HOT NOVEL UPDATES



Hint: To Play after pausing the player, use this button

CHAPTER 5 BATTERED WOLF 

A scholar once said that there were three reasons why werewolves would howl. 
The first was to assert their dominance over the enemy. 
The second was to locate fellow companions who’d strayed from the pack. 
The third was to strengthen their bond with their own kind, conveying the depths of their souls by calling at the sky. 
According to Bete, however, these reasons were dead wrong, entirely missing the mark. 
Howling was an oath. 
When their throats trembled, they considered it a signal of their own readiness, carved into the heavens themselves. 
A promise of absolute will, devouring the sun, devouring the moon, devouring everything as they looked to the sky and the gods gazing down at them and met them eye to eye. 
Yes, all you had to do was howl. 
No matter what kind of plight you may find yourself in, no matter how much the enemy may beat you down, no matter how much your body may cry out in pain. 
Release the courage and the power built up inside you and make that pledge. 
You’d grow stronger, faster than the you of a mere one second earlier. 
Only then did you have the right to step onto the battlefield. 
The oath Bete had made now—was a pledge to hunt. 
To stain his claws and fangs a brilliant red. 
And he hurled that conviction all the way to the heavens. The shadow-choked sky trembled, almost as though frightened, and even the rain seemed to weaken in response to his call. In the split second of clarity, he saw a golden outline shimmering faintly through the sea of clouds. 
Bete’s lupine ears shot up straight atop his head, his gray fur standing on end like sharpened needles. 
It was time. 
They were here. Assassins drawn to his howled oath that was neither a show of force, nor a beacon for lost comrades, nor a shared bond between friends. 
They would be prey for his claws and fangs. 
He gazed out over the ruined city, amber eyes flashing. 
 
The assassins raced through the streets, melting into the surrounding darkness. 
They made not a sound, not even the pittering pat of the rainwater bouncing off their speeding forms, almost like living shadows as they glided forward. Black robes fluttering, they made their way toward the high-rise building sharpening into view between the cracks of the dilapidated brothels, drawn toward the howl of a wolf, still reverberating from atop a roof. 
As they approached, they drew cursed weapons from their robes—the sure-kill blades they’d been provided by the Evils. They been promised not only large sums of money for their work but these weapons, as well. More fatal than even the deadliest of poisons, such weapons would likely be beneficial to their familia of underground crime, allowing them to spill blood with even greater ease. Another step in changing the world for the better, or so the assassins believed. Such teachings were drilled into their brainwashed minds since the days of their youth. 
The moment they arrived at the complex mesh of back roads, the thirty-something assassins dispersed. They would surround the building where their enemy stood. First-tier adventurer though he was, he could be taken down by only one hit from their cursed weapons, his death inevitable. A few sacrificial explosions of their own would do the trick. As would their synchronicity. And once he was injured, they would attack, as swift and sure as the early-summer rain, taking down the wolf in the process. 
Yes, they were certain of their victory. Only… 
…? The howl, it…? 
The unique pitch of the lupine cry seemed to change—and, in an instant, a foreboding chill washed over the group. It was almost as if the wail of searing fury had morphed into a sort of inhuman melody, as cold and merciless as the moon overhead. Those amber eyes seemed to be staring down at each one of them, even though they were scattered among the streets. 
All of a sudden, the wolf was gone. 
“?!” 
And in that moment came an agonized shriek from one of their kin. 
Killed. In less than an instant. By a set of fangs plunging onto the ruined streets. 
The silent flock of assassins didn’t have so much as a chance to tremble in shock before there was another scream, followed by the earsplitting roar of a wolf. Like thunder, it shrieked through the shadow, almost as though the previously hidden wolf was reasserting his presence. 
H-how…? 
How were they supposed to stop him like this? 
They needed to see through both sets of eyes: the hunter and the hunted. 
The werewolf had the years of experience in his tribe to rely upon, making him a natural-born hunter. 
What’s more, he had chosen the path of the adventurer in his quest for strength. 
But today, just today, Bete had forgone all that, reverting back to his roots and the wild wolf who lived inside him. 
—Their enemy was a true-blooded alpha wolf. 
For the first time, these supposedly emotionless magic bullets, these assassins who were trained to remain calm in even the direst of circumstances, found their breath coming with shudders of horror. The pinpricks on their skin were enough of a warning that this was a hunter more skilled than even them, and that thought gripped them with fear. 
“GrrruuuaaaaaaAAAAARRRRGGGHHH?!!” 
With each kill came another roar. 
A show of power. That he, the wolf, was here. And they were next. All of them. It was the howl of a starving wolf who couldn’t be stopped. 
Their reaction was immediate, all of them moving off on their own either in attempts to apprehend the wolf or to hide themselves from his attacks. But that just made them better targets; the gray-furred wolf was following their every move as though anticipating their actions, and one anguished shriek after another rent the air around them. 
The wolf’s nose was as keen as ever, seeking them out even through the rain and the residual smells of their fallen companions. 
It almost felt like their cursed weapons were an ill omen, the stench of blood simply too strong. 
