are you okay? What happened?" he rushed toward her, arms half-raised like he wanted to shake her and hug her all at once. "You just collapsed out of nowhere!"

What a wondrous thing. To be worried over. To be seen. To be held in the heart of the prophet of LOVE himself.

Rem's knees almost gave out.

"I am fine, Subaru-sama," she answered, straightening her back with dignity, despite the fire eating away at her joints. "Merely… exhausted."

'Exhausted' was a lie. Her bones felt ground to powder. Her back ached with the delicious scorch of strained ligaments. Her blood still whispered of battle. But she would not complain. It was not her place to burden him. She would carry pain so he would not have to.

"Rem…" Subaru's voice lowered, and something in his throat caught. "You have no idea what you've saved me from. I'm so, so glad it's finally over."

Rem paused.

She didn't know what to do with that voice. That sound. That honesty.

So, she did what made sense.

She knelt.

"If there is anything this Rem can do to relieve you of more pain," she said, lowering her head like a penitent knight before the throne, "just tell me and I will serve you with my power… or my bo-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it!" Subaru cut her off, hands flailing in wild panic. "You do not need to finish that sentence!"

How brilliant. How wise. To know what she would offer even before she said it. To understand without needing to hear. That was the mark of a true messiah.

He already knew she was a tool. A servant. A creature to be used in service of something greater.

Ah, truly, Sasuga Subaru-Sama.

"Rem?" he asked suddenly, his voice casual but gentle.

"Yes, oh most beloved?" she answered instantly, not missing a beat, chest puffed with pride beneath her tattered dress.

"Shut up, Rem." he said, smiling. Something teasing and fond in his voice. He continued with joy in his voice "I told you not to call me that" 

Rem stilled. A divine command. She nodded joyfully. She would not speak unless invited. As it should be.

"Could you be a dear," Subaru continued, as if nothing at all had passed between them, "and relieve Felt and Rom of the insignia? Just… take it off their hands, yeah? They won't mind, so don't worry."

Ahh.

Take off their hands.

Relieve them.

Yes, of course. He meant their lives.

That must be it. Why else use such precise and merciful phrasing? "Take it off their hands." How poetic. How perfectly subtle. He wanted it done quickly. A gift from him to them. Peace.

Of course they wouldn't mind. They wouldn't be alive to mind.

Sasuga Subaru-Sama.

She bowed her head again.

"At once," she whispered, and turned.

Towards the old thief. Towards the girl.

Her steps were soft. Measured. Holy. Maniac grin under her muzzle.

After all, it was a glorious day to be alive. And an even better day to deliver due judgment.

.

.

.

.

"-How could you get that from what I said? Is there any braincell in that muscle-brained nun skull of yours?!"

The sharpness of the shout cracked the air like a whip. Julius woke to it, blinking, aching, confused. His eyes fluttered open to a shifting haze of color and motion. His body groaned as consciousness returned with slow, reluctant weight. The familiar drain of overused mana settled over his limbs like wet fabric, heavy, uncomfortable. He knew this sensation well. He had pushed himself again. Too far. Again.

He tried to sit up, and found the air crowded with light.

All six of his contracted spirits floated protectively around him in tight orbit. like anxious siblings keeping vigil at his bedside. They flitted, shimmered, and pulsed gently in his periphery. His ears caught the rushing whisper of water spirits, dozens of them, drifting around and away from him in gleaming trails of azure. Their work was done, he realized. His injuries -grievous and near-fatal, if he recalled correctly- had already been mended.

The water spirits were flowing elsewhere now, toward the sound of the shouting.

"But Subaru-sama," came Rem's voice, muffled and persistent, filled with troubling innocence, "what else could you have meant by that? You must have wanted them to be punished for their transgression…"

The water spirit Kua, his most kindhearted bud, his smallest companion, lingered stubbornly at his side. Unlike the other water spirits, Kua refused to stop the healing. The tiny water spirit was still fussing over a barely visible scrape on Julius's wrist, humming in determined concentration.

Julius smiled, fondness blooming in his tired chest.

"Really now, Kua," he murmured, gently lowering his hand toward the spirit. "It's fine. I'm fine. You can stop now."

But Kua wouldn't listen. The little one gave a sulky buzz and spun once in protest, continuing to press soft droplets of healing mana into his already-mended skin.

"I mean it," Julius said again, chuckling under his breath. "It doesn't hurt anymore, my friend."

He scooped the spirit into his palm, raising it up to his face with care. Kua buzzed with an oddly emotional noise and nestled itself into the curve of Julius's neck, where it began to softly vibrate with what he could only interpret as relief. The sensation made him laugh. A real, full sound, echoing lightly in his chest.

"HOW ABOUT LITERALLY WHAT I SAID?!" Subaru's voice cracked through the air again, sharp and desperate. "Why would you try to improve every order?! I can't believe I let myself be thankful to you for a second. God, I must've been mad with relief!"

The words carried down the hallway with such raw exasperation that Julius couldn't help but blink in confusion. He turned his head slowly toward the source.

On the far side of the loot house, past overturned crates and torn canvas, Felt sat slouched with a mixture of horror and mortification carved across her face. Her eyes were wide, her mouth set into a line that betrayed both shock and terror. Beside her, Lady Emilia was kneeling with calm concentration, using spirits as she tended to a gash along Felt's cheek. The gash looked fresh and deep.

Just a little to the right, Rem was kneeling beside Rom, who lay flat and unnaturally still on the ground. Rem was performing rudimentary healing magic, fingers glowing faintly, mouth moving in rhythmic mutters. Her expression was that of a child caught mid-misdeed. head lowered, lower lip puffed into a pout, hands fidgeting like she knew she had done something wrong but couldn't quite understand why.

Subaru stood over her, red in the face, trembling with fury. his hands flailing in a gesture of irritation.

What in the Divine Dragon's name happened here?

Julius furrowed his brows. His memory was still foggy -Elsa, the attack, the fight, the panic- but surely not this. Surely all of this chaos hadn't come from the Bowel Hunter alone. His last clear thought was of the Ruin his spell left behind, and then BLACK

He shook his head and slowly got to his feet, brushing off remnants of dust and ice. His balance was still off, and every muscle tensed at once to keep him upright. His spirits, sensing his effort, drifted back in tighter formation, hovering with visible concern.

With deliberate slowness, he made his way toward Subaru.

"Subaru," he called softly, his voice hoarse but steady, "are you alright? What happened after I passed out?"

Subaru turned, startled. His face was worn with fatigue and tinted with guilt. eyes low, shoulders hunched. He scratched the back of his neck with his right hand, avoiding direct eye contact.

"Ah… well… after you passed out, Elsa just… kind of… ran away," he said, voice trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Julius paused mid-step. He blinked again.

"Ran away?" he repeated. "Just like that?"

It made no tactical sense. Elsa was a predator. cold, cruel, relentless. She would never simply abandon a kill. Especially when the odds were shifting in her favor.

"Yeah, well… I think she got creeped out by Rem or something," Subaru answered, laughing nervously as he gestured vaguely in Rem's direction. There was something else in his eyes. Not quite fear. Not quite exasperation either.

A kind of lingering unease.

Julius's gaze followed his, settling once more on Rom, on the blood still smeared around his head, on Felt's cheek, on the ice. the frost, the angry water spirits, the way Emilia kept glancing between everyone with veiled worry.

And then Julius asked the question he wasn't sure he wanted answered.

"Then… what happened here?"

Subaru didn't speak right away. He sighed first -deeply- as though trying to push the words out with his breath.

"Well, you see… SOMEONE-" he jerked his head toward Rem, glaring "-misinterpreted what I said and caused a lot of damage. Hopefully me and Emilia were able to rein her in before anyone got killed."

His tone was biting, but underneath it there was something wounded. Something pained.

"But that's not a high bar," he added. "I really wish she wouldn't 'innovate' what I ask her."

Julius stood still for a beat too long.

His eyes went from Subaru, to Rem, to the dazed faces of the others, and back again.

"I… see," he said slowly.

He didn't.

In truth, he had no idea what was going on.

But he decided not to question it. Not yet.

He would ask later.

Once his head stopped spinning. Once the water spirits stopped fussing.

Once this strange dreamworld made sense again.

Instead, he turned his gaze back to Lady Emilia and Felt, who were still quietly exchanging words over the glint of the stolen insignia.

"Lady Emilia, are you alright?" Julius asked softly as he stepped closer. His voice, though steady, still carried the brittle edge of recent pain.

Emilia turned her head from Felt, offering him a small, weary smile.

"I'm fine, Julius," she replied, the tension still clinging to her shoulders. "Thank you for asking." She sighed gently, and her gaze returned to Felt with a shadow of sorrow. "Can't say the same about her, though."

Julius followed her eyes and finally looked, truly looked, at the wound running down Felt's face.

It was ghastly.

The gash stretched from just below her temple, just behind her left eye all the way to her chin, jagged and deep. Torn flesh hung like split cloth, and beneath it, gods, he could see her teeth. Not from an open mouth, but through the cheek, exposed as though someone had carved her face to resemble a half-cleaned skull. It was raw, brutal, and would leave a scar that no mirror could ever forgive.

Julius inhaled slowly through his nose, heart clenched in reluctant pity. He thought of Felix, pristine in skill, unequaled in water magic. Yes, Felix could have removed even the memory of that wound. Not even a line would remain.

But Felt?

A thief. A gutter-born pickpocket with dirt on her knuckles and fire in her eyes.

She could never afford the healing of a master like Ferris. Not in coin, and certainly not in dignity. The cost of his hands went far beyond gold; it demanded status, favor, and deference to a hierarchy.

Even if Julius himself interceded, if he went to Felix with all the grace and humility his knighthood could muster, if he pleaded not as a knight of the Royal Guard but as a man moved by conscience, Felix would still likely scoff.

He'd quirk a brow, make a clever quip, and turn his gaze elsewhere, dismissing the request with that same cruel charm he wore like a second skin. Not out of malice, but out of principle. Or so he would claim.

That, too, was part of Lugunican nobility. The gilded rot beneath the marble veneer. Grace granted not by need, but by favor. Selective. Performative. A mercy that demanded applause. Even healing, that most sacred of arts, was not given freely, but dispensed like a gift at court. measured by worth, weighed against station.

Felix would argue, of course. He would say that to offer aid unasked would offend his lady's pride. That to stoop for one so uncouth, so unpolished, would reflect poorly not only on himself but on Crusch-sama as well.

That charity, unsolicited, is humiliation in disguise. But Julius -gods forgive him- could never quite bring himself to believe in such pride.

What use was a pride that stood apart from the people? That watched suffering and chose decorum over decency? What use was pride that did not lift, but weighed down?

Julius had spent a lifetime learning the etiquette of nobles, the sharp edge of their smiles and the subtle cruelty of their graces. But standing in the shadow of a girl who was so sounded, so traumatized, he wondered, quietly and bitterly, if all that polish had only dulled his soul.

It was regrettable.

But Julius could not change the world with sentiment alone.

