Chapter 97

It’s as though the world has stopped, as though Jack the Ripper is the only one moving. Nobody can stop his languid move. Shunk. There’s a small noise as the playing card lodges itself deep in one of the Nightblades’ heads. “A-agh…” The Nightblade crumples forward and twitches on the ground. Nobody moves a muscle. The stands are deathly silent as they stare at the spreading bloodstain. Their lives are in this clown’s hands. They can all feel it. He’ll kill them if they move. He’ll kill them if they scream. He’ll kill them if they do nothing at all. Tension rules the air as Jack the Ripper leisurely—so leisurely—pulls out one card after another. The eight of spades. The nine of spades. The ten of spades. The jack of spades. The queen of spades. The king of spades. There are precisely six of them. It’s the same number of cards as there are Nightblades, and Jack the Ripper splays them out in his hand before drawing the eight of spades. He slowly readies it. The selected Nightblade’s eyes go wide as he shakes his head. “E-eek… Help…” As if in response to his cry, magic surges up from the arena. It’s Experiment No. 227 Millia. She closes the gap in a flash, then slams her engorged right arm into Jack the Ripper. A violent crash thunders out. Wham, wham, wham, it goes, again and again and again. However, Jack the Ripper hasn’t so much as moved. The only thing Experiment No. 227 Millia has been hitting is the glowing wall of light separating the two of them. “Th-the barrier…,” someone stammers. The barrier is still up and running, and it’s obstructing Experiment No. 227 Millia’s way. How, then, is Jack the Ripper outside it? Nobody understands. As the wham, wham, whams continue shaking the very air, Jack the Ripper throws the eight of clubs. A man dies. He throws the nine. Another man dies. He throws the ten. One more death. Experiment No. 227 Millia continues slamming on the barrier. Wham, wham, wham. “Th-this is why I said we needed to crush him…with everything we had… The man is a monster in—” Before Earl Battler can finish his speech, the jack of spades buries itself in his heart. He clutches at his chest with a look of despair on his face before keeling over. “I—I know, the barrier… If we can just lower the barrier… Someone, hurry up and lower it!” Earl White shouts. However, there’s no one left to answer his cry. “Someone! Anyone! Anyone! Anyone! Anyone! Anyone! Anyone! Anyone!” he hollers like a man gone mad. Actually, there’s no “like” about it. The light of reason is completely gone from his eyes. “Anyone! Anyone! Anyone! Any—” The queen of spades sinks into his throat, and he sputters as he dies. Now only Despoht remains. Despoht remains glued to his chair. He’s too petrified to move. Jack the Ripper holds up the king of spades and spins it around in his hand, toying with it like he’s toying with Despoht himself. “What even are you? What’s a monster like you doing in a place like this?” The frailty in Despoht’s voice is wholly unbefitting the leader of the Thirteen Nightblades. “Spare me. I’ll do anything. I can pay you off.” Jack the Ripper deftly flips the king around between his fingers. “If you want apologies, I’ll give you as many as you want. Please, all I ask for is my life…” Despoht bows so low his forehead scrapes against the ground. “Spare me. Just spare me…” As he does, the king of spades sinks into the back of his head. The Thirteen Nightblades have been completely eliminated. The way Despoht dies, it looks like he’s apologizing to everything in the whole entire world. All the while, Millia’s fruitless strikes ring out hollow against the barrier. Wham, wham, wham. Jack the Ripper sweeps his gaze across the bodies in the spectator seats, then turns back to Millia. Millia just continues hitting. As she does, Jack the Ripper begins striding unhurriedly toward the barrier. Then his arm brushes it. Bluish-purple magic spreads out like smoke, and a moment later, Jack the Ripper is inside again. Millia wastes no time in attacking him. “GRORRRR!!” she bellows in delight. Jack the Ripper is defenseless, and with a sweep of her right arm, she sends him flying. He smashes into the wall at an unthinkable speed. A moment later, though, he springs back up and fixes his gaze on Millia. “GROHHHHHHHHH!!” She charges at him like a wild animal. The Cult has outdone itself. Her massive frame, physical prowess, and magical abilities are working together in perfect harmony. She’s an overpowering force of sheer devastation, and she smashes up the arena and causes the sturdy barrier to shake. Jack the Ripper’s body goes flying like a pinball, tumbling across the arena again and again. However, he doesn’t go