[Aethel]
[The Grand Colosseum]
The Grand Colosseum was in a state of uproar.
๐๐ฐโ๐ถ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ข๐ณ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ด๐ถ๐ง๐ง๐ช๐ค๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ ๐ข ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ.
It was pandemonium.
The air was saturated with an unshakable, nauseating fear, as if the world had recoiled from what it had just witnessed. People clung to each other, their faces pale, their hands trembling as they tried to convince themselves that what they had seen had been some kind of cruel illusion, a twisted trick of the Zephyra Illusora.
๐๐ถ๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ฏ๐ฐ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐บ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ช๐ต.
Even now, the massive projection screens of the Zephyra Illusora flickered unstably, struggling to maintain coherence, as if the laws of reality were rejecting what they had been forced to display. The largest screen of all, the one suspended high above the colosseum, still bore the afterimage of that abominable transformationโ๐ข ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฎ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐น๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ.
๐๐ฒ๐๐ฌ.
๐๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฌ.
๐๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฌ.
Each element had been ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ณ๐ช๐ฃ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ๐จ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ, disgustingly fused in an unholy display of something incomprehensible, spanning as large as a mountain.
The mere ๐ช๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ of that entity still lingered in the minds of all who had witnessed it, a brand upon their very souls.
A man screamed, clutching his head.
"What in the name of the Gods was that!?"
He wasn't alone.
A hundred voices followedโ๐ข ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ, ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅโ๐ค๐ญ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐จ๐ณ๐ข๐ด๐ฑ ๐ข๐ต ๐ข๐ฏ๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ด๐ฐ๐ฏ.
"AโA ๐ฅ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ!" someone bellowed, spittle flying from their lips.
"Should something like that even exist!?"
๐๐ข๐ฅ๐๐ง๐๐.
Thenโa whisper, barely heard beneath the madness.
"I-I could feel itโฆ the tremors spiraling through the realmโฆ" A sorcerer clutched at his robes, his eyes vacant. His pupils were pinpricks, his face clammy with sweat. He swallowed, but it did nothing to ease the dryness of his throat. "...thatโฆ that was something on par with the Godsโฆ"
Someoneโsomeone saneโburst into a laugh so brittle it might as well have been sobs.
"By the Gods, what even is this festival anymore?!"
Monstrosity? Divinity? Demoniac?
No, it had been none of those things.
It had been something else entirely.
And high above them, seated in his grand private booth, Emperor Aerious did not move.
๐๐ ๐๐ข๐ ๐ง๐จ๐ญ ๐ฌ๐ฉ๐๐๐ค.
๐๐ ๐๐ข๐ ๐ง๐จ๐ญ ๐๐ซ๐๐๐ญ๐ก๐.
๐๐ฆ ๐ด๐ช๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ญ๐บ ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ.
His eyes, usually sharp, carried an unreadable weight. When he finally opened his mouth, it was only to whisperโ
"I don't think that boy can be labeled as a mere monster anymore."
๐๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ด๐ฆ.
And from the corner of his eye, he saw that Thordan's gaze mirrored his own.
The sheer weight of what had just transpired bore down upon Thordan like a crushing tidal wave. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, the cold sweat clinging to his skin. His breath came slow and heavy, as if he feared that exhaling too quickly might somehow shatter the fragile grip he had on his own sanity.
๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ตโฆ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฏ?
The thought clawed its way into his mind, relentless, gnawing, sinking its fangs into the very foundation of his understanding. He could not shake the sightโ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต. It was burned into the marrow of his bones, a afterimage permanently etched into his mind's eye.
๐๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐บ๐ฆ๐ด.
๐๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ๐บ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฏ? ๐๐ฐ๐ป๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ด? ๐๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ด? ๐๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด? ๐๐ข๐ค๐ฉ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฌ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ, ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฐ๐ฃ๐ด๐ฆ๐ณ๐ท๐ช๐ฏ๐จ, ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐บ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฅ.
๐๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ด.