Still… he would try. Kua floated beside him, still brimming with compassion. He would at least attempt to ease the pain, to cool the nerves, to lessen what would otherwise be a scar wrought in spite and ice. He would have Kua tend to her as best as the soul's capabilities could do.

They had stolen. Yes.

But they didn't deserve to suffer for it, not anymore.

"...She didn't even hesitate," Felt said suddenly, her voice flat and hollow like something cracked in two. She turned her head to Julius, though her eyes refused to meet his.

"Didn't even let me speak," she murmured. "She was gonna kill me. After all of this… after everything today. After we survived that monster, the Bowel Hunter. I was still going to die. Not by an assassin. By her."

She didn't say Rem's name, but she didn't have to. The tremble in her voice made it clear.

"I was gonna give it back," she whispered.

Her voice was breaking now, splintering at the edges. Her throat trembled with the weight of what she was holding back. She gave a small, choked sob and shakily extended her hand toward Julius.

"Here… it's the insignia. Just… take it. I don't want it. I don't want anything to do with it."

Her fingers uncurled, and there it was.

A glowing light. Soft. Radiant. Alive.

A glowing insignia.

In Felt's hand.

For a moment Julius did not breathe. He couldn't.

It glowed with unmistakable brilliance, the enchantment woven into it responding only to bloodlines, to fate, to the invisible web of royal selection. And now that light was in the palm of a street urchin. A girl with scars under her nails and defiance in every motion.

Julius felt his stomach twist. The air around him thickened. Not from magic, but from revelation.

Not melancholy. Not pity.

Dread.

He took a step back, not physically, but within his soul.

No… no, not again.

His mind raced. Not because he mourned the girl's trauma, though yes, he did. He did feel for her, the pain and confusion and raw fear in her voice. But something else was thundering through his veins, screaming like an alarm bell.

That glow.

The symbol.

The truth it meant.

A Royal Candidate.

Felt.

Felt.

Julius could feel his breath leave him in a slow, stunned exhale.

It was as though fate had dragged him to the same crossroads once more. One he had failed to navigate correctly once before, one where he'd chosen poorly, blinded by pride, by calculation, by what he thought was duty.

Now that same fate was staring him down again.

Like a great eye in the sky.

Watching.

Waiting.

Testing.

.

.

.

.

Ram exited the library.

Well, got thrown the Fuck out was more accurate.

Not that it was routine. No, Beatrice usually tolerated her. In fact, Ram was one of the few people in this gods-forsaken hellhole the little antique had any real patience for. But even a four-hundred-year-old decrepit little geezer-in-a-child's-body had her limits. and apparently, Ram had Fired magic Artillery shell straight past them today.

She rubbed her side, where the force of Beatrice's foot, yes, foot, had connected with flesh and bone. The door was still rattling behind her.

She landed hard, joints screaming, muscles pulling at old wounds like a goddamn symphony of pain. Her body never let her forget the damage. Not that Beatrice gave two shits. No, every morning the pint-sized hermit had to toss her out like she was exorcising a demon, well... maybe there was point there, hah.

"'Don't test me, I suppose,'" Ram muttered under her breath in a mocking little lilt. "Well, Fuck you too, you porcelain wind-up doll."

Beatrice could stew in her teacup and moldy books for all Ram cared. Her ribs felt like they'd been kissed by a Fucking sledgehammer wrapped in smugness.

She groaned and straightened her back, only for her eyes to land on the one thing she did not want to see this early in the day.

Rem.

The twin. The echo. The parasitic mockery of everything Ram used to be and could never be again.

The festering, smiling rot that had somehow wormed its way back into her life like mold in bread you were too tired to throw out.

Rem.

Fucking Rem.

The witch-worshipping, Envy-slurping, starry-eyed little psychopath. Dressed like a maid-nun, moved like a ghost, talked like a Fucking disciple of LOVE. The Fuck was 'LOVE' anyway?

Her sister stood there like some stupid painting. All posture, all poise, all polished cultist control.

The Envy slut herself.

Of Fucking course she'd be here. Just lingering like a bad fart that refuses to dissipate. If Ram was the wreckage left behind by reality, then Rem was the pink-cheeked, doe-eyed hallucination it replaced her with.

The true believer.

Ram's lip curled. As if one shade of cultist madness wasn't enough, Rem had to be a worshipper of the worst one. Not that the others were much better. Pick your poison: whore of Greed or bitch of Envy

Roswaal? Greed cultist.

Beatrice? Greed cultist apprentice.

Rem? Envy Cultist with a capital C.

So, what was the difference? Who cared which witch they prayed to? The entire mansion was one big Fucking shrine to moral decay. Ram was just the janitor cleaning the blood off the altar and wondering how she hadn't stabbed herself in the temple yet.

Witches are witches. Cultists are cultists. And all of them deserve to be BURNED. THE. FUCK. ALIVE.

She made a noise halfway between a sigh and a groan. Her gaze, cold as frostbite, settled on Rem.

"...Sister," Ram said, each syllable dipped in venom and just enough court etiquette to not be technically rude. Barely, a mockery of a court greeting, on purpose, barely more than a shrug and a tilt of the chin. She gave the most lackluster greeting she could muster, an intentional insult. Petty? Maybe. Satisfying? Immeasurably.

Rem, that stuck-up pious bitch, responded with a perfect bow.

Pristine posture. Crystal-clear enunciation. Not a single flicker of acknowledgment that Ram had slighted her. Didn't even acknowledge the contempt.

The Fucking nerve.

That deadpan face, that tight-lipped formality, like she was above reacting. like she was above Ram.

As if feigning politeness made her any less of a brainwashed, starry-eyed, gospel-sucking Fuckdoll for a dead goddess.

Does she think I give a Fuck about her stiff-ass etiquette?

No, no, worse.

She thinks I do.

That she'd be bothered. That she'd stew. That she'd let it gnaw at her like she was still twelve and cared about her approval.

Did she think Ram cared? That Ram would be jealous? That this empty act of refined propriety would somehow win the war of silent judgment?

Hah.

Ha ha.

FUCKING HAH.

.

.

.

OF COURSE SHE FUCKING CARED.

FUCK YOU, REM. FUCK. YOU.

FUCKING KILL YOURSELF

Ram's blood boiled. Her hands clenched. Her stomach turned over like a rotting corpse in a river. She stared holes into Rem's back as she walked away, not a word spoken.

Ram wasn't sure how long she stood there, burning holes in the air with her rage. Time became irrelevant. Just her, the hall, and the growing storm behind her clenched teeth.

At some point, Rem vanished like the ghost she was. slipped off without a word, probably to go dote on that poor, clueless half-elf with the sparkles in her eyes and not a single Fucking idea of what kind of hellmouth she'd stumbled into. She truly pitied Emilia.

The silence was louder than any insult.

Ram exhaled long and slow, the kind of breath that felt like it'd been held in since birth.

"Can't Fucking help it," she muttered.

No point yelling at shadows. Onward.

She stomped off toward Roswaal's office. Because someone had to keep that technicolor freak from choking on his own delusions. The clown in eyeliner. The puppet still trying to read his own strings as if they weren't choking him.

Say what you would about Roswaal being a puppet of the Greedy Bitch. but unlike Rem, he could maybe still be saved. Buried under seven layers of face paint and unreadable expressions, there was just barely a person in there. Maybe.

Beatrice too. They were cult-drunk, but not beyond reach. Not like Rem. Not like the whore-worshipper who kept smiling like LOVE would save her from the fire. whatever 'LOVE' was.

She'd even made progress with Roswaal. She was damn proud of it, too.

Bit by bit, she was forcing him to think for himself. To question that cursed tome. To even consider -gasp- doing things that weren't explicitly written down in its crusty pages. Ram wouldn't be shocked if the damn book told him when to piss and what hand to use to jerk himself off.

Hell, at this point she wouldn't be surprised if it scheduled his breaths. Inhale on page 394. Exhale on 395. Probably annotated in the margins.

Fucking tragic, honestly.

But she wasn't done. Not yet. If this house was going to be a hive of witch-worshipping insanity, she'd at least try to carve out a few souls that hadn't been devoured whole. She had a self-appointed mission, A responsibility towards the man that gave her everything after she lost everything.

But first, she had to get through another conversation without breaking a chair over his head.

One step at a time.

As for the rest?

Let them burn.

Preferably soon.

She reached the office door and sucked in a sharp breath.

Not to steady herself, Fuck no. Just prepping her lungs for what was about to be another round of yelling. A goddamn pleasurable daily ritual at this point.

Then she knocked. Not out of politeness. Just enough times, and in just the right rhythm, to be irritating.

She'd perfected the technique.

"Yeeees, whoooooo~ is it?" came the sing-song reply from within.

Ram rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't fly out of her skull. Fucking hell. That stretched, grating, circus-dick voice again. Did he practice that in the mirror?

Of course. The Fucking stretched vowels. Every damn morning. Why did he always talk like someone dropped him on his head as a child and then taught him how to recite opera with a stutter?

"It's me, Ram," she said flatly, and entered without waiting. As usual.

Roswaal was behind his desk, as prim as ever. Makeup on, outfit pressed, pen already moving across parchment. The freak actually got up early. Most lords would still be face-down in a feather mattress and three mistresses.

Diligent. Ugh. Just thinking that word made her want to gag. Rem would probably wet herself seeing Roswaal already hard at work. though no, scratch that. That sanctimonious bitch didn't give a single bleeding Fuck about anyone else unless they were shoving the Gospel up her ass and whispering 'LOVE' in her ear.

"I would permiiiiit~ you to step insiiiiide~," Roswaal crooned, not even glancing up, "but it seeeeeems you won't neeeeeed~ it."

She hated how smug he always sounded.

"How can I help you, dear Ram?"

Ram shut the door behind her with a loud click. then she threw herself into a chair with a lazy sprawl, arms over the sides like she owned the place. well... she will eventually.

"I was thrown out of Betty's library a little earlier than I liked today," she said, cracking her neck and walking over with a smirk. "Still itching for someone to dump my daily dose of disdain on. Lucky you."

Roswaal didn't look up. "Ram, please," he said flatly, dropping the carnival voice like a coat. "Can we skip the song and dance? It's early. I'm not even properly conscious. barely awake."

Ram blinked.

No rhyme. No annoying pitch shift. Just a man.

Hah. Gotcha.

Her smirk curled tighter.

Getting to him. Good. Maybe she'd dig in a little harder today.

"Oh, but I'd be a terrible daughter if I didn't do my part." She leaned in slightly, eyes sharp with cruel delight. "What kind of child would Ram Mathers be if she didn't pester you into seeing the light of reason every single morning?"

Roswaal finally looked up from his papers, slow and deliberate, small smile in the corner of his mouth.

"I believe you'd say," he began, folding his hands, "a rather ungrateful and vicious one."

"Oh, don't sell me short," Ram said sweetly, taking a seat without asking. "I've barely started being a pain in your ass today."

Roswaal sighed, deep and long. He pinched the bridge of his nose like a man already considering jumping out the window.