The others…?! 
As the last scream ripped through the air, the leader of the group realized all too clearly that he was the only one who remained. 
He was the one who’d laid the final blow on that Amazonian girl. 
As the strongest of the hired assassins at Level 3, he’d thrust his blade in the brat’s soft abdomen even after most of his comrades had already fallen at the hand of her resistance. Though he hadn’t been able to stay and watch the light fade from her eyes thanks to the wolf running at full speed toward him, he’d been satisfied that they’d finished the job. Another necessary sacrifice to lead them into the new world. What had she said, he’d wondered, in those final moments before her death? Imagining it had left him with a darkened sense of accomplishment. 
But now that same cutthroat had gotten himself driven up against a cliff, surrounded on all sides by a sea of blood. 
It defied everything he knew. Using the darkness of night to take them out, that was their livelihood, what they were supposed to excel at, so how had their enemy flipped everything on its head? Just what was this wolf? Not an adventurer, not a hunter, no, something else, something much more fiendish, more repulsive. 
He didn’t even notice the way his hand was shaking, fingers curled around his cursed dagger in a grip of death. 
Sometimes, the unknown that so enchanted adventurers brought with it a feeling of excitement. 
Other times, it brought nothing but a deeply rooted sense of terror. 
The convoluted byroads circling like a labyrinth around him, the assassin chieftain made to escape. But then… 
“?” 
His exit was cut short by a hand reaching out from one of the nearby alleyways, gripping him by the neck and pulling him into the darkness. 
“?Guwaaaagh?!” 
His throat was crushed in an instant, the fingers curling around his windpipe like a jaw snapping shut, and his body was slammed to the ground. He hadn’t even had a chance to use his cursed weapon. His shoulder dislocated from the force, he dropped his dagger to the stones below. 
Groaning in pain, he tumbled across the street, picking up trash and dirt along the way. Then, his neck trembling in effort, he slowly raised his gaze. 
He saw, backdropped by the night sky and cutting a sharpened profile against the landscape of the back alley—the horrifying visage of a wolf. 
“Ah…gnnaah…khaaah…?!” 
One step, then another, the werewolf approached in complete silence, and the assassin chieftain quickly readied himself to take his own life. 
But suddenly, he found that he couldn’t. With his crushed throat, he wasn’t able to bite open the lethal chemical embedded in his teeth. And with his dislocated shoulder, he wasn’t able to so much as grip a weapon. 
The wolf’s metal boots came down on his cursed dagger, shattering it against the stone. 
Then, looking down into the revealed face of the assassin—the werewolf, Bete, spoke. 
“Howl for me.” 
Yes. 
That’s what he needed to do. Howl. 
Howl for the new world to come. 
But he couldn’t. 
And with those amber eyes as vivid and brilliant as the moon, an expression dripping with pure, unbridled bloodlust, Bete plunged the supposedly fearless assassin into the uttermost depths of despair. 
All that came from his fractured windpipe was a crackling whisper of dry air, almost like a broken flute. 
“If you can’t even do that—” 
The werewolf raised his arms, fangs gleaming a brilliant crimson red. 
And as the assassin experienced true guttural fear for the first time in his life, those claws came flying down at him. 
“—you don’t belong on the battlefield!” 
It was at that moment that he blacked out. 
 
“Hey, Finn, did…something happen? To Bete, I mean?” Tiona asked, Urga at her side. 
They were down in the Old Sewerway that sprawled out beneath the city. Finn had led a small party there to set up a sort of blockade to keep Valletta and the rest of her group from escaping back into Knossos. 
“Like, why he’s always going on…callin’ people fish bait…chumps…weaklings…Makin’ fun of people and stuff?” 
“Tiona…” her sister, Tione, murmured as she, the captain, and the rest of the group turned toward the younger Amazon at her question. 
Tiona had long been intrigued by why Bete acted the way he did, ever since she’d first met him, actually. But it was only now that she was finally trying to get an answer about her constant debate partner. 
As she and the rest of the group turned toward Finn, the prum captain stood in silence before finally throwing them a glance. 
“…Bete doesn’t talk about himself much. Not even I know if something happened in his past,” he started, eyes turning in the direction of the flowing water underfoot, almost as though looking far, far beyond the sewer itself. “So what I can offer is only conjecture…” 
“He’s unbelievably socially inept.” 
Back in Dian Cecht Familia’s hospital. 
Riveria stared out the window at the slowly receding rain as she responded to the question posed by Lefiya and the other elves. 
“Socially…inept?” 
“Indeed. Disastrously so,” Riveria confirmed with a soft sigh. “Everything that boy says, the scorn, the ridicule, the extreme threads of logic he follows—he’s only trying to motivate people. To spur them on in the only way he knows how.” 
“Oh…” 
The words brought a memory to Lefiya’s mind. 
When she, Filvis, and Bete had been about to storm the twenty-fourth floor’s pantry, Bete had criticized her again and again and again, saying the young elf constantly required protection from the wolf. 
You satisfied like this? Havin’ to count on others ’cause you can’t protect yourself? 