๐๐ก๐๐ฒ ๐ก๐๐ ๐๐จ๐ข๐ฅ๐๐ ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฌ๐ก๐ข๐๐ญ๐๐ ๐ข๐ง ๐ง๐จ๐ง-๐๐ฎ๐๐ฅ๐ข๐๐๐๐ง ๐ก๐จ๐ซ๐ซ๐จ๐ซ, ๐๐๐ง๐๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ฏ๐๐ซ๐ฒ ๐๐จ๐ง๐๐๐ฉ๐ญ ๐จ๐ ๐ ๐๐จ๐ฆ๐๐ญ๐ซ๐ฒ ๐๐ฌ ๐ข๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ฐ๐จ๐ซ๐ฅ๐ ๐ก๐๐ ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฌ๐๐๐ฅ๐๐ฎ๐ฅ๐๐ญ๐๐ ๐ข๐ญ๐ฌ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ง ๐๐ฑ๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ง๐๐.
๐๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ด.
No feathered blessing, no gentle graceโonly mockery. Cruel, jagged distortions of what divinity should have been, their outlines ever-shifting between reality and something far beyond. They did not fly. They loomed. They watched. They consumed.
Thordan's throat tightened. He could still feel the lingering presence of that entity, as if its very existence had warped the very ๐ด๐ข๐ฏ๐ค๐ต๐ช๐ต๐บ of this world.
"What... was that?"
The words barely left his lips, more an exhalation of disbelief than an actual question. He did not expect an answerโ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ค๐ข๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ฐ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ด๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ฃ๐ฆ.
He did not know.
But someone did.
๐๐ฆ๐ณ๐ค๐ช๐ท๐ข๐ญ.
Amongst the sea of shaking hands and shattered minds, amongst the unholy choir of people desperately ๐จ๐ข๐ด๐ฑ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ, ๐จ๐ข๐จ๐จ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ, ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฃ๐ฃ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ, there was but one soul untouched by the horror of it all.
The Archbishop.
๐๐ฆ ๐ด๐ข๐ต, ๐ข๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต ๐ฅ๐ช๐ด๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ, ๐ข๐ด ๐ช๐ง ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ต๐ณ๐ข๐ฏ๐ด๐ฑ๐ช๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฏ๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ข ๐ด๐ญ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ๐ญ๐ต๐บ.
๐๐ช๐ด ๐ง๐ข๐ค๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ค๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ๐จ๐ฆ๐ฅ.
๐๐ช๐ด ๐ฆ๐บ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ญ.
๐๐ช๐ด ๐ฎ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ๐ต.
A single, idle observation, stated with no urgency, no fearโonly certainty.
("Hm. An angel.")
------------------
[???]
Escaping Dante had been far more of a struggle than any of them had anticipated. His sheer tenacity, that relentless bloodlustโhe had torn through them. It had taken everything they had just to shake him off, and even then, it had not been a clean escape.
Beatrice's arm was proof of that.
The jagged, bloody remains of her left shoulder twitched, raw and exposed to the winds. Her fingers, the ones she no longer had, ached, the phantom sensation cruel. Dante had severed it as though he were merely swatting away an insect, as if her existence had never held weight in the first place. Blood dripped through her clenched fingers, pooling in the ruined ground beneath her. She barely felt it. Not because the pain wasn't thereโit very much wasโbut because something else had overridden it.
A far greater horror.
The three of them stood on a high cliff, the wind howling past, their eyes had been locked onto the abomination afar. That thingโthat indescribable, grotesque, impossible thingโwas still burned into their minds, its image etched so deeply that even in their final moments, should they ever find peace, they would still see it lurking in the corners of their vision.
It had not belonged here.
No, it had not belonged anywhere.
And yet, for one fleeting moment, it had existed.
It had been wrong.
Horribly, unforgivably wrong.
"What in theโฆ what was that!?" Beatrice finally gasped out, her voice hoarse. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, the weight of her own words pressing down on her chest. Her remaining arm trembled as she instinctively clutched the ruined stump of her missing limb, as if she could somehow hold herself together. Her fingers dug into the open wound, but she barely reacted. The pain was irrelevant.
The memories, however, were not so kind.
