The sudden intrusion of human speech made Crimson Moon knit her brows ever so slightly.
On the surface, this human looked ordinary—utterly unremarkable. And yet, Crimson Moon knew all too well: this person was strange, even terrifying.
Ordinarily, the King of the Moon would never trouble herself with the aura of a human.
But now was different. Though the aura resembled molten magma or the breath of a volcano, it carried within it an instinctive premonition of death.
If one asked why—
The answer was simple: pure instinct.
"...Is that so? For the body of my successor to be lost in the intoxication of craving—what a blunder. So imperfect."
"Your ideology has already manifested through her. That alone is the perfect embodiment."
"Do you seek something, then? If it is but a half-formed wish, I can bestow it. You are... interesting."
Hearing Crimson Moon speak such strange words through Arcueid's body, Avia kept his sharp gaze fixed and replied coldly:
"How about you offer up your life instead?"
"Is that so? Then allow me to judge... Do you truly possess the value that would make my death worthwhile? Can you overturn the very principles of the cosmos themselves?"
Crimson Moon narrowed her eyes—eyes that simmered with a quiet fury, born of insult to her pride.
Her hands swept outward, and the pale red flowers scattered about the hall shrieked in unison, soaring upward toward the ceiling.
Even within the confines of the Millennial Castle, the very space itself warped once more.
Avia cloaked his body in the primordial runes of All-Father Odin, the mana wrested from Typhon, the blessing of the Rhinegold, and spoke:
"Of course. That was my intention from the start."
For an instant, he allowed a girlish tone—one that matched his youthful appearance—to slip out, before his voice hardened again into sheer hostility, his stance thunderous and commanding:
"Then let's see what you're made of!"
And in the very next moment, as the waves of their magical power clashed—
Red and blue, strengthened to rival the great gods of the Age of Divinity, crossed in violent upheaval and seared their evidence into the ancient stronghold known as the Millennial Castle.
At the same time, the True Ancestors—who had been persuaded by the Marshal of Sorcery to temporarily cease their war with the Dead Apostles—suddenly staggered under a wave of unbearable dissonance.
"Well, well. They've already started fighting, have they? Crimson Moon really can't unleash Moonfall right now... Pity. I rather wanted to see whether Typhon's true form could force her hand. A shame."
Standing atop the wall of the old castle, Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg chuckled as though nothing were amiss.
"Oi, Kischur... this is a bit much. You sure this is the right move?"
As the greatest magus alive in the human world, even the True Ancestors held Zelretch in high regard. For his part, he—being a human who had lived since before the Common Era—was willing to lend his ear when the True Ancestors, as fae, sought his counsel.
Thus relations between the two sides were unusually good, and it was precisely why the True Ancestors had accepted his suggestion of a truce with the Dead Apostles.
"He's a man who deserves to be called a Saint among humans. His advice is reliable enough. But mind you—don't go stirring up trouble later. Live here in peace. Otherwise, your reason may scatter like dust."
"Very well, if Kischur himself says so, we'll heed your words. Speaking of which... we've heard tales of some wine from Burgundy. We'd dearly love a taste. Any chance you could procure it?"
"Consider it done."
As Zelretch laughed and bantered cheerfully with the True Ancestors, Van-Fem exchanged a look with Caubac Alcatraz. Then, turning toward the utterly dispirited Merem, he said:
"Lord Merem, Caubac has already bound the spirits of the Ancestors. Just as Lord Avia instructed, you can now unleash your illusions."
"How troublesome! I wasn't even part of your little brawl—I was just watching! Why drag me in? This isn't right! No pay, no reward—and besides, the True Ancestors are fae. If Mother finds out, she'll scold me for overstepping! Ugh, this is so unfair..."
Grumbling, the Flower Magus swung her staff.
"Mother..." Caubac murmured thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, Lord Merem—you're half-human, half-nightmare, aren't you? I never imagined one such as you would even have a Mother..."
"Yes, that's right! After all, I'm the last of the Nightmares. My rank and class are quite high, you know. Before leaving, my parents entrusted me to Mother in Britannia's care..."
Merem smiled, but then—almost as if to cut off any further questioning—his expression turned abruptly serious.
"Enough chit-chat. I'll begin. If Mother blames me, I'll just say you forced me. Ugh... working for free again."
At his words, the ocean of blossoms surged once more through the Millennial Castle, spreading over the bodies of all the unfallen True Ancestors.
From there, Caubac's chains—thinned into gossamer strands—threaded into the blossoms. Soon, the chains were writhing with red-and-black shadows, twisting like living things, their cries echoing with the death-knell of a planet itself.
Witnessing this, Van-Fem—one of the oldest Dead Apostles—felt as though his own heart had stopped. All Dead Apostles of lesser rank than the Ancestors themselves quailed with primal terror.
This was Crimson Moon's "ideology," embedded deep within every True Ancestor. Though only those whose purity matched hers could truly welcome Crimson Moon within, Avia had devised this strategy to sever his path of return entirely—
To annihilate, all at once, every trace of Crimson Moon's ideology within the minds of the True Ancestors, leaving him no vessel to usurp again.
Thus Merem's illusions unsettled the Ancestors' spirits, allowing Caubac—master of "locks"—to tear the ideology from their depths, and then force it all into Crimson Moon's ideology currently possessing Arcueid's body.
Yet, looked at another way, if Crimson Moon managed to survive this day and subdue Arcueid's spirit completely, it would also serve as a rebirth of sorts.
At that moment, as her magical clash with Avia raged, Crimson Moon felt a sudden surge of overwhelming power well up from within her body.
The fusion was perfect, the overflowing might so immense that it even conjured a weapon into her empty hand—one that should not yet exist.
The Demon Sword: True World.
A blade destined to appear only at the end of the Steel Continent. Its concept, "True World," was born of Crimson Moon's ultimate goal: the restoration of Earth's divine age.
"...Eh?"
Crimson Moon stiffened, her entire body frozen.
The red flowers that should have risen heavenward now sprawled along the ground, forming the shape of a cross—a symbol of sin to be borne.
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