The large destroyed town sat ominously on the snowy landscape, its once bustling streets now eerily quiet and deserted. The buildings that once stood proudly are now mere shells of their former selves, with crumbling walls and collapsed roofs giving a glimpse of the town's destruction.
The town square, once a hub of activity and commerce, was now a desolate expanse of snow-covered debris. The fountain in the center lay dormant, its statues broken and covered in a thick layer of ice. Surrounding the square are the remains of once grand buildings, their intricate facades now weathered and worn from years of neglect.
The narrow cobblestone streets wind through the town like a maze, leading to more dilapidated structures and abandoned homes. The storefronts that once displayed goods and wares were now boarded up, their windows shattered, and doors hanging off their hinges.
As the snow falls gently from the sky, it blankets the town in a layer of white, masking the destruction and decay that has befallen it. The eerie silence is broken only by the occasional creaking of a building in the wind or the sound of snow crunching underfoot.
Despite its ruined state, there is still a sense of beauty in the town's decay. The twisted ironwork of a balcony railing, the intricate carvings on a stone archway, the elaborate frescoes on a crumbling wall - all serve as reminders of the town's former glory.
The town's cathedral, once a beacon of faith and hope, loomed tall and majestic against the snowy backdrop. Its stained glass windows are shattered, its spires bent and broken, yet it still stands as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.
Yet the town was only recently destroyed, despite how it appeared. Mirabella frowned as she scanned through the town.
"What the hell happened here? Did that explosion cause this?" She questioned, but then a grimace found itself on her face. "What about the people..." Before her train of thought could continue, she was interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Pri-Mirabella?" She turned to the voice and took note of the head of white hair that blended in with the snow. It was Lucinda, along with Agatha.
"You two." She noted. "Are you here because of that explosion too?" She questioned as Lucinda nodded her head.
"Indeed, we came as fast as we could." Lucinda confirmed as Agatha spoke up.
"But where is Mikoto? Was he not paired with you?" The girl questioned with a tilt of her head, and an annoyed expression found its way onto Mirabella's face as she started.
"That bastard ditched me, said he saw something interesting and just left on our way here." The girls deadpanned at her words. Agatha shook her head.
("How very like Mikoto.") Agatha internally mused. She may not have known him long, but she knew Mikoto was a person who did what he liked. Mikoto had what she wanted, a sense of freedom. She shook her head of the thoughts as Lucinda spoke.
"The person responsible for that outburst of mana is still in this destroyed city." Lucinda started. "And we don't have to worry about any people being caught up in it as this city was abandoned due to the severe amount of Astrothians in this area." Mirabella could not help but heave a sigh of relief, and Agatha seemed much the same mind.
"But I know this mana signature well." Lucinda stated, prompting confused looks from the two. "It's Lyraeth, spawn and Inheritor of the Sun Goddess Sylvestra."
"Seriously?" Mirabella questioned. "What the hell is an Inheritor doing all out in the boonies?"
"I know not. But this blazing and bright mana is definitely hers." Lucinda spoke as Agatha started right after.
"Have you met this Lyraeth before?" Lucinda nodded her head at the question.
"It was one year ago, honoring the Goddess Octavia via the festival, it was my first festival as well. We had battled, yet at the time I was uhm...not in the right state of mind."
"I read something about spawns of Octavia growing rather violent when they are sixteen winters old." Agatha murmured. "Old texts say this is due to the Goddess Octavia's former lover and God of Navigation being killed by the twin trickster Gods. Octavia had grown vengeful yet she could not take vengeance. However, I recall the text also stating her God brethren bid her to wait sixteen winters and summers so her anger could be lessened. Though I am not sure if this is the case."
"You are quite knowledgeable, Agatha." Lucinda stated, somewhat impressed. "Though it is true that on one's sixteenth nameday, you feel an inexplicable rage and thirst for violence." Lucinda sighed as she recalled. "Though a spawn of Octavia is only born around once every one hundred years, there are still records held of the other spawns of Octavia as well as their Familial Arts, so it's rather easy to confirm."
"All this is interesting and all, but what are we supposed to do with this Lyraeth chick?" Mirabella spoke as a thoughtful look adorned Lucinda's face.