"Good morning, Ram," he muttered.

"Fuckin' glorious one, isn't it? Dad?" she replied, and kicked her feet up onto his desk.

Chapter Text

It was late at night, the roads were empty and the only company was the creaking of wood and the uneven crunch of wheels against dirt.

Subaru sat inside the carriage with Emilia and Rem, his head leaning against the side as he watched the faint lights of the capital shrink further and further behind them. Slowly, steadily, they disappeared into the distance until there was nothing left but dark shapes and the vague shimmer of stars above.

Watching the city disappear felt strangely satisfying. He almost wanted to wave goodbye. After everything that city had put him through, the idea of leaving it behind carried the same catharsis as slamming the door on an annoying neighbor.

The carriage itself however, wasn’t exactly a wonder of craftsmanship.

Every bump in the road sent him shifting uncomfortably on the wooden bench, and each time the wheels hit a stone, his back reminded him that medieval transportation had nothing in common with the smooth rides back home.

The thin cushions on the benches might as well not have been there, and the wooden frame groaned like it was one strong bump away from collapsing.

Subaru grimaced. Yeah, his bad for expecting anything else.

He wasn’t sure what kind of fantasy novel nonsense he’d thought he was getting, but reality had been more than happy to slap him in the face with the truth.

Still, there was a kind of peace to it. A rough, noisy peace, but peace nonetheless.

The night outside was quiet, and for once no one was popping up to give him a messy end.

Inside, Rem was miraculously not speaking. That alone felt like a divine blessing. Emilia, on the other hand, wore a nervous expression, silver hair reflecting the lantern-light but her eyes darting occasionally toward Subaru, Rem and then back down to her lap.

He could tell what it was about without her saying a word, the whole mess earlier in the loot house was still sitting heavy on her. What happened there had unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

Subaru, though? Subaru was… happy. Actually, genuinely happy.

After more than thirty-five resets, more blood and pain than any teenager had a right to endure, he was finally free of it. He’d made it past the checkpoint of death.

No forced rewinds, no waking up to the same cursed day again. For once, he was alive at night and able to see the stars. That counted for something.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Subaru was free. Free to sit in this uncomfortable carriage. Free to see the world move forward without him being dragged back. Free to let himself actually believe in the possibility of tomorrow.

Everything felt fine now.

Fine in the kind of way that whispered promises of happiness. Fine in the way that dangled the carrot of a brighter future. Fine in the way that made the word "hope" feel like a reality.

It was almost too good to be true.

Which, of course, meant it probably was.

Subaru narrowed his eyes at the empty road ahead as if daring it to prove him right. He didn’t trust this peace for a second. Not after everything.

If he’d learned one thing in this godforsaken world, it was that the universe enjoyed kicking him when he dared to smile. If things were calm now, it just meant the storm hadn’t finished loading yet

“Figures,” Subaru muttered under his breath, letting out a long sigh.

He was just waiting for the trap to shut, for the hammer to come down, for the inevitable “gotcha” moment.

And yet, knowing all that… he still felt a flicker of hope.

His thoughts wandered back to earlier in the evening, before they climbed into the carriage. The loot house, or what was left of it, anyway, wasn’t exactly a place he wanted to remember, but his brain didn’t give him the option to forget.

Julius had stepped up, offering to take Felt and Rom with him to provide… care, or something along those lines.

Subaru wasn’t sure what Julius could do that Emilia or Rem couldn’t. Maybe knightly “moral support” counted as treatment in Lugnica. Still, Subaru hadn’t argued.

For all his lovely experience with dying in this world, he actually knew jack squat about its inner workings. He figured Julius probably knew better. And honestly, Julius had proven to be dependable when it mattered.

Subaru wasn’t about to complain.

The whole thing had been awkward, though. Emilia had somehow managed to drag an apology out of Rem, which was about as convincing as a kid being forced to say “sorry” after punching someone in the face.

Rom had been too pissed to acknowledge it, crossing his arms with a glare that could melt steel. Felt, though… Felt had been another story entirely.

The moment Rem stepped toward her, the kid froze like a rabbit about to get eaten. Subaru could still see it, the way her small frame shook, the way her teeth actually clicked together from sheer terror.

When Rem spoke, her halfhearted apology only made things worse. Felt’s lips trembled, her breathing went shallow, Felt didn’t even respond. She just broke down, tears streaming, collapsing into full-on sobs.

Emilia had looked heartbroken over it, her normally gentle expression pinched into something resembling disappointment. Angry, even.

Well, as angry as someone like Emilia could ever look, which honestly wasn’t much, Subaru thought it was adorable how hard she tried to look stern when she really couldn’t. She just didn’t have it in her face.

Subaru couldn’t really blame her, though. He felt the same way.

He was pissed at Rem too. Pissed that she had gone that far. Pissed that she’d nearly torn apart a girl who hadn’t even done anything beyond stealing a shiny trinket.

Pissed that Rem had treated it all like it was justified. To Subaru, she was nothing short of a rabid dog in the shape of a maid. A maid with perfect hair and flawless posture, sure, but still a goddamn rabid dog.

The scene had ended with Julius scooping Felt into his arms like a damsel in distress. Subaru had to admit, the knight made the whole thing look very natural, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Maybe he had.

Julius carried her like a princess without a shred of hesitation. Felt, still crying, buried her face in his chest, clutching at him like a lifeline. while Rom trudged alongside them with heavy steps.

Julius gave Emilia and Subaru a polite farewell, even in the middle of carrying a trembling, crying girl, he managed to make it look dignified.

.

After Julius was gone, Emilia had turned towards Subaru. The entire day for her had been one long circus of blood, screaming, running, and chaos, and somewhere in the middle of all that, neither of them had even managed to properly introduce themselves.

A small detail, really, but one that apparently mattered a lot to Emilia.

Subaru, however, did not find much joy in repeating himself like a broken record.

He had already gone through the whole “hi, I’m Natsuki Subaru” routine tens of times before, and there was only so many times a man could redo his first impression before wanting to punch the wall.

Still, he swallowed his irritation and gave his name once more. He prayed that this would be the last time he ever had to.

Upon hearing from Rem that Subaru had been the one to employ Julius’s help, warn him about the Bowel Hunter, and then drag Rem over to her, Emilia had apparently decided Subaru was coming with her.

From the way Emilia looked at him, it seemed she had bought into the whole “Subaru saved the day with Julius” narrative. Emilia, with her innocent eyes and kind words, told him she wanted him to come with her. Insisted on it, actually.

Subaru had not exactly been thrilled with the idea. Spending extra time in close quarters with Rem, of all people, sounded like willingly hugging a ticking time bomb and hoping it didn’t go off.

The thought of refusing crossed his mind, but then he looked at Emilia.

Sweet, gentle Emilia. The same Emilia who looked genuinely uncomfortable earlier at the loot house, who probably hadn’t even fully processed the terror of it all yet.

And then Subaru looked at Rem. The lunatic maid who thought every word out of his mouth was divine scripture and who probably would have murdered half the city if he asked nicely enough.

Letting Emilia be at her mercy would basically undo everything he had suffered for.

Besides, Subaru didn’t have a place to live. It was night, the air was sharp with cold, and he didn’t particularly fancy freezing to death in some alley while muttering curses about his bad luck.

Emilia’s offer was both an inconvenience and a lifeline.

So after a bit of back-and-forth with Emilia, and a longer, far less convincing back-and-forth with himself, Subaru gave in.

He accepted her offer. He’d go with them. Wherever Emilia lived, whatever kind of life she had, it had to be better than playing “guess the cause of death” in the capital.

And that’s how he ended up here: sitting in a rattling, bone-jarring carriage with Emilia and Rem, heading toward God-knows-where.

Emilia clearly hadn’t shaken off what happened earlier at the loot house, and who could blame her? Subaru could still see Felt’s terrified face and the gash on her cheek if he closed his eyes.

But what weighed heavier on his mind wasn’t Emilia, it was Rem.

She knelt to him, called him “beloved” like it was his legal name, and treated him like he was a holy prophet sent straight from on heaven.

Subaru had no clue why. He didn’t even know what the Witch’s Cult actually was, other than the fact that it was clearly the kind of group you didn’t want to bump into in a dark alley.

Or in broad daylight.

Or ever.

Why him? What did he have to do with any of this? He wasn’t anyone special. Not in this world, not in his old one.

Yet here she was, an "Ecclesiarchess" of all things, whatever that meant, acting like he was the second coming of… whatever lunatic they worshipped.

And honestly, the more he thought about it, the more his head hurt.

He gave Rem a long look, her posture perfectly straight, her blue hair falling neatly as though she had been staged for some religious painting. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Hey, Rem?” Subaru said, his tone casual and lazy, not really caring about the question he was about to ask.

Rem instantly snapped to attention, as if he had just spoken the secret word to activate her. Her eyes locked on him like a hawk. “Yes, oh most beloved? Is there anything, anything at all, you wish this Rem to do for you?”

Her voice was syrupy with obedience. The kind of obedience that made Subaru’s skin crawl.

“Yeah, uh… about that.” Subaru rubbed the back of his neck. “Tell me, what exactly does it mean when you call yourself an ‘Ecclesiarchess’? What’s the deal?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he noticed the change.

Rem’s eyes widened in shock. Not just surprised, shocked

Like he had just pulled her diary out of thin air and started reading it aloud. Her lips parted but no sound came out for a moment, as if her mind was racing to catch up.

And then Subaru realized.

She hadn’t said it in this loop. She had blurted that little gem of a title in one of the other thirty-five nightmares. To Rem’s eyes, Subaru had just pulled knowledge out of thin air, knowledge he shouldn’t have had.

Oh. Crap.

“Oh, most beloved Subaru-sama…” Rem’s voice wavered, filled with nervous desperation. “Please, do not ask Rem such questions right now. I promise you, truly I promise, I will explain everything to you later. But not now. Please, I beg of you, be patient.”

She said it fast, like someone trying to stuff a dangerous secret back into a locked box before it exploded.

Subaru leaned back with a sigh. “Well, that's not suspicious at all,” he muttered, silently enough not to be heard. Emilia glanced between them nervously but didn’t interject.

“Fine,” Subaru said at last, his voice reluctant, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t believe her. Not even close. But he decided not to push it. Not yet. He’d wait.

One way or another, he was going to get his answers.

A heavy silence filled the atmosphere of the carriage after that, one that was very uncomfortable.

Emilia broke the silence first. Her voice carried the soft warmth Subaru had come to expect from her, but there was a sharp edge of worry layered underneath it.

“Subaru, is everything really fine? I don’t exactly know what happened before I met you, but… did Rem do something she shouldn’t have done?” Her violet eyes turned toward him, concern practically dripping from them. “She’s my handmaid, so if she did anything bad, just tell me. I’ll make sure she won’t do it again.”

If that had come out of anyone else’s mouth, Subaru would have assumed it was code for something brutal.

A beating, a whipping, maybe even worse.

But Emilia wasn’t like that.

