Thick, pitch-black smoke spiraled high into the sky from the dense forest encircling the once-proud Mathers Mansion. It rose like a living serpent, twisting and coiling as it consumed the sky, blotting out the sun until only a sickly, gray light filtered through. The air was heavy, choked with the stench of charred flesh, smoldering wood, dry leaves, and layers upon layers of ash. Subaru inhaled sharply—and immediately regretted it. The scent was foreign, but it spoke of something ancient and horrifying. His instincts screamed with a terror beyond logic. This wasn't just the aftermath of destruction—it was the echo of something still lingering, as if the land itself remembered every scream, every cry, and every final breath.
The first step Subaru took sent a shock through his body—not from pain, but from the unnatural heat that still radiated off the scorched earth. The soil beneath his boots pulsed with residual fear, as though the ground had soaked in the trauma and refused to let it go. His eyes lifted, scanning the ruined expanse ahead. What lay before him had once been a village—a place where the sound of laughter, children's voices, and crackling fires had filled the air. Now, it was little more than a graveyard coated in soot. Homes had caved in on themselves, their wooden skeletons blackened and sagging. Where there had once been color, only gray and blood remained.
Subaru's thoughts swirled inwards, spiraling into a void filled with doubt and dread. The silence was deafening. Every step he took was answered only by the crunch of ash underfoot. He began to mutter under his breath, the sound a feeble attempt to make sense of the chaos:
"What... what happened here? A mabeast attack? No, no—Meili should've been able to control them. She would have stopped it. Then who? Who could do something like this? Why would anyone—?"
The words broke apart as they passed his lips, swallowed by the oppressive air. Yet inside him, they rang louder and louder. His chest constricted, throat tightening until every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass. Still, he pressed on. There was no turning back. Not now. The truth lay ahead, and he would face it—regardless of the cost.
Without warning, his legs gave out. Subaru collapsed hard onto the ground. His balance was still fractured—his power's aftereffects lingering like invisible chains. But he didn't even wince at the impact. Instead, he clawed at the earth and dragged himself upright, eyes locking onto the half-destroyed silhouette of the mansion that had once been his haven. Now, it looked like a haunted relic. Half of its grand structure was gone, devoured by some merciless force. One of the towering spires lay broken in the distance, and the great hall—the heart of the estate—was now nothing but rubble and ruin.
"No... Please... PLEASE "
The words spilled from him like a prayer spoken too late. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, but he didn't stop to wipe them. His legs were already moving, carrying him forward with a speed born of panic. He didn't feel the ground beneath him. He didn't hear his own footsteps. All that existed was the burning need to reach the mansion—to see for himself if anything, anyone, remained.
What met him along the way was the very definition of despair. The soil was stained with overlapping footprints, blood both dried and fresh mingled into a grotesque tapestry. Furniture was flung like toys, torn curtains flapped in the wind, and the bodies... gods, the bodies. Strewn across the estate like broken dolls, every single one garbed in identical black robes. That symbol. That cursed insignia Subaru had seen too many times before.
The Witch Cult.
His breath caught in his throat. He couldn't inhale. Couldn't exhale. His chest felt like it might collapse inward. In his ears, only one voice remained, whispering over and over again
"You're too late... again."
He didn't slow down. Vaulting over corpses, ducking under broken beams, weaving through carnage, Subaru moved like a man possessed. His eyes darted everywhere, searching—begging—for a sign of life. A voice. A cough. A whisper. But nothing answered him. Not even the wind. And then, he reached the entrance.
And everything stopped.
Ram.
Her body lay there, right before the mansion's threshold. That posture—the upright dignity she always carried herself with—was gone. Her expression, usually calm and unshakable, was twisted in frozen pain. Several daggers protruded from her chest and abdomen. Her maid uniform was scorched and torn, revealing the cruel damage done to her. But the worst... was her missing leg. It wasn't torn. It was gone. Cleanly severed.
Subaru's hand flew to his mouth. His entire frame trembled as he stared. His knees threatened to buckle—but he did not fall. "No... no... no... NO!"
His voice cracked open like a wound. Tears streamed freely now, mixing with the soot on his face. Agony, rage, helplessness—they swallowed him whole. His body convulsed with grief. Then he bolted forward. He had to see. He had to know. Maybe—maybe someone was still alive.
But as he pushed open what remained of the doorway and stepped inside, all hope that had survived until now... was annihilated in an instant.
The interior was worse. Far worse.
And in that moment, Subaru understood: he wasn't just too late.
He had failed. Completely.