As long as your magic’s the only useful thing you got, you’ll never be anything more than baggage. 
You are soft. 
She remembered how crestfallen she’d felt, biting her lip and pushing on in spite of his words. But then, he’d yelled that: 
Don’t admire the old hag, surpass her! 
“Surpass Riveria Ljos Alf.” That’s what he’d told her. 
That hadn’t been mere encouragement. That had been the true spirit of a wolf starved for power. Constantly irritated by the weaklings surrounding him, he tried to push them to stand up for themselves. 
“Bete’s words go far beyond what’s necessary. Harsh to the point of antipathy. Or perhaps…he believes that the only way to push others past their limits is to hurt them,” Riveria continued, eliciting surprise from the other elves, including Lefiya, just returning from the sea of her memories. “It got to the point once where Finn, Gareth, and I were forced to call him in for a talk. Though, thanks to Loki’s ‘help,’ there was a bit too much alcohol involved…” the high elf recalled, amusement dancing in her jade-colored eyes as though watching the scene play out in her mind. 
“—When yer strong, you’ve gotta pick yerself back up no matter what happens. Someone spat in your face? Someone humiliated you? Someone stole somethin’ from you? You get right back up!” 
They’d refused to let Bete leave the room until he explained the reasoning behind his constant berating of others, and after a few of his usual exchanges of blows with Gareth, he’d finally opened up, ignoring the wounds he’d incurred and gulping down his drink. 
“Because that’s what it takes. You’ve gotta lose someone. You’ve gotta lose a part of yourself. You’ve gotta make a mistake…You’ve gotta get to the point where you can’t forgive yourself. Only then do the strong change,” he’d continued, slamming his glass down on the table to the surprised shock of Riveria and the others. “But the weak will always be weak! No matter what happens, those failures just sit there and yuk it up! They’ll always be weak—always!! Living trash until the day they get torn to pieces!!” 
The eyes of Lefiya and the other elves widened as Riveria relayed the wolf’s words. At the same time, they realized the mistake they’d made. 
Bete’s unruly conduct, his heavy-handed principles of meritocracy, had been nothing more than the ultimate shakedown. A ritual for digging up and forcing adventurers to face the wounds of their past. An awakening that would send them upward. 
They were words of abusive encouragement that would kick the truly weak to the side. 
An inhuman, arrogant, and cruel divider of the strong from the weak. 
A special privilege that, according to him, could be bequeathed only by the strong. 
“…But there…there must have been a better way of doing that! What he does goes far beyond ‘socially inept’! Not everyone is…going to have that…strong of a spirit…” Alicia asserted. 
A Level 4 in Loki Familia’s reserve crew, she’d likely hit a wall in her abilities herself; she was forced to swallow her tears and keep pushing forward no matter how her heart threatened to break. Lefiya, too, found it hard to condone Bete’s harsh criticism. Riveria, however, simply nodded. 
“Indeed. You’re right about that, Alicia…But there is more than that behind his actions. He also greatly dislikes…when those whom he refers to as ‘weaklings’ take the field, so to speak.” 
He wanted to ensure only those with the proper qualifications joined the fight, she explained. 
And at least to Bete, he’d already come up with the solution. 
The high elf’s thin voice, laden with pity, faded into the rain outside the window. 
“Would you like to know what he said…? When I criticized him for pushing his own values on others?” she asked with a sad smile, the Bete in her memories playing out across her eyes. 
“You gonna say the same thing once they’re dead, huh? 
“You’d rather they end up dead than get their ‘feelings’ hurt, huh? 
“It’ll be too late once they’re ripped to pieces!!” 
Even Bete knew just how tactless he was. 
“RuuuuuuuaaaaaaAAAARRRRRGGGGHHH!!” 
Letting out a mighty roar, he went from assassin to assassin, his attacks a ceaseless rampage. Kicking, clawing, mauling, he allowed his rage to carry him, not stopping until every shadowy figure in the restoration zone was nullified. 
And at the forefront of his mind throughout every swipe of his limbs were the images of his past. The faces of every adventurer he’d seen die before his eyes, Leene and Lena included. 
He couldn’t stop screaming. 
Why? 
Why did they have to be so weak? 
Why did they have to stay so weak? 
Why didn’t they try to get stronger? 
How could they sit there, laughing, in a world where only the strongest survived? 
Why, when such a cruel fate awaited them, didn’t they—? 
The despair and anguish were taking control of him now. Bete had been beaten down by the weak for too long, and there was only one solution in his mind. 
He had to train, become even stronger, and protect them. 
He wouldn’t lose anyone. Never again. 
But even that was just something he told himself. 
Because no matter how strong he became, no matter how hard he tried to protect them, the weak still slipped through his fingers, as impossible to hold on to as a fistful of sand. 
That left him with only one choice—he had to push them away. 
He ridiculed them, laughed at them, hurt them. 
The only ones allowed on the battlefield were those who could howl back at scorn of the strong. 
The weak had to be able to howl. 
If not, if they couldn’t change—their corpses would only keep piling up. 
