Three years have passed since Alexander Amara's return. The date is now April 6th, 2026.
The desert bordering Retly's metallic city and the hidden town of Requiem Subjects stabbed into a ravine's bottom had now transformed. Bodies split apart at the center, torsos splatting to the battlefield, leaving those living to continue sprinting as if their comrades hadn't died before their eyes. Nevertheless, they all kept running ahead, charging with rifles and firearms, their eyes glowing a specific scarlet color as they screamed while barely dodging incoming bullet fire.
Part of them questioned what drove them here. Why had they been fighting all this time, and for what? What purpose did any of this serve? What good was all this killing in the grand scheme of the world? What would the rest of the nations think when word got out of a private war was occurring between Retly and its rebellious remnants? None of it mattered. How cursed or blessed their lives had been up until this moment—it was all irrelevant. The friends they'd made perished before their eyes as bullets entered their faces, splattering their brain matter out their skulls.
In the end, they were all fated to die. That was what one of those peasant Retlyian soldiers was forced to accept before their limbs went flying as an explosion detonated onto their bodies. More and more deafening sounds followed, each with the same explosive power, sending foolish soldiers racing to their deaths to mutilation. They didn't even have the time to consider they were dying before their bodies turned to disfigurement, mere scratches embedded into their faces as their heads rolled out the thick smoke.
Suddenly, the bullets halted, and the massive terrain that served as the desert, bordering Retly's metallic capital and its peasant-filled town of an enemy, was now vacant. Oddly empty with nothing but craters and past bloodshed staining the dry ground.
One of the Retlyian soldiers gasped, "This is our chance!" he realized, turning his head.
"You two, get a move on!" He yelled to the right of the trenches they were hidden within before Retly's spherical cover.
"A-are you sure, Captain? Shouldn't we wait until HE gives us the order before we do anything reckless?" Asked another soldier of their superior officer.
"I'd much rather it be the other way, thank you very much. Thanks to his incompetence, we lost some half of our military when Alexander Amara escaped our capture three years ago. That being said, the Jester is the last line of defense against Riot's forces, including that of the Requiem Reaper himself," as the Captain informed his younger subordinate, he peeked over the trench with binoculars.
"Uh, sir, I'd wanted to ask the Jester himself but, since you're the next best thing—why IS he so obsessed with Riot's forces? Is there something he wants that he can only get by defeating them?"
"Well, that's-" before the Captain could answer, another boom interrupted his speech.
He turned back to the deserted battlefield with his binoculars, but before he could get even a tiny glimpse, he ducked. The binoculars fell to the ground, however, with a bullet having penetrated the glass lenses. The Captain hissed then snatched a rifle from the trench.
"You can ask the man himself when we get back home, Soldier," the Captain replied, cocking his weapon.
"Sir, yes, sir!" cried the obedient subordinate.
The Captain watched as two soldiers leaped from the trenches, soaring through the air with absolute precision engraved into every flip they made, and all while holding simple blades, at that.
"Oi, you useless trash!"
As their superior yelled to his cowering vanguard holding their arms, shivering with flies on their faces, weakly crying through tiny sobs and hurt chests, he'd managed to enact a miracle. Suddenly, their heads turned, and there he was, standing tall, wielding that weapon destined to slay the enemies that were just miles across from their great nation. Was he the light of hope they'd been waiting for? There was no other option regarding their demises... but if they were to perish, then wouldn't it best be charging the enemy instead of cowering in trenches like cowardly dogs?
"Listen to me, everyone here! Standing and waiting here will not allow us to succeed! It is only with proper action will we truly witness the fruits of our labor grant us with triumph! I can assure you that some of you may die, however, that is a risk that our motherland Retly is willing to take! Would you rather die cowering in trenches, awaiting to be assassinated by our peasant enemies, granted a cruel, unrighteous death in the eyes of the Jester? Or, would you rather go down fighting? SO STAND! STAND, YOU FILTHY SEED OF SWINE, AND FIGHT!!!!"
Their movements were like something out of a movie. Peeking over the trenches, attempting to spot human-like movements; useless. In the end, their lives were meaningless, and their deaths were as insignificant as the leader who falsified the truth of their lives. Before that katana in his black hand arrived to slice him apart, one soldier had a final wish stream through his mind. It was almost as if he were at peace in that world, baselessly watching a river calmly move in tandem with nature's insatiable beauty... the peasant soldier's murderer felt his eyes subconsciously widen.
He didn't even have the time to regret his actions at the end of the slash. And that was because before he knew it, he was standing surrounded by an exorbitant amount of death--a sea of blood having engulfed his feet. A shaky breath escaped his lips. His sleeve wiped away at any excess blood staining his face, not to mention his black and gold kimono.