Coming from her, “making sure” probably meant something along the lines of a stern but polite lecture, followed by tea and cookies to cheer the offender up.

Subaru couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Nah, everything’s fine, Sa…Emilia-san.” He caught himself from using the wrong name at the last second.

“It’s just… something that happened before you came into the picture. Nothing for you to lose sleep over. I just have to ask Rem a couple of questions later.” He made sure his voice was casual, trying to sound as unconcerned as possible.

Of course, Emilia’s face told him she wasn’t buying it for a second. He might as well have waved a red flag in front of her.

She gave him a long look before slowly shifting her gaze toward Rem. eyes narrowing in that way she probably thought made him look strict.

“Rem,” she began, her voice calm but carrying more weight than usual, “you shouldn’t do things that hurt people. I am veryyyyy disappointed in you, you know?”

Her tone was firm, almost like a teacher lecturing a misbehaving student. “The way you attacked Felt and that nice old man with her, it was not good at all. Rem, you were a very bad girl tonight.”

Emilia’s face stayed serious, more serious than Subaru had ever seen her.

It wasn’t cruel or malicious, but it was definitely not the kind expression Emilia usually carried.

Subaru had to admit, it was… kind of impressive she was even trying, given everything else.

It went against everything Subaru knew of Emilia's personality.

The scolding continued, each sentence a gentle hammer strike, all while she gave Rem cautious, almost mistrustful glances.

The threat of using harsher words were subtly hidden behind the soft tone

Rem, meanwhile, had completely folded in on herself. Her posture slumped, her head lowered, and if she could have looked any more pitiful, Subaru wasn’t sure how.

She resembled a kicked puppy someone had left out in the rain. Her hands fidgeted nervously in her lap, and though the muzzle covered her mouth, her watery eyes and trembling voice made it obvious her lip was quivering underneath.

“E-Emilia-sama… you are scolding Rem just like Subaru-sama?” Rem’s words cracked halfway through, like she was desperately trying not to cry harder than she already was.

“Yes, Rem,” Emilia said, not giving her an inch of reprieve. “You did very, veryyyyy bad. I hope it never happens again. Do you understand Rem? It better not happen again.”

Rem’s breathing hitched before she bowed her head completely. “Understood, Emilia-sama… Rem is very sorry. It won’t happen again.” Her voice came out small, broken, with the occasional sniffle pushing through.

Even through the muzzle, she sounded utterly dejected, like the world’s saddest criminal caught red-handed.

For a moment, Subaru found himself staring at her.

She almost looked like a kid who had tried her best to impress her parents but failed miserably.

A tiny girl, desperate to be told she wasn’t worthless.

And Emilia was intentionally not giving it to her.

Subaru felt… nothing. Not pity, not sympathy, nothing.

He wasn’t dumb enough to be fooled by crocodile tears. And even if, by some miracle, those tears were real? So what?

Rem had caused more pain, suffering, and flat-out terror than most people could imagine. A light scolding from Emilia was getting off easy.

If this was what “punishment” looked like for Rem, Subaru thought she should count herself lucky.

Let her cry. Let her sulk. Let her stew in it.

Let her be sad. She earned it.

Rem was exhausting. That was the only word for her.

Exhausting.

Her face, if you took it out of context, was cute enough to melt anyone’s heart.

But when you paired it with her psychotic devotion and her violent impulses? Total waste.

Subaru had seen enough insanity in this cursed world, and he was long past the point of being fooled by a sad expression and a shaky voice.

Leaning back against the hard wood of the carriage, Subaru shut his eyes. His body relaxed, though his mind lingered stubbornly awake for a few moments longer.

Little by little, though, the rocking of the wheels and the faint sound of Emilia's growing scolding at Rem faded into the background.

His thoughts, tired and battered from the endless insanity of the day, finally started to drift toward sleep.

.

Subaru stirred awake to the soft, almost reverent voice of Rem.

“Oh, most beloved, we have arrived. Please grace us with your awakened presence,” she said, rocking his shoulder gently, like she was trying to wake a sleeping prince instead of a guy who’d been drooling against the carriage wall.

Subaru groaned, halfway tempted to just pretend he was still asleep.

The constant “most beloved” nonsense was enough to make him consider rolling off the bench and smashing his head against the carriage floor just to escape

His eyes cracked open reluctantly.

First thing he noticed was the stuffy air inside the carriage, second was the faint weight of Rem hovering over him, and third was the complete absence of Emilia.

Of course, because while Subaru was still fighting with gravity, Emilia was already outside acting like a responsible adult.

Blinking hard, he rubbed his face with both hands and sat up, joints stiff from being cramped in one spot too long.

Through the carriage window he caught sight of Emilia a few steps away, handing a small pouch of coins to the driver and thanking him in that way-too-polite voice of hers.

Subaru could already tell she probably overpaid the guy by about three times, because that’s just how she operated.

He yawned, stretching as if that would magically fix how tired he still felt, and finally dragged himself out of the carriage.

The second his shoes hit the ground, the world hit back with a blast of morning light straight into his eyes. He winced, raising a hand like it would actually help.

For a few seconds everything was just a blur of white. When his vision finally adjusted, he lowered his hand and took his first real look at where they had arrived.

Slowly, the world came back into focus.

And what a world.

In front of him stood a mansion so large it could have easily doubled as a small palace. The kind of place that made every house Subaru had ever seen in Japan look like a cardboard box.

The building towered above them, a pristine white exterior that stretched wide across carefully manicured grounds.

The front yard alone was ridiculous: open lawns framed by hedges tall enough to hide an army behind, and flower gardens so neat they looked like they’d been trimmed with a ruler. Even the gravel path under his feet was spotless, like it had been individually scrubbed by some poor servant with too much free time.

Subaru stared, speechless for a second. This wasn’t just the nicest house he’d seen in Lugunica, it was the nicest house he’d seen in his life.

A new morning, a new place. Another day.

Another day.

The thought hit him harder than he expected. His throat tightened, and for one terrible moment he thought he was actually going to cry.

Like he was some overworked office worker seeing their first paycheck.

He wasn’t dead. He had survived the night. He had lived long enough to open his eyes and be standing here, breathing air that didn’t taste like blood or smoke.

For the first time in too long, Subaru wasn’t trapped in that cursed death loop. He was still here. Still alive. Free.

At least for now.

He pulled himself together quickly, clearing his throat and pretending like he hadn’t almost gotten emotional over a mansion lawn.

Focus on the present, idiot.

The place wasn’t just for show either. Even from here he could see the grounds were alive with activity.

Servants moved briskly along the paths, carrying trays, tools, and baskets, each one dressed in neat uniforms.

Subaru had expected maybe one or two people taking care of the place. Instead, it was practically a small army of maids keeping the whole operation running.

And, naturally, one of them was already on her way to intercept.

The approaching maid stood out instantly, not just because she was tall, with long blonde hair flowing neatly down her back, but because she radiated this air of responsibility.

Her green eyes were fixed on them, filled with concern that looked both professional and personal.

Beside him, Emilia stepped up after finally finishing with the driver. She stood gracefully at his side, smiling warmly.

“That’s Frederica,” Emilia explained, her voice gentle, as if she were giving him a guided tour. “She is the head maid of this mansion.”

Subaru nodded, taking in the sight of the woman as she finally closed the distance. He tried to look composed, like someone who totally belonged in a place like this.

Frederica stopped a polite distance away and bowed her head.

“Emilia-sama, Rem-sama, honored guest,” she greeted smoothly.

That last part was clearly aimed at Subaru, though it came out so formal it felt like she was greeting a visiting diplomat instead of some random loser. “Welcome back. We were starting to grow concerned about your absence. It is a great relief to see you safe and sound.”

She smiled as she said it, and that’s when Subaru’s brain short-circuited.

Her teeth.

Holy hell, her teeth.

Each one was sharp, pointed, and way too noticeable to ignore. It was like someone had slapped shark fangs into an otherwise elegant maid. Subaru’s mouth opened before his brain had the chance to veto the decision.

“Oh my God, those are some big chompers!” he blurted, stabbing a finger toward her mouth in case no one else had noticed the obvious.

The atmosphere froze.

Emilia turned her head toward him so slowly it was actually terrifying. Her expression wasn’t angry, not exactly. Just… disappointed. And somehow, that was worse.

Her violet eyes narrowed.

“Subaru,” she said flatly, her voice leaving no room for misinterpretation. “It’s not kind to talk about someone like that.”

The way she said it wasn’t harsh, but it was firm enough that Subaru’s survival instincts immediately kicked in. He wasn’t about to ruin his standing with Emilia over one comment about a maid’s dental situation.

Disappointing Emilia right now was the last thing on his to-do list.

“You’re right, Emilia-san,” he said quickly, straightening up and bowing toward Frederica like a scolded schoolkid. “I shouldn’t have said that. I apologize, Frederica-san. That was rude of me.”

Frederica chuckled softly, her smile unfaltering despite his outburst. “It is quite all right, honored guest. I am used to such remarks. Usually, people say much meaner things.”

Subaru raised a brow at that, biting back the urge to ask what could possibly be meaner than pointing out she looked like she could chew through a fence.

New personal record: managed to insult someone in under thirty seconds. Impressive.

"Emilia-sama, may I ask who the honored guest is?" Frederica asked, tilting her head slightly, her expression polite but carrying that subtle weight of curiosity. Her sharp-toothed smile lingered, but her tone was all formality.

"Frederica, this is Subaru," Emilia explained warmly, stepping a little closer as if to introduce him like a prized find rather than some stray she picked off the street. "Yesterday, some complications occurred that delayed me and Rem from returning sooner. Subaru here was a great help in solving a particular problem I was facing yesterday."

She said it so casually, but Subaru couldn’t help mentally scoffing. "A particular problem" was one hell of a sugarcoated way of describing Elsa the bowel hunter, a psychotic blue-haired maid with attachment issues, and the sheer nightmare fuel that was his thirty long loops yesterday.

But hey, if Emilia wanted to call it that, he wasn’t going to correct her.

He liked breathing.

Not that Emilia was someone that would do anything to him, but still. Better safe than sorry

"I will explain everything at lunch," Emilia continued, still smiling kindly, "but for now, would you be so kind as to show him to the guest room?"

"As you wish, Emilia-sama," Frederica bowed. Then she turned towards Subaru, her green eyes fixing on him with polite interest. "Subaru-sama, please kindly follow me."

"Subaru-sama, huh ?" Subaru grimaced, raising a hand lazily. "Hey, no need to be so formal. Just call me Subaru. 'Sama' feels way too formal"

He left it at that, not wanting to start another round of misunderstandings. With a resigned sigh, he started trailing after Frederica, leaving Emilia behind to talk with yet another maid who had appeared near the entrance.

As Subaru walked the long halls of the mansion, the polished floors reflecting every ray of morning light like the place was deliberately showing off

He noticed he wasn’t the only one following Frederica. No, of course not. Because the universe clearly hated him, Rem had started tagging along too.