Like his father. Like his mother. Like his sister. Like his childhood friend. Like her. 
Like the kindhearted nurse who’d healed his wounds. 
Like that Amazonian girl. 
And so Bete would keep screaming. 
He would keep scoffing, taunting, deriding any weaklings who tried to set foot on the battlefield. 
“He…just didn’t want anyone to die?” Tiona asked, half in shock, after hearing Finn’s response. 
“What an idiot! As if he can just keep that from happening!” Tione cut in almost instantly, her voice ringing off the walls of the sewer. 
If that was the case, then it was Tiona and Tione who were the disillusioned ones when it came to death. The two who had taken more lives than they could count within the prison located in their home country of Telskyura, and who had since then been protecting this two-person world they shared. 
As the rest of the party stared on in bewildered astonishment, Tione couldn’t hide her anger. “I mean, really! How the hell does he think he’s gonna be able to protect everyone, huh? Even people he doesn’t even know!” 
“No…I don’t believe that’s what he’s trying to do,” came Finn’s soft response. And as Tiona, Tione, and the rest of the group looked toward him curiously, a wry smile formed on his face. “Quite the opposite. The reason he can’t stop his abusive tirades is more…” 
“…selfish, I would say. And not just a little bit, either.” 
Loki mused with a smile identical to Finn’s. 
She was on the first floor of Babel Tower, the large, circular hall bordered by countless doors. Around her, the members of Loki Familia who had been tasked with guarding the Amazons through the night—Raul, Anakity, and the others—attempted to deduce the true meaning behind her words. 
“What do you mean by…selfish?” Raul asked. 
“Whenever the lad sees someone weak by his standards, he catches a glimpse of his own past…and his former self. It ticks him off, ye might say,” Gareth, who had been put in charge of the Babel task force, responded with a stroke of his beard. He’d traded blows with Bete more often than anyone else in all of Loki Familia, which was what gave him the authority to surmise what even Bete couldn’t bring himself to say. 
“Ticks…him off…?” Aki repeated dejectedly. 
“What? Ye didn’t take him as the charitable sort, did ye? As if! It’s as Loki just said. The boy’s own lack of social skills makes him all the more contentious,” Gareth continued, tossing the catgirl a smile. But the smile quickly disappeared as he looked toward the door. 
The far-off howl of a werewolf came trickling in once again from far away. 
“Nay…that lad hasn’t changed a wee bit since the moment I met him…” he murmured. 
Even in a group, weaklings are still weaklings. 
Living as a weakling means having everything stolen from you, leaving you to blubber and snivel your life away. 
I’m not gonna be like that. And I’m not gonna let anyone around me be like that, either. 
So shut up with your whimpering and your moaning and your crying. 
They were words that had been echoing in Bete’s heart for as long as he could remember. Even now, as he raced throughout those dark alleyways, they continued. Whether they were simply random memories or regret at the women in his life he’d let die, he didn’t know. 
“…Even that rabbit brat stood his ground.” 
The words left his mouth before he even realized it. 
A murmur melting into the pouring rain. 
He remembered that night and the adventurer he’d ridiculed while drunk as a skunk. 
And how that boy hadn’t liked to be called weak. 
It was that tiny thought that had brought the boy to tears, made him rise to his feet and throw off the shackles of his weakness. 
That fight against the minotaur had shaken Bete to his core. Ashamed of himself, incensed that he could be losing to a chump like him—and yet, though he hated to admit it, a little excited, as well. 
That was the first time in his life Bete had found himself in awe of someone weaker than him. It was almost like he’d been waiting for him, for that gallant figure to come into his life. 
Because even Bete understood. 
Not everyone could become a warrior. Not everyone could become an adventurer. 
They couldn’t be Aiz and the others. They couldn’t be that boy. 
And yet, in spite of all that, Bete couldn’t bring himself to abide weakness. 
To stay weak was a sin. Evil, almost. To sit around laughing and smiling, then to weep, collapse, bawl, and scream every time they lost something. Bete hated those screams most of all. And he refused to accept them, the same as he refused to accept the young wolf from his past. 
He’d heard so many screams by this point. Too many. 
They needed to go away. 
And if they weren’t prepared to do that, he’d make them. 
Shameful powerless chumps like them didn’t deserve to live. 
The battlefield recognized none but the strong—. 
“It seems to me…that Bete just can’t give ’em up. That’s why he keeps on scoffin’ and ridiculin’ ’em,” Loki mused as the rest of the group looked on in silence. Though she might have been overthinking things, there was something about her voice that made it hard to doubt her theory. “Then, when they don’t change, he gets pissed. Starts fights. Even though it’d be much easier on him to just let it be.” 
This claim shocked Raul and the other onlookers. 
Certainly, Bete’s tirades never stopped. Picking on them, tossing insults—never once did he take a break from giving them a hard time. So if what Loki was saying was true… 
Then his actions were really just a completely maladroit form of encouragement. 
Acrimonious cheerleading that even Bete himself hadn’t realized he’d been doing. 