down. Millia’s strikes are landing, but he’s carefully rolling with the impacts to avoid taking any lethal hits. His gaze is fixed squarely on Millia. “GRAHHHHHHHHH!!” she roars. Reddish-black fluid sprays everywhere as her flesh begins shifting. Thin tendrils, too many of them to count, sprout from her back, her chest, and even her face. The tendrils are sinister in shape and in hue, and they spread outward in every direction and fill the arena to bursting. There’s well over a thousand of them surrounding Jack the Ripper. All at once, they impale him. There are so many tendrils running him through that, in a flash, they have him completely engulfed. All that remains of him is a mass of writhing tendrils. It’s like a pile of sludge worms, Christina thinks. There are too many tendrils stabbing Jack the Ripper to see him anymore. When she sees the unsettling, twitching mass that has replaced him, all she can think of are sludge worms. “Is he dead…?” Alexia asks from beside her. She sounds like she can hardly believe it. “I don’t know. I don’t understand how he could have gone down that easily.” “Yeah, he didn’t even try to fight back.” “Exactly…” Not once did Jack the Ripper show signs of attacking. The Thirteen Nightblades are dead, just like he wanted. It was almost anticlimactic, how easily the longtime rulers of the Midgar Kingdom’s underworld went down. They were so powerful, yet they folded like a bunch of chumps. Christina realizes she’s about to break into a grin, and she hurriedly covers her mouth. In any case, with the Thirteen Nightblades dead, Jack the Ripper has done what he set out to do. For him, this battle with Millia has nothing to do with his goals. “He might just be satisfied, now that he’s done what he came for…” When Christina says it aloud, it feels like it makes sense. Alexia grimaces. “I can’t imagine how someone would survive in the middle of all those tendrils.” Not only are the tendrils strong, but they’re imbued with powerful magic, and now Millia’s producing more of them by the minute. Alexia’s doubts are perfectly logical. Then a ray of bluish-purple light peeks out from amid the tendrils. It starts out small and faint, but it soon begins leaking out from more and more places and dyeing the whole arena in its radiance. “I-is that magic?!” It is, and unimaginably powerful at that. The magic swells and blasts the tendrils away. “GYAHHHHHHHHHH!!” Millia screams. She tears out her shredded tendrils, shrieking in pain all the while. Slowly but surely, the bluish-purple light dies down. Standing in its place is a man dressed in a jet-black longcoat. “No way… It can’t be!” The man’s boots click against the ground as he strides forward. “My name is Shadow,” he says, his voice echoing like it’s coming from the depths of the abyss. “I lurk in the darkness and hunt down shadows…” Alexia stares at him in shock. “What…? What’s Shadow doing here?” Christina is bewildered as well. However, she believes there’s a meaning to the fact that he showed himself to her. He must have some reason. After all, he once said he had a duty he had to carry out, even if it meant shouldering all the sins of the world. Christina is determined to bear witness to the bloodstained path he walks. “GUH…AHHHHHH!” Christina and Alexia aren’t the only ones who are confused. When Shadow makes his sudden appearance, Millia freezes as well. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” She shifts from confusion to hate. “SHAAAAAAAAADOOOOOOOOOOH!!” For the first time, her voice sounds almost human. It’s almost as though she’s shouting “Shadow!” “SHAAAAAAAAADOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!” Her skin creaks as another set of tendrils burst forth from her flesh. Millia takes those tendrils and her mighty right arm and attacks Shadow. It’s a veritable tempest of blows. Countless tendrils bear down on him, and the arm comes sweeping in with tremendous force. Faced her with ceaseless onslaught, Shadow begins his dance. Floating as lightly as a flower petal tossed by the wind, he slices away the tendrils and dodges the arm by the slimmest of margins. As he elegantly whirls, he takes every opening he can to stab forward with his tiny thorns. Arcs of bluish-purple magic carve into Millia’s body. Her blood goes flying, and the magic adheres to her wounds. As time goes on, more and more of Millia’s body is overtaken by the bluish-purple marks. “Why…? Why isn’t he beating her?” Alexia says. “The monster is strong, but Shadow has the situation well under control. It’s like he’s tormenting her.” Christina is of the same opinion. Why doesn’t he just kill her on the spot? She knows full well that he’s strong enough to do so.