Chapter Text
Regulus Corneas had never fainted throughout his long path of death and destruction; the closest thing to it happened when he absorbed his Witch Factor. From that moment onward, he never closed his eyes for more than forty seconds again.
However, there is always a first time for everything.
On an ordinary day, inside his grand mansion, he basked in the satisfaction he felt toward himself, always proud of the simple and fulfilling life he shared with his beloved and expressionless wives.
Pandora had sent a letter informing him in advance that she would visit the mansion in five days. Regulus, who deeply respected her, was delighted to receive the news and wanted her to see how well his wives were doing, just like him.
After Pandora’s visit, he planned to go search for two of his future wives in a village north of the capital of Lugunica. His Gospel had given him enough clues to move unnoticed by the authorities, practically becoming a ghost like all the Archbishops.
Within that tiny kingdom he had created, he felt protected. It was not the kind of protection that implied certainty that nobody there could hurt him; the very idea that someone might harm him seemed utterly absurd. His sense of security was different. It stemmed from the conviction that his own existence was the most fulfilled and satisfied of all. Without hesitation, he would say that nobody could equal him in fulfillment, satisfaction, greatness, kindness, rights, power, clothing, quality, perfection, living conditions, authority, dignity, presentation, strengths, etiquette, manners, personality, self-satisfaction, value, and—
Most importantly, his life unfolded in accordance with the direction he desired most. Yet, by desiring something, he was implicitly admitting dissatisfaction with what he already possessed. By considering himself the man most satisfied with himself, he fell into an obvious contradiction. If questioned about it, someone would probably end up torn apart after listening to a twenty-minute monologue about desires and possessions.
The calmness of his day continued as usual, until it would eventually be interrupted either by his death in Priestella or by the intervention of someone from Japan taking control of his body. Either of those situations could happen at any moment, and there was no way to know which would occur first.
Yet, amidst his peace, something unusual happened.
While he was in his room organizing books and other personal belongings, his vision—which had always been clear and reliable, even when staring directly at the sun—was suddenly affected. An intense flash, a great burst of light, covered his field of vision for a brief instant, leaving him disoriented.
Regulus, who had been holding a book, let it fall to the floor. He closed his eyes again and again, performing what would normally be called blinking, despite no longer needing to do so. He remained motionless, questioning what exactly it was that he had seen.
Then he looked toward the window, where the morning sunlight streamed inside. As irrational as it sounded, he assumed that sunlight was responsible for what he had witnessed, though his reasoning wavered against the logic governing the Authority of Greed.
He did not think much of it and continued his work.
However, seconds later, it happened again.
This time, three bright flashes crossed before his eyes. Earlier he had been distracted, but now he was no longer careless and attempted to catch them with his hands.
His fingers grasped nothing but empty air.
He looked around, clenching his fists in frustration. Nobody else was in the room; he always enjoyed the solitude of that space in the mansion, since none of his wives interrupted his peace there. He alone had the right to be present.
With irritation, he wondered if what he was experiencing could be some sort of magic.
"I don’t understand any of this. Whoever is behind this, stop already! It is incredibly irritating to disturb a peaceful man inside his own home; it is a blatant violation of my right to exist. Is this supposed to be some kind of joke!? Jokes are horrible, ungrateful, and completely lacking in grace. I see no justification whatsoever for something this absurd to be happening. So whoever is causing all of this, come out immediately and I may consider forgiving you!"
...
...
...
Nothing.
Everything remained silent, without a trace of another living being besides himself.
"Could I have imagined it? No... that’s utterly absurd. Never, throughout the entirety of my magnificent existence, have I ever been mistaken. My eyeballs, with their perfect precision, have always known how to recognize those truly worthy of becoming my wives; I have never had such confusions. Mistakes like those are unreal and nonexistent to me, reserved only for those who constantly seek more and lack the decency to enjoy and feel satisfied with what they already have. I strive to attain and preserve what belongs to me."
He looked around once more.
"I’ll wait. I have no reason to waste any more of my valuable time on you; eventually, you’ll reveal yourself before me."
Convinced that someone hiding with extraordinary skill was responsible for the flashes, he resumed his work. He was close to finishing, and afterward he intended to instruct his wives to inspect the mansion for any intruder daring to toy with his perception.
He picked up the fallen book, and once again, a flash crossed his vision.