“Why didn’t you tell us this sooner?” Raul asked, tears welling up in his eyes thanks to this glimpse into Bete’s soul. “Then, he was doing the same for Leene and the others? Telling them…Telling them that even after they’re reborn, whoever, whatever they are, that he doesn’t want to lose them again…?!” 
Hearing this was enough to make the animal person Cruz and the human Narfi hang their heads in shame. Even Aki had her gaze pointed at the ground, lip between her teeth. 
Bete had always pushed the weak away. Even when looking after his own companions, he was nothing but himself, to the point of violence. Almost as if that was the only thing he knew. 
As Raul and the others pressed Loki for an answer, she merely shook her head softly. 
“Because you wouldn’t have understood,” she murmured, lips pursed almost morosely. “No matter how much we may say we get ’im, none of us ever will. Hell, Bete himself prolly doesn’t understand.” 
“What’s more, that lad’s philosophy’d be naught but a nuisance to most others, aye?…The whole negative-over-positive-reinforcement schtick,” Gareth continued. 
Loki raised her head. “Havin’ said that, there is one thing for certain…” she started, almost to herself, as she made her way over to the door to look up at the night sky laden with tears. 
“That fang of his isn’t a fang at all. It’s?…” 
—The fang on his cheek was throbbing. 
Burning, scorching, almost as though it were crying tears of blood. 
“Goddammit…!!” 
Hand against his cheek, he ran, abandoning all other thoughts as he pushed himself faster and faster. 
Reinforcements had arrived, and as they came screaming at him, he launched them into the wall, one by one. The blood burst like geysers from their mouths and painted him and his fang a sanguine red. 
“Have you figured out what that fang of yours means, Bete?” 
Loki had asked him earlier. 
But Bete had already figured that out long, long ago. 
Its true form was so obvious. 
Bete’s fang wasn’t a fang at all. 
It was a scar. 
Beneath that lightning bolt–shaped tattoo on his cheek was the scar that had started all this. The very first wound he’d ever received, when he’d first learned about this dog-eat-dog world of cruelty and had been beaten down by it, that he’d carved into this form on his face. 
The fang that his father had long taught him to polish had cracked long ago. 
And now that wound was proof of his weakness. 
His fang, his strength, was nothing but a disguise. 
Strength and weakness combined to form that un-healing scar. The proof of his origins, carved right within his own starving body. A blood oath he’d made to himself, that he would devour the strong and press ever forward. 
Every time Bete felt his own weakness, he grew stronger. 
When he lost his family, his sister, his childhood friend, her, his companions. 
Each one of those times, Bete had cried—howled. 
And then he’d rid himself of that weak flesh and devoured new strength. 
His wounds tormented him, chiseled him, carved away at the weaknesses in his body. And with every person he lost, they grew. The blood spilled became his strength, and the Bete of the past hadn’t even noticed. 
He was a wolf sewn from wounds. 
A powerful being built from the lives of the weak he’d abandoned. 
“Grrruuuaaagh!” 
“Ghngh…! Urrraaaagh!!” 
He repelled an incoming strike with his armguard. Sparks flying, he sent the soft body of his attacker flying with a single punch. Again and again, his hands, claws, and fangs were painted with blood only to be washed clean by the pouring rain. 
Bete’s fang couldn’t protect anyone. 
Bete’s fang knew nothing but pain and suffering. 
Bete was capable of nothing but inflicting pain. His strength was nothing but a sham. 
But still he would continue to bare his fang of lies, the wounds beneath it piling ever higher. 
Hurting himself, hurting others, all because he refused to accept their weakness. 
Howling at the weak, devouring the strong. 
Until that gaping jaw of his was finally ripped from his face. 
“Protect that jaw of yours—and that fang—at all costs, yes?” 
Ví?arr had been right. 
Bete could do nothing but inflict pain. He could do nothing but howl. 
Nothing but push people away. Nothing but gripe, complain, and demand. 
Weaklings should all just disappear! 
Doesn’t it annoy you, too?! 
Howl, why don’t you?! 
All he could do was wait for the howl of the weak. 
“RUUUUUUUAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!” 
Heart and throat trembling, Bete roared. 
“Bete…” 
Aiz’s feet came to a stop at the sound of that lonely howl. 
“You’re strong. That’s all that matters, so…don’t you change.” 
All of a sudden, the meaning behind those words Bete had told her so long ago became clear. 
He’d been baring a part of his heart to her, the way he might to a sister, to a lover, desperate not to lose someone else. A bumbling, graceless plea from a bumbling, graceless wolf. 
Aiz stood there in front of the restricted restoration zone of the Pleasure Quarter and simply listened to that echoing cry. 
Even the heavy rain was starting to wane, almost as though it had no tears left to shed. 
 
“All of them…gone? That damn Vanargand. And even with the effects of the curse keepin’ him from healing all the way…He’s somethin’ else.” 
The Evils base in Belit Babili was in an uproar. 
None of the assassins who had been dispatched to take care of Bete had returned. Even the continuous lupine howl had faded into the shadows, as though signaling the subjugation of his prey. 
