Red drops formed from the Saint’s throat.
Her eyes were wide-open.
Rogue couldn’t believe he was actually trying to kill Catherine—yet his body would not obey him. Not only was he unable to let go, but he was also putting his full weight behind the blade.
This was mental interference. But Auroch was dead. This wasn’t happening. Had she put a death curse on him? She’d lost her mind, and her body had crumbled away.
“Kill the witch. Do not hesitate. Do you know how many people she’s murdered?”
There was a hot breath on his ear.
Behind him.
“De……”
Catherine’s arms were quivering. Could she not hear the voice? She was just staring up at him, brow creased in agony.
“She massacred innocent people for fun. Can you forgive that?” the voice went on. “I’ll say it again. You will not be her only victim. She will kill far more.”
Something touched his back.
A hand, he realized—even as it sank into him. Into Rogue’s body. Deeper and deeper. He felt no pain; it even felt good. It fit, like he’d been born this way.
“We are comrades. Let us kill together. Kill all the witches.”
So, she was taking over his body.
He realized the voice was coming from inside him.
A surprise attack was the best way to kill a witch. Only a few people would have ever been in a position to attempt that. Rogue was one of them.
He wasn’t sure if Auroch had always planned to take control of him. If she had, she likely would have tried it earlier. Was this a last-minute improvisation?
If so, there might still be a way to get out of this. A weakness in her control…but Rogue was past the point of searching for one.
All he could think about was killing witches.
He gritted his teeth.
He tried to refute the thoughts assailing him. But they weren’t stopping. Why should he stop himself? Why shouldn’t he just end her? Had he forgotten his vendetta against witches? Did he think they could just be friends?
Kill her.
She’ll kill you if you don’t.
You have to kill her.
Auroch’s bloodlust was implanted in him, forcing his own mind out. No, this fury was not hers alone. He couldn’t pretend it was. Part of him had it in for the witches, too.
He remembered how everyone back home, his own family, had been turned into flowers.
All he could see was lilies.
“That’s your answer. You despise witches.”
His strength, his will, was draining away.
And yet the force behind the blade grew stronger. He couldn’t fight it any longer. The tip of the blade was about to touch Catherine’s skin.
And then he heard a voice.
“Hang in there, partner.”
His strength returned. He gathered the fragments of his mind from the mist and put them back together.
_____I’m a moron!
He was furious with himself.
Falling for an easy trick, about to kill my own partner—how stupid is that? That’s just what she wanted!
Anger made his blood boil. Raging against her and himself.
“Claim your vengeance. That is what’s best for you.”
I let this get to me?!
Auroch’s voice was echoing within him. The same message, only the wording changed. He sensed no conscious mind behind it, did not believe she had any grudge of her own. Auroch herself was long since dead. Which meant he had nothing to fear.
He poured all his might into the sword hand. His muscles screamed. The tip wavered slightly. Catherine’s eyes went wider still.
The magic sword scraped the side of her neck and slammed into the ground. The half blade broke again, shattering like glass.
And an instant later, a shudder ran through Rogue.
Like he’d shattered his own body.
Fuck it.
He shook Catherine’s grip off his wrist, freeing himself, and stood up. He slammed the blade again, breaking everything below the hilt. He kept going, damaging the decorations on the hilt itself, warping them out of shape, slamming it into the ground.
“Witches… Kill…witches…”
Auroch’s voice was cutting out.
“Witches…”
At last, it faded to a mosquito’s whine—and was gone.
Rogue tossed the hilt aside, badly out of breath.
“D-Detective?” Catherine ventured. “Is it you?”
She timidly came closer.
Rogue nodded.
“Thank god…you’re back to normal.”
He tried to answer, but his tongue wasn’t working. His vision was blurred. Maybe breaking the magic sword had been a bad idea.
He watched himself topple over, like it wasn’t even his body.
Rogue’s hands were on the wheel.
He was in the driver’s seat, with one foot on the gas. They must have hit a bump, because he felt himself bounce, his vision shaking.
How long have I been driving?
