Adrian secured victory with overwhelming dominance, but since HE was aboard the Astral Express, all the prizes were transferred to Stelle and March 7th.
It didn't matter anyway; HE had zero interest in awards. No amount of prizes could compare to a single cup of milk tea.
...
At the [Inter-Astral Tournament Festival] arena, host Giovanni was chatting with the long-absent Sampo:
"Never imagined the final mystery player would be HIM... Oh, could this be part of your scheme too, old bro Giovanni?"
Sampo hadn't expected it—beyond the original Hook, there was actually an expert. With Adrian taking the field personally, infinite HP? How the hell do you even fight that?
"Hahaha, how could it be? Compared to contrived scripted plays, I prefer the [Elation] outcomes that arise from events unfolding naturally."
"But, brother Sampo—as fellow [Masks of Fools], you never seem willing to share your aesthetic insights... Why is that?"
"Hm, let me think how to phrase this without offending anyone..." Sampo pondered briefly. "Put it this way: Among our crowd, a few folks aren't great at [knowing when to stop]... I won't name names, heh."
"You must've heard about that bit of fun from Pier Point—Giovanni old bro, you know who pulled that off, right?"
Giovanni let out a light hum: "Oh~ Now that you mention it, I think I know which friend we're talking about."
"...I just don't like dealing with those types. So dull!" Sampo waved it off.
"Everyone pursues [Elation] differently—why waste energy forcing your tastes on others?"
"Hey... Overly twisted jokes bring trouble, and too much trouble makes the fun... stop being fun. You get me?"
"Hahaha, I get it... Speaking of which, [that friend] seems headed for Penacony. You not planning to...?"
"Urgh! If I had my way, I'd never cross paths with her again in this lifetime..."
Daring to lay hands on the Aeon of [Eternity] (though she herself was unaware), the outcome was clear: That [Tavern] colleague was now a prime target for the Church and HIM.
...
Meanwhile, Blake hauled a massive bag of Church specialties to the [Tavern] at the cosmos's edge.
With a sudden sharp brake and drift, the black-and-white Teach spun through the void, trailing sparks.
He smoothly fished a pristine bar of soap etched with scriptures from the gift bag, hurling it like a lead shot toward the target [Tavern], chanting:
"Eternal light of purity! Cleanse this den of filth and corruption!"
"Ora ora ora ora ora!"
...
Eternal Fire Residence, Afrit slumped against his throne, his form like a collapsed mountain, devoid of any strength to rise.
That earlier proclamation of burning all to ash had drawn an Emanator of [Eternity] and a Galaxy Ranger on patrol... This end truly exceeded his expectations.
"...Looks like victory and defeat were fated from the start." His gravelly voice cracked like embers in cooling ashes.
"They're still alive—you are too." Acheron's voice carried a chill, carving Afrit one final path to life: "As far as I'm concerned, you still have a choice. Leave that music box... and go."
Acheron's gaze shifted to her side, where Freesna stood silent, her robes billowing without wind. That usually gentle face now somber as frost, her eyes churning with bottomless turmoil—Acheron rarely saw her like this.
"A choice? The bloody path of [Destruction] allows no room for hesitation." Afrit coughed heavily, his Imaginary energy draining like a breached dam, the leaping flames gradually dimming.
"Fire demon of Tayzzyronth... Even offering your life to that Aeon, you'll earn no favor."
"Ranger, treading the narrow [Hunt], you naturally can't comprehend."
"We come from fire, born in flames—to spread, to burn, to destroy, until the fuel is spent, leaving naught but dead ash."
Afrit's flames flickered, mirroring his nearing end.
"Burning is a fire demon's life—from origin to conclusion. We are born to die, merely one facet of the universe's truth: All things exist for [Destruction]."
"Your companions seem to disagree—they've fought for your chance at survival..." Acheron's eyes swept over the distant fire demon remnants.
A half-charred string coiled around a splintered beam, its end tied to a scorched sheet of scores, while the poison blade meant to wound [Elation] ultimately became part of the Styx itself.
"Pity—arrogant delusions demand a price." Freesna and Acheron's gazes met briefly, a silent accord crystallizing in the air.
Afrit's voice sank, laced with an odd, almost nostalgic calm: "They were my children—like the me of old, unquenched sparks. They were young; I won't blame them."
"But my flames have grown hoarse—time runs short. See that distant Star of the Grand Feast? I must bring purgatory there... So first, I must cross you both."
"Why?"
Freesna finally spoke, her voice cold without a ripple, the staff's tip gathering a heart-chilling glow, slowly aimed at Afrit. His burning pupils locked on the two formidable presences:
"Because on the roads THEY paved, you've walked further than I... [Emanator]."
Acheron remained silent, still as a deep pool.
"You can't hide your identity. Draw that blade—we'll gladly stay here. We're fated for a deathmatch, because I [choose] it."
"[Destruction] is a glorious instant. To cower and cling to life... would make this existence far too long."
"Even if that final answer..." Freesna's voice congealed like frost, "might be... your own annihilation?"
"The answer matters not—only that it exists, as you both do."
Afrit's flames surged fiercely, like a final life-affirming blaze. "All exists to be [Destroyed]—Emanators no exception."
"Even the void births dreams; so-called impossibilities are merely yet to come."
"I accept." Acheron's fingertip brushed her hilt lightly.
Afrit's laughter echoed through the empty residence.
"Hahahaha... You'll witness the world's most brilliant and savage fire. May this blaze illuminate your bottomless dreams."
"Bottomless dreams... Indeed." Acheron nodded faintly, her eyes harboring the birth and death of myriad worlds: "But you've misunderstood one thing."
Her hand steadied on the guard, an intangible pressure beginning to suffuse the air.
"This blade remains sheathed—not from pity or disdain. It's a secret I withhold from the unworthy, but in return..."
"...I'll be honest with you."
With those words, Acheron's aura deepened to abyssal hues. In the instant it ensnared all of Afrit's senses, Freesna stepped forward, the long-gathered light at her staff's tip erupting.
Not a savage energy blast, but an ultimate, frigid radiance—as if [Eternity] ITSELF manifested in her grasp.
The air froze solid, emitting faint cracks of shattering ice crystals; the flow of Imaginary energy was forcibly anchored.
Freesna's voice lowered, tinged with a barely perceptible sigh:
"May death end your endless burning dream..."
She honored Afrit's choice, granting this martyr the endpoint he sought, fulfilling the duty [Eternity] imposed.
The staff's glow peaked, utterly engulfing Afrit's silhouette.
"...Guiding your soul... to the waking cosmos."