Ep 164. Plead Your Case. (3)


    Unlike the other deities, even the divinity of death could not bring Zenon to heel – nor could Zenon bring the Reaper to heel.


    Resultantly, the agreement between them had been simple: neither would meddle with each other’s affairs, respecting their own boundaries. With the Historian choosing to be a loner of his own accord within the Archive, this arrangement had worked wonders since genesis.


    That is, until today.


    “…!”


    “…”


    While the Reaper and the Historian had busied themselves in their argument, three others had watched them argue on, confused and amused at the same time.


    And once again, it was Light who broke the silence to make a comment towards Aymeia.


    “I wish the entire world could see what a mess you guys are.”


    “…It’s not…usually like this.”


    “Really? From what I’ve seen so far, you guys all hate each other.”


    “That’s not-”


    “Not what? Not true? Look me in the eye and tell me that’s not hating each other.”


    “…”


    As the two behind her also began bickering, Serenis let out an amused snort.


    To an extent, Light was right – although ‘all’ may be an exaggeration, the Twelve certainly didn’t seem very functional as a group. In fact, it seemed like a miracle they’d been held together for the past millennium.


    ‘Though, I suppose…it’s only natural …’


    As Serenis recalled, when a group couldn’t keep itself at peace, having a dictator of extremely high power did, ironically, help hold things together: a number of other demon tribes only functioned because their lords maintained an iron grip over their kin.


    And when two higher entities were equal in strength, the best way to keep peace was to have nothing to do each other: this was exactly the relationship Kelador had sought with the other tribes.


    Apparently, the Twelve weren’t all that different from her brethren.


    ?   ?   ?


    Eventually, the Reaper’s argument with the Historian would come to its conclusion: a divine verdict that would be heard by everyone present.


    Awkward silence ensued as Serenis locked eyes with the panicked Reaper.


    Truth be told, Felicir had expected Zenon to be furious from all the disturbance Serenis had caused in the world they’d established. He’d at least hoped for the Historian to oppose Serenis, if not kill her outright.


    Alas, the reality was hardly anything like it.


    - ‘Your soul will be permanently voided upon its next death.’


    Once Felicir stepped out of the archive, this verdict would not be enforced; the Historian himself had attested to this much.


    But in other words, it would be enforced as long as they remained within the Archive.


    And, as fate would have it, Serenis was standing in the way of Felicir’s only available exit.


    “I suppose you imagined our places switched.”


    “…”


    At other times, Felicir would’ve laughed off the dragonlord’s mockery.


    But as matters stood, he could hardly muster a laughter anymore.


    ‘…How…do I…’


    While Felicir lost himself in thought, Serenis leisurely raised her hand. Her palm shimmered in layers of prismatic light, ready to smite her foe as many times as it would take.


    Then, the sound of someone’s sharp breathing stopped the dragonlord’s hand.


    With widened eyes, Serenis spared a momentary glance behind her.


    “…”


    “…”


    In stark contrast to the dragonlord’s indifferent gaze, the eyes that met hers were far more complicated: worried, reluctant, and even afraid to an extent.


    And, at core, still hopeful.


    ‘You still…haven’t…’


    Light stood in place, her lips firmly sealed. She was fully aware how ridiculous it’d be to step forth to stop Serenis; among everyone here, Light was the one who wished Felicir’s death the most.


    But ironically, it was also Light who wished for that outcome the least.


    “…You still haven’t given up.”


    “…”


    Instead of answering, Light’s gaze fell to the ground.


    But that was all Serenis needed to still her hand – at least for the time being.


    Following suit, the dragonlord casually called out to the deity behind the possessed academic.


    “…Historian.”


    And this time, Zenon immediately raised his gaze to meet his caller’s.


    “Yes?”


    “…”


    As Serenis was about to speak her question, a pang of fear gnawed at her from within – fear of what the answer may be.


    But as reluctant as she was, if she didn’t ask the question now, then there may not be another opportunity.


    “Is Karas…still alive?”Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    “Karas?”


    Zenon momentarily paused as he glanced over at the possessed academic.


    After realizing who the dragonlord was referring to, he returned an obvious, nonchalant answer.


    “Why, of course. Surely you see them as I do?”


    “…They’re currently under the Reaper’s possession. Does that not affect their being?”


    “You’ve just spoken the answer yourself. This ‘Karas’ you speak of is not dead, but merely shadowed by Felicir’s presence; should his influence withdraw, the original will resurface.”


