Sinner’s Wrath

"You're unusually quiet today, Fariel... I wonder why?" Taro asked, eyes narrowing as he studied his friend's face.

Fariel rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his gaze distant. “I knew you would return... from the afterlife or something far worse. The air’s been wrong since yesterday—thick, tense. Like the world’s holding its breath.”

Taro flinched. "I... I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said, forcing a grin as sweat ran down his cheek.

Fariel didn’t press. “But I felt something else too. Something darker... closer.”

Their conversation was cut short by a scene that halted time itself.

Priscilla Barielle — the ever-proud, flame-haired noble — was dancing.

She, the tempest of arrogance and sharp wit, swayed with grace to a musician’s tune in the square. Her movements were precise, elegant, like a blade honed by culture rather than war.

Ellimere blinked. “Is this real?”

“I thought she'd blast the poor girl with fireballs, not... appreciate art,” Taro muttered.

Priscilla turned mid-twirl, tapping her fan against her chin. “I value beauty, fools. Even commoners can birth it through sound.”

Fariel squinted at the musician — a girl with trembling fingers and tears in her eyes, her voice shaking but determined. She bit her tongue mid-song, blood trickling down her chin. A subtle message, a cry for help?

The tension was fractured when Taro slapped Fariel’s back.

“Everyone, meet Fariel — The Worst Knight! The slayer of sin, savior of idiots, and my personal insurance policy!”

Fariel just folded his arms. His eyes, though calm, were scanning everything — calculating, preparing. He had sensed it before anyone else.

Then it happened.

A scream ripped through the plaza.

It echoed from the top of a tower — a child’s cry, muffled by the clinking of golden chains.

Everyone turned.

Atop the tower stood a twisted figure cloaked in dark purple, body wrapped in bandages from neck to toe. Only a left eye and red lips peeked through the wrapping — a feminine face that exuded madness, glee, and violence in equal measure.

“I am LOVE! I am WRATH! I AM ALL OF IT!” the figure announced, arms spread wide. “I bring REDEMPTION through RECKONING!”

The crowd stood frozen. No — not frozen. Enthralled. They began to clap, laugh, cheer.

Taro’s limbs twitched unnaturally. He clapped along, eyes hollow.

Fariel didn’t move. He averted his gaze — he knew. This was no ordinary threat. This was the Cursebrand of a Witch.

“I am Velvet Romanee Conti, Harbinger of Vice of Wrath,” she said with a deep, sarcastic bow. “Let’s love, shall we?”

“Who is she?” Taro whispered, voice tight with fear. His pupils trembled.

“She’s the apocalypse wrapped in bandages,” Fariel answered coldly.

“Oh, you...” Velvet suddenly fixed her gaze on Fariel. Her movements stopped. “You’re not in the Gospel. You’re an anomaly. A mistake.”

She dropped the chained child.

Fariel launched from the stone like a missile, caught the boy midair, and landed in a roll. The boy sobbed.

“M-my sister... she’s still up there! Please!”

Before Fariel could respond, Velvet descended — crashing down in a crater, feet first, laughing like a demon.

“You’re no fun,” she hissed. “I want to rip you open and see what sins pour out!”

Fariel pulled his rapier — Chun-Chun Maru — and clashed steel against chain. Sparks danced, cries rose, and madness spread.

Velvet moved like chaos incarnate, her chains lashing like vipers. Civilians, controlled like puppets, surged toward Fariel.

He tried to hold back. He couldn’t hurt them. Not them.

Chains struck.

CRACK!
WHIP!
SLICE!

Blood splattered across the stones.

“Show me your wrath, knight!” she screamed. “Bleed for me!”

Fariel collapsed to one knee, vision dimming. “An angel... a miracle... please—”

“There are no miracles here,” Velvet laughed. “Only sinners and LOVE!”

She raised her chains for the final blow.

Then—

A flash.

Blinding, radiant. The air trembled.

Velvet was sent flying — her form crashing through crates and stone like a ragdoll.

The crowd groaned, stunned. Controlled civilians staggered.

