Chapter 158

It was the appointed day…only an hour until the game was set to start. All Sora could perceive clearly in the darkness was the hard seat and the feeling of Shiro in his lap. Behind him— “Spirit-arm expansion…connected! I’m launching it, I am…!” —he heard Til shout as she swung down her hammer. It struck at their feet with a boom. Everyone was silently praying: Please, start up okay. Then spirit light raced through the seals and lit the small space, the cockpit that enclosed the three of them. Next, the unit’s field of vision was displayed across the whole surface of the cockpit. They were situated amidst long-abandoned underground city ruins. It was a waste disposal site, metal refuse filling the remains of plants where everything had stopped except the eternal Holy Flame. This was the place where the unneeded scrap came to rest—in other words, their promised place. There stood their giant humanoid machine, heavy Gatling gun in both its hands. From the Demon Stance, it twisted back its left hand and fired in the eight-o’clock direction. “Yuhh! It works, Til! Shiro, how’s it lookin’?!” “…All systems, green… Leave the shooting…to me…” Sora and Shiro shared a single seat in the cramped cockpit, checking the grip on the joysticks on either side. Sora held the right and Shiro the left, catalysts they held with orichalcum gloves while willing their body to move. They nodded with satisfaction as the unit took just the “cool pose” they imagined. They moved it like their own bodies—no, like one body, two in one. Both smiling, they controlled it more nimbly than their own bodies. Meanwhile, behind them… “They’re not green, they’re nottt… Despite all that, the screen is all red, it iiis.” Til whined in the second seat, clutching her hammer. The screen had gone red, alerting them of errors even in the startup process, even in the initial diagnostics. “Are you truly sure about this?! Sir and Ma’am, you intend to confront the chieftain—with me, you do? In a four-day rush job like this? I can’t guarantee it went well, I can’t! I couldn’t even if we’d had forty years, I couldn’t! I—I don’t want to dieee…” Yes… Combat through spirit arms. All damage would converge into their cores, which meant they’d lose the game if Sora’s and Shiro’s joysticks and Til’s hammer broke. It was a very safe battle game in which it was impossible to break each other’s frame. However… Damage unrelated to the collision of their spirit arms, such as, oh, accidental explosions and other forms of self-induced damage were outside the warranty. So, they were all glad it had started up okay, sparing them a “dead end” before the game started, but Til’s point was that they’d have little room to complain should they die in a sea of flames any moment now. «—Is this really going to go all right without Jibril?» The voice chimed in from far beyond the vision of Sora, Shiro, and Til’s unit. It was a signal from the unit lying in wait at the top of an abandoned factory. They could just make out its silhouette at maximum zoom, but it was clearly distinct in style from the others: an iron golem that looked well-suited to be the boss of the end of some ruins. Its simple yet refined form was decorated with flowers, and several lines of spirit light glowed on it. This was Chlammy and Fiel’s unit. “Yeah…Jibril can’t participate in this game. We knew it.” Sora answered with a grin that everything was as planned. After all, differences in gifts were absolute—including burdensome gifts. As in the case of bullshit gifts that vaporized orichalcum upon synchronization due to excessive spiritual energy. Poor Jibril, unable to fulfill the game’s basic requirements, was left to sulk at Til’s hideout. “What I’m more worried about is…are you guys sure you can do this with Chlammy as pilot…?” Sora brought up another “gift” with a solicitous smirk. In unit testing, Fiel had said she’d give piloting a try. Then she’d pushed all the limbs of her unit forward at once, fallen, and gotten its head stuck in the ground. She was unimaginably gifted when it came to being clumsy. … How did you manage to do that with a unit that was supposed to move according to your will like your own body? Sora started to suspect that it was less a gift and more a curse that forbade the race from using tools, but— «…We knew how it would be, too. I’m at least better suited than Fi.» «Why, I’ll be providing support back here. There’s a proper place for each of us. » The voice indicated the bizarre, insanely big cannon mounted on the unit’s back, which was apparently made of wood. So Chlammy was piloting and Fiel was shooting. Then again— «… Just checking one last time. You’re fine if we go for the win for real, right?» «Why, we’re more worried about you two. Can you really hold up your end of the bargain…?» —“ ” were only human, too, after all. Chlammy gave a somewhat complicated reminder, while Fi prodded sharply. “Not to worry. When we play—we intend to have fun. ” “…Trust us…we’ll play…until, we’re satisfied… ” But Sora and Shiro replied with irreverence, as carefree as could be. Sora also muttered: “I doubt no one but Blank could take on Veig.” Until our tricks come to light—that bit he kept to himself. Sora and Shiro cast aside their doubts and closed their eyes in anticipation of the start. …Orichalcum gloves gripping their joysticks, Sora and Shiro—and Til—synchronized their souls, their three cores connected…and they moved as one unit. At the sense of their feelings lining up, as if they were holding hands with their hearts, Sora felt— —it wasn’t bad… It was kind of like when Shiro would fall asleep on his lap. Their heartbeats, their breathing, even their emotions gently