That unholy image refused to leave her mind. The twisted eyesโso many of them, each layered upon the other in impossible rings, watching, screaming in silence. The wings that did not flap but rather distorted space, their presence unraveling the fabric of reality. That bodyโa writhing paradox, neither physical nor spiritual, neither divine nor demonic, something else entirely.
It had been looking at them.
It had been aware.
And worst of allโit had shrunk.
It had condensed.
Something so vast, so utterly incomprehensible, had been forced into a mortal shell. A reality-defying thing had been compressed into the frame of a mere human, something fragile and breakable. Something laughably small in comparison. And that fact aloneโฆ
That fact alone was more terrifying than the form itself.
Ezerald was pale. The unsettling, near-corpse-like paleness of someone who had just brushed against something they were never meant to see. She swallowed, her throat dry. Her lips parted, but for a moment, no sound came out.
"Iโฆ" she exhaled, her breath unsteady. "...I couldn't sense any mana from it. Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Her voice was quiet, like she was trying not to wake some unseen monster still lurking in the shadows. "And yetโฆ that thing radiated power. A presence unlike anything I've ever feltโฆ something on par with even the Primordial Godsโฆ and the Greater Dragonsโฆ"
Her body shuddered.
Her mind rebelled against the very concept of what she had just seen. It did not fit. It did not belong. It was a mistake that had somehow been made real.
From beside them, Aegraxes finally spoke.
"Mikoto Yukio."
His tone was unreadable, distant. His gaze did not waver, as if he were merely observing a natural phenomenon. As if he had already known.
Beatrice's head snapped toward him. "That was Mikoto Yukio!?" She barked out, her breath hitching. "Thatโthat thing!? That wasn't a transformation! That was something out of a nightmare!"
But Aegraxes merely continued, unshaken.
"It seems he has learned Arcane Ascendance. His body could not contain it, and so, for a brief moment, his true nature was revealed. That formโฆ it was never meant to reside on this plane. Not here, not in the mortal realm, not in any reality comprehensible to us. It is something that belongs solely to the Plain of Elysium. A domain where only the Gods and the Greater Dragons may exist and the true forms of the Ancestors. Andย yet he was able to create a perfect shell to contain that power."
"...He's that strong?" Beatrice finally managed.
"Indeed." Aegraxes' voice was quiet. Almost thoughtful. "But it stands to reasonโฆ Mikoto Yukio was never just some 'random' mortal chosen by Octavia. His soul, from the very beginning, was wrong."
A moment passed.
Ezerald frowned. Beatrice said nothing.
Aegraxes closed his eyes.
"His soul was always dimmer. Smaller. It is a fragment."
The words lingered in the air, heavier than the weight of Beatrice's missing arm.
"There are at least eight of them," Aegraxes continued, "each scattered across the realms. The Navigator Gods."
"The Navigator? Was he not killed by the Trickster Gods?" Ezerald questioned..
The name felt foreign on her tongue, distant, as if speaking it might invoke something they were not meant to understand. A part of her wished she had never asked.
Aegraxes responded with an unreadable smile, one that carried neither warmth nor mirthโjust a quiet, knowing amusement that sent a shudder down Beatrice's spine.
"It caused Octavia great grief," he murmured, the edges of his voice curling with something almost like mockery, but not quite. "She defied Death itself to reclaim her lover's soul."
A moment of silence followed.
The sheer absurdity of that statement hung in the air.
To defy Death.
Not evade it. Not deceive it. Not bargain with it.
But defy it.
It was an act so fundamentally impossible that even among the divine, even among the ancient beings who shaped the very foundations of existence, it was unheard of.
Beatrice let out a slow, disbelieving exhale.
"That damned Goddess really is unhinged," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Her fingers twitched against the torn fabric of her blood-soaked dress, pressing unconsciously into the raw, open wound where her arm used to be. "Who the hell thought it was possible to go against Death and actually win?"
Aegraxes continued as if she had not spoken.
"But it seems she was too late. The soul she recoveredโฆ it was broken. Fractured beyond repair. Mikoto Yukio is merely a fragment of what was once whole." Aegraxes mused. "Octavia most likely placed Mikoto Yukio's soul within another realm before tearing him to this one."