    “…If the Reaper were to die…would that not kill Karas as well?”


    Zenon tilted his head, twirling his quill in amusement.


    His lips curved into the tiniest grin – before it would fade away again.


    “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”


    “…?”


    The answer only left Serenis confused even further.


    The same went for Light and Felicir, who were all intently listening to the Historian’s response. No one could make sense of the last answer.


    ‘Perhaps, perhaps not?’


    Before, it was Felicir himself who’d reminded Serenis that monsters did not have a concept of life and death: they simply ‘were.’ Because they possessed no soul, it could not be used as a determinant of their state of being.


    When a monster is born, the environment’s mana is condensed into their being. There is no soul that begins to develop within.


    And when a monster dies, their body dissipates into the mana that comprised their body. There is no soul that leaves the physical self.


    ‘If the body alone decides their state of being…’


    “…As long as the body remains intact, he’ll be fine.”


    The Historian neither confirmed nor denied the dragonlord’s drawn conclusion.


    Instead, it was Reaper who answered, scowling at her words.


    “As if you possessed the means to rid of me without harming the body. Isn’t that all your magic’s good for? Causing harm to others?”


    “…”


    “Step aside up, dragonlord. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve your precious youngling in my hands as well – wouldn’t want to incinerate her as well, would you now?”


    It was a simple matter for Serenis to decimate the Reaper over and over again until Karas’ reserve of souls would run dry. With said reserve being practically exhausted at this point, killing Felicir was trivial.


    But that would utterly destroy the body, and Karas with it – not to mention the wriggling spider in the Reaper’s grasp.


    No. This time, she needed a different approach.


    ‘To rid the body of his influence…without causing harm…’


    A strange warmth began to spread from her chest, causing Serenis to look down upon her heart.


    And from within, it felt as if an eager flame had suddenly sparked to life.


    - ‘I trust that you will make the right decision.’


    “…”


    With a faint smile, Serenis took a small step forward.


    She began to approach the Reaper ever so casually, almost as if she was on a leisurely stroll. It even seemed like she was snickering to herself.


    Twitching his eyes in disbelief, Felicir held the spider before him, waving it like a weapon of sorts.


    “What in hell’s name…? Step aside, dragonlord!”


    “I will not.”


    “…”


    “Whatever’s the matter, Reaper? Have you exhausted yourself of souls to devour? Karas would be disappointed.”


    “…That’s none of your business. If you don’t want your precious kin squashed in my hand, step aside.”


    “Ha…calm yourself. I merely thought I’d hand you a parting gift.”


    Still grinning, Serenis only came to a halt inches away from the academic’s body.


    Felicir’s eyes rapidly darted around, looking for even the smallest of openings to escape through. He had ample faith that the dragonlord’s actions were nothing more than a bluff – as far as he was concerned, dragons knew little besides brute force.


    But contrary to his expectations, the dragonlord’s hand hovered over her own chest, producing a shimmering white stone.


    As soon as the shard came to view, Aymeia squinted her eyes at the sight.


    ‘Is that…?’


    As its previous holder, she recognized the stone with ease: it was the divinity she’d once held.


    But strangely enough, the shimmering lights emitted from the stone now seemed to retain an orange hue.


    “You seemed quite fond of your divinity, Reaper. Perhaps this will make up for it.”


    “Wh-“


    There was no time to react.


    Before he knew it, the shimmering stone was pushed into the possessed academic’s chest – and an alien warmth rapidly spread throughout the Reaper’s body.


    It wasn’t literal warmth, of course. It wasn’t his actual temperature that was changing.


    Rather, it was his thoughts that were melting away.


    ?   ?   ?


    ‘…Damn it all.’


    Felicir’s voice rang hollow through his mind.


    ‘Damn it all. Damn it all. DAMN IT ALL!!’


    No matter how much he screamed, there was no way to reverse the divinity that was embedded into his body; the result would either be to succumb to the stone as Aymeia had, or grow to overcome its influence like Serenis had.


    But still, there was hope.


    ‘Just…need to calm down. If I can just keep it together…for just a few minutes…’


    While this particular divinity was poison to one’s mind, divinity was still divinity; with it in his possession, Felicir could not only escape his current predicament, but potentially learn to control it and return to his position as deity. And if naught else, he could keep his mind afloat for just a few minutes to escape the Archive. He could discard the divinity thereafter.