"Rem," Subaru groaned, side-eyeing the muzzle-wearing maid like she was an especially clingy dog. "Don’t you have anything else to do besides stalking me? Like, oh I don’t know, actual maid work?"

Frederica’s eyes widened at the bluntness of his tone, no doubt expecting Rem to blow up, start ranting about manner, or maybe even lunge at him. But instead, nothing of the sort happened.

"Ah, believer of LOVE, I may be Emilia-sama's personal handmaid, but not actually a maid for this mansion. Just Emilia-sama's attendant" Rem giggled at that, her voice filled with such a joy that sent shiver down Subaru's spine.

"Also believer of LOVE," she said, her voice full of adoration as if she’d just been handed the holy scriptures. "How could I leave your magnificent presence unattended and go about my day? Emilia-sama permitted me to accompany you, oh most beloved of LOVE!"

He rubbed his temple and tried to ignore her, but just as they rounded the next corner, Subaru froze. Because standing directly in their path was another girl.

His eyes locked onto her immediately.

She was dressed differently from the other maids, way more casual, less uniform.

Actually, her outfit did not look like that of a maid at all

A white long-sleeved blouse tucked into black pants, a green half-cape draped loosely over her shoulders. Red knee-high boots that looked far too fashionable for anything practical, and matching green gloves that gave her a noble sort of flair.

But it wasn’t the clothes that hit Subaru like a gut punch.

It was her face.

Short bob-cut hair. Pink. Eyes the same shade of pink, sharp and watchful.

She looked exactly like Rem. Exactly. Except swap the blue palette for pink and change the side of her bang, and there she was, another one.

Oh hell no

Subaru’s thoughts spiraled in fast motion.

Maybe, maybe by some miracle he could deal with one Rem. Tame her. Control her. Train her like some feral animal until she was manageable. But another one? A copy-paste Rem with a color swap?

No. No, no, no.

Absolutely not.

Now there were two of them.

Two insane maid-sisters who probably thought ripping out spines was a great bonding activity.

Subaru wanted to turn around right then and there. Wanted to run. But the mansion was huge, and with his luck, he’d get lost and then die of starvation.

He clenched his teeth, his expression frozen somewhere between horror and resignation.

He had to get out of here as soon as possible.

.

.

*********

.

.

Ram was having a very good day.

WAS being the fucking keyword.

Yesterday, Rem had been gone the entire goddamn day and Ram hadn’t had to see that stupid bitch’s face once. Not once.

A full, glorious twenty-four hours without Rem’s annoying voice, without her cultist tendencies.

Ram had basked in that freedom. It had been, by all accounts, heaven. Just Beatrice and Roswaal left for her to torment.

Nothing sweeter than that.

It was everything Ram could want. After all, what could possibly beat the knowledge that she didn’t have to put up with her fucking twin’s existence?

Not much, that was for damn sure. If Emilia wanted to deal with Rem, good fucking luck to her.

Ram pitied the silver-haired girl just a little for having to spend the whole day in the company of that bitch, but honestly? Not enough to ruin her mood.

No, Ram was far too pleased with herself to be weighed down by that kind of pity.

Today had started fucking fabulously as well.

Rem still hadn’t come back. Which, in Ram’s book, was a fucking blessing of the highest order.

Sure, Emilia was supposed to have returned yesterday by dinner, and yeah, there was a tiny nagging concern in the back of Ram’s head about that.

Just a little.

Nothing worth getting a headache. But still, that flicker of unease existed. She shoved it aside because why let it get in the way of another perfect day?

Ram had carried out her usual morning routine: harassing Beatrice.

She barged into the little spirit’s library, sat her ass down on the ground, began pestering her against the tome of wisdom and refused to leave until Beatrice inevitably snapped and kicked her out.

A time-honored tradition by now. The real win of the morning? Beatrice had tolerated her for a whole fifteen minutes longer than usual before throwing a tantrum and screaming for her to “begone already, in fact.”

That was progress.

Afterwards, she’d gone straight to her father’s office. Roswaal had been buried in paperwork like always, which made him an easy target.

Ram had spent a solid hour pestering him, asking endless questions, making snide comments, and throwing insults at his tome of wisdom until the man had his head in his hands, groaning like he regretted every life decision that had led him to adopting her.

She considered that a glorious success.

So far, so good. Another productive morning, another string of victories for her.

Ram had allowed herself to feel relaxed, smug, and maybe even a little complacent. And that was her fucking mistake.

Exiting her father’s office, she strutted down the hall, intending to head for the main doors and get some fresh air. And that’s when her day started to take a turn.

As she was walking, in her path stood Lillian, her personal maid.

Lillian was around Ram’s own age, maybe a little taller, with long green hair tied neatly in pigtails. Her two huge golden eyes were always watching Ram like she was a science experiment, but she carried herself with the dutiful air of someone who had resigned herself to working for a menace.

"Good morning, Ram-sama. It’s been a good day, I presume?" Lillian greeted her, voice soft and polite.

Ram’s lips curled into an uncharacteristically bright smile. "Why, good day to you too, dear Lillian. It’s certainly an enjoyable morning, isn’t it?" she practically chirped.

Not a single curse word slipped out. The tone was so sweet it could’ve given someone a cavity.

Lillian blinked, mildly stunned. Ram in a good mood very rare, rare enough to be suspicious. "You’re in a good mood," she said carefully, "am I correct to assume you had a very good morning?"

Ram all but twirled in place, grinning ear to ear. "Of course. Rem isn’t here, and I got to taste the sweet victory this morning." Her words carried actual cheer, not the venom she usually spat.

"I see," Lillian replied smoothly, trailing a step behind Ram as they moved down the hallway.

Her smile widened knowingly, almost playful in how she delivered the next question. "Then I take it Roswaal-sama and Beatrice-sama were the poor losers today? Is that why you’re so happy? To have defeated them both this time?"

Ram smirked, tilting her chin upward like she’d just been crowned queen of the fucking world. "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just helping them be the winners against the stupid chains they’ve tied themselves up in. You know, a little service on my part. Magnanimous as always."

Lillian let out a small, airy laugh and folded her hands behind her back as she followed.

She always carried herself with an odd calmness, like nothing Ram said could rattle her, which only made her more fun to talk to when Ram was in a mood like this. "Mm, very noble of you, Ram-sama. So selfless," she said, tone dripping with teasing.

Ram would have normally cursed her out for that kind of sass. But today she didn’t even feel the urge. Not even a spark of irritation.

She was far too pleased with herself to care. She let the smirk stretch wider across her face, her steps almost bouncing.

"Well, you know best, Ram-sama," Lillian continued, voice turning syrupy with false reverence, she was buttering her up on purpose. Normally, Ram would snap back, but today she fucking loved it.

"Hah, of course I do. Never doubt that," Ram shot back, her voice practically glowing with smugness.

She was so damn cheerful, it almost hurt.

For one glorious moment, she thought this good mood might last all day.

And then…

That’s when everything went to SHIT.

"How could I leave your magnificent presence unattended and go about my day? Emilia-sama permitted me to accompany you, oh most beloved of LOVE!"

Ram stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of her sister’s voice echoing just around the corner.

Her blood went cold.

Her smile dropped like a fucking stone.

She didn’t even realize she’d quickened her steps until she rounded the corner, and what she saw nearly made her choke.

Frederica stood there, tall and composed as always. Beside her was Rem

Rem, who was practically glowing as she fawned over someone other than Emilia????!!!!!!!

And standing with them, a boy Ram had never seen before.

Ram froze with horror. Her whole body locked up as if her legs had just betrayed her.

The boy wasn’t anything special at first glance.

Messy black hair. Sharp, nasty eyes that seemed to size everything up at once. His outfit looked expensive and high quality.

Taller than Ram by a good head and shoulders, but nothing about him screamed monster. Just some guy.

No, his appearance wasn’t the problem. His looks weren’t what had her gut twisting into knots.

It was Rem.

It was the way Rem of all fucking people was fussing over him, fluttering around like some lovesick idiot, calling him "beloved of LOVE" in that nauseatingly worshipful tone.

Ram’s stomach dropped. Her fingers twitched uselessly at her side.

Oh no. Oh, fuck no. No no no no.

Not ANOTHER envy-cultist.

She already had her hands full juggling Beatrice and Roswaal as the insufferable Greed-cultists and Rem as the Envy-cultist and a constant headache.

She didn’t need some random sharp-eyed asshole added to the list of cultists.

It was two for two now.

Two fucking Envy-cultists versus two fucking Greed-cultists.

Her mind screamed at her to turn around. To walk away. To run as far as she could before anyone noticed her. Her instincts told her to escape while she still had the chance.

She wanted to grab Lillian and drag her out of here right fucking now.

But she couldn’t.

Because even if she wanted to bolt, she couldn’t go far. Roswaal would find her eventually. And like it or not, she still needed him to supply her with mana. Without that, she’d wither away and die.

She clenched her jaw so tight it ached, her teeth grinding together. Her expression froze, caught awkwardly between horror and bitter resignation.

So Ram stayed rooted there, every muscle in her body tight with dread, her eyes locked on Rem and this new bastard. She wanted to scream, she wanted to vomit,

She had to get out of here as soon as possible.

Chapter Text

Dread. That was the only thing Subaru could feel crawling up his spine like some oversized bug.

The murderous nun-maid, Rem -the muzzled freak in blue- had dragged him through the halls like she was escorting him to his execution. Instead, apparently, he was being “honored” with a guest room. A room meant for people like him to stay in until their “business with the mansion” or “the region” was over.

Like hell Subaru wanted to stay in this mansion longer than absolutely necessary. If he had it his way, he’d be anywhere else. Preferably far away from cultists, muzzles, and sisters who looked like they’d stab him in the throat just for breathing wrong.

What he wanted was to figure out more about this insane world, pick up the basics he needed to survive, and then bolt the hell out before Rem or her pink-haired clone decided he looked better in pieces.

She could worship “LOVE” or whatever the hell her cult was about all she wanted, just as long as it was far, far away from him.

Subaru let out a long, tired sigh and forced himself to look around the guest room. Distraction therapy.

The big, regal bed was almost comically large, bigger than the one his parents had back at home. It looked so soft and expensive it was probably worth more than the entire Natsuki household put together. The sheets shimmered faintly, like they were woven from some ridiculously expensive fabric he’d never even touched before.

Clearly, whoever ran this freak mansion wasn’t a cheapskate or a greedy fella. Which, considering the owner’s connection to Rem, only made Subaru more suspicious. Rich, eccentric lords never spelled good news.

The chairs by the side table had cushions so plush they looked like they could swallow him whole if he sat down. Probably wouldn’t feel a single ache even if he stayed there all day.

The curtains, deep red velvet, lined with golden trim, screamed wealth so loudly Subaru thought he might go deaf just looking at them.

He wasn’t really admiring any of this though; he was cataloguing the details to keep his brain from focusing on the fact that his life was hanging by a thread.

Because a few minutes ago, he’d been face-to-face with a nightmare.

Pink-haired Rem.

