The woman calling herself the Deathwatcher screamed with rage from the bottom of her heart. In that moment, overlapping her, I saw a glimpse of the boy who’d attacked that devil-touched girl. The shadows wrapped around her looked almost like vengeful ghosts.
“Even so, those children bear no sin. And neither do you.”
“Huh?”
The bells rang out to accompany the saint’s words, leaving silence in their wake.
“It was a distant place of fields and farmlands, where even the traveling merchants seldom visited. The people were far from wealthy, but they lived hand in hand and supported one another. They didn’t need a life of plenty; they were content to live out their days in peace, there in that village.”
“What’re you—?”
The saint’s unprompted words had a mysterious cadence that captured the ear. I watched the killer’s face twist and darken as she listened.
“Stop it...”
Blood dripped from her clenched fist, and her widening eyes were filled with fear.
“One autumn night, as the harvest festival came to a close...”
“I said stop it!!!”
The killer tried to charge at the saint, but she stumbled on her still-healing leg and her body toppled to the floor. Even as she groaned in pain, she glared fiercely up at the saint’s gentle smile of merciful love.
“A painful past will only eat away at you,” the saint said as she held out a beckoning hand.
“Don’t fucking talk like you know shit!”
The killer swore furiously, but a strange panic was slowly spreading over her face.
The saint read her memories. In that one instant...
If she could erase memories, it’d make sense for her to be able to read them as well. But, why was she—? No, I could see it. Faced with an enemy who wouldn’t stay dead, crushing their spirit was the obvious play—especially for a witch with power over memory. Once all that remained was a broken doll, the saint could easily manipulate her as she pleased.
“Why was it that you alone survived? Why was it that even after all they did to you, death never came, and your body was able to heal again and again?”
The saint wove her words with cruel precision, as though breaking every bone in Veil’s body one by one—slicing away every bit of will to stand and fight again.
“Do you truly not understand what that signifies?”
“The Gods gave me this power so I could kill you bastards... So I could wipe out evil!”
“No, you’re wrong.”
“The hell I am!”
But she was. There weren’t any Gods in this world of ours. The Gods were nothing but a fiction constructed to receive people’s worship; they didn’t show up to hand out miraculous salvation. If this woman had been tortured by demons and escaped with her life, it had to be...
“Atavism.”
“What?” The killer faltered for a moment as she took in the unfamiliar word.
“Just as the children we call ‘devil-touched’ arise due to demonic blood somewhere in their ancestral bloodlines, the changes in your body were triggered by the demonic blood you carry within you. Does that sound familiar? Do you recall being given any of their blood? Made to ingest it, perhaps?”
The killer’s jaw clenched. That must have rung a bell for her.
“Not just any blood transfusion would cause such an effect, though. In all likelihood, one of the demons that attacked you must have been a distant cousin of sorts. That coincidence allowed their blood to awaken whatever ancient memories lingered within your body, causing your transformation.”
It was obvious where the saint was heading.
“As you are now, you are a demon as well, are you not?”
“SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!”
Running on pure rage, Veil charged toward the saint. From behind, her figure looked painfully sad and pitiful.
“This world holds many truths that are better left unknown.”
The shadow’s advance was cut off by the light. Before I could do anything, it slashed and pierced through her, sending limbs flying through the air.
“It truly saddens me...”
What was left of the assassin splattered to the ground. The shadows became pooling blood spreading across the floor. In the stillness, the guardians of light dissolved silently into thin air, their work complete. The evil had been destroyed—struck down by the hammer of the Gods.
“Now, what about you, Alicia Snowell?” The saint gave me a beautiful smile, the killer’s flesh and blood splattered across her face and her vestments. “If you wish to forget everything and live a life of happiness, then I will—”
“Do you ever fucking shut up?”
“Wha—?”
The saint and I were both caught completely off guard. She turned around with a look of surprise—but the assassin’s pitch-black blade was already right in front of her.
“Die.”
A single flash of metal.
Just as the blade swung out to slice through the saint’s slender neck, Veil Croitzen’s right arm went flying away in a clean arc.
“Gaaaaaaaah!!!”
Screaming and clutching at the stump of her severed arm, she tried to retreat, but Cion pursued her with a look of total calm. Her blade gleamed in the candlelight, slashing deep into the killer’s unguarded side. She twisted around to aim a kick right at the open wound, sending Veil’s body flying. Then she jumped back over to the saint.
“C-Cion...?”
I found myself calling out her name; but Cion didn’t respond at all. She took up a defensive stance at the saint’s side, looking over in my direction. Not glaring at me, not looking down on me, but just quietly observing.
In the stillness of the cathedral, mingled with the Deathwatcher’s shallow, halting breaths as she lay sprawled on the floor, I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
“Thank you for saving me, Sir Hero,” the saint said.
“Not at all,” Cion replied impassively.
“No...”
I felt a cold, sick feeling run down my spine. My brain refused to understand, insisting it wasn’t possible, but my instincts screamed at me to face reality.