But Valletta was undaunted, still wearing her ever-present smile as she gazed out across the shadow-strewn ruins of the Pleasure Quarter from the top floor of the palace. 
“That lone wolf is even more riled up than I expected. If I don’t get my act together, Mister Big Bad Wolf’s gonna have that revenge of his after all.” 
“L-Lady Valletta! We’ve completely run out of assassins! Wh-what should we do?!” 
“Oh, stop being such a pussy! Clearly, runnin’ straight into his territory was a bad idea. So what do we do? We simply invite him over here, yes?” she hissed at the obviously flustered Thanatos Familia flunky next to her. Turning toward the group of robe-clad men, she jerked her chin toward the restoration zone outside the window. 
“I really ruffled his fur back there. That guy wants us dead, and he wants to be the one to do it. We lure him over here and he’ll come whether he wants to or not…He’s really gone off his rocker this time, which gives us the advantage,” Valletta explained coolly, despite the fact that most of her playing pieces were gone. 
The countless battles she’d already survived as an elite member of the Evils had given her a keen eye when it came to strategy like this. And what’s more, the power she wielded as a Level 5 was enough to place her among even Orario’s leading adventurers. There was no doubt about it—this villainous woman who’d gone up against Braver and the rest of his crew time and time again was one of the strong. 
“We might not have a lot of curse casters left, but we’ve got cursed weapons and magic swords comin’ out of our ears, don’t we?” 
“Y-yes, ma’am…” the man replied with a nod. 
Valletta smiled. “Then I’m gonna send us out a little invite. Get the party ready, boys. Only instead of cake, I wanna see as many traps as those little heads of yours can devise.” 
 
They’ve stopped coming… 
Bete thought as he downed one of Loki’s high potions, currently hidden within the darkness of the backstreets. Wiping his chin once it was gone, he tossed the empty vial onto the stone. His amber eyes narrowed in thought. 
They run outta guys? There’s no way. I haven’t seen that woman make an appearance yet. But I still don’t know where they’re comin’ from. Do I howl again? See if more come runnin’…? 
Perhaps out of some sort of pride at their shadow-born lineage, the assassins had refused to give away any information on their allies, terrified as they were. Despite the unceasing sensation of fiery red constantly pulsating through his body, Bete figured he might as well try, so he slipped out from the safety of the shadows and back onto the streets. 
Crumbling buildings, abandoned weapons and strewn shards of the same, burned rubble. 
Racing past debris that looked straight out of a city of ruins, he set his sights on the tallest building in the district…when all of a sudden, he noticed something underfoot. 
“…” 
It was a trail of blood. 
A snakelike red path, almost as though someone had been dragging a body. 
It was very clearly deliberately placed to lead him somewhere, continuing on down the street. Bete stared at it in silence for a moment, then took off. 
Corner after corner he turned, the trail of blood leading him down the convoluted web of streets. 
“This handwriting…” he murmured, looking at a piece of scrap building material that was resting beneath an overhanging archway. On the side of the stone block was a message written in red. 
Come to the palace, Vanargand! We’re so looking forward to welcoming you! 
He pored over the blood-scrawled Koine, the “paint” likely coming from the corpse of the assassin slumped against the nearby wall. Perhaps by shoving a cloth of some sort in his open wound and using it as a paintbrush? But the light was already gone from the battered corpse’s eyes, and bloody rivulets streaked from its multitude of lacerations. Bete didn’t throw more than a glance at it, instead simply staring at the personalized invitation. 
He recognized this hastily drawn scrawl. 
It was the same as the one written on the walls of Knossos when they’d found Leene and the others dead. 
Bete clenched his fist so hard it shook, and then he was off, leaping atop the roof of a nearby brothel. His eyes went to Ishtar Familia’s home, the great palace towering tall and proud above the darkness of the crowded buildings. 
Then, with a sudden jerk, he looked straight up. 
The rain had come to a stop. And through the swath of dark clouds, the dim blue of the sky above was peeking out. The moon, however, was still hidden behind the sea of gray. 
With one last silent look, Bete hopped down from the roof and set his sights on Belit Babili. 
He arrived at his destination without a hitch, not even having bothered to stay on his guard during the trip. Now that he was standing so close to Belit Babili, it was hard for him to deny its majesty, even though it was crumbling after Freya Familia’s attack. It boasted all the grandeur and prestige of a royal desert palace, not a single celch of it lacking in luxurious extravagance, right down to the finely chiseled lions gracing its many columns. The cracked golden facade covering the entire building was a symbol of both opulence and decay. And across the circular garden guarding the palace’s entryway stood a colossal door, the familia’s emblem—a veiled courtesan, currently missing entire chunks of stone from her face—looking down from on high. 
Paying none of this any heed, Bete charged straight past the damaged remnants and into the palace proper. 
He was greeted by a grand elephantine hall of white marble, also in a state of disarray. Though the hallways visible all the way up to the ceiling many floors overhead seemed nigh uncountable, Bete didn’t even have a chance to get lost. No, a red carpet had already been laid out in preparation for his arrival. 
Not one of cloth—but one of blood. 