This time, he did not react. He merely clicked his tongue in annoyance and walked toward one of the many shelves to place the book back where it belonged.
And then—
It happened again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again—
Regulus grabbed his eyes with his fingers so forcefully it looked as though he were clutching cherries. With his thumbs, he rubbed them furiously, as if he had reached the limit of his tolerance.
"Stop already! Nobody has the right to do this to me within my personal space! You’re invading my eyes with that irritating light! You should know what I’m capable of; when I’m attacked, I’m obligated to defend myself against those who assault me in order to protect my dignity! Agh...! I’m telling you again, stop!!"
It was not that what he was doing would have blinded anyone else that bothered him. What he truly hated was that an aggressor was attacking one of his most important senses: sight.
He observed and acted according to what he saw.
When he encountered an attractive woman, he never hesitated to eliminate anyone near her and claim her as his wife. If someone tried to confront him aggressively instead of engaging in civilized conversation, he killed them without hesitation, viewing it as an offense against his right to dialogue.
The white-haired man felt a burning urge to annihilate the entire mansion, to drag into the open the despicable and inferior being interfering with his vision.
However, the presence of his wives inside that place only deepened his frustration, because it prevented him from unleashing his Authority without restraint.
The most disturbing thing about that entire situation was that the light seemed to emanate from inside his own eyes. Even though his eyelids were covered by his thumbs due to the constant rubbing, the flashes did not cease; they continued to appear again and again.
Over time, the number of those flashes increased to such an extent that he began to lose the ability to distinguish anything beyond them. He could only perceive an incessant torrent of blinking lights, which little by little transformed into an overwhelming radiance. In the end, all he could see was pure white, even when his eyelids were tightly shut.
He tried to call for one of his wives, anyone at all, but no one heard him, not even himself. He could not hear his own voice; he only felt as though something inside him was being torn away, something very important to him that, in part, formed the essence of who he was.
Something dragged him downward and he tried to scream, and once again no one heard him. The white space shattered and everything became completely dark.
※ ※ ※ ※ ※
"Hmmm..."
A warm light illuminated his face. He would have continued sleeping if not for that annoying light. He slowly opened his eyes, rubbing his eyelids in an attempt to let his vision adjust to the sudden brightness of the morning.
"Ah...?"
Rubbing his eyes? Sleeping? Lying in a bed? He had never done any of those things!
He looked toward the window; he was definitely inside his mansion, but it felt strange. Why was his chest rising and falling? Why did he feel a strange fatigue, the kind every human experiences at least once in the morning...? Why could he feel at all?!
This time he looked around. It was a luxurious room with two beds; there was a wardrobe large enough to be shared, a table with several books, a small mirror, and two chairs. It was a medium-sized space, easily considered a comfortable bedroom.
However, upon seeing that room, his face twisted in disgust and he quickly got out of bed.
His reaction was due to the realization that he was lying down and tucked into the bed of one of his wives. An act that, for a married couple, might seem common and natural, but to him represented a violation of his rights. He had never experienced any kind of intimacy with any of them; they had not even shared a bed in the conventional sense. This was because he felt a deep aversion toward carnal acts, and there was no need to explain it further.
Whoever had brought him into that room would die, they had touched him without his consent and that filled him with a fury that only bloodshed could calm.
"Who do they think they ar—?"
Just as he was about to speak to himself, he stopped. It was not because someone interrupted him, but because upon hearing his own voice, he was startled. The tone he used in moments of anger was familiar, but something about it did not fit. It was not only his voice; there was a nuance that felt strange to him. It was someone else’s voice, a voice that sounded feminine and, despite the anger, carried a firm, gentle, and soft quality.
"W-w-what...?"
It was his voice, a clearly feminine voice. Regulus, being a man, would always recognize his own voice; it would never sound like that. With great fear, he looked toward his shoulders… blonde hair...
He ran toward the mirror on the table between the books. His reflection, the appearance of Regulus Corneas, did not match what he saw. His face was feminine, undeniably feminine.
It was the face of his wife, number 184.
Regulus was trapped inside his wife’s body.
An expression of absolute disgust crossed his face.
Disgust. Repulsion. Horror.
Sensations so intense that they churned the stomach of the woman known as 184, distorting that normally empty and expressionless face that all of Regulus’s wives were forced to maintain. His fingers trembled and the mirror slipped from his hands, falling onto the carpet with a muffled thud that kept the glass from breaking.