overlapping…it was, in other words, as usual. Sora and Shiro didn’t even need to connect through catalysts for their comfortable tension and pulsations to sync up. There was just Til, who was supposed to sync up likewise. “…It’s six hundred seconds…to the start of the game…it is.” As if in response to Til’s uneasy murmur, a device shot up before them. It split into many pieces that attached themselves to the ceiling: countless cameras and shift anchors. They themselves had stipulated that the venue and their units would all remain secret until ten minutes before the start. The equipment Til had launched had been supplied by Veig for the purpose of broadcasting the game throughout Hardenfell. They felt the gazes of Dwarves on every monitor in this country, the second largest in the world. Sora, Shiro, and Til. And Chlammy and Fiel. Two units, five people—they waited in the silence disturbed only by the burning of the Holy Forge, waited for the start of the game, the arrival of their opponent. And in the end— “Let’s paaaaaartyyyyyyyyy!!!” That didn’t come over the comm system; rather, it boomed from the external speakers. This thing appeared in the air over the venue, the blue particulate light of its demi-shift through the anchor following in its wake. Its flowing silver body landed kicking up a storm of scrap and rubble like a cannonball. This was the unit they’d seen six days ago, with just one difference, but still— “We’re live!! Ya got the theme song goin’?! Ready to break down the highlights after I win?!” Its left hand drew the ridiculously large sword from its back and brandished it at the countless cameras. It was ready to declare victory to all of Hardenfell. No Dwarf could need to ask why. For indeed— “It’s me—the mothafockin’ chieftain of Hardenfell!!!” —it was, in fact, the greatest of all Dwarves, a talent unrivaled in this age…and his masterpiece. …… Sora and the rest had no way of knowing what kind of cheers and music were going on at the other end, but— «……Mmm? So, this is the place, is it…? Well, I suppose anyplace will do, eh…?» —on-site, these words were echoing emptily, while those present said nothing. Looking slightly peevish, he switched to the comm system—directing the head of his unit into the distance—and switched gears. «You really think you can beat me with that sort of rubbish? Are you fockin’ with me?» As Veig’s deeply disappointed blame came through, everyone there had to admit: —Yeah…it sure looks that way… Face-to-face with Veig’s machine, even Fiel was forced to chuckle at the inferiority of her own. And then there was the one controlled by Sora, Shiro, and Til. «…And even you can’t do better than borrowin’ some shit? If you’re mockin’ me, I’m gonna have to crush you.» Indeed…it was “borrowed.” The machine of Lóni Drauvnir, from six thousand years ago, which had been displayed at the Chieftain’s Hall. A relic of the past. Already an antique. Moreover, they had removed the offensive equipment from the shoulders. It was no wonder that Veig looked at them with spite and disillusionment. No one could refute that their unit was inferior to Veig’s. No, they couldn’t refute it…they couldn’t do that. However! “Who the hell are you to talk?! You think we’re the ones fucking around?!” They could rebut it!! Sora spoke for Shiro and Til in the cockpit with him—as well as Chlammy and Fiel at the venue—and probably even Jibril, who was watching: “You don’t even care if it’s alive now?! Why are you talking shit to us from a big-tittied robot? Are you out of your mind?!” …Bwoing… There swaying in an annoyingly healthy manner was the one difference from the unit they’d seen the other day. The faces of all twisted in disgust at the big boobs that looked as though they had simply been bolted on. However— «Hff… Inspired by those lovely raw tits, I found a way to reach even loftier heights, and you still can’t appreciate it…? What’s wrong with you? Are you one of those? Some pipsqueak who doesn’t know art when they see it?» “You think jiggly boobs are art?! Hey, stop pushing them up! Stop pushing them forward! Stop twisting around!!” Undeterred, Veig exhibited his mighty mammaries. Unable to take it, Sora clutched his head. “…Look. It’s like game genres. When you specialize like that, you’re limiting the audience… And when you’re so specialized that what you’re looking at is narrower than the head of a pin, you really gotta expand your viewpoint and think like the man on the street— At least shape the whole mech like a woman, will ya?!” As for what was pissing him off: It would be one thing if we are talking about a female robot as in Virtual-*n, but this was just a bouncy lump of metal with huge boobs attached to a sleek frame. …What was with the bouncing? Even liquid metal shouldn’t bounce like that!! «Whaddaya want from me, kid? I gotta fight with this thing! You don’t get to rebuild it. That’s against the rules! The specs can tolerate minor cosmetic modifications like this—so I ripped my heart out settling for what I could, ya know?!» “Rip all your guts out!! Why’d you have to stick those on something you were gonna fight with in the first place?!” Their exchange continued across the communication line, unbearable to listen to. But on an entirely unrelated note— “… It’s sixty seconds…before the game starts…it is…” —Til mumbled, growing more and more uneasy, and, concurrently… …the sound of steam from the Holy Forge filled the venue, heralding noon. «…Arright, then—no changes to the rules or chips—» Whomever he was responding to, Veig raised his mech’s hand and continued. «It’s over if I break all your cores, or if you break mine… By the way, is this all the players? If you wanna allow