"Hey!" called a female voice, a thud echoing out from behind him.
Turning his head, he recognized her face--the snowy theme of her uniform, her pale face.
"Heidi. Did you take out the rest in the center's lefthand half?" asked the Samurai.
"I did. The Captain and the others shouldn't face more than a few casualties from the other soldiers strewn throughout the trenches, but we should continue cutting through them to minimize as much as possible. Don't you think so too, Ryosuke?"
He was oddly silent. His head tilted off to the side, and not to mention his sword was sheathed. A question mark manifested over her head.
"Is something wrong?" Snow worriedly queried.
"We've been fighting this 'war' for almost three years now, with different nations around the globe throwing attack after attack at us. Sometimes we won, and other times we lost—they were long, hard-fought battles. However, this feels different. The peasant's vanguard is easily breached, and the soldiers have little-to-no combat training whatsoever," observed Ryosuke.
"What're you trying to say? That there's a possibility that the soldiers we're fighting here aren't meaningful and, by eliminating every peasant up here, we're paving the way for something more dangerous from an ulterior threat?" asked Heidi, questioning for clarification.
"Indeed. I believe the scale of this 'war' is to simply eradicate the peasant town's forces while leaving some alive so we can monopolize on whatever resources they managed to preserve," Satoru replied.
"But why? Retly has more than enough food, water, oil--why would it matter for us to capture some peasant town's resources?"
"One of my theories is that the Jester is secretly running out of those things. But, the more I think about it, that just seems unlikely. However, a more plausible outcome could be the existence of a third party wishing to monopolize. A third party who's kept anonymous because of his valuable power and intellect," Ryosuke suggested.
"Do you mean..?"
Ryosuke nodded.
"It's possible."
But the duo would need to wait before their questions were answered. Their heads turned to the same place with identical swiftness, and there it was. An incoming fireball from the left of the peasants' trenches they'd already infiltrated. Readying to unsheathe his katana as the projectile descended upon them, Heidi stopped Ryosuke with the hand that held the sword.
"Wait," said Heidi cautiously.
Just before it could render their bodies charred bones, she vanished. His eyes didn't waver, instead, his brown pupils a lighter shade than that of his skin reflected the instant she leaped from the ground then reappeared within the air. Her arm was wobbled, almost as fluid as a noodle, the way the sword so still and sharp shifted to such an athletic weapon in her hands, even now, he was speechless at the sight of her skills.
In the same second from once she leaped off the ground, the fireball exploded, leaving fragments of ablaze rock to fall before his feet. And as she soared through the smoke, the awe-inspired soldiers gazed above at the girl who flew with extended arms and maniacal laughter. In the end, they were nothing more than useless bystanders, paying witness to the irrelevance that was their inevitable demise.
Heidi went berserk, darting from place to place with her sword in tow, leaving bloody bodies in her wake as she curved around their falling figures. Ryosuke, bordered off by an unmanned turret, watched from the right while grinning.
"She never changes, huh?"
However, he had no time to gawk. He shook himself out of the trance and then exited the trenches with a big step.
'While Heidi demolishes the remnants of the left, Cap and the Retlyian soldiers should deal with the right. It's more than possible they have a secret weapon stationed where their town should be, however, they won't expect just one man to go in there. Meaning… I have my work cut out for me.'
He needed a running start. After he got some distance away, he finally retracted his blade, watching the katana glimmer with a curious expression overtaking his eyebrows. He shook his head again, his knees bent-configured into a crouched stance. Just then, a shockwave erupted from below his feet: embedded into the ground, there now stood a miniature crater.
After beheading an idle soldier, Heidi turned her head, catching a glimpse of his blurry figure. Releasing his ground from the desert, he started to soar, barely dodging natural bumps and extensions engraved into the walls. As he continued to fall, he squinted his eyes, but as usual, the useless effort was for naught. He couldn't see anything beyond the blurry basics, and so, he was forced to attack with no information—just baseless slaughter.
'I wanted to avoid this but I guess there's no choice.'
He only had so long before he'd have to fixate an actual landing, not to mention having to transition it into a lunging attack should he succumb to any explosive bullet fire. Regardless of the plentiful probabilities that endlessly remained, Ryosuke faced his fate. Not because he wanted to, but because there remained no other choice but for him to look ahead and hope that the future path carved out for them would lead to a righteous finale.
But, just when he was about to commence a slash, his eyes widened, and he subconsciously allowed a gasp to escape.
'What're they…?'