When he’d turned that corner and laid eyes on her, his heart had almost flatlined. One murderous cult maid was bad enough. Two was just plain unfair. And this one hadn’t exactly made things better, not with that glaring look she threw at him. She was probably thinking that her most beloved's appearance was unbecoming of him or something.

She’d sneered at him like a spoiled brat who’d been handed everything since birth, and then turned her head away as if looking at him was beneath her. Subaru almost laughed out loud at how cartoonishly “princess” her attitude was. Given how expensive and royal this place looked, maybe she was some kind of princess.

Great. Just great.

And then there was the maid trailing after pink-Rem.

Green hair tied up in twin tails, golden eyes that glinted like she knew something he didn’t. She’d smiled politely -too politely- and even had the nerve to give Rem a little nod before following the pink menace out of sight. A nod that Rem returned.

Her eyes lingered on him just a second too long, sparkling with some weird joy that Subaru really didn’t want to think about. He already had too many problems stacked on his plate, and adding “mysterious twin-tailed maid” to the pile was not something he had the bandwidth for right now.

Frederica, polite and sharp-toothed, must’ve noticed his whole deer-in-headlights meltdown, because she stopped and turned back to him. Her tone was calm and careful.

“Honored guest, apologies for what happened. Please kindly continue following me.” She bowed slightly, as if that would erase the fact that he was being paraded through a mansion filled with people who could and probably would kill him without blinking.

Subaru’s head spun. His brain was piling questions on top of questions, and each one was stamped with the same horrifying face: Rem. And now her pink-haired counterpart. His entire mental filing cabinet was being consumed by cultist freaks.

Rem shaped pile of questions that now had a pink haired variant in them as well.

He blurted out the first thing that clawed its way to the surface. “Who was that?” He pointed back toward the hallway like the answer might change if he gestured hard enough.

Before Frederica could answer Rem decided to open her damn mouth.

“That, oh most beloved by LOVE, was the daughter of the lord of this mansion… and my sister, Ram”

Her voice was muffled and flat thanks to the muzzle, but somehow that only made it worse. It was monotone and emotionless when she said the word "sister", like she was reciting a grocery list. Completely out of character for her.

Sister. That word hit like a rock in Subaru’s gut.

He stared at her, his face twisted in disbelief, when another thought crashed into him and shoved the first one aside like it wasn’t terrifying enough on its own.

“Wait. Wait, hold up. Does that mean you’re the daughter of the lord too?”

Oh, fantastic. Subaru’s paranoia dialed up to eleven. Because if this was true, if Rem wasn’t just a murderous cult maid but also some kind of noble’s daughter, then he was so screwed. And judging by his track record so far?

Yeah. He didn’t have a good feeling about this. Not one bit.

What if the lord of the mansion was just as crazy as his daughters? The thought wouldn’t leave Subaru alone, no matter how many times he tried to push it aside. He didn’t like thinking of himself as trapped in a den of freaks, but every single second that ticked by in this place made that possibility more and more real.

“Not exactly, Subaru-sama,” Rem replied, her voice muffled through the muzzle but still managing to drip with reverence. She said his name like it was some divine hymn. “The lord of the mansion adopted Ram… and me, when we were children. After we lost our parents for the greater good of this world.”

Subaru blinked, his brain struggling to process the words.

Greater good. Greater freaking good.

His mouth almost twisted into a laugh right then and there. Maybe their parents did die for something noble, he didn’t know, but why the hell was she saying it like she was grateful it happened? Like she thought mommy and daddy being taken off the board was some kind of blessing from above.

He wanted to slam his head against the nearest wall just to check if this was still reality.

Rem was insane. That much was already locked in. But Subaru, against all odds, tried to be an optimist.

Tried to stare at the glass half full while ignoring the fact that the glass wasn’t filled with water but something yellow that definitely wasn’t lemonade.

Maybe, just maybe, Rem was just thankful she and pink-Rem had been adopted. Maybe she was just happy she’d been given a roof over her head, food, some twisted sense of belonging. That was… survivable. It wasn’t great, but it was survivable.

Back in the present, though, Subaru was still choking on the memory of pink-Rem’s glare. That face would haunt his nightmares if he ever made it to sleep again. He didn’t want to think about her, didn’t want to add more freaks to the freak-pile, so he shoved her out of his thoughts and forced himself to plan ahead.

What the hell could he do? He couldn’t exactly just pack his nonexistent bags and peace out.

Not yet.

Emilia was still here, smack in the middle of this circus tent filled with lunatics. Sure, she was a headache, more trouble than she was worth. But she was also the most sane, normal person he’d come across since being summoned in this nightmare world.

Leaving her here? With these people? It didn’t sit right. It clawed at him like guilt. No. He couldn’t abandon her, not when she was basically the only tether to humanity he had left.

So, a stupid thought entered his head

Maybe he could help her escape, too. Take her with him. It was a dumb plan, a half-baked mess with no strategy, no guarantee of survival, and no logic. But it was something. And right now “something” was the best he could come up with.

His scheming was interrupted by a Knock, Toking at the door. Loud enough to make him jolt upright like he’d just been caught plotting treason.

“Y-yeah? Who is it?” Subaru called out, trying to keep his voice even.

“Honored guest,” Frederica’s calm, proper voice rang from behind the door, “the lunch is ready. The lord of the mansion wishes to see you as well. Would you kindly let me accompany you to the dining room?”

Subaru exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for an hour. Just Frederica. Thank God.

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute,” he answered, rubbing his face with both hands before dragging himself to his feet. He shoved the escape plan back into the corner of his brain for later. First, he needed to meet the lord of this madhouse.

Following Frederica down the endless, ornate hallways, Subaru eventually stepped into what could only be described as a room built to make peasants like him feel poor.

The dining table was massive, absurdly massive, crafted from solid carved wood, every inch of it covered in intricate patterns that probably took some artisan weeks to finish. Wealth screamed from the furniture, the walls, even the damn chandelier overhead.

And then came the freak show.

Rem was waiting at the door for him but her presence was oddly something he was used to by now, which the lack of an unsettling feeling actually unsettled him.

Pink-Rem, well Ram, apparently, was already sitting at the table, posture loose and uncaring, eyes narrowed. The glare she sent his way was pure poison.

Subaru had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something snarky. Not because he didn’t want to, oh, he wanted to, but because he doubted starting a brawl before lunch would help his chances of survival.

Still, her look screamed, you’re not welcome here, outsider.

“Tch,” Subaru muttered under his breath. “Like I care. It’s not like I’m here because I enjoy your cultist ass either.”

Directly across from her, sat Emilia. Smiling, radiant, chatting happily with Puck like nothing was wrong. She looked like she belonged here, like this was just another peaceful day in paradise. And seeing her like that almost made Subaru’s chest tighten.

It reignited that stubborn ember inside him. He couldn’t leave her here. Even if he couldn’t feel… whatever feelings he used to have for her, he wasn’t about to let her stay trapped in this den of lunatics.

One way or another, he’d get her out. He’d save her, even if it killed him again.

“Hooooo~ now whoooooo~ do we have hereeeeeee~”

The sing-song voice sliced through the air. Subaru turned and saw…well, there was no better word for it, a clown.

Tall, dressed in colorful, gaudy clothes, painted up in a way that looked like a jester. He looked like he’d walked straight out of some children’s nightmare circus.

Subaru blinked once. Twice. Then deadpanned, “Oh my god. You guys even hired a clown to entertain you at lunch? How over the top can you get?”

“Pffft, hahahahaha!”

The laugh came sharp and sudden, stabbing Subaru’s eardrums. He whipped his head around to find the source and, surprise surprise, it was pink-Rem, pointing straight at him, doubled over like he was the funniest thing she’d ever seen in her miserable life.

“Oh, Subaru-sama,” Rem piped up, her muffled voice somehow managing to sound amused too. “The person in front of you is the lord of this mansion, and the margrave of this land, Roswaal-sama.”

The words dropped like an anvil over his head.

Subaru froze, his brain stuttering as the full weight hit him. Shit. Shit. Of course. Of course the ridiculous jester-looking freak he just mocked was the big boss of this whole circus.

Subaru could practically feel the dread rising in his chest like acid. Congratulations, Natsuki Subaru, you just insulted the landlord. And not just any landlord, this one probably has dungeons.

He sat there stewing in his own panic spiral, silently cursing every bad decision that had ever led him to this exact moment while regretting his entire existence.

Rem, bless her little cultist heart, decided to helpfully guide him to the table anyway, practically dragging him into a chair.

Great, he thought, now he was a child being escorted to dinner after backtalking daddy.

At the head of the table sat Roswaal in all his flamboyant glory, painted face just oozing smugness. Frederica stood stiffly at his side, along with the other green-haired maid who was apparently glued to Ram’s hip.

Speaking of Ram, she was still wiping tears of laughter from her eyes while still pointing at Subaru like she hadn’t just watched him dig his own grave.

And because things couldn’t possibly calm down for even two minutes, the door creaked open again. In waddled a tiny blonde girl with twin-drill curls so perfectly round they probably had their own gravitational pull.

“Ooohhhhh, Beatriceeeeee~” Roswaal sang out. “You don’t usually like to come to the diiiiining room when we have a gueeessssst hereeeeee~.”

The little girl whose name was Beatrice, apparently, gave him a flat look and sniffed. “I’m not here for the new variable, I suppose. I’m here for Bubby, in fact.” Without another word she marched straight past Subaru like he was invisible and latched onto Puck, hugging the spirit like a plush toy. Emilia clapped her hands together, delighted, because of course she did.

Sure, yeah, let’s just keep adding more weirdos to the roster. This place is starting to look like a straight up circus stereotype.

They eventually got around to eating, though Subaru couldn’t taste a damn thing through the paranoia clogging his throat.

Just when he thought he might get through the meal in relative silence, Roswaal leaned forward, his painted grin widening.

“Teeeeell me, Subaruuu-kuuun,” he drawled, voice stretching like he was finding his squirming the most amusing thing in the world. “How did you come to help Emiliaaaa-samaaaa~?”

Subaru twitched. It wasn’t the question that got him, no, it was how he said it. Roswaal had dropped the “sama” with Emilia’s name, respectful as hell.

Subaru blinked. Wait a damn second.

“Hold on,” Subaru said, pointing his spoon toward the clown. “Why are you calling her like that? You’re the lord here, aren’t you? Why the respectful honorific?”

Emilia gave him an awkward smile. Roswaal chuckled. “Wellllll, how else should I address someoneeeeee with a higher rank than meeeeee~? Emilia-sama is a candidate for the throne of this couuuntryyy~.”

Subaru almost choked on his own spit. Oh look, here it was again: that sweet, familiar dread. His most loyal companion. Wrapping around him like a blanket made of barbed wire.

“I-uh-I see,” Subaru managed to choke out, swallowing hard.

Nope. Not thinking about that. File it away. Worry later. Preferably never.

He forced himself to continue, plastering on a shaky grin. “Well, I was in an alleyway, minding my own business, when some thugs tried to jump me.”