He didn’t recognize the road. It was just a long, straight path, with white roofs on either side. There were no signs of life, not even a bird chirping.
Did I drive straight here from the hotel lot? No, he told himself. Auroch had taken control of him. Breaking the magic sword had backfired. Is this a dying dream?
Rogue pulled over and stopped the car, taking stock of the interior.
This was the company car provided to detectives. That matched his memories. Nothing about it seemed amiss.
An idea struck him, and he leaned over the back seat, making sure there was no one on the floor. His suspicion didn’t pan out. He was alone in the car.
Sighing, he turned back—
_____Huh?!
There was a girl in white beside him.
“Hi, Rogue!”
His jaw hung open.
“What’s wrong? You act like you’re seeing a ghost,” the girl in white said, her blue eyes smiling.
“……What’s going on here?”
“This is where the dead go… I’m kidding, of course. You’re still very much alive.” The girl in white—Miseria—shrugged. “So where are we? Simply put, we’re inside you.”
What the hell does that mean? This reaction must have shown on his face, because she turned around and drew (poorly) a human figure on the window glass. It had a single hair coming out of the head. That seemed to earn her approval, and she moved right along.
“This is a mental landscape, formed from the mess your memories and emotions left behind. No matter what you do here, it will have no influence on the real world and vice versa. You could call it the ultimate in private quarters.”
“No, wait…”
“Hmm?” Miseria crooked her head at him.
“If this is inside my mind, then why are you here? Are you with me in real life?”
“Hardly,” Miseria scoffed.
“Th-then how—?”
“You’re thinking small,” she said, waggling a finger at him. “You still don’t get how much that collar suppressed my powers. My threads are far longer than you imagine. If you must know the specific logic, let’s just say I planted one on you the last time we met.”
“……And the truth?”
“Doesn’t matter here. Move along.”
Miseria reached for the glove compartment. She dug around inside it and came out with a black orb that was approximately the size of the human eyeball.
“This is the doodad that was messing with your head.”
He gave the orb a closer look. He’d thought it was black, but it was more like countless shadows overlapping, writhing around within.
“……What the?”
“Remnants of the Headtaker Corps.”
“Remnants…?” Rogue echoed.
“Nothing significant,” Miseria said. “Not even a proper postmortem grudge. The Synchro magic sword merely siphoned a portion of its wielder’s aggression. It’s a fragile thing that’ll soon fade away on its own.”
“Yet it tried to wrest control of me.”
“That it did. It almost synchronized with your personality entirely. Best we squish it.”
With that, she clenched her hand, crushing the orb. There was a cracking sound, and when she opened her hand again, it was gone, as if it had dissolved into the air.
“All done,” she said, dusting her hands.
The mood relaxed. If what this witch said was true, Rogue wasn’t on the brink of death or anything; he was probably being hauled off to the hospital. By the time the doctors looked at him, other detectives would be hitting the hotel and prison. They’d handle the rest.
But in Rogue’s mind, there was one thing still unresolved.
“……So, uh,” he said.
“Hmm?”
Unable to look her in the eye, he glanced out his window.
“……Sorry I doubted you. You were only there because you were dispelling the triggers set on Chronos, right?”
The Saint had said that once a human was melded to a spell, the one way to undo it was by reaching deep into their minds—like only Miseria could. If Chronos had been turned into a bomb, then it was clear who had fixed that.
In hindsight, he wasn’t sure why he’d freaked out like that. He’d disgraced himself. Just thinking about how he’d acted a few days before made dank sweat form on his brow.
“……You’ve had my back the whole time,” Rogue acknowledged.
“I don’t know what you mean.” He glanced her way, and she had a very phony smile on. “But if you wish to be grateful, I won’t stop you. Thank away! I’ll especially appreciate it if it comes with donuts.”
He rolled his eyes. He was being all earnest, and she was making a joke out of it. No matter what he said, she’d spin it into nonsense.
Still.
Thank you—
He mouthed the words.
_____for calling me back.
“So, uh, how do I get outta here?”
The witch grinned.
“How do you think?”