He was just far above the ground to tell what they were doing. Biting on their skin, slashing at their wrists, cutting apart their flesh—nevertheless, the result remained the same. From below their very feet, the ground increased its heat at a rapid rate. It was almost as if the world would crack apart below their feet, and a sea of lava would engulf them within its unimaginable heat… and it did.
Multiple bursts of magma emerged from the earth, specifically carved into a circle as it burnt away at their skins, leaving only the shadows of ablaze skeletons within. As stated earlier, this wasn't a controlled exception, for it occurred rapidly and without warning—not to mention the unprecedented height of such an event! Satoru, still amidst the air, having watched it all occur in seconds, instinctively covered his face as the splashes of magma carried his being above.
Meanwhile, above the ravine…
The soldiers stood above the trenches—the peasants had nowhere to run. Continuous gunfire bellowed uncontrollably into their bodies, all unleashing from Retlyian soldiers' barrels. The Captain, standing behind his obedient subordinates, turned his head at the sound of a female somewhat in the distance. Waving through smoke, he coughed as he ran toward the source.
"Snow! SNOW!" Yelled the commanding officer.
As he reached the source, there she was, amidst an exorbitant amount of amputated bodies spouting blood, revealing innards. Covering his nose, the Captain groaned, swatting away the invisible stench.
"Ugh… should've known," he said, voice muffled."
Having been knelt in the center of the mangled bodies, enjoying her massacre, Heidi giggled at the sight of her captain as her head turned.
"Azrael!! Ah, it's so good to see you!! You should've seen it!" As she cooed about her victims' slaughter, the Captain's eyes wandered.
Amid her babbling, he asked, "Where's Satoru?"
Her face lit up. "Oh! He went to attack the town down below!" she replied.
Captain Azrael grumbled, wiping blood off her face with a napkin after he bent the knee.
"I'd say I'm surprised he went alone, but I'm not. I'd say they wouldn't be so cautious if they see one person coming to attack them, but—"
The ground abruptly shook, a boom akin to thunder resounding across everyone's ears. Reaching for her ears to soften the ringing, Heidi parted her lips.
"What was that?!" Heidi asked, voice high and thready. Her pupils were pinpricks.
The Captain winced at her volume, then looked to the skies.
"Our spear's been defeated, that's what that was."
That was enough for Heidi to turn around. And there was his steaming form, thrown over the verge the way he came, but revealing bones—half of his face burnt off to reveal a singed skull. As he landed, he tumbled behind the Captain, and Heidi forced her way through to kneel at his side. She was hysterical, the only thing missing was her tears. Before she could try anything reckless, Azrael grabbed her shoulder, yanking her away quickly.
"We need to move," he cautioned her.
"W-why?! He'll die if we leave him here!!"
"Because those sounds weren't any bombs or shells."
Azrael pulled her into his chest and ducked. A wind gust pushed them forward, scrapes forming the Captain's features as he face-planted into the ground. But whatever minuscule damage was done to his face didn't matter now, for as he relinquished his hold on her, Heidi gawked.
"D-demons…"
Monsters from hell inhabit human vessels, having already torn apart the beings from the inside out. Threads of flesh hung off their ears, exposed ribs protruding out busts, mangled hair the same style as every other horrifically-winged copy. They roared to the skies, maintaining their flight with the procedural movement of their wings continually flapping.
"They're..."
"ANY SOLDIERS STILL ALIVE, SHOOT TO KILL! DON'T COWER IN THE FACE OF INDESCRIBABLE HORROR, STARE AHEAD WITH YOUR EYES THROUGH THE SIGHTS AND SHOOT THEIR HEADS CLEAN.... off-"
The mistake the Captain took was his head's turning. Within the trenches, where the Retlyian vanguard previously stood, their decapitated heads crunched beneath the fangs of a bloodthirsty demon. Gradually turning its head, pupils morphing to slits the second Heidi and Azrael's faces were registered, the saliva-covered head tumbled from between the creature's sharpened teeth.
"WRAGHHHH!!" It cried, sinking its claws into the ground, charging ahead with an initial lunge, wings violently snapping out its spine.
Once it got close enough, its head was kicked off its shoulders, courtesy of Azrael's leg guiding the monster to an inevitable beheading. The body disassembled quickly afterward as if detonating silently, leading all limbs to disconnect, not to mention the central bust tumbling off the cliff's verge.
"A... Azrael? You can... find those things?" Heidi asked.
"I don't have a choice! This is war, Heidi, get up on your ass and fight! You win, you live. You lose, you die! There's no way to win if you don't FIGHT!"
