NNNOOO…!
WWWHHHEEE…!
RRREEE…!
Sian’s fur stood on end. Adonis’s Rusty Nail screeched out an overwhelmingly strange wail. Adonis’s claws shone the color of rust, he appeared intoxicated, and his eyes glinted. There was no stopping his sword. It was like it became faster and sharper the more he swung—and perhaps it really did. The fact that Sian had to hop back to gain enough time to draw a sixth sword stood as proof. Adonis charged ahead with speed that defied belief.
Sian quickly drew a sword and hastily wrote a grammar spell on the blank side of the blade. He swung the sword and it clashed against Rusty Nail. His sword’s defense was boosted by grammar magic, and the blade became enveloped in flames. But it didn’t just produce fire—the flames spread using the wind and rushed Adonis from all directions.
Adonis faltered ever so slightly, and then moved faster than ever before. It was like his sword showed Adonis the right path to take, clearing away the flames with movements only made possible because of its current shape. It was like a dance, its motions sucking up even the false life of the flames unleashed in midair. The fire soon vanished, and the defensive spell applied to Sian’s sword was rapidly failing. The sword rusted over and shattered.
Sian drew another, but that was only a feint. He shattered the sword the moment he pulled it out, using that opening to fully grasp another sword.
At this point, it was hard to keep count of how many swords he’d gone through. Finally, Rusty Nail, with its warped blade, was consuming the Question mark swords one by one. It used a magical effect to attract the shards of their metal and absorb them, quite literally devouring them to mature its rusting to new levels.
The way it operated was like the Motif the Dearth March lived for personified in a weapon, and this sword of darkness full of eternal hunger let out a true cry of lamentation in Adonis’s hands.
“A blessed child…,” Sian whispered with a tone of wonder, but the screeching of Adonis’s sword drowned out his voice.
The song of his Schwertmusik spoke thus:
There is no meaning to questioning and doubting!
The sword, and Adonis with it, shook the air with their empathy.
There is no need for Reason! All questions in this world long to be engulfed by the darkness of inquiries and be torn apart by the blade of skepticism! Those called to question by this sword will have their very existence brought to death! They will simply be consumed by a future of darkness given form as eternally wilting Postfestum…!
Enveloped by indigo-blue darkness, Adonis sat on the bed, hugging the sword against his shoulder. The usual smell soon tickled his nostrils, and the bed creaked under his weight as a warmth materialized behind him.
“There’s no need for this anymore,” he said, his expression firm and his eyes fixed on the darkness before him.
His gaze was sharp and frozen, but unlike before, when he’d been falling apart from shutting himself off from the world, there was an air of strange boldness to it all that inspired a sense of awe in those who saw him.
But then his expression turned into a soft smile, and he faced Dranvi.
“Because I’d just…want you to coddle me again.”
Dranvi nodded back with an alluring smile. She took Adonis’s hand with an air of limitless patience.
“I shall grant you the Dearth March’s fangs,” she whispered, sensing what Adonis must do next. “You were born into this world with a Nomad’s curse, living while doubting the kingdom of God. The Blessed Child of Darkness… In accepting you, the Dearth March’s Thema will be made stronger.”
“The Dearth March’s Thema…”
Dranvi nodded, not explaining what it was. It wasn’t something that could be put into words. Adonis knew that much.
It was then that a few presences materialized in the darkness. Adonis turned around automatically, squinting to make out their forms. They appeared out of the shadows, stepping out of another space, like Dranvi did, all of them strange and peculiar.
A Minotaurus with countless nails driven into his proud horns; a Mermaid woman with her body wrapped in bandages covered in grammar and mathematics magic, as well as indiscernible spells; next to her, a Cateyes girl, her eyelids sewn shut with silver thread, with the symbol for eye tattooed over them; a Sheepeyes boy, all his fingers missing save for his pinkies and thumbs, and in place of his missing digits, three golden chains dangled out of the flesh and bone of his hand, with keys with the symbol for finger jingling at their ends.
There were many others there, from infants to the elderly. Many of them were from races Adonis didn’t recognize. Most people would cower from their terrifying, strange presence, but most scary of all was the irresistible seductive beauty that came with their exaggerated gestures. All of them had individually become a caricature of their own Reason, becoming denizens of darkness in devoting themselves to the Death March.
They all wore what looked like black mantles, or otherwise wore bandannas like Adonis or were covered in bandages with the same spell written on them. Some differed slightly in dialect, but all were written in the grammar magic common across the world and stood for the word Fang.
Adonis looked upon them without fear or apprehension, instead feeling a certain affinity and familiarity. In truth, looking upon them made his heart churn as he wondered how they’d become so disfigured and warped, but he did find them beautiful. It was just like when he’d seen Dranvi’s body covered in spells.
They were all, for different reasons, both excluded from the Themas of their countries and forced to live under their absolute dominion. And in their attempt to fight back, they had tired of life and lost all pleasure in their existence, only to be invited into the darkness where they found this Motif. There was heartrending courage in them.
“They shall reside in your shadow and be as your limbs… The ones who will serve as the Dearth March’s Fangs.”
Saying this, Dranvi gently removed Adonis’s bandanna. Revealing his pale, smooth forehead, Dranvi planted a kiss on it, leaving behind a dot that shone like flames.
“So this makes me one of you now…,” he whispered with a smile of relief.
Closing his eyes, he let Dranvi do as she pleased, and she took his hand. She put his middle finger into her mouth, sucking on the digit and covering it with saliva. As she closed her eyes, Adonis noticed the nail of that finger was turning the color of rust. She lifted Adonis’s hand to his forehead and gently, silently, ran his nail over the spot she’d kissed earlier.
He didn’t know how she did this, but his nail had become as sharp as a razor and cut into his forehead. Pain shot through him, strong enough to make him believe she’d cut through flesh and reached as deep as bone. But Adonis accepted it ecstatically, letting her draw something into his face.
Blood ran down his forehead, wetting his eyelids and dripping off them like tears. She moved his finger down from his forehead, descending to his nose to cut his cheek and the bone under his left jaw.
The pain from where Dranvi had initially cut him was receding, the wound closing with a strange, sweet sensation. As it did, Adonis felt the spell carved onto his features seep into the inside of his face.
“Darkness was warmer than light…,” Adonis whispered in the throes of pain and pleasure. “That’s the entirety of my Motif.”
The taste of the Seed of Calamity filled his mouth. Its crisp sweetness coursed throughout his being, melting Adonis in both heart and body into the dark.
The surrounding Fangs all raised their voices in lamentation.
NNNNNN…
OOOOOOWWWWWW…
HHHHHHEEEEEERRRRRR—
Their strange call was like a celebration of someone’s birth. They held up their fire irons, waved their broken swords, and enthusiastically strummed their rusty instruments as they surrounded Adonis and Dranvi in grave but boisterous celebration.
Raising his bloodstained face, Adonis slowly opened his eyes and looked around. He appeared entranced. Dranvi hugged him gently from behind, and the sweet flavor and scent of the Seed of Calamity hung in the air.
And so the Blessed Child of Darkness was inducted into the Dearth March.