“Well, isn’t this artsy-fartsy…” Bete mumbled, his brows furrowing as he followed the trail of blood. It took him down a long hallway, then down the stairs past a hidden door that had already been opened for him. He sped along in silence, the air around him growing colder and colder. 
Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, he passed by the crumpled corpse of an assassin, then followed the path until he reached an enormous underground hall, not altogether dissimilar to the one he’d just left at the palace’s entrance. 
Tall, broad columns lined the open space on either side, supporting the ceiling more than ten meders overhead and almost reminiscent of the underground sewers he’d infiltrated with Loki a while back. Magic-stone lanterns, too, were fastened sporadically across the rows of columns, giving the space an ethereal glow. 
An underground chamber of this size…Had Ishtar been planning to keep some sort of monstrous pet? 
“?I knew you’d come, Vanargand,” came the sudden voice, almost unimaginably loud as Bete scanned his environs. Then she appeared, fur-lined overcoat flapping as she stepped out from the shadow of a pillar about eighty meders in front of him and smack-dab in the center of the hall. 
“You bitch…” 
“And you came alone, too; how wonderful! Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, I suppose. Your kind is as easy to read as ever!” Valletta jeered, belting out a laugh and ignoring the murderous look in the werewolf’s eyes. Her fingers were curled around the grip of a one-handed sword—a cursed weapon, no doubt. She raised it now to the height of her chest, thrusting it in Bete’s direction as she continued to push at his every button with endless joy. 
“The two of us know each other far too well to need pleasantries at this point. Besides, I wouldn’t want any of your little friends poking their dirty noses into our business. And the way I see it, you wouldn’t, either.” 
“…” 
“Come on, then!” 
Now that the prologue was out of the way, Bete’s eyes flashed with a sharpened glint. 
He could already sense the presence of the ten-, twenty-some assailants hiding in the shadows of the surrounding pillars. This was a trap; that much was for sure. But none of that mattered to Bete. Not now. He was ready to kill, no matter how many enemies came at him. 
Fury coursing through his veins, he took a step forward. But… 
“?!” 
That’s when he noticed it. 
What’s…? 
The stone floor was ever so faintly glowing, myriad geometric shapes shimmering faintly on the surface. They were a reddish-purple color, just about masked completely in the amaranthine phosphorescence of the magic-stone lanterns lighting the room. And they covered the entire length of the room, each one of them 120 or so meders across. 
The round shapes seemed to center around Valletta in the middle of the room. 
Bete narrowed his eyes. 
“What’s wrong, Level Six? Don’t tell me you’re scared! You wouldn’t run away with your tail between your legs now of all times, would you?” 
True enough, Bete didn’t have much choice in the matter now. 
Was it magic? A curse? Or something else entirely? 
At this point, though, he didn’t really care. This hungry wolf had only one thing on his mind: killing and eating his prey. 
He stepped forward, metal boots landing in the range of the reddish-purple circles. 
“?He-he-he!” 
With one grin from Valletta, the battle began. 
Bete shot forward, kicking up and off the stone. 
Only for Valletta to leap to the side, dashing back into the shadows of the columns to escape. 
What, you don’t wanna play? 
Bete hissed as he raced after Valletta, who was now making use of the entire width of the underground chamber to duck and dodge away from the wolf. She let out an even louder guffaw, and though Bete knew she was trying to goad him on, he couldn’t stop the anger from bubbling up inside him. Column after column he smashed in his pursuit as the woman cackled in glee. 
It was like he was stuck in an endless loop. Though clearly the faster of the two, he realized that no matter how many times he tried to attack, one of her Thanatos Familia goons was always there to block him. 
The rosy glow of the magic-stone lanterns overhead. The reddish-purple haze of the patterns underfoot. Together, they made for an ethereal, otherworldly ambience, and in the midst of that world of color, Bete’s face twisted in increasing irritation. 
“Don’t let him touch me, you worthless pieces of scum! Ha…Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!!” 
Again and again, they leaped from the shadows, the obedient servants protecting their mad queen. 
It was a deadly game of cat and mouse. Or hide-and-seek, perhaps, only this hider was having the time of her life shooting blades at the seeker. 
Valletta’s features seemed to glow red in the light emanating up from the floor. 
“?GruuuuuaaaaaAAAARRRRGGGHHHHHH!!” 
“Gngh?!” 
Bete let out a roar as he suddenly charged forward, his fist just barely missing Valletta’s throat. The force, however, was enough to carve clean through the stone floor, and the gust of wind it created was more than capable of launching her into the air. 
She tumbled backward, forced to thrust her sword into the ground like a staff to slow her slide and pull herself back up to her feet. 
“Shoulda known…gettin’ too close to you was a bad idea…” she hissed, her ever-present provocative smile still on her lips as she brushed the dust from her cheeks. At the same time, another group of attackers rushed forward to meet him, and Bete grimaced. 
I missed?! Goddammit! 
Bete cursed himself and his own missed opportunity. She was only a Level 5. He should have been able to take her down easily. Was his own rage hindering his movements? 