He glanced over at Ram, who was lazily poking at her food like the whole conversation bored her to death.

“Before they could do anything, Rem showed up and helped me out.” Subaru winced. The words tasted awful. He hated sounding like some useless damsel waiting for rescue, but he needed the story to stick and so he had to change it up a little.

Across the table, Ram stopped fiddling with her spoon.

“Then she told me she was looking for her liege, and I, being the generous and all-around amazing guy that I am, volunteered to help.” Okay, maybe he added a little spin to it. Whatever.

Ram raised her head now, her pink eyes cutting across the room toward Roswaal.

“After that, we ran into Julius on patrol. Asked him for backup, and he agreed right away.” Subaru shrugged like it had been the easiest thing in the world. “Which, honestly, it kind of was easier than I expected, anyway.” He flicked a glance at Rem. “Probably had something to do with her being there with me, I guess.”

Ram’s eyes narrowed further at Roswaal, her focus never leaving him.

“While traveling toward the loot house,” Subaru continued, “we gathered information from the locals about the place’s exact location.” Total lie. But he had a feeling Rem wasn't going to go against his words now.

Ram’s stare sharpened at Roswaal, her glare now bordering on a death sentence, while Roswaal pretended to be fascinated by the ceiling.

“When we got there, we made sure the residents didn’t resist our help, and then waited until Emilia showed up too,” Subaru said, trying to keep the explanation short and sweet.

Ram lowered her spoon, her other hand curling around her food knife. She wasn’t even subtle about it, just gripping the handle tight, knuckles pale, eyes drilling holes into Roswaal’s face while he was starting to sweat.

“And then Elsa arrived.” Subaru forced himself to sound casual. “With Julius and the residents’ help, we managed to drive her off.” He exhaled, relieved to finally finish the cobbled-together mess of a story. Maybe if he kept it vague enough, no one would dig too deep.

But Ram suddenly stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. She didn’t look at Subaru, didn’t even glance at the others. She just walked straight toward Roswaal, knife still in hand, and stood directly over him.

Roswaal, for once, wasn’t smiling.

"Your Office, NOW" Ram told Roswaal in a voice that didn't leave any room for argument.

Chapter Text

“Your office. NOW.”

Ram’s tone hit like an anvil, cold and final.

She didn’t yell, didn’t have to. The words came out so crisp that even the air seemed to flinch. Then she spun on her heel and stormed out of the dining hall, stomping each step with all the grace of an angry toddler in royal clothing.

Her frown looked tight enough to crack her face in half, and that poor green-haired maid of hers had to practically jog to keep up, eyes wide like she was chasing a ticking bomb.

Subaru almost, almost found the whole scene kind of adorable. The way Ram stomped away, all huffy and dramatic.

it would’ve been cute if she wasn’t, you know, the sister of Rem, aka. Murderous Muzzle Maid of Love. That little fact alone sucked all the charm out of it.

Still, what the hell had gotten into her? Subaru replayed everything in his head like a broken security camera, and nope, he didn’t see anything in his story that should’ve set off Princess Pink over there.

Sure, he might’ve trimmed a few details or stretched a few truths, but it wasn’t like he accused her of running a cult or something, That part was just an unspoken assumption.

However, If this meant he didn’t have to deal with a pink-Rem anymore, though? Then hell, she could stomp her royal butt all the way to the next continent for all he cared.

He turned to look at everyone else at the table, hoping someone, anyone, would give him a hint about what the hell he just witnessed. Maybe this was some kind of weird family quirk. Maybe Ram did this every other Tuesday.

Nope. Judging by the faces around the table, this was not normal.

Roswaal, for one, looked like he was seconds away from melting. The guy was sweating so much that his makeup had started to run, streaks of white and purple dripping down his face like a half-finished clown painting left out in the rain.

His grin was still there, but it was twitchy now, more a nervous tic than expression. Apparently, even the creepy lord of this freak house was terrified of his daughter and the "Office talk" he was dreading to have with her.

Then there was the little twin-drilled gremlin, Beatrice. She sat rigid in her chair, arms crossed tight around Puck and squeezing him like she was guarding a stuffed toy from a thief. Her pout could’ve curdled milk.

When Ram’s footsteps faded down the hall, Beatrice huffed like she’d had enough of existing in the same airspace as everyone else.

“Honestly, what a bother, I suppose,” she muttered before hopping down from her chair with all the righteous fury of a child denied dessert. She stormed out right after Ram, curls bouncing, leaving behind a very startled Puck who was wheezing like he’d just escaped suffocation.

Emilia, meanwhile, was sitting there with her trademark innocent confusion plastered across her face. The silver-haired half-elf looked between everyone like she’d just walked into the middle of a family drama.

Puck, freshly freed and gasping for air, didn’t look much more enlightened.

“What… was that about?” Subaru finally asked, half expecting no one to answer. He turned to Emilia, eyebrows raised high enough to scrape his hairline.

“I really~ have no idea,” Emilia said with a helpless shrug, her voice lilting because she was genuinely baffled. “Ram isn’t usually one to leave the table before finishing her food, right, Puck?”

Puck rubbed the back of his head and floated down to eye level with her. “No, she isn’t. Normally she loves eating, nothing can stop her from cleaning her plate. Weird.” He blinked once, then promptly drifted back down to his own dish and started nibbling on his fish like nothing was wrong.

“Yeah. Weird,” Subaru echoed flatly. That was one word for it. He had a few others, but most of them weren’t dinner-table appropriate.

Then, like a jump scare in a horror movie, Rem’s voice cut through the silence from Subaru’s left. “Forgive my… sister’s uncouth behavior, Subaru-sama.”

Subaru turned just in time to see her practically spit the word sister, her tone dipped in venom before smoothing itself out again. “She is as stubborn against etiquette as she is against listening to the marvelous truth.”

Subaru blinked.

Rem was… calm. Too calm. Her muzzle was off, thank the gods for small mercies, and she was eating soup with this delicate, graceful posture like she’d just walked out of a high-society etiquette manual.

Every spoonful was perfect, every motion silent. Her face was composed, her eyes unwavering and graceful, not a single trace of that manic “Beloved of Love” crap she’d been spewing earlier.

It was… disturbing.

For one insane second, Subaru actually wondered if maybe, maybe, she wasn’t as completely off the rails as he thought. Maybe the whole muzzle thing, the cult chanting, the murder attempts, maybe that was all just her being overprotective over her liege.

Stress, right? Losing Emilia in the city must’ve pushed her over the edge. Maybe this polite, quiet version of her was the real one.

Yeah. Sure. And maybe Beatrice wasn’t two steps away from detonating, and Roswaal wasn’t a clown wearing human skin or Ram wasn't lunatic.

Nope. Not buying any of it.

Subaru leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing at the blue-haired menace as she continued sipping her soup like a picture of innocence.

If anything, this new calm behavior was worse. At least when she was crazy, he knew what to expect.

murder, chanting, devotion.

This polite act? This was the kind of behavior that came right before someone decided to stab you with a butter knife just to prove a point.

Yup. Totally normal dinner with totally normal people.

Subaru sighed, already mentally drafting his escape plan number fifty-three. He was so, so done with this situation.

“Myyyyy~ dear Ram is just merelyyyyyy~ stressed, please do nooooooot~ trouble yourself over her.”

Yeah, sure, and Subaru was the epitome of common sense.

Roswaal’s painted-on smile twitched like it was being held hostage, and the clown was still sweating so much it looked like he’d just crawled out of a sauna in full makeup. His eyes were darting around the table like he was searching for an escape route or maybe a convenient trapdoor to vanish into.

Everything about him screamed guilty, and Subaru wasn’t buying a single word coming out of his painted mouth.

“I muuuuust~ thank you for helping Emiliaaaaa-Sama,” Roswaal continued, voice dragging out every vowel in a way that was physically painful to hear. “Please, if there is any reward you’d like to ask, do so and I wiiiiil~ fulfill it. Withiiiin~ reasonable limits, of course.”

Subaru blinked.

A reward. From him.

Well, that was new. Usually when nobles talked to commoners, the best “reward” you could expect was a pat on the head or a kick in the ribs, depending on how generous they were feeling that day.

This? This sounded suspiciously generous. Which, in Subaru’s experience and back luck, meant it was probably way too good to even be close to the truth.

Still… a reward was a reward. It wasn’t like he was in a position to refuse one.

Now came the real question

what the hell was he supposed to ask for?

He thought about asking to stay in the mansion, but immediately threw that idea into the nearest mental trash bin.

Yeah, no thanks. He’d rather sleep in the woods and fight off rabid squirrels than share a roof with a clown noble, a twin-drilled gremlin, and two flavors of cultist sisters, blue and pink dream team, now available in "Muzzled Pitbull" and the brand new model of "Furious stabber"

Staying here longer than absolutely necessary sounded like a one-way ticket to an early grave.

Alright, so maybe money, then. A nice little bag of gold, some cash to get the hell out of here, and boom, freedom. He could put this whole freak show behind him and go learn about the world on his own terms.

Except… Emilia.

Because of course, his brain had to ruin everything by remembering the one decent person in this whole clown festival.

Sure, he’d already saved her. By all logical accounts, his debt was paid, contract fulfilled, hero points earned. He could walk away guilt-free.

But something about the idea of leaving her in this house, surrounded by these lunatics, made his stomach churn. It didn’t sit right. Not even close, if not because he cared about her then at least because he didn't want all his efforts to be for nothing.

He sighed quietly and rubbed his temples. Alright, fine. If he wasn’t going to leave yet, maybe he could at least make himself useful until he figured out a way to get them both out of here.

He thought about saving the reward for later, just in case. But that was risky too. Knowing his luck, Roswaal’s “reward system” probably had an expiration date, or worse, a “use it or lose it” policy.

Not to mention with the lack of information he had about this place he didn't know how much longer he wanted to or even could stay here. No, better to cash in now while he was still alive enough to enjoy it.

And then it hit him, what he really needed.

Information.

Knowledge.

He didn’t know a damn thing about this world, not its rules, its systems, or even its language. Half the time, he was guessing based on vibes and praying no one noticed. He couldn’t even read a store sign if his life depended on it.

Maybe, just maybe, the smart play here wasn’t to run, but to prepare.

“If you want me to ask for a reward, then…” Subaru stood from his chair, pointing dramatically at Roswaal like he was about to accuse him of murder. “I want to be taught how to read and write and everything about this country and its laws.”

Roswaal’s expression twitched. The tension on his face loosened, just a bit, and that manic, sing-song tone slipped back into his voice.

“Whyyyyy of couuuuurse~” he said smoothly, clearly relieved Subaru hadn’t asked for something insane. He gestured with one gloved hand toward Frederica, who was standing nearby, smiling politely as if this was all normal. “I wiiiill have Fredericaaaa~ here teach you everything you neeeeeeed to know about this place, Suuuuubaruuuu-kun.”

Subaru slowly lowered his hand.

Wait. Wait, hold up.