She gulped. Slowly, her head turned toward the still-steaming Samurai behind her. Azrael did the same with his eyes examining the charred figure, then, his teeth clenched. The Captain unleashed an ancient knightlike sword from a sheathe on his back, retracting demonic wings out his very spine, the membranes reverberated a slick cracking from along the edges.
"Carry Ryosuke to the Capital! We can still win this if I manage to kill all of them!" The Captain commanded his subordinate clad in all-white.
"But that'll take too long! You'll... you'll die, sir!"
"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH AND RUN, SOLDIER! LIVE!!"
But what more could she do? Feign insanity and battle against these otherworldly creatures? Could someone like her, with such little strength, compared to the Captain's demonic powers, really... win a fight like that? Was all she could do run at the sight of terror before her?
Would she always be--so damn powerless, gawking at death's unforgettable scythe yet never able to swat it away?
But that was when she saw it. At first, she tried to dismiss it. Maybe she was hallucinating, she thought. But it was the truth--what her eyes were witnessing was no mere falsehood. The light of hope incarnated into those feathering angelic wings shone onto her face. And from then on, she cried. Somehow, they were saved.
Captain Azrael, already in mid-air, cutting apart nearby demons, gasped. An invisible gust knocked him to the ground, where he now laid beside Heidi's puzzled body cradling Ryosuke in her arms.
"Did you see that?" he asked, "Those are..."
"Wings! But... they aren't demon wings!" She called with tears in her eyes.
There they were, glamorously glimmering in the sunlight, the way that body moved as if he'd been plucked out an extraordinary tale. Dazzling like a dancer amid the heavens, the demon bodies fell like flies, but it was like a painting. The droplets of blood descending upon the battlefield, the beaten and battered splattering innards across the desert, all juxtaposed by those wings. The corpses collapsed to the ground in what seemed like slow motion as he walked through the bloody rain. Drenched from a crimson shower, extending his exposed hand to color the same bright scarlet palette, he sighed... then smirked.
"Wings of Freedom."
The Jester himself, a demon by nature, menacingly grinning while surrounded by falling bodies with his attire bloody from head to toe, stood before them.
"I didn't think you'd come out," said Captain Azrael.
"Well, it's not like we have anyone else to combat the peasants. While we search for Kosuke and plan to recapture Summers, there's nothing much we can do. Plus... I was peckish for a little action," the Jester explained with a permanent smile.
"Uh..." Heidi intruded, leading Icarus and Azrael's heads to turn toward her at the sound of her droning, "Does this mean the war's over?"
"It does, indeed. With the arrival of our unparalleled Jester, none of the enemy peasants presently stand a chance. That being said, sire, what's next?" Captain Azrael asked his superior.
"We tell the citizens of Retly their military won. That the enemy peasant town threatening us has crumbled under the foot of superior might. Before that, I have to speak to our contact," the Jester answered.
Now walking to the cliff, he stared at the edge, and still intact, there was the former village of peasant Retlyians. Failed experiments he discarded uncaringly. After all the inhabitants had perished, not a star of remorse flickered inside his lifeless black eyes. In the center of his palm, having held the lives of others, he chose to take.
'I wonder...'
His head turned to Heidi and Azrael.
"You comin'?" He asked.
What other choice did they have to say yes? They followed him down the ravine, Azrael carrying Heidi and then dropping her once the Jester landed, the captain following suit after. Leading the captain and soldier through the town's abandoned center path, Snow examined the surrounding architecture. She was the same as the Jester; no remorse remained for these nameless beings having turned to monsters.
In time, they reached a special house. But, they didn't need to open a door. Seated on a porch, sipping from bottled water and reading a book, there he was, sitting carelessly with crossed legs. That was when the smoke escaped the book's sides, ending the prohibition with the reveal of his scarred face. Uncrossing his legs, affixing his shirt's messy collar--its mangled buttons, he raised to stare at the three before him. In the flesh, there was the Foretold Founder who wielded the legendary Requiem Artifact. Callum Rivers, as the war raged on above, smoking while reading a book and drinking water.
"Nice to see you again, Chrollo. I take it you took care of things up above?" Rivers asked with his signature rasped vocals.
The Jester nodded.
The trio watched as the Founder groaned while now standing still. Stepping down those little stairs, extending his limbs to the sky with a groan and some pops from his bones, the cigarette fell from between his lips. While crushing it below his boot's sole, he pushed his hair back. Now facing forward, he smiled at the man before him.
"Well, then..." Callum reached his hand out, "shall we get to work?"
"Yes," Icarus took his hand, "we shall."
The New World Arc - Start!