    Serenis had no plausible way of threatening him without causing physical harm. it stood to reason that giving him the star’s divinity was her last resort.


    Then, if Felicir could just get out of his headspace this once – just this once – he could emerge victorious. If he could foil this one threat, then he’d have another chance to bring the dragonkin to heel.


    Alas, his own mind was the obstacle that stood in the way of reaching said goal.


    ‘…What is all this?’


    As far as Felicir was concerned, the star divinity entailed an excessive amount of memories that overwhelmed one’s sense of being. The retainer would soon forget their own existence, drowned out in a sea of countless others.


    But for the Reaper, that wasn’t what was going on at all.


    There were no threats to Felicir’s sense of self, and he certainly wasn’t recalling any memories that weren’t his own. His mind was perfectly intact, comprised of his own being and nothing else.


    …Well, almost nothing else. But there was one peculiar element that didn’t seem to belong.


    ‘These…flames.’


    If the mind could catch fire, then this was exactly what it’d be like.


    Every thought seared his mind; every memory was hidden beneath veils of burning sparks. The act of merely thinking caused a burning sensation throughout his entire body, and every memory he recalled drowned in roaring fire.


    And standing amidst those flames was a familiar silhouette, approaching the Reaper from afar in slow, vigilant steps.


    ‘Who-‘


    Spiked, flowing hair, sharing the hue of the flames surrounding it.


    A pair of unforgiving eyes that refused to wilt, even as they resigned their fate to Death.


    And a pair of crimson-tipped horns that clearly testified to their inhuman origin.


    As a lone dragon emerged from the streaks of fire, Felicir could scarce hide his shock.


    ‘You…it can’t be!’


    ‘…’


    A wake of embers followed the dragon’s every step as he approached the Reaper, lighting more and more of Felicir’s internal world afire.


    And, with a stern expression, the dragon offered his hand to the former deity.


    ‘Reaper. Your time has come.’


    ‘…Time?’


    ‘We do not belong in the present. You and I both.’


    Felicir slapped away the offered hand, scoffing at the disgusting sight.


    He glared into the dragon’s orange eyes, his voice lined with anger.


    ‘And what would you know? You’re but a figment of the dead – a laughable failure of a king!’


    ‘…Perhaps.’


    With unwavering eyes, the dragon once again put forward his hand towards the Reaper – this time to grab the former deity by their collar.


    And as the dragon tightened his grip, the flames that surrounded them burned brighter than before.


    A boundless white hue washed over the roaring flames.


    ‘I’ve failed as king. I’ve failed my brethren, and I’ve failed my mother. I’ve long resigned to my fate to be cursed and forgotten.’


    With every word, the surrounding flames closed in on the two.


    Colorless fire began to eat away at both of their ethereal forms, burning away what remained of the Reaper’s being – as well as the dragon that had summoned them.


    ‘But I will not fail them again.’


    ‘You…godsdamned dragons…!’


    Within the confines of his own mind, Felicir was no more than what he’d been born as: a lone, powerless human being.


    And struggle as he might, the dragon’s flaming hold showed no signs of breaking – nor did the fire surrounding them show any sign of dying down.


    A desperate scream rang throughout the innards of Felicir’s thoughts.


    He could scarce tell if the inferno was real or not; he could scarce tell if the dragon before him was real or not. All he could feel was the realness of the searing pain that was swallowing him whole.


    ‘Let…go…!’


    Felicir desperately reached out his hand, clawing at the dragon’s hold.


    But with the dragon’s grip remaining still as stone, all he could do was glare into their firm, resolute gaze.


    ‘You will suffer for this atrocity, dragonlord…! You will never find salvation in the beyond! Your soul will rot in the deepest pits of hell for all eternity!!’


    ‘…Perhaps.’


    Felicir’s very last sight was that of an orange-haired dragon, drowning in his own fire together with the Reaper.


    But unlike him, the dragon was smirking back at his dying words.


    ‘I will join you anon, Reaper.’


    Only when the Reaper’s being withered to nothing did the dragon loosen his grip.


    However, his flames showed no signs of withering; they continued to devour their own summoner, burning away his last remains.


    He merely stood in place, waiting for the flames to take him away.


    ‘…’


    A long, exasperated sigh escaped his fading form.


    He couldn’t see outside.


    He couldn’t see what was going on outside of the Reaper’s mind.


    But the dragon nonetheless looked up, whispering the words he’d longed to tell.


    ‘…Welcome home, mother.’