new challengers, you gotta say so now.» Veig asked high-handedly, somehow recognizing that Jibril wasn’t there. But Sora, Shiro, and Til likewise raised their mech’s hand and answered. “Well, you know, we don’t have that many friends. The ones here are everyone. We’ll keep it closed to new challengers.” “…No magic, other than, spirit arms and seal rites… Can’t use it anyway… No problem.” «Why, we’re such good friends, I’ll let that sliiide even though it’s quite a problem. » Fiel’s agreement was dripping with discontent as Veig gave a little smirk. The twist in his lips could be heard in his voice as he laid out the main point with resounding weight. “Arright, ready to rumble? See if you can make me accept your soul.” And so the three mechs and the six people in the cockpits each raised their hands and boomed out in chorus: —Aschente— «Ha! Niecey, you’re in this, too…? Ain’t got nowhere left to run, huh?» “……” Veig, who’d heard Til’s reedy voice, went on with a jolly laugh. «Just so you know: I keep my promises. Don’t be expectin’ any mercy from me.» —…Grk… Through the catalysts, Til’s feeling as she tremulously gripped her hammer made its way faintly to Sora and Shiro. …It was the natural feeling of one who looked to the sky despite not being able to fly. The trembling of her hands was that of throwing oneself into it—a mixture of fear and unease. However, when she realized they shared her feelings, the trembling subsided slightly. Yes…they felt the fear as it honed their focus to the max. Til likewise felt the unease…and for that very reason, felt herself filling with hope. «…Ho, fockers. Let me add another chip. You got to tell me where you poked to turn on my fockin’ niece’s motivation, arright? You can do it after you lose and come to.» Veig’s savage sneer was answered by the fire and brimstone that signaled noon—the horn of the Holy Forge, announcing the start of the game. Simultaneously, the clumps of metal, amalgamations of truth and falsehood, collided and produced an explosion louder than the Forge itself. No sooner did the Holy Flame erupt to mark the start of the game than Chlammy and Fiel’s golem turned tail and disappeared into the ruins. The unit controlled by Sora and Shiro also fled without a moment’s hesitation. Veig’s specs were unknown, but clearly superior to theirs. And on top of that, the pilot was Veig. Close-quarters combat was out of the question. Therefore, Sora and Shiro went for the tactic of firing projectiles from mid- to long range—but. «Mmm… Arright, I’m gonna check…whether you’re really playing me for a fool. You can dodge this, can’t you?» The voice came through the unit leisurely watching them from four hundred meters away. And then—something flew in front of their eyes, while before their brains could even process it, Sora and Shiro, and even Til…just perceived one thing. It was as incoherent as if several seconds had been lost from their memory. It was too sudden. Veig’s unit was supposed to have been four hundred meters away—and now it was before their eyes, raising its giant sword overflowing with light. All they perceived was the chill, the goose bumps rising on their skin with the knowledge that their unit was about to be cleft head to toe… . …Sora’s understanding just managed to catch up: Veig had hurled his sword and used it as an anchor to demi-shift before them…as Veig grabbed its hilt in his unit’s left hand. But understanding it wasn’t enough to evade it. Sora couldn’t even move. He just sat there watching the blade come down with literally all Veig’s spirits, his entire soul… A flash sufficient to take down their mech and reap their souls with it… It should have spelled instant death. But true to the Covenants and the rules, the damage converged into Sora’s, Shiro’s, and Til’s cores—yes— “Aghaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaghhhhh?!” The blow assaulted their synchronized cores, and they screamed …… The next thing Sora knew, he was on a hill, where a pleasant breeze was blowing. “… Master. Why—why is it…you choose to flee…?” Jibril stood before him, the mountainous peaks of her chest swaying. “My flesh is yours…and yet you have never once sunk in your hands.” —Wha…? Um, it’s not so much fleeing as desperately holding back. “Why is that, Master? Is my flesh not worthy of your use?” —Uh…why? B-because my sister—Shiro’s here, and… His eyes wandered in search of an excuse not to cup the massive boobs of the teary-eyed Jibril…but what they found was the big-boobed Loli Shiro smiling beside him, giving him the go sign with her upturned thumb. “Is it because you lack confidence as a man that you flee from my bounty?” —Wha… Uh? Have I…been…fleeing…? “Master…titties are not threatening. Please summon your courage and overcome your fear…” —Oh… Okay, I guess maybe I have been fleeing; I mean… Sora extended his arm to answer her prayer that he knead her ample bosom. After all, to refuse such a plea under these circumstances would be a boy’s shame. If his big-boobed sister, Shiro, said it was okay, then he shouldn’t have any motive to hold back!! And so, ah…if happiness had form, it could only be the form of this sensation! “…Brother… The boobs…are fake… Wake…up!” As Sora massaged his unnaturally soft happiness, he heard a distant voice. Yes…from somewhere far away—a voice not of the fake sister beside him! ……… That’s right—fake is fake… It could never compare to the real Shiro—!! With firm resolve, Sora escaped from the illusion and returned his awareness to the cockpit where the real Shiro awaited… “Wha—?! Heyyy, Shiro! For a brother to squeeze the huge boobs of his eleven-year-old sister, isn’t that cause for a unanimous guilty verdict—?”