In the ruined kitchen, the stillness was suffocating. Frederica's beastly form lay motionless on the blood-slick floor, her once-proud body now a lifeless shell. Draped over her were two smaller forms, delicate and broken: Petra and Meili. Subaru stopped in his tracks. His feet rooted to the cold ground. His breath caught, his heart staggered, and time itself seemed to hold its breath.
He dropped to his knees, each movement slow, as if the weight of reality had thickened the air. Petra's eyes—gone. Hollow sockets stared up at the ceiling. Meili's tiny body was carved with vicious, deliberate slashes. This was no battlefield. This was carnage. This was the work of unrestrained insanity.
"Petra... Meili..."
Their names escaped him in a hoarse whisper, heavy with disbelief and helpless acceptance. His voice cracked, barely rising above the eerie silence. His lips trembled. Words refused to come. Frederica's expression had frozen in one last moment of determination—her arms outstretched, as if trying to shield the girls. She had fought with every fiber of her being, but it hadn't been enough. None of them had stood a chance.
Subaru remained there for what felt like eternity, the silence broken only by the soft, wet sound of tears striking the floor. They came slow at first, then faster, heavier, until the floor beneath him shimmered with grief. Even the earth itself seemed to sag under the burden of such sorrow.
And with each breath he took, a fire began to burn deeper in his gut. Hatred, wild and poisonous, began to spread. The Witch Cult. How could they? This wasn't just a massacre—this was a desecration. A cold-blooded assault on all that was warm and good. On childhood. On trust. On the fragile illusion of safety.
From across the hall, Flugel stood in the shadows. He didn't speak. His face was a stone mask, but his eyes betrayed him. In them raged a storm barely held back by sheer will. If he let even a single word escape, the dam would break. He would lose control. And Subaru... Subaru couldn't afford to lose him too.
Driven by something between duty and desperation, Subaru combed through every corridor of the mansion. Each room bore the scars of chaos. Shattered vases, overturned furniture, bloodstains on pristine carpets. But no life. No movement. Not even a sound. The once-grand halls echoed only with silence and memory. It wasn't a home anymore. It was a tomb.
When he returned to the bodies, he moved softly, reverently. As if entering a sanctuary. His steps were slow and deliberate. With trembling hands, he summoned mana. Cold and steady. A flow of frost that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
"I won't let you die like this... not like this."
His words drifted away with the wind, quiet as a prayer. Gently, he began encasing them in ice. But not for preservation of flesh. This was about memory. About sanctity. He was forging armor against time, against decay, against the world forgetting who they were.
He found Ram, her body still, face peaceful. There was no hesitation. He sealed her in the same frost, a crystalline promise that she, too, would not be forgotten.
And then, without a word, he turned. His gaze settled on the distant horizon, where black smoke still twisted skyward from the village. He felt no fatigue. No fear. Only resolve. His legs moved on their own, but his heart—though shattered—still beat with purpose.
This wasn't the end. Not yet.
He stepped onto the village path, his silhouette dark against the smoke-stained sky. The world was painted in shades of ash and ruin. Even before he reached the outskirts, the stench struck him—burnt flesh, scorched wood, the metallic tang of blood. It wasn't just a smell. It was a memory come to life. A sensory scream that echoed from the darkest corners of his mind.
When he arrived, devastation greeted him. Houses were nothing more than skeletons of their former selves. Ash blanketed the ground. Blackened beams jutted into the sky like accusing fingers. Some homes still smoldered, while others were reduced to rubble. The destruction was total.
But worse—far worse—were the bodies.
Scattered in the streets were not just villagers, but black-robed Witch Cultists and twisted Mabeasts. Mangled limbs. Torn fur. Blood soaking into the dirt until it became a sticky, crimson swamp. The lines between human, monster, and cultist blurred into one mass of death.
Subaru waded deeper into the village. The air was thick with smoke and the low, aching wails of survivors. Somewhere, a child sobbed. A woman screamed names into the wind. Every sound chipped away at what remained of his soul. He wanted to close his eyes, to shut it out. But he couldn't. He had to see. He had to remember.
His eyes darted from face to face, searching for something—someone—familiar. A sign. A glimmer. But all he found were strangers consumed by grief.
Still, his feet carried him forward. Past broken carts and shattered windows. Past memories turned to ruin. Toward the heart of the storm.
"Please... someone be alive... I'm begging you..."
His voice cracked under the weight of desperation. It was barely more than a breath, but in that breath lived the last spark of hope.
And Subaru held onto it with everything he had left.