Beatrice sucked in a sharp breath, her throat tightening at the implications.
"Thenโฆ" She swallowed, her voice nearly lost in the storm. "That means there are others?"
Aegraxes inclined his head slightly, his expression unchanging. "Most likely."
The words were simple. Devoid of emotion. But they carried an unbearable weight.
"There are but seven realms in total," Aegraxes continued, "a fragment of the Navigator's soul is no doubt within each. Though I know not of the last fragment."
Silence fell upon them again.
Beatrice clenched her jaw. Seven realms. Eight fragments.
Mikoto Yukio was not alone.
But before the weight of that revelation could settle, Aegraxes continued, his voice dropping slightly, as if already considering the next move in a game none of them had truly been playing.
"This Ascendance of Mikoto Yukio irks me. If the Ancestor of Wisdom does not succeed in killing himโฆ" He trailed off, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Then we will have to forcibly transfer him to the realm closest."
"Transfer him?" Beatrice echoed.
Aegraxes nodded. "Yes. Along with the Knight and the Defier."
Ezerald's brows furrowed slightly. She knew exactly what realm he was referring to before she even spoke the words.
"The realm the dragons reside in."
"Yes," Aegraxes confirmed without hesitation. His expression did not change, but there was something final in his tone. "In due time, the two shall awaken and bring an end to those three. If not them, then little Alice might succeed."
That name.
"Alice?"
Neither Beatrice nor Ezerald had ever heard that name before.
But Aegraxes did not elaborate.
For the first time, he let something remain unsaid.
Instead, he merely let out a slow breath, closing his eyes. "For now, enough mana has accumulated. I shall begin the first calamity. I forfeit from this festival."
The words had barely left his lips when the air around them shifted.
A deep, resonant hum vibrated through the ground beneath their feet, followed by a sudden, blinding light as a white glyph spread out beneath Aegraxes' feet.
Beatrice barely had time to flinch before the monotone voice rang out.
"The contestant has forfeited and shall be withdrawn from the festival."
The light swallowed him.
For a fleeting moment, the entire area was bathed in a blinding white light, and when it fadedโ
He was gone.
Nothing remained.
Only the wind and the silence he had left behind.
Ezerald exhaled, her voice barely above a whisper. "So this marks the beginning of this era's end."
Her words held no triumph. No satisfaction.
Only inevitability.
Beatrice glanced at her, something unreadable flashing in her tired red eyes. "You sound as though your heart isn't in it."
Ezerald did not answer immediately.
When she finally spoke, her voice was raw. Honest.
"I would be lying if I said it was."
Beatrice did not react. She did not admonish her, nor did she press further.
She only listened.
"Unlike you, I did not have anyone in that era," Ezerald murmured. "My birth-givers died in some meaningless squabble between a God and a Dragon. I was raised absentmindedly, but I never felt as though I fit in with our brethren."
There was no bitterness in her words. No resentment.
Just a hollow acceptance of what had always been.
Beatrice stared at her for a long moment before speaking. "Then why do you support Aegraxes?"
A faint chuckle escaped Ezerald's lipsโone that held no humor, only exhaustion. "I supposeโฆ I wanted a goal." She paused, exhaling shakily. "Iโฆ I had no one. Yet here I am, aiming to wipe out billions in order to bring back my brethren I did not even care for." Her lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Do you ever dwell on Dante's words?"
Beatrice went still.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then, finallyโ
"I would be lying if I said I wasn't." She clicked her tongue, her fingers pressing more loosely against the bloody stump of her missing arm. "Our kind sought to abandon me just because of my nature. My decayโ" her voice wavered, for just a second "โthat was all I was good for. It was Arne who stood by my side, who accepted me. Iโฆ I just want Arne back."
Her voice cracked.
"Hell, I don't even care about exacting revenge on Mikoto Yukio. Everything would be fine if Arne was at my side once more."
Ezerald did not respond.
She only watched as her brethren trembled, as her breathing grew unsteady, as the blood-soaked ground beneath her deepened in color.
And in that silence, as the wind carried away their words, she could not help but wonderโ
Was what they were doing truly the right path?