"I can't go with you."
That single sentence froze Laurent in place.
Despair? Shock? Disbelief?
He stared at Jeanne as if he hadn't heard her right—then let out a short, shaky laugh.
"What nonsense are you talking about? I have power now—I can save you from all this."
Jeanne's eyes lingered on his broken, bloodied form.
"But you'll be reviled as a demon for hundreds, thousands—even tens of thousands of years. Laurent… you've done enough. The one who deserves peace now is you, not me."
"Was it those angels? Did they tell you to say that? Did they threaten you?"
His voice trembled with anger.
"It's me, Laurent. My decision alone."
A few soldiers rushed forward—but Laurent turned, eyes blazing. Without a word, blood burst from his body, hardening into countless spikes that impaled the oncoming men. Their screams died instantly as their bodies were consumed.
"Get lost! Don't interfere!"
His roar shook the entire square. Everyone recoiled in terror at the sight before them—
"M-Monster!"
"A demon! The demon came to save the witch!"
Panic erupted, spreading through the crowd.
Laurent's breath came hard and ragged. Rage consumed him. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by something cold and merciless.
"So this is your final decision, Jeanne?"
No pleading this time. Only a heavy, deadly calm.
Jeanne stayed silent.
Laurent stepped closer, his face inches from hers.
"I crawled here step by step. I slaughtered angels, tore apart every obstacle, and now I stand here to take you home—and this is your answer? You want me to walk away? Alone?"
He laughed then—loud, bitter, hollow.
"Hahahahaha! Excellent, Jeanne! Truly excellent! If even now you still cling to that ridiculous dream, then from the very start—"
He grabbed the cross hanging from her neck, voice low and shaking with fury.
"—From the moment you turned thirteen, you never deserved this cross! Or anything I ever did for you!"
Before Jeanne could react, he clenched his fist. The cross shattered, crushed into twisted fragments that fell to the ground with a faint metallic clink.
"I searched alone, suffered alone, believed you'd be the one to stay by my side. But I see now—I was wrong. Jeanne, you never meant to stay with me. You're still that same woman chasing a useless dream of saving a country."
Jeanne said nothing, only smiled faintly, sorrow clouding her eyes.
She knew exactly how much pain he was in—how deep his wounds ran. She knew the burden of that monstrous power eating him alive. But nothing she did could change his fate.
Even if she went with him, Heaven's punishment would still fall: eternal imprisonment in the abyss, skewered by spears of light, his mind left awake forever—until madness claimed him.
If she could choose, she'd have him walk away now. Live quietly. Find someone new. Someone who could love him without ruin.
"It's over, Jeanne. Everything ends with this broken cross. All the memories we shared—I'll erase them. From now on, you're just the Holy Maiden who saved a country. No… a witch. And I am the Duke of England."
Soldiers began surrounding him again, weapons trembling in their hands.
"Wh-who are you?" one stammered.
Laurent turned slowly, lips curling into a twisted grin.
"Who am I? Hahaha—who am I?"
His laughter turned savage. He slammed a foot into the ground, cracking it open.
"I am your God."
His voice deepened, resonant and terrible.
"Your only God."
...
May 30th—a day no one would ever forget.
That day, a massacre swallowed Rouen.
Laurent slaughtered every soul that resisted. And that was only the beginning.
He took those who submitted—and Jeanne—cutting a crimson path all the way back to England. French captives who begged for mercy were executed before Jeanne's eyes.
When news spread through England, it was already too late. Laurent killed every noble who stood against him and declared himself King.
He ignored every law of war. Prisoners, clergy, civilians—it made no difference. Blood filled the streets.
The Holy Maiden of France was locked away in isolation, forbidden any contact.
But the killing never stopped.
Within a week, Laurent had seized total control, executing every noble and priest who dared oppose him. The Church called him a demon—but Laurent no longer cared.
If this world hated him, then so be it. He would rule it.
He ended the war by force, expanded England's power, and demanded worship in his name.
He proclaimed himself God—anyone who objected was beheaded and displayed at the city gates.
Those who spoke out were burned alive in the squares.
Those who defied him were flayed, their bodies hung in cages as warnings.
After tens of thousands of deaths, even the Church fell silent.
The city walls were lined with corpses.
"There is only one God—and it is Him."
"The One True God's will is absolute."
"His words are law."
"His light will guide us."
"All prayers must be offered to the One True God."
Under Laurent's rule, prayer itself became a weapon of fear.
Europe trembled. The Church raised crusades again and again—only to be crushed each time. No army could wound him.
Both France and England drowned in despair.
Laurent had become an absolute tyrant—untouchable, unstoppable.
Those who resisted died. The nobles crawled in fear.
Yes, he ended the war. But he replaced it with a reign of terror.
And so it continued—until July 1st.
...
In London, Laurent personally executed the English King and declared himself ruler.
That day, two ceremonies were to take place side by side:
his coronation—and Jeanne's burning.
With that, a new era would begin.
An era with only one God.
Only then did the world finally understand the truth—how radiant the Holy Maiden had been, and how monstrous the man who once loved her had become.
Hatred? No—hatred wasn't enough. Even an eternity in Hell wouldn't satisfy their rage.
When word reached France, Gilles de Rais nearly lost his mind. His hatred for Duke Évigi ran deeper than blood.
But nothing could stop Laurent now.
And as dawn broke over London, the citizens were forced from their homes to witness the new King's coronation.
Amid their hollow, lifeless stares, the absolute ruler—Laurent—finally appeared.
---
T/N: self fulfilling prophecy