But that was irrelevant, because what he had seen reflected in it was far worse. Unable to accept what he was seeing before his eyes, he slowly looked down at his own hands.
Small, slender, and soft. The hands of a woman.
Elegant and delicate fingers, far too fine to belong to someone like him. They were pleasant to look at, almost perfect for appearing in jewelry or expensive perfume advertisements, but precisely because of that they were unbearable for him to see. They had no strength. They conveyed no authority. They inspired neither fear nor respect.
Still refusing to accept the obvious, he slowly lowered his gaze toward his body.
Breasts.
It was not a slight anatomical difference he could ignore, but an entirely female body. The volume of his chest even partially obstructed his downward view. Those perfectly developed mammary glands were irrefutable proof that he was now a woman.
His pupils dilated.
Horror seized every corner of his mind as he staggered back a step.
He was not in his own body, the one he valued so highly, the one that symbolized absolute perfection, the inviolable body that stood above all others. That body had disappeared.
In its place remained only something he considered replaceable. Fragile. Disposable. A body that Regulus Corneas would have destroyed without hesitation if it made a mistake, if it raised its voice too much, or if it failed to properly fulfill its role as a wife.
A body incapable of protecting itself from the outside world, a body without authority, without power, and without perfection.
"No… no, no, no..."
His lips trembled as he tried to convince himself that this was not real. It had to be an illusion.
Yes, that was it.
It was a hallucination caused by those strange flashes that had rendered him unconscious earlier. There was no other reasonable explanation. Something like this simply could not happen. It was absurd. Ridiculous. A complete violation of logic and the natural order of the world.
He breathed with difficulty as he tried to cling to that idea. Pandora. She would know what to do; the mere thought of her granted him a bit of mental stability.
Without bothering to change clothes, he hurried out of the room still dressed in feminine pajamas. His only objective was to contact Pandora as soon as possible. Some cultist had to inform them about this supernatural situation and she, as always, would find a solution.
Afterward he himself would deal with those responsible. No one could do something like this to him and walk away unpunished.
His footsteps echoed rapidly through the mansion’s long hallways as he advanced with an expression twisted by rage and desperation.
Several wives performing the usual maintenance of the residence looked up when they saw him pass by.
Their faces remained as expressionless as always, trained not to show unnecessary emotions, but even so the confusion in their eyes was evident.
184 was showing unusual behavior.
Excessively unusual.
The obvious fury on her face was unnatural under any circumstance. The way she walked… that intimidating presence… reminded them too much of Regulus in the moments before imposing punishment.
No one dared stop her. No one dared address her. Some even subtly averted their gaze, as though afraid of being dragged into some incomprehensible punishment alongside her.
After all, when Regulus became enraged, there was rarely only one target.
Several merely prayed silently that Od Laguna, in another life, might grant her a more compassionate existence.
One of them decided to go fetch cleaning supplies. The special ones, designed to remove stubborn stains from carpets and walls. Because in that mansion, being prepared to clean blood had become something habitual.
Further ahead, a young woman with light blue hair walked down the hallway, carefully carrying a tray with tea and several cups. She was heading in the opposite direction of 184—or rather, the man now occupying 184’s body.
Upon noticing 184 approaching, the girl slightly frowned in confusion.
"184, is something wr—? Woah!"
"Get out of my sight, 167!"
The shove was sudden. 167 lost her balance and the tray slipped from her hands. The cups shattered against the floor while hot tea spilled across the carpet. Fortunately, not a single drop managed to burn her.
However, honestly speaking, if Regulus’s real body had been the one to give that shove, she likely would have been sent through the wall or lost half her body on the spot.
167 silently observed the disaster.
She showed no anger. No sadness. No emotion whatsoever. She simply began picking up the broken porcelain fragments with calm movements. Deep down, she assumed 184 had finally decided to commit suicide. And honestly, no one could blame her for that.
Living under the same roof as Regulus Corneas meant existing with the constant possibility of dying over the slightest inconvenience. Many had considered ending everything before.
167 would not stop her.
She continued silently cleaning the floor.
Meanwhile, the one now called Sylus finally arrived before the enormous doors of the main room and opened them without hesitation.
With the naturalness and arrogance of someone convinced that the place belonged to him by absolute right.
His eyes slowly widened.
The scene before him was almost as shocking as the time he found his first wife dead on the floor with a smile frozen on her face.
