In the heart of the World of History, where time is merely a concept that can be flipped back and forth like the pages of a cheap novel, Madela was enjoying her leisure time. She wasn't sitting in an ordinary bathtub. She was soaking in a colossal pool whose edges were made of cold black marble, filled not with water, but with thick, liquid ink that smelled of old paper and mystery. The ink was warm, caressing her pale skin gently, as if thousands of unspoken words were massaging her body.
Henzelgard, her loyal servant who took the form of an ink-human clad in a dapper formal suit, stood at the edge of the pool. With the elegance of a veteran butler, one of his four arms elongated unnaturally, removing the ugly remnants of melted wax that was nearly extinguished atop the flat surface of Madela's head. His other hand deftly installed a fresh new candle stick. Fwoosh. A new flame ignited, illuminating the room with a dramatic, dim light.
Madela let out a long sigh, steam of satisfaction escaping her red lips.
Madela:
"Hm, so that's how it is, huh?~"
Henzelgard nodded slowly. His flat, featureless face still managed to radiate an aura of absolute obedience. His four hands were now neatly folded behind his back after he finished delivering the daily intelligence report.
Henzelgard:
"That is correct, my Mistress. Based on my thorough observations... Mister Oldred and certain inhabitants of that new world are exhibiting extreme surges in spiritual energy. An anomaly they have named 'Sin'."
Madela smiled widely, so wide that the corners of her lips touched her ears. She toyed with the black ink around her, creating little whirlpools with her index finger.
Madela:
"That world's destiny is utterly dilapidated... shattered to the point of reaching a boiling point where its inhabitants are capable of defying destiny itself. Ah, how sweet. The possibilities... I can still see them. The future branches into millions of routes, but nothing is certain yet. It feels like reading a thriller novel where the author is drunk and could kill off anyone on the next page. It makes one curious to death!~"
Madela cleared her throat, leaning her back deeper into the embrace of the warm ink. In her hand, she squeezed a bright yellow rubber duck—the only colorful object in that black-and-white sea.
Squeak... squeak...
Madela:
"Hen! Clean me!"
Henzelgard gave a curt nod.
Henzelhard:"With pleasure."
Henzelgard's ink body did not move from its spot, yet his arms elongated like elastic rubber, winding through the air across the vast pool to reach his mistress's back. He began scrubbing Madela's back with a fine sea sponge, his movements efficient and rhythmic.
Madela hummed happily, a random tune that sounded like a nursery rhyme sung in a haunted house. Her finger poked the floating ink bubbles. Pop. Pop.
Madela:
"If this beautiful chaos continues, then I will succeed in breaking this curse of boredom. Hehe~, take a guess, Hen... Who is the smartest in all of existence?!"
Henzelgard answered without a second's pause, his tone flat yet full of conviction.
Henzelgard:
"You, Mistress."
Madela:
"Who is the most almighty?! (Well, after Mother Yue, of course)"
Henzelgard:
"Certainly, you."
Madela laughed crisply, tossing her rubber duck into the air.
Madela:
"You are Goddamn right, Hen!"
Suddenly, a heavy, foreign voice tore through the relaxed atmosphere. A voice that sounded like rusty metal being grated.
???:
"I think... it won't be that easy."
Madela flinched. She turned her head sharply, her eyes (or the area where her eyes should be) bulging in shock toward the space behind Henzelgard. Her reaction was hysterical, a mix of shock and excessive drama.
Madela:
"Hya?! Perverted intruder! Grrr, show yourself, you rude peeping tom!"
She looked up, searching for the source of the voice. Before her, reality began to crack.
A gigantic black steel hand, with fingers as sharp as scalpels and as hard as a tank, appeared out of thin air. The hand gripped the empty space as if it were thin fabric, then yanked it roughly downwards and aside.
KRRRAAAAAKKKK!!
The sound of a dimensional tear was deafening. The hole gaped wide, spewing thick smoke smelling of gunpowder, machine oil, and purgatorial fire. From within that black, polluted dimension, a figure stepped out.
His steel foot stepped onto the surface of Madela's ink pool. Instantly, the black ink beneath his foothold turned into a foul, oily, dead black color.
The figure towered high, a dieselpunk nightmare come to life. His body was encased in thick, rough black full plate armor, draped in a tattered black cloak fluttering in the wind from another dimension. On both shoulders, the pauldron armor was not inanimate; they possessed long metal tendrils moving on their own like mechanical snakes.
His body was inhumanly muscular. His armored arms had extra hinges and additional small hands at the elbows that twitched restlessly. But the most terrifying part was his head.
The head was made of cold steel, with a face design very similar to Oldred's mask—a dark, blood-red rose symbol with a cracked clock carving in the center. But the difference was, this creature's steel jaw could split and open wide up to its ears, revealing the interior of a face filled with gears and darkness, just like a starving symbiotic monster.
Madela, who had been arrogant moments ago, now shrank back.
Madela:
"Ahh... uh oh... come on..."
Her voice stammered, losing its authority. She recognized this aura. This smell of oil and death was unmistakable. Madela hugged her knees inside the bath, sinking herself up to her nose like a small child caught stealing cookies, ready to be scolded thoroughly.
Madela:
"Grrr... there goes the plan..." she whispered to the ink bubbles.
Henzelgard, loyal to the point of foolishness, stepped forward. He stood between his mistress and the iron giant, straightening his ink back without the slightest tremble.
Henzelgard:
"Lord Olbogeolg... this is a private space. You had best wait outsi—"
SPLAT!
No negotiation. No warning.
Olbogeolg didn't even look. One of the steel tendrils on his shoulder lashed out like a whip, striking Henzelgard at the speed of sound. The loyal servant's body shattered into pieces in an instant, exploding into a rain of black ink that splattered, dirtying Madela's face and sacred candle.
Henzelgard vanished, returning to a formless puddle of ink.
Olbogeolg, The Prince of Conquest and Destruction. One of the 4 Principles of Fate. The pure embodiment of brutal violence and death that comes without knocking.
He stood silent, staring down at his sister cowering in the pool. His voice echoed from behind his steel mask, heavy and judgmental.
Olbogeolg:
"Plucking a mortal being from their destiny of finality... Have you lost your mind? Sister?"