He moved forward at a brisk pace, almost tripping over his own feet as he went. But with every step, with every corner he turned, what greeted him was not hope—only devastation. Every glimpse drained a little more from his heart. Bodies lay scattered everywhere—men, women, even children. People who had fought with everything they had, who had fled in desperation, or who had tried, in vain, to protect the ones they loved. But now, they were all still. Lifeless. The smell of blood clung like a curse beneath the thick stench of smoke, making each breath an agony. The air was dense, unbreathable, heavy with death. And the worst part—some of the corpses were still warm. That meant it had happened recently. Too recently.
His hands trembled, fists clenching and unclenching as he continued. Soon, he stumbled upon a grim sight—an area where the villagers who had managed to survive had gathered the dead in orderly rows. The bodies had been stacked gently, lovingly even, as if in the final moments the living had tried to offer what little dignity they could to those who no longer had a voice.
Subaru's heart twisted with unbearable force. He didn't want to see anyone familiar. He prayed he wouldn't. But deep down, he knew such a prayer would fall on deaf ears. Hope, in that moment, was a lie he told himself to keep moving.
And then—he saw it.
A flicker of blue. A familiar hue nestled among the grays and reds of the dead. His heart stopped. Ice exploded through his chest, flooding his limbs with terror.
He ran. His knees smashed into the ground as he dropped beside her, but he felt no pain—not compared to what he saw.
"Rem!"
Her body was a ruin. Her hands were blackened with burns, her arms twisted and broken, her entire form carved with deep lacerations. Blood had soaked into her clothes, into the earth beneath her. And then—her throat. That deep, cruel slash. It had taken everything. Her voice. Her breath. Her life. Her eyes were half-open, staring at nothing. Staring into the void.
"No... No, no, no... This isn't real... This can't be real. It has to be a nightmare..."
His voice cracked, then shattered. His knees gave out completely, and he collapsed over her, hands gripping the soil on either side of her body. His nails tore into the earth, clawing uselessly as if he could dig into time itself and undo what had happened. Blood mixed with dirt beneath his fingers—but he didn't care. He felt nothing. He had surpassed pain.
"I couldn't save you... I was supposed to protect you... I'm pathetic. Worthless. A complete failure. I couldn't do anything. I have nothing... I am nothing."
And then—time stood still.
His tears fell in silence, endless and hollow. They came not only from his eyes, but from somewhere deeper, somewhere sacred. His soul was weeping. His bones ached with sorrow. The grief was a storm, a vortex that consumed everything else—reason, awareness, even the will to breathe. His face was covered in mud and blood, but no amount of filth on the outside could wash away the filth he felt within.
He stayed like that for hours. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't notice the passage of time. When the surviving villagers finally approached, they had to pry him away from her broken form. He offered no resistance—not because he accepted it, but because he had nothing left to give.
"No! Don't take me away! Don't take me away from her! Please—don't take me from Rem!"
His voice echoed through the square, raw and shaking with agony. He had the strength to break free. He could've thrown them off. He could've snatched Rem's body into his arms and run until the ends of the world. But he didn't. The villagers had suffered enough. He couldn't hurt them more.
So he let them carry him. His body moved, yes—but he didn't. His soul was absent, buried, broken. He didn't look back. He couldn't. If he looked, it would become real. If he turned, the truth would hit him like a blade.
And still, Flugel remained beside her. Kneeling. Murmuring something under his breath—soft words, solemn. Subaru couldn't hear them. Didn't want to. Words had lost their power. What remained was only silence. Only the void.
He wandered.
Into the forest, deeper and deeper. Trees loomed around him, tall and quiet, as though nature itself mourned with him. The leaves didn't rustle. The wind didn't blow. Even the smallest creatures held their breath as he passed. A ghost. A shadow. A boy without purpose.
Every step sounded too loud. Every crack of a branch underfoot rang like a scream. The forest was deathly quiet, save for the sounds he made.
And then—
A hand.
It grabbed him. Firm. Urgent. Pulled him back. His balance faltered and he crashed to the earth. The impact jolted him—but not with fear. With disbelief.
He looked up, dirt clinging to his face, and for a brief second, the fog in his mind lifted.
A face.
Elsa.
Alive.
She pulled him into a sudden embrace. He didn't resist. He folded into her arms as if they were the last place left in the world where warmth could exist. Tears—new ones—flowed again. Pain rushed out of him, drawn by the contact.
"You're alive..."
Her breath was steady. "Of course I am. Took me a while to regenerate, but... I came back."
His world was broken. Drenched in blackness. But within that blackness, something still moved. A breath. A heartbeat. A hand. Maybe the darkness would never fade. Maybe there was no dawn waiting beyond it.