Frederica? The tall, unnervingly composed maid who looked like she could crush a boulder between her teeth? She was going to be his teacher?

She hasn't exactly been threatening or impolite so far, so it wasn't like Subaru had anything against her, but STILL. He'd rather have someone else teach him, preferably someone that couldn't become an immediate threat to him

He tried to force a smile, but the only thought bouncing around in his head was simple and bitterly accurate.

Why did it feel like he’d just asked for punishment instead of a reward?

.

.

******

.

.

Ram was not angry. Let that be perfectly clear.

She was not even remotely close to snapping. She was merely, shall we say, approaching the snapping point with great enthusiasm.

She was absolutely, unquestionably, definitely not ready to rip her father’s head off and lecture him on being a manipulative, ridiculous piece of clown shit.

They were in Roswaal’s office. She had stormed out of the dining room an hour earlier, leaving behind a half-eaten plate of Frederica’s lemon fish, which, yes, she now regretted with the depth of a person who had made a life choice based on emotion and anger.

The fish had smelled divine. The bread had been warm. The memory of the buttery crumbs made her stomach ache and made her angrier. Of all the things to sacrifice in a tantrum, food was not a good one.

Frederica’s lemon fish should be in her belly instead of being an image of taunting perfection in her memory

Roswaal looked like a child caught with jam all over his face, except the jam was his dignity and the face was his entire persona. He stood by his desk looking like he had swallowed a porcupine. Not that Ram felt pity for him; he’d earned every ounce of his discomfort.

Head down, eyes fixed on the tip of his shoes, shoulders hunched, fingers doing that pathetic little worry-fidget thing. He wouldn’t meet her gaze for the life of him. avoiding her eyes as if her gaze was a blade.

Ram, by contrast, walked like a storm. Back and forth, back and forth, her boots scuffing the rugs, hands chopping the air for emphasis. She moved like someone trying to zap the air into combusting.

Her voice had risen past mere annoyance and into full-throated fury. She shouted because the situation warranted shouting; it was the only language Roswaal understood when he hid behind his theatrics.

And she was roaring. Obviously. Because why would anything about this situation be obvious? Why would the man she’d had to drag into coherence every other damn week suddenly start acting like he had a clue?

He did not. He had never been good at listening unless the topic involved some phrase from his precious book. He’d treat life like a script and then act surprised when people ad-libbed.

“Getting others in danger,” Ram fired, voice bouncing off the book-lined walls. “What the fuck were you thinking? Were you thinking at all?”

She didn’t even give him time to groan out a wordless apology. Sarcasm was dripping from her speech like blood from a wolgram's teeth. “Oh yeah, that’s right, you weren’t.”

Her stomach growled. Of course it did. The timing was magnificent. Nothing fueled her rage like hunger did, which only made her more furious that she was standing here, mid-rant, instead of at the table finishing the lemon fish she’d abandoned.

It was an insult to her metabolism.

“FUCK YOU, DAD” she shouted then, because apparently direct explanations wouldn't work on him. The words landed like fire crystals. She wanted them to explode so he would feel it. She wanted him to flinch.

“How could you?” she kept going, voice turned up to a dragon's roar volume. She hoped the sound would register in his bones. “We talked about this. We are still talking about this every fucking day. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Roswaal tried to speak, to explain, to make his silly vowels stretch into their usual sing-song, anything to distract and dilute the force of her accusations. But the nonsense didn’t stick this morning. He had no theatrical dodge that would hold.

“Now now, listen here, dear Ram, there is a perfect explanation for this,” he pleaded, dropping the sing-song voice for once into something almost reasonable, which only proved he was panicked.

Ram snorted like it was a physical affront. “What sort of explanation could you possibly have that I don’t already know?” Her tone made it clear, spare her the excuses.

She’d been doing this song-and-dance for years. She didn’t want to start again, getting tired of the clown's machinations to bring his teacher back.

Of course Ram could only think of Echidna as the whore of Greed, the dirty bitch did not deserve to be remembered as anything even closely nice as a witch, let alone teacher.

He finally said the thing she both expected and hated: “It was written in the tome,” he said, brightening as if those words proved everything.

“I can finally get my rewards for all my struggles. With this, with him, I can fulfill my wish. I can see Teacher again.” Mania lit his eyes for a blink, that feverish glitter that always made Ram want to headbutt him into coherence.

Her mouth went dry for a second from something resembling sympathy. No she didn't actually sympathize don’t be ridiculous, but still the sheer devotion and longing in his voice did steer something in Ram's heart.

For her father, for the man that took care of her all this time even if his lack of action was what caused her to become an orphan in the first place.

Still, there was no point in sympathizing with him. The man could turn grief into a personal lets-get-somewhere scheme faster than she could flip off a goddamn page in one of his books. She could feel sympathy for him once, maybe, but after hours of endless, circular pleading it had long since worn away.

“You won’t live to see her if I kill you and every damn one of your line before that happens,” she snapped, rage folding into the threat. The sentence came out sharper than she meant, because when it came to Roswaal’s white-knuckled obsession she had no patience left.

“Don’t think I won’t wipe you and your future off the face of this earth to stop your body-hopping, don’t test me.” It wasn’t an idle boast. Ram had hands and she knew how to use them; she had anger and she had reason now. If Roswaal was going to risk people’s lives with his schemes, she’d break him into pieces first.

"Ughhh, you're so noisy, I suppose," Beatrice piped up, and of course she did, because why wouldn’t she? Ram had somehow managed to forget that the pint-sized porcelain nightmare was in the room too.

Yes, Beatrice was here. Sitting there like a tiny queen on her overdecorated chair, her little legs dangling off the edge, wearing that permanently offended face of hers while looking at Ram as if Ram had personally insulted every book in the mansion.

The annoyance practically radiated off her in waves.

"You should know your place, in fact, you spoiled brat," the little gremlin continued, voice sharp enough to cut through Ram’s patience like a knife through butter.

Ram’s eyebrow twitched. Spoiled brat? Really? This from a four hundred year old glorified paperweight who spent most of her existence reading a book and glaring at furniture?

Lovely.

Beatrice gave Roswaal’s damned tome a side glance, the same dusty abomination that had caused more chaos than an untrained fire spirit in a magic crystal factory, the ever-infuriating “tome of wisdom,” or as Ram liked to call it, the tome of terrible life choices.

The spirit’s tiny feet made soft thumps as she hopped down from her chair and walked across the rug. Every dainty little step she took echoed through the room, a sound so deliberately self-important that Ram’s eyebrow twitched with each one.

She marched all the way up to Roswaal and stood in front of him, barely tall enough to glare at his chest but doing it anyway, because Beatrice was physically incapable of not being dramatic.

"Is this true, I suppose?" she asked, staring up at Roswaal like he was the divine messenger of her so-called mother, her tone suddenly sweet, almost eager. "Did Mother's tome give you this order, in fact?"

Oh no. No no no. Ram could already feel her headache forming. That tone. That hopeful tone. Nothing good ever came from Beatrice looking at Roswaal like that. The question that guaranteed the headache to end all headaches.

Her stomach dropped, because nothing, and she meant nothing, good ever came out of Beatrice looking at Roswaal with that much hope in her eyes. The first time it happened came to mind, the time where all this nonsense began.

"Yeeessss~ Beatrice~," Roswaal began, voice slipping right back into that insufferable sing-song tone that made Ram’s blood pressure spike. "It was aaaaall~ according to teacher’s oooooorders~. I only did what sheeeee~ told me to dooooo~."

Of course. Of course that was his answer. Because why take responsibility for your own idiocy when you could just blame the dead witch’s notebook?

And just like that, Beatrice’s whole face lit up. Ram could practically see the sparkles of devotion shimmering around her head.

"Hmph, then he is completely alright, I suppose," Beatrice said with a little smile that made Ram’s eye twitch. She turned to Ram, her eyes gleaming with a saintly light that made Ram want to dunk her in a bucket.

Beatrice gave Ram a smug little look, chin raised in victory. "One should always listen to Mother, in fact. Stop acting like an annoying brat and don’t question Mother’s orders, I suppose."

Ram stared at her, jaw slack for half a second, then blinked slowly again. Oh, no. No, she was not doing this. Not today.

She slumped down onto the nearest chair, an overly fancy wooden thing with red cushions that squeaked under her, probably out of fear

Beatrice, of course, ignored her, already busy basking in Roswaal’s approval like a cat soaking in sunlight. Ram just sighed. She’d come here to chew him out, but now she was surrounded by a duet of delusional loyalty, and her stomach was still empty.

She exhaled the longest, most exhausted sigh she’d ever sighed. She sat right in front of Roswaal and Beatrice as they began their little circle of mutual admiration, the clown and the doll were bonding. That’s what they called it anyway.

Ram called it “two idiots congratulating each other for licking the same boot.” both of them practically glowing with pride over their shared devotion to that Greedy Witch.

She couldn’t believe the state of things. Truly, she couldn’t. The absurdity was enough to make her laugh, except that if she started laughing, she wouldn’t stop.

This was her fault. Ram knew that. She could still remember the day she convinced Roswaal to tell Beatrice the truth, clear as sunlight. Back then, she was foolish enough to think it was a good idea, that maybe the lonely little spirit would appreciate learning that her "brother figure" was still alive, that she wasn’t abandoned, that she still had family.

Ram had imagined a touching reunion. Maybe a few tears. Some heartfelt reconciliation.

What a fool Ram had been. A complete, hopeful idiot.

Now, instead of some heartfelt sibling reunion, she got this, two self-righteous zealots patting each other on the back for worshipping a long-dead witch like she handed out blessings instead of misery.

Beatrice, once tolerably lonely and quiet, had become even more dependent on her cursed tome. And Roswaal, well, he was still the same insufferable clown, just with an enabler now.

She was fairly sure that if Echidna herself were resurrected and told them to jump off a cliff, both of them would be halfway down before she finished her sentence.

Ram crossed her right leg over the other, her left foot bouncing restlessly in irritation. Her left hand found her hip while her right hand pressed against her face, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she could somehow strangle the headache forming behind her eyes. Her right elbow rested heavily on her thigh, the perfect pose of a woman completely done with life.

The day she’d convinced Roswaal to speak to Beatrice was supposed to be a good day. Joyful, even. A moment of healing. Instead, it became the day she doomed herself to listen to this cult-like duet on a weekly basis.

"You should learn to stop criticizing Betty's Roswaal so much, I suppose," Beatrice said suddenly, turning her head toward Ram again, eyes gleaming with that smug, know-it-all look she’d perfected over the years. "My contractor obviously knows best, in fact."

Ram inhaled slowly through her nose. She tried, tried so hard not to groan. Her jaw tightened, her teeth ground together, and for a long, painful second, she managed to keep the noise down. But then…..

"Hrrrrghhh…"

It slipped out. The groan. Long, low, and carrying all the weight of a woman who realized she was surrounded by lunatics. Ram wanted her lemon fish. She wanted her bread. And most of all, she wanted to hit her head against the wall until the stupidity stopped echoing.