Clementine, having just reached the shadowed graveyard on the city's outskirts, lifted her head. For several long seconds she stared blankly upward at the majestic, radiant figure of the Holy Domain God Lord dominating the night sky—its form wreathed in blinding platinum-gold light, the grand heavenly hall behind it echoing with celestial choirs.
Then her crimson eyes shifted, locking onto Helant below.
Thank goodness… you're alright.
Her red lips parted slightly in silent relief.
She glanced down at her own arms and hands. Her already flawless, firm skin now glowed even fairer, almost translucent—bathed and subtly nourished by the gentle rain of holy light that had fallen moments earlier.
A surge of boundless vitality coursed through her veins, warm and invigorating. It felt like an unexpected bonus gift, as though her body had been polished one final step closer to perfection. A quiet, unfamiliar joy flickered in Clementine's heart.
If not for her relentless pursuit of ever-greater power, she would never have allied with that fool Khajiit in the first place. But at the mere thought of him, her brows knitted sharply. Killing intent darkened her pretty features as she fixed her gaze on the collapsed tomb ahead.
Time to settle the score, Khajiit.
...
A drilling, wave-like agony battered Khajiit's mind without mercy.
Both arms had been savagely crushed and grotesquely stuffed into his own mouth, forcing his jaw unnaturally wide. His legs were shattered beyond use; he could only writhe pathetically with hips and torso.
"Mmph! Mmph!"
Tears streamed endlessly down his cheeks as he stared up at the night sky—now bright as false daylight—and at the towering, majestic figure in the distance.
He understood now. It had all been a performance.
That damned lich had declared it before growing gigantic: "I will die first at the hand of that great one… it is supreme glory!"
The fanaticism etched across its skeletal face had been unmistakable.. worshipful, ecstatic.
"Huff… huff…"
Khajiit sucked desperate air through flaring nostrils, chest heaving violently.
The tomb's position had given him a perfect, horrifying view: the Holy Domain God Lord's finger descending to touch the Lich King… and that monster had been smiling. A smile blending reverence, fanaticism, and the twisted joy of a martyr's worthy death.
The sight made Khajiit's skin crawl even through the haze of pain.
But agony left no room for deeper horror. He could only cling to one frantic hope: that someone—anyone—would find him soon.
I have to tell the truth. You've all been deceived!
Writhing inch by inch, he dragged himself toward a crumbled section of the graveyard wall and craned his neck skyward.
In the next instant, the majestic figure, the grand celestial hall, the choir of angels—all of it simply vanished.
The false daylight snuffed out. Cold, ghostly moonlight spilled down once more, pale and indifferent.
Beneath that silver glow appeared a lithe, predatory silhouette—golden hair shining like molten metal.
Clementine!
A flash of desperate joy lit Khajiit's bloodshot eyes. Unreliable as she was, she remained his last ally in this mess.
If she would only pull his mangled arms free, he could explain everything. He would even hand over the bloodline reversion spell she coveted so badly!
"Khajiit… you look truly miserable." Clementine stepped closer, taking in the broken limbs and the grotesque self-gag with open mockery curling her lips.
He had stolen her Crown of Wisdom to unleash a so-called Demon God… and this was his reward? Pathetic.
"Mmph-mmph!"
Help me! Clementine, help!
He gazed up at her with pleading, tear-filled eyes.
That pathetic look only deepened her sneer. She glanced sideways at the unconscious Nfirea—still slumped nearby, the Crown of Wisdom no longer on his head—then slowly raised one of her signature stiletto spikes above Khajiit's left eye. A cruel smile spread across her face.
"You stole my Crown of Wisdom. It seems you never planned to cooperate honestly from the start."
I stole it?!
Khajiit shook his head frantically, muffled protests bubbling from his stuffed throat.
It was that elven girl—No, Boy! Not me! This is all their conspiracy!
"Since you weren't sincere…" Clementine mused softly, almost sweetly, "then the bloodline reversion spell you promised must be fake as well."
Without warning, she drove the spike deep into his flank.
"Mmph!"
His body arched rigid as a board, every muscle locking in shock and fresh agony. Bloodshot eyes glared up at her in helpless, seething fury.
What do you mean fake?! I have the real one! You insane woman—let me speak!
Before his silent rage could find any outlet, Clementine's eyes blazed with murderous intent. The spike in her hand began to glow faintly with channeled martial skill energy—ready to end him.
She's going to kill me!
Khajiit stared up at her, praying desperately that this madwoman would at least grant him a few last words.
I might be the only one who knows the truth!
"Clementine, what are you doing here?"
A gentle, familiar voice cut through the tension, halting her mid-motion.
She turned. There, framed by moonlight, stood Helant—white hair fluttering softly, handsome face lit with warm surprise and faint concern.
The instant she saw him, Clementine instinctively released the spike. It clattered forgotten to the ground as she launched herself forward, slamming her lithe, wild body into his chest.
Her arms clamped around his waist like steel bands.
Helant caught her automatically, one hand settling on the slender curve of her waist. The cool, silky feel of her skin beneath thin fabric tempted him to linger—just for a heartbeat.
"I… I saw that you were hurt earlier." She pressed her cheek lightly against the now-healed wound on his chest, voice unusually soft, almost vulnerable.
Just then, Momonga's amused voice drifted over from nearby.
"Helant-san, flirting out here in the open like this… someone might get jealous, you know."
The words had barely landed when Mino came sprinting up, sputtering indignantly. "Who's this blonde?! Get away from Helant right now!"
Clementine snapped back to reality. Awkwardly, she lifted her head from Helant's chest—only to freeze.
Besides Mino, Momon, and Nabe—who had arrived moments earlier—there stood another blonde who looked exactly like her. The same sharp features, the same golden hair.
"Oh shii... Quaiesse?" she blurted, confusion cutting through her usual composure. "Why is he with you?"
"You two know each other?" Helant asked mildly, his hand still resting lightly on her waist as though completely unaware of the brewing storm.
Clementine stole one last greedy breath of his scent—clean, faintly warm—then quickly stepped back, composure snapping back into place.
"He's my brother…"
"Blondie, so you're the one trying to steal my Helant?!"
Mino cut her off sharply, baring her small, cute fangs as she wedged herself possessively between them, wrapping her arms around Helant's waist to stake her claim.
For the first time in her proud, domineering life, Clementine felt a strange, helpless ache—like something vitally important had just been snatched away right in front of her.
She lowered her gaze, shoulders slumping in rare, quiet dejection.
Mino noticed immediately. Leaning close to Helant's ear, she whispered with mischievous suspicion, "Helant… what kind of love potion did you give her?"
____
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