From the light emerged a cloaked figure. Black fabric billowing like a phantom. Beneath the cloak, a white formal coat shimmered. A long claymore rested on his shoulder. His hair was jet-black, middle-parted, catching the sunlight like a halo of shadow and divinity.

He stepped forward.

"You play Sekak Sekung, don’t you?" the voice came like silk wrapped around razors.

Fariel’s body jerked. His eyes widened.

“…No… It can’t be…”

The figure tilted his head, smirking.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Fariel. Has it really been that long?”

The voice — sharp, smooth, smug — a dagger of memory.

“H-Hafiz...?” Fariel whispered.

Velvet rose, golden chains rattling. “Ohhh! A new player has joined the game! You—mysterious stranger. What is your name?”

The figure stepped closer, eyes glowing with calm menace.

“I. Am. Hafiz.”

Velvet giggled. “Hafiz? Never heard of you.”

He smiled behind his collar. “Good. That means your ignorance is still intact.”

Meanwhile, amidst the carnage in Miragard, Velvet swirled in her infernal dance, gold chains ablaze and madness in her eyes. But then, something made her stop. A presence—cool, unshaken.

Hafiz.

Black cloak billowing, claymore strapped across his back under thick leather straps. He stepped forward, his gaze unwavering, piercing through the authority of Wrath like it was mere smoke.

"I don't need my sword to defeat you," he said coolly, voice edged like obsidian.

Velvet twitched, tilting her head.
"Ohhh... An anomaly. How delicious! You're THE MOST INTERESTING Subject!!" she screamed, giddy with unhinged joy.

Then—BOOM! A white and blue blur collided with the ground, shaking it.

Ellimere landed with fury in her eyes.

Ice spikes erupted from the sky, pelting toward Velvet. The crowd stirred, heads aching, waking from Velvet's authority.

Taro snapped out of it, blinking. His eyes scanned the chaos—Fariel injured, a cloaked figure standing firm...

"E-Ellimere-tan!? And wait... Is that—Hafz?! Bro, it's really you!!" Taro shouted like a kid on Christmas morning.

Velvet’s joy turned to venom at the sight of Ellimere.
"You took him from me... my precious Revokh!" she shrieked, summoning a pillar of hellfire that scraped the clouds—pink, red, and purple flame.

Velvet lunged.

Ellimere parried, but it wasn’t enough. A massive fireball closed in.

Too late.

Then—CRACK!
A pristine figure in white caught the fireball with a single flick of his hand. Pale skin, white hair, perfect posture.

"Tch, you insect," muttered Velvet.

"And you... are a beauty," said the man, turning to Ellimere's unconscious form. "You will be my 79th wife."

Azazel Corneas. Harbinger of Vice of Greed.

Taro: "HEY! Put her down, you discount Sephiroth!"

Azazel: "State your name, insect."

Taro stomped. "I'm Taro Natsuki. Her knight. And I LOVE HER!"

Azazel raised a brow. "You’re bold. But foolish."

Battle erupted.
Taro and Lilibeth launched a shadow combo—Shamac and invisibility. Taro snuck in with the "Unseen Hand" he inherited from Revokh, a perfect uppercut!

Azazel stumbled. Barely. But he noticed.

"Oh... So he lives in you... Revokh... my dear love..."

Velvet screamed with joy.

Azazel scoffed. "Enough."

He tapped the ground. Taro’s leg shattered from a shockwave.

Azazel took Ellimere in a bridal carry, disappearing into a blur.

"See you later, my love," Velvet blew a kiss at Taro before vanishing too.

Muse HQ, Miragard.

The heroes gathered. Taro, limping but determined. Fariel, overwhelmed. Calien, Vaelen, Rhaegar—all in the war room.

"I humble myself... please help me save Ellimere," Taro said with raw honesty.

Then—click.

Another chair was occupied.

Hafiz.

Cloak draped, expression unreadable. Everyone tensed—Vaelen gripped his sword, Rhaegar's brow twitched, Neris’s ears perked.

Only Fariel walked forward. Calm.

CLAP.
They did the world's greatest dab.