The moment the door closed behind him with a heavy thud, Adonis’s expression transformed. His eyes glinted sharply, and he looked up at the stage with his fangs bared. Atop the stage, the king had emerged from the God Tree, his two faces looking upon the one to take the trial with appraising eyes. Glinting black beneath him like crystallized silence was the Key, situated directly behind the throne.
In a departure from Belle’s trial, two blue-mantled priests approached him from both sides with swaying steps. The king remained silent, asking nothing, and the only sounds disturbing the quiet were the priests’ faint footsteps.
Perhaps the priests had emerged ahead of time because the king somehow knew of Adonis’s actions. But that didn’t matter to Adonis. The two priests stopped beside him, flanking Adonis to restrict his movements. Both were covered in blue from head to toe, their masks glinting. Their masks each had different shapes, and their mantles were also slightly different shades of blue.
The king turned to look at the two masked priests, confirming something, and at that moment—
“Bamboo!” Adonis roared, and a slash tore through the silence. The masked priests’ heads separated from their bodies and were flung into the air—still masked—before landing with a wet thud. Their bodies crumbled to the sapphire floor, blue robes besmirched by red, and the two masked heads rolled off the stage toward Adonis.
A river of vibrant crimson flowed in their wake.
Adonis stepped into the pool of blood.
“King, let me ask you now!” he bellowed.
Droplets of red spattered his legs as he raced toward the stage, his sights set on the throne. In both hands, Adonis wielded swords engraved with Question marks. A group of priests promptly emerged from the spectator seats and hurried toward Adonis from all directions.
Cling. A sound like the chiming of a bell echoed around the room as the divine chains holding the priests’ swords sealed came undone. They drew them as one, a forest of azure swords.
Adonis’s charge didn’t stop. As he tried to run through them, the priests pointed the tips of their blades toward Adonis like the jaw of a gigantic blue monster and leaped forward. With the steps to the stage right before him, Adonis clashed with the priests.
Adonis’s movements were agile, and any sword that came his way he blocked, parried, or dodged with frightening accuracy. He raced up the steps, but just as he reached the top, priests ambushed him there as well. He flung his swords at them, unleashing them with all the resonance he could muster. They hit the priests like catapult bolts, crushing their limbs.
By that point, Adonis had jumped high into the air, soaring ahead. Tucking his knees into his chest in midair, he somersaulted, landing spectacularly past the priests that had been rushing toward him. He drew two more swords, swinging with all his might to cut down the group of priests behind him before they had a chance to turn and face him. Two more priests tried to intercept, but Adonis gave them no chance to regain their bearings and stabbed them through their chests, twisting the blades.
“Can you see these skeptical blades?! Now is the time for you to answer their questions, King!”
Swords engraved with Question marks pierced the priests’ backs, aimed at the king.
“What are trial ashes?! What are those who have their swords shattered tested for?!” he shouted sharply, letting go of the swords.
Faster than the stabbed priests could hit the ground, he’d already drawn new swords out of thin air. In one fluid motion, he cut down another two priests, the swords rapidly wilting, only to be swiftly discarded and replaced by new ones. The thick gloves on his hands were tattered, decaying rapidly.
“What are sacred ashes?! Where do they come from?! How are they related to trial ashes?!”
Releasing a barrage of questions, Adonis cut down more and more priests using sword techniques he had wished he’d never have to use. He shattered his swords, throwing them, sacrificing them, while intentionally targeting the priests’ most vulnerable spots. He secured the most beneficial footing against his opponents, never exchanging blows but only deflecting their swords to narrowly avoid the tips, striking to kill—denying the priests’ very existence.
He wasn’t doing this to arrogantly boast about his strength. No, this was the brutal desperation of a man driven into a corner.
“What are swords?! What is the meaning of Solists?! For what reason would God have us wield swords?! You say it’s dictated by the Thema, but what even is that?!”
As Adonis shouted, every question was punctuated by an overwhelmingly swift slash that cut down a priest. His attacks no longer seemed like normal techniques, and the wounds inflicted by his warped, decaying swords looked like the bite marks of a wild animal. The sound of the slashes cutting into the victims’ flesh produced unusual popping sounds, like balloons bursting. His gloves crumbled away to ashes, revealing the red, tainted claws underneath. With every blow, his swords would quickly wither and crumble away.
“What are cancerous swords?! Why do they drive Solists to delirium?! What are Nidhogg?! Why does God create them?! Why did Tiziano have to lose his mind?! And Kir?! Why did you have me go around spreading the trial ashes?! Can you hear my skepticism, King?!”
It was practically a wail. Each time Adonis swung his sword, another priest was torn apart. The steps leading up to the stage were covered in blood now, with corpses piled on top of each other. But then one of those dead bodies suddenly rose, grabbing on to Adonis’s knee. Near his waist, the priest’s mask flew back and blood gushed out of his neck. Adonis had driven a sword deep into his back.