But in that moment, the simple presence of someone else, someone who had not yet been taken—meant everything.
Subaru stood up slowly, his legs barely supporting the weight of his grief. Tears still streamed down his cheeks, but behind those tears, something unfamiliar had begun to shine—an emotion carved from pain and fire: vengeance. The fire burning within his heart had now spread to his eyes, casting a furious glow that refused to be extinguished. His expression was no longer just hurt or desperate—it was steeled with determination, his jaw clenched like a soldier facing execution, and his fists curled tight at his sides until the knuckles turned white. This time, it wasn't adrenaline or desperation that kept him upright. It was something far more powerful—resolve. Though his body trembled with exhaustion and loss, his soul blazed with the power of a warrior who had endured not one, but a thousand hopeless battles, and who stood now not for survival, but for justice.
"Tell me what happened, Elsa," he asked, his voice hoarse and raw, cracking with the weight of emotion, yet every word struck with sharp precision. Each syllable rang out like a vow—a vow of vengeance, a vow of redemption, a vow to those he had lost.
Natsuki Subaru would make things right. No matter the cost. Even if it meant dying a million times over, again and again. Because now, in this moment, he truly believed he had nothing left to lose. Or at least, that's what he told himself.
Elsa's eyes met his. They were dull, lifeless orbs that seemed to have seen too much. They had once sparkled with something fierce and feral—now they were hollow, like a battlefield after the last corpse had fallen. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. Her face was pale, her skin cold with a faint sheen of sweat, and her body wrapped in tight bandages—some still soaked red with blood. Her lips were dry, cracked, and trembling slightly, but when she finally spoke, her words didn't stammer. They flowed like poison from a wound that had been festering far too long.
"Everything was normal when we arrived," she began, her voice barely more than a whisper carried by the wind. "The day before... we unpacked, we shared a meal, people went to their rooms. It was peaceful. So quiet, so normal, it felt wrong in retrospect. We didn't realize it would be our final moment of peace. But when night fell... the Witch Cult attacked."
Subaru's entire body froze. His jaw tightened until pain shot down his neck. His teeth clenched like a vice. His hands trembled, but not from fear—something colder, deeper. His eyelids twitched, and a chill raced down his spine. Inside him, a storm churned. But not a single word escaped his lips. Not yet.
Elsa went on, her voice growing steadier as if reciting a nightmare she'd memorized. "Petra, Ram, Frederica, Emilia, Hikari, and Meili were all in the mansion. When the cult launched a simultaneous attack on the village, Beatrice, Rem, and I went to defend it. We had no time to plan. We split up instinctively. Their targets were too precise. It wasn't just an invasion—it was an execution."
Subaru's lips parted, breath catching in his throat, but Elsa raised her bandaged hand slightly to stop him. Her gaze burned with accusation and sorrow. "Roswaal? No one saw him. He vanished before the first scream. Maybe he fled. Maybe he's dead. We don't know. But one thing's certain: he betrayed us. There's no way they could have struck with such timing and efficiency without help from within. Someone let them in. Someone fed them information."
She paused. Her eyes drifted to the bloodied earth beneath her feet. Her next words dropped heavy like lead. "Three Archbishops came. Three. Each brought an army of mabeasts and fanatics. It was a coordinated purge. The village... was reduced to ashes. Almost everyone was killed. No, massacred is a better word. Emilia and Hikari were captured, dragged away alive. Everyone else... didn't make it."
Subaru trembled visibly. His pupils had shrunk, lips pale and rigid. Was it sorrow? Rage? Despair? It was impossible to tell. But hatred now ran through his veins like molten iron, searing everything in its path.
"What about... Beako... and Puck?" he asked, forcing the words out like blades tearing through his throat. It felt like swallowing broken glass, every syllable cutting.
Elsa didn't respond immediately. Her silence was answer enough. But eventually, she sighed and said, "Beako... she held the line. She used her barriers to protect the others again and again. But her mana ran dry. She collapsed. And when she couldn't fight anymore... Gluttony came. That thing devoured her. I watched her fall. She never gave up. Never begged. She stared death in the eyes and spat at it."
Her voice trembled as she added, "As for Puck... I never saw him. Emilia called for him again and again. Screamed his name. But he never answered. Maybe he was sealed. Maybe... he chose not to wake. We'll never know."
She turned her head slowly toward the horizon, where smoke still lingered like ghosts. "During the chaos, I lost all my limbs. Torn off. Burned. But I regenerated. I had to. The Archbishop of Sloth came after me—he had this power, this invisible force that crushed everything. Strong, but arrogant. He thought me broken. He was wrong. I killed him. But it didn't matter. Not in the end."
