To Serve and Protect (1)

“—just Kenshi will do. My dear Primot God.”

The world returned to me in staggering clarity.

Colours blazed brighter than I realised was ever possible. Each blade of grass was a shimmering emerald, as rich as the glow of Life Quanta itself, and the clouds hung in the sky like sculpted alabaster, impossibly white against an endless expanse of blue. Even the stranger’s mask was sharper now, every intricate detail gleaming with otherworldly precision.

But this time, I’m ready.

The technique he uses to channel forth his blade, to project his delusions onto reality within fractions of a split second—I can see it.

Flickers of grey, shimmering imperceptibly in the air, gather around his gauntlet.

Paint.

The gem in its centre absorbing their essence, exploding into a vibrant hue of amethyst alongside the veins in his body.

Reference.

Then a magical circle forms, and he reaches into it, form blooming from nothing.

Imagination.

It’s a technical, masterful display of skill. The energy slices towards me in an impossibly fast arc—

Stroke.

—towards Annabelle, who’s rushing to push me out of the way.

But I won’t let you take this away from me.

I step forward instead.

“Come to me, Sumirezaku!”

Extending from my own gauntlet, copying the very technique he used—is a blade of grey steel.

I have no understanding of what it’s supposed to be, and under no delusions it’s perfect. If it were a spell meant to recreate a real blade, it’d surely rank substandard in every category, all the way from functionality to form. But this was what I both wanted and needed right now, and what my desires wanted to project onto the canvas of reality.

In the past I would have been caught up in rules or conventions. I would have tried to find a way to make sense of this phenomenon, to understand how it could possibly be abstracted into a few lines of text or a specific element. To let something so raw shine through, for such illogical rubbish to exist… it was unthinkable. But now, with her lesson implanted permanently within me:

My desire resonates.

Sparks fly as our blades meet.

Both of our gauntlets explode with colour. Beneath the mask, Kenshi is euphoric.

“Are you finally awake now, Primot God?!”

“Yeah. And I’m here to clean up my mess.”

“Ha ha ha… Ahaha!”

Even though I feel like an impostor in my own skin, I can’t run now. If I let it all end here… my dreams will be finished.

I put all my weight into my sword to push him off. Kenshi accedes, backstepping, then he replies with a flurry once my momentum shifts ever so slightly forward.

Colours fly.

Everything burns.

Every stroke, every emotion, every bit of imagination he’s channeling into his attacks… It’s too familiar. I can see through all of it. And that’s why I can survive, just moving my body barely enough to keep up with his years of practice.

His eyes are drenched in an incurable bloodlust. Like killing me is the last thing he needs before things will “change”. A singular focus with no complexity or nuance. With every parry, every block, pieces of his soul spill into me through our blades, and my mind’s eye sketches his face in greater and greater clarity.

I know who you are.

You’re the loser I’ll become if I give in to the path of least resistance.

“How many times did you have to cheat to get here, Daisuke? Five hundred? A thousand? Don’t remember?”

“Your taunts are meaningless to me, Kenshi. I’ve already accepted myself.”

“Ahaha… Die, die!”

Even though his eyes are clouded with rage, and his mask is eternally transfixed in a smile, I see him.

I see his expression.

It’s easy to read him—because I would be doing the exact same thing in his position had the Saint not exorcised me.

Not a shred of my being is more confident now that I’ve deduced his true self. I’m under no delusions that I’m ahead, or that the moral high ground is enough of a reason for someone to win a fight. There’s no difference in the magnitude or sincerity of our desires—one is simply born from self-hatred, and the other the ability to forgive and forget I’d been searching for my entire life. Neither is inherently more genuine than the other. If I want to prove that I’ve made the right decision by accepting responsibility… I will have to show it through the depths of my resolve. It won’t be pretty—and it definitely won’t be solved by some convenient realisation or card trick either.

But.

No matter how difficult this becomes, I will not take the easy way out.

I won’t run away.

Our blades lock again, and the Oni’s katana crackles with murderous desire.

“Feast your eyes on this, Primot God!”

A pink glow in his off-hand.

“Ha ha ha… Die!”

He switches from a two-handed grip to a single-handed one, then bears his unarmoured palm straight down my line of sight. A magical circle forms, filling gradually with a sickly pink glow, and at its zenith…

“Entangle!”

Before I’ve even registered I need to attempt a deflection, there’s a competing explosion of green to wrestle with all the other colours. Roots fly out from the earth at a miraculous pace, encircling his wrist and dragging it towards the ground.

And then—an explosion.

Everything is mixed together in a massive technicolour spiral.

Gamma Wave
1 Entropy Quanta
Spell
Burst Speed

Deal 3 physical damage to a target.

Dirt and grass kicks up everywhere. A massive cloud of smoke forms. Our blades disconnect, and I use this time to jump back towards Annabelle.

You’re projecting too much, False God.

You still see yourself in me. But that man is long gone.

I will never, ever let myself stoop to your level again.

“Thanks, Anna.”

I resist the urge to get lost in thoughts about how lucky I am to see her again.

I’m incredibly grateful to see her alive, of course. More than grateful. But most importantly—I need to keep things that way.

This brief exchange of blows is only the beginning. If I let my focus slip now, even momentarily, that again will surely turn into for the very last time before I can even register what happens. And I’m not about to try testing my luck for another reset to keep me going.