His body, the one he himself should have been in, was crouched down about to pick up a book, but stopped upon noticing someone had opened the door.
Sylus and what appeared to be Regulus exchanged silent glances. Regulus observed one of his wives in pajamas, whose expression reflected a multitude of emotions, while Sylus only saw his own image: the living representation of Regulus Corneas standing before him.
For clarity’s sake, it would be better to refer to Sylus as female.
"Hey, look..." she was about to begin with her usual "Ano-saa" when she was interrupted by her apparent wife.
"And what is this supposed to be now? Is this kingdom violating my right to be a unique individual? It’s... absurd! Intolerable! Absolutely unacceptable! It forces me to look at myself! Who benefits from all of this?! It’s only violating my body, violating my wife, violating my rights over and over again!" he shouted with overflowing fury and repulsion, pointing an indignant finger at Regulus. "You are not real! There can only exist one being like me! Impostor! Copy! Disappear at once!"
Ignoring Regulus, Sylus quickly made his way toward the desk, where his metia was located. He only needed to establish communication with Pandora, and he was certain she would be able to solve everything.
He was overwhelmingly eager to relay all that information, but before he could open the device, something strange happened: his forearm seemed to completely vanish. His hand, astonishingly, remained suspended in the air, as if time itself had frozen for an instant. Then, inevitably, the limb fell to the floor, lifeless, still clutching the metia.
"Ahh..." he exclaimed, his voice breaking from shock.
The cut had been precise and accurate, a clean and swift slash. The blood did not gush out immediately; it seemed to hesitate before making its appearance. However, once it finally decided to emerge, it came out in a great spray that splattered and stained much of the floor with that thick crimson liquid. His brain, incapable of processing something so abrupt, took longer to react than it should have. When he finally understood what had happened, it felt as though a bolt of pain shot through his entire body, an explosion so intense that it made him collapse backward, unable to remain standing.
"Aaaahhh...!! Aaaahhhh!! It hurts...! It hurts!" he screamed, his voice seeming to break apart with every cry.
"Stop already! It hurts...! No, please! Stop! It hurts...! Agh, blurgh! Ugh! Aaa, aa, please, stop!"
A metallic taste flooded his mouth, and suddenly an uncontrollable spasm contracted his stomach. On the floor, he felt a sudden heat run through his throat and down the back of his neck, forcing a violent and painful retch out of him.
A yellowish liquid mixed with gastric fluids burst from his mouth, and tears joined the mixture as he desperately clutched what remained of his right arm.
In that body, Sylus did not possess the resilience Regulus had; he lacked the ability to endure pain like the Archbishop of Greed, who watched him from above with a grim expression.
"Stop! Nooo! Aaaa... Aghh..."
Sylus did not notice Regulus; the agony he felt, like an external tearing sensation, clouded his mind.
"Really…? Do you truly believe you have the right to speak to me that way? Ah… what an absurd scene. What a disgusting situation. No, disgusting is not enough; this is offensive. It is such an enormous, such shamelessly selfish display of disrespect that even I, someone as reasonable and tolerant as myself, am forced to point it out. Do you even understand the position you are in? Do you comprehend who it is you are looking at with those eyes full of useless resentment? I am Regulus Corneas. The Sin Archbishop representing Greed. The most satisfied man in the world. A complete being. Perfect. Someone who needs nothing from anyone and who, even so, chooses to grant mercy to others. And yet you come in here, invade my private space, contaminate my peace, touch my belongings without permission, and on top of that dare to raise your voice at me. Don’t you think that’s ridiculous? Because I do. It’s ridiculous. Incredibly ridiculous. Listen carefully, because I will not repeat myself twice. I did not authorize you to enter my room. I did not authorize you to touch my things. I did not authorize you to question me. Much less did I authorize you to use that insolent tone with me. Who do you think you are to act as though your will carries the same weight as mine? That is precisely the kind of arrogance that ruins people. They believe that simply because they can open their mouths, they have the right to voice opinions, to demand, to criticize… as if their insignificant thoughts held any real value. I have always been considerate. Always. My wives live protected. Fed. Clothed. Safe from every unnecessary discomfort. I provide them with a perfect environment where they never have to worry about anything. And what do I ask in return? Something minimal. Something reasonable. Something any decent person would accept without issue. That they do not stain their beauty with useless emotions." His expression twisted into a grimace of repulsion. "Exaggerated smiles create wrinkles. Crying swells the face. Anger distorts one’s features. Fear makes the voice tremble unpleasantly. All those vulgar emotions only degrade something that should remain beautiful and clean. I protect them even from that, because that is the duty of a good husband. But none of you ever understand anything. Never. And yet you come here and call me an ‘impostor.’ A ‘copy.’ Ah… you truly understand nothing. There is only one Regulus Corneas in this world, and you think you can compare me to someone else? The mere act of suggesting similarity between my person and any other mediocre existence is already a violation of my rights. My rights. Do you understand? You are invading my identity, reducing my absolute individuality to the level of just another ordinary person. Don’t you think that’s cruel? Don’t you think it’s monstrous to do that to someone who has offered you nothing but patience? It’s always the same. They always try to hurt me. Then they look at me as though I were the cruel one, the irrational one, the monster… but nobody ever stops to consider my fundamental points. Nobody considers how much I have to endure every single day. I, who have never taken anything from anyone. I, who only wish to live a quiet, satisfying, and trouble-free life. Is that too much to ask? Is it a crime to want peace? No. The crime is this. What you are doing right now. Do you think that because you’re lying there, dirtying my room with your disgusting fluids, I’m going to feel compassion? What an arrogant idea. Compassion only exists when someone places themselves above another. To feel pity implies assuming superiority. Do you think I need to feel superior to you? No. That would lower me. And even so, I have been patient with you. More patient than any other man would have been. Because I am the most patient of husbands. The most tolerant. The most reasonable. A complete man does not need to shout to demonstrate authority, but you… you insist on pushing me to this point. You force me to explain things so obvious, so simple, that it becomes exhausting. I give you absolutely everything you need. What more could a woman possibly need? What else could you ask for besides a comfortable and safe life under my care? But no. You always want more. You always desire something absurd, something unnecessary, something selfish. Freedom. Opinions. A will of your own. As though those things held any real value. As though those foolish notions mattered more than the peace I offer you. And then you come to me with resentful looks, with desperate and twisted words, acting like victims when it is you who first violate my rights.." He raised his arm, pointing directly at Sylus. "All of you are the same! All of you try to destroy my satisfaction! All of you try to impose your selfish desires while ignoring mine! And for what? What do you gain from it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because I am already perfect. I do not need your opinions. I do not need your emotions. I do not need your screams or your tears. All of that is worthless. I understand everything. Everything. Nothing escapes my hands. Nothing escapes my understanding. So do not speak to me as though you know something I do not. Do not act as though you can judge me. You, such a small, defective existence, trying to point out flaws in me—what a miserable joke. So understand this once and for all. The only crime here… is the one you committed against me. Against my peace. Against my rights. Against my perfectly satisfied existence."
"... Aaah... It hurts..."
"How selfish of you."
Sylus was almost completely oblivious to what Regulus had said as she stared into nothingness; her face had turned pale, and an intense throbbing echoed inside her head. The stabbing pain from her amputated arm was becoming unbearable for the fragile body she was in.
Her vomit, blood, saliva, and tears slowly mixed together on the floor, creating a pitiful image for a woman of such beauty as Sylus. Her aggressor, meanwhile, raised his hand, determined not to grant any more of his existence to a wife he considered useless.
Sylus, breathing heavily and unevenly, realizing what was about to happen, raised her gaze toward Regulus. Her eyes reflected profound fear, the deep terror felt by someone standing at the edge of death; a heart-wrenching fear of ceasing to exist.
"No... no... aaah!." she whispered, unable to finish the sentence.
A gust of air that should have been nothing more than that, a faint breeze, transformed into a deadly blade, as sharp as a sword, capable of cutting through anything that stood in its path.
Fortunately, the invisible blade fulfilled its purpose quickly, separating her head from her body and immediately ending Sylus’s suffering.
In her final conscious act, an inner voice spoke with resignation: «I am dead.»
※ ※ ※ ※ ※
The warm glow of the sun illuminated her face; her eyes slowly opened, but there was no calm within them, only dilated pupils staring at the ceiling in shock.
Everything was in place, her forearm was perfectly fine, there was no blood, nothing; everything was clean.
Even though that body was in perfect condition, she brought a hand to her mouth to contain the urge to vomit, while whispering.
"It can't be..."