Her eyes welled with tears, and this time her voice cracked. Shattered. "Everyone's gone... even Meili. You weren't there for her. You promised you'd come back. You made a vow. What happened to that, Natsuki Subaru? What happened to you? You were too late. You let them all die. You idiot."
Her words hit like hammers, each one driving a nail deeper into Subaru's soul.
And in that moment, surrounded by the ashes of hope and the blood of his loved ones, Subaru realized this wasn't the end of a tragedy—it was only the beginning of his revenge.
Subaru fell to his knees, the impact jarring through his body like a shattering wave. His hands hit the cold, blood-stained earth, fingers digging into the soil as if trying to anchor himself in a reality that was already slipping away. Tremors coursed through his limbs. Everyone he cared about... every name, every face, every smile—gone. Either dead or suffering in the cruel clutches of the Witch Cult.
With a guttural cry, he raised his fist and slammed it into the ground. The sharp pain that surged through his bones was immediate, but meaningless. Again, his fist came down. Then again. Over and over.
Each strike was heavier than the last, not because of force, but because of what they carried. Grief. Rage. Powerless fury. His knuckles split open. Fingernails cracked and peeled back. The pain turned into a numb throb, then to fire, then to nothing. Blood smeared the soil, mixing with the ash and ruin beneath him.
Still, he did not stop.
His entire body shook. Silent sobs racked his frame, his breath coming in broken gasps. The weight in his chest threatened to collapse him. Nearby, Elsa took a step forward, her mouth opening slightly as if to speak—but Subaru's eyes met hers, blazing with such intensity that she halted mid-motion.
She saw it in him: not just a boy grieving, but a man standing at the edge of something terrible. Something unstoppable.
When he finally ceased, his hands were unrecognizable—raw, bloodied, trembling. He remained still for a moment longer, head bowed low as blood dripped from his fingertips to the earth. Then, slowly, like a puppet pulled by invisible strings, he pushed himself to his feet. Every motion was deliberate, filled with purpose. His chest heaved. Tears streamed freely, but they were no longer soft, sorrowful things. They burned. They seared. They were made of vengeance.,
The veins along his arms bulged with the strain of his resolve. Sweat beaded along his face, mingling with streaks of crimson as it ran down from his temple.
"I'm going to fix everything," he whispered first, voice barely more than breath. Then he spoke louder, eyes narrowed to slits. "I'll make it right. No matter what it takes. This time, I won't fail. I can't. I swear it—on my name, on their memories. I will not let their blood be wasted. Not a single drop."
His voice grew hoarser with every word. "I will slaughter every last member of the Witch Cult. Slowly. One by one. Until there's nothing left."
Elsa shifted again, cautiously, uncertain. Her expression unreadable—perhaps concern, perhaps curiosity. She took another step, but Subaru held up his hand, blood trailing down his arm.
"I'll be right behind you," he said firmly. "Just... give me a moment."
Elsa said nothing more. She simply turned and vanished into the shadows.
Subaru turned away, facing the dense woods beyond. Then he stepped into the forest, where trees stood like sentinels in the night, and moonlight barely filtered through the canopy. Each leaf that rustled sounded like a whisper, each twig that cracked a drumbeat echoing his resolve. He walked without hesitation. Though alone, he felt surrounded—by pain, by ghosts, by every promise he had broken and every vow yet to be fulfilled.
Inside him, his soul howled. The silence of the forest could not contain the storm within.
As his breath slowed, his right hand moved with practiced familiarity. Duskveil shimmered into being, summoned by fury and purpose. Its edge glinted in the moonlight, dark and hungry. Subaru gripped it tightly, as if the weapon itself could feel his determination.
He brought his hand to his throat. His chest rose and fell. A long inhale, then a slower exhale. The world around him grew still, the wind ceasing, even the chirp of insects fading to silence. Time itself seemed to pause.
"I will save you," he said, each word etched with power. "All of you. I promise. Even if I have to die a hundred more times. Even if my soul is shattered and scattered to the void. Even if there's nothing left of me... I will keep fighting. Until my final breath. Until the last beat of my heart."
For a moment, his mind swam through memories—fragments of joy and peace, laughter beneath sunlight, the warmth of hands held, the comfort of voices once familiar. He clung to those images. Let them fill him, one last time.
Then, without hesitation, without fear, he drew the blade across his throat. It was a clean motion, fast and final.
A searing pain. Then stillness.
[Return by Death - Active]