So, all of that considered, I’ll celebrate once it’s over.

“I love you.”

“G-guh?!”

Nevermind. It made no sense to think impulse control would be fixed by being more genuine anyway.

She blabbers in response. “No, you— Are you— Who are… what?! Are you…? How did you… Your eye… What the heck is that thing in your hand?!”

Sumirezaku — 菫咲.

“It’s just some sword. Too many questions. Remember to breathe.”

“I am breathing!”

“Is there a reason you yelled as you casted?”

“What kind of— Why did you yell for your stupid ass sword to come for you?!”

“Pause.”

Our exchange is interrupted by a bloodcurdling cackle.

It’s not just evil—it’s much worse than that. It’s perverse and full of mental illness, the sounds being made bordering on moans of arousal.

As Kenshi breaks through the massive cloud of dust and smoke, he convulses in deeply perverted ways, gauntlet twitching, blade bouncing to music only he can hear.

Then he re-adjusts his neck.

“That man… your habits are both so…” Annabelle trailed off.

Listening to her reminds me of something important. I can recreate anything he’s doing. I point my off hand at the navy blue cape on the ground covered in dirt, then attempt levitating it towards me without the use of my gauntlet.

Telekinesis
1 Gravity Quanta
Spell
Burst Speed

Select up to two targets. This card has a different effect depending on target.

Creature: Deal 1 damage and tap it.
Artifact: Tap the target and Interrupt. Place a stun counter.

“Move.”

The cape beckons, moving into my hand as if attached to a string.

There was just barely enough Quanta in my offhand, and it stings like hell now.

No wonder Kenshi sticks to low cost spells.

Most of his effort must have been tied up in conjuring that blade, just like my right hand and gauntlet were busy maintaining Sumirezaku’s form. Casting that one thing felt like I’d maxed out on a gym exercise for that particular half of my body.

One spell every minute. No… two minutes? Somewhere in between. How about element…?

I clip the cape to my shoulder—Soren wouldn’t want it to get dirty. Then the answers flow into me intuitively.

My limit is 1-cost. In terms of elements, I can only copy emotions or desires that I truly understand—for now. Relying on the gauntlet’s ability to “cheat” is not an option: I need its power to maintain Sumirezaku and have a chance at fending him off at close range.

Kenshi’s limit is 2 in his offhand. Maybe. Probably twice that with the gauntlet—so I’ll definitely lose if I don’t cooperate with Anna. But his psyche is completely destroyed right now. The man is definitely insane—I only have to deal with Entropy. Whereas, in a pinch, I could probably control all the elements.

I’ll have to use that to my advantage.

“Oh man, watching you like this, Primot God… I don’t know if I should feel impressed or betrayed. You sicken me. This is not who you really are.”

Annabelle grips her staff tighter, jumping away to create some distance from the inevitable exchange of blows. I ready Sumirezaku as well.

Just in case.

“Having a goddess to reveal every secret to you right away… That must be convenient, mustn’t it? Just like your real life, where you never worked for anything yourself?”

I ignore him. “Anna, focus on burst speed. He can counter.”

“C-counter?”

“Disrupt magic circle formation,” I say in fantasy terms. “But he has to see you channeling your spell first, so go fast.”

She gulps.

“Basically—what you did earlier—that was great. Whatever happens, do not cast unless he’s distracted, or you’re trying to distract him—even if it looks like I’m injured.”

Kenshi clicks his tongue in an all-too familiar way.

“Daisuke… You are truly irreverent to reject my mercy. It still looks like you have no idea who you’re supposed to become.”

Kenshi takes up an aggressive stance, and I brace my entire body, ready to meet his assault. Annabelle follows suit as well, an emerald glow radiating from behind me.

That’s good, Anna. If he tries to disrupt you first… I’ll rush him. And if he comes for me…

…

Instead of charging at us or attempting a spell, he simply lets the amethyst blade in his hand shatter into dust.

What?

“Your strategising is pointless. You, of all people, should know this.”

Bringing his two hands together, his gauntlet glows grey.

“This world… is an illusion, Daisuke.”

He starts moving his hands in a circle. Around, around, around—then a sea of void appears.

Blood spills out from every crevice in his armour.

Uh oh.

“Sin Card: Sosei no Tsumi.”

I’m not waiting to see whatever that is. I place all my weight onto my front foot, then burst forward with whatever remaining bits of acceleration in my body that still exist from all those years of youth soccer. Just to make sure I get to him as fast as possible, I channel the same desperation I felt falling off the beanstalk.

Let me fly.

Fleetfoot.

It doesn’t work.

Before I can even take a step, blood drips onto Kenshi’s shadow, and then it explodes, sending a tidal wave of tendrils ripping through the clearing. It grounds me in place through the sheer volume of its grotesqueness. Like claws ripping through flesh, they lash out in every direction, impaling the earth, shredding the grass, swallowing the light. The ground itself seems to heave as twisted, half-formed monsters surge upward on jagged limbs, brushes rising from ink.

Before we know it, we’re surrounded.

“Asmodeus,” Annabelle gasps.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?”

His shadow begins to not just swallow the ground, but also the horizon, forming a seemingly endless dome around us—larger than she and I could ever hope to create.

The clearing is pitch black now. It’s just darkness.

The dead ascend in endless waves, their bodies woven from the blood and liquid shadow Annabelle and I now call our reality.

“I will break you. Welcome to my world.”