"Lyraeth is known for her violent tendencies, as outsiders she may attack us. Even if I am a familiar face." Lucinda stated as Agatha frowned.
"As an Inheritor yourself, could you handle her?" The blonde asked.
"I can, but our chances of winning would skyrocket if you two support me should battle be unavoidable." Lucinda stated. "But I must avoid close quarters as I have left my sword at the inn."
"Alright, if that's the plan, then let's get this over with." Mirabella spoke with some anticipation. She was looking forward to what an Inheritor could do. If she were being honest, she was hoping for a battle, just to see if they could push this girl to use her Arcane Ascendance. If there was a chance she could obtain that power, then all the better.
Beside her, Agatha was much the same mind. She wanted to get stronger, not for her scumbag of a father but for herself. She had a new goal, maybe it was just a trait of being the spawn of the Goddess of Prosperity, but she did not want innocents to die.
("If I were to be an Inheritor, my power would increase.") She reasoned. ("I never saw myself as some saint, but I shan't ever forget those few in that village. Innocents dead just like that. I want to protect those who cannot fight for themselves.") A smile crossed her usually stoic face. ("I see, is this my calling?")
"What are you smiling about?" Mirabella questioned.
"Nothing." The girl merely glanced away. She felt complete in a way; she had found a purpose.
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Since coming to this world, many things surprised him. Magic, the Gods and their spawns, the Astrothians, and many more things. But as time passed, the shock of these things merely lessened, and everything that should have been absurd just became the norm to him. But it seems this world still had surprises in store for him.
Around him lay the unconscious forms of five people. They were all dressed the same, in a black robe adorned in red with an amulet on their chest with an intricate red pattern. Along with that, they all wore white masks with black lines decorating the cheeks, while a red gem was embedded into the upper center of the mask.
All five were unconscious, save for one who was leaned against a stone, gripping the bloody stump of where his right arm used to be. His breathing was heavy, but Mikoto paid him no mind. He was too busy studying the object in his hand.
It was something akin to a large and thick rifle, sleek black in design with radiating red lines decorating multiple sections of the rifle. There was even a trigger and cartridge; he was holding a gun. A rather high-tech one at that. All of them were carrying them, imagine his surprise when they just whipped out guns.
"What? Did Americans get isekai'd too?" He joked as the conscious cultist spoke.
"F-fool, you've done naught to impede us by eliminating this small group." The cultist coughed behind his mask as he tried to continue. "Our brethren will still continue without us! They will-" He was silenced as Mikoto aimed the gun at him, specifically the stump of his arm. The cultist could just pull his left hand away from the stump as a red bolt of condensed light shot out from the rifle with unseen speed.
"Aaaaaghr!" A shout of pain ripped through the cultist's throat as the shot hit its mark.
"Hmm, neat. It cauterized the wound." He noted. When he had happened upon the cultists, they had just immediately attacked him, so he had responded in kind, but not before he had taken note of something strange.
("Everything in this world consists of mana, be it the very earth, trees, humans, and Astrothians. That's constant in this world, but these cultists....") Mikoto frowned, and as if driven by instinct, a look of disgust morphed onto his face as he stared at the creature. ("They have no mana at all, not even a pathetic amount.") Mikoto could not help but find them unnatural. Which is ironic considering he came from a world where magic was naught but a fantasy.
"Y-you will not stop us." The cultist still writhed in pain as he let out heavy breaths. "Our dragon Gods wi-" He stopped as he stared into the hollow slits of Mikoto's mask. A red eye gleamed and glared at him as if he were naught but trash. Lower than even the scummiest person on the planet. The glare pierced through his being and dismantled him.
"Shut it, scum." Mikoto approached him slowly, and the cultist wanted to back away but could not. The boy threw the rifle to the side as he stopped in front of the downed cultist. "You'll take me to your hideout." It was not a request; the cultists knew it. He could not steel himself to deny this masked boy. "Filthy animal who can't even use magic."
At least killing them would be easy.
"You're nothing but animals. I'll be ridding the world of you lot, and doing it a favor."