He scowled, throwing himself at the incoming enemies. Limbs flying, he aimed punch after kick at the clingy gnats, decorating the underground hall with their blood. 
Then, he set his sights back on Valletta, who herself had already put some distance between them. 
Next time. Next time he’d have her for sure. And with that oath, his amber eyes ran red with murderous resolve. 
There weren’t any traps, or at least none that he could sense immediately. Just try and dodge me now, he raged, the maddened fire inside him building into an inferno. 
Only—there was one thing wrong with that thought. 
Valletta’s trump card was already in place—and had been for some time. 
“?” 
The first thing that clued him in was the sudden change in light. 
Then, her followers, the Thanatos Familia disciples he’d already blown away, began gradually, ever so slowly, catching up with him. Tears and blood streaming down their cheeks, they pointed their cursed blades at the werewolf, faces half-crazed. 
It was so strange. 
They were somehow speeding up. 
Or no. 
Not even that? 
“He-he-he.” 
It was so faint at the beginning, Bete himself hadn’t even noticed it. 
“He-he-he-he-he.” 
But it was becoming clearer and clearer as time went on. 
“He-he-he-he-he-he-he-he.” 
As Valletta’s smile grew in voracious amusement, Bete’s movements began to slow, and he finally became aware of just what was happening. 
What’s…going on? 
His limbs felt heavy. 
Like his whole body was made of lead. 
It wasn’t that the enemies were moving faster. No, quite the opposite. 
Bete was the one who was moving slower—laughably so. Hilariously so. 
“Took damn well long enough?but now, the time has come!” 
Just as Valletta’s spit reached the ground… 
The enemies’ attacks began to hit. 
“Gngh!” 
It came from the back first, a light scratch that left him briefly in shock. 
Though the gash itself wasn’t deep, the searing pain of the curse made his fur stand on end, and with a quick half spin, he sent his elbow into the jaw of the offending assailant. They swept toward him in constant waves, sending up panicked wails as their swords came flying—a fierce retaliation, as though avenging their fallen comrades. 
Bete repelled what incoming cursed blades he could, but his movements were so sluggish. Too sluggish. He couldn’t respond fast enough. His body could no longer keep up with the rapid-fire perception of his first-tier-adventurer mind. 
He was evading less and less, forced to defend more and more. 
This…! 
Bete could sense it now. 
The strange change that had befallen his body. 
His movements themselves were being restrained at an accelerating speed. 
“How ya feelin’ there, Vanargand?” 
“?!” 
As Bete barely managed to leap away from an enemy attack, he felt Valletta’s sickly sweet breath directly on his cheek. How had he allowed her to get so close? Only a second ago, she’d been running away from him! He hurled his fist like a bolt of lightning at that vicious smile, only for Valletta to quickly duck out of the way. 
Her eyes flashed as she activated the blades on her boots, sending out her leg in a high-speed horizontal kick. 
“Hrraaauugh!!” 
“Gngh?!” 
The two strikes landed direct hits on his Frosvirt, shattering not only a section of their armor but the inlaid yellow jewels, as well. With their core gone, the mythril Superiors fell silent. 
“You don’t think I know about your nasty old magic-sucking boots, huh?!” Valletta laughed, moving like an acrobat as she directed a kick toward his upper body while standing on her head. When her leg struck his armguard, she used the recoil to jump back, reclaiming the distance between them. 
Bete, meanwhile, now completely robbed of his weapon and power, stumbled backward. 
Losing his Frosvirt was bad, for sure, but his biggest problem now was still the overwhelming weight slowing down his body. It seemed like every second that passed saw his reaction time worsening. No, his power, too. 
He threw a glance first at the cracked jewels on his boots, then at his arms and legs, and finally, down at the still-glowing reddish-purple pattern decorating the floor. 
The more I move, the worse it gets. That thing must be lowering my Status…! 
“Took you long enough to realize, you great big galoot!” Valletta called out, her voice only adding to the already building panic in his gut. “Let me introduce you to my own special brand of magic!” 
“!” 
“I call it Shaldo! I suppose you could call it a type of…barrier magic,” she explained, her voice reverberating through the underground hall as the attacks on Bete came to a momentary halt. 
Almost as though responding to her call, the geometric patterns on the floor seemed to glow even brighter. 
“But this magic isn’t a barrier at all. What’s more, it has an annoyingly long chant, and it dissipates the moment I step outside it. Not even that useful in real combat, either, given how much Mind it zaps. Damn thing!” she ranted, clearly irritated at the one magic spell she possessed. “However,” she started again, lips curling upward. “It’s perfect for a trap. Even more so for catching impudent little beasties who can’t rein in their own rage!” 
“Ngh…!” 
“As you might have guessed already, Shaldo is a Status Down spell. It saps the power and speed of any uninvited guest who steps inside…And the more they move around, the worse it gets.” 
Whether she simply had time to spare or was enjoying this opportunity to bestow his death sentence, Bete wasn’t sure, but Valletta gave him all the details about the features of her spell. Listening to it, however, made the color drain from his face. 
A type of anti-Status Magic, then, but one that didn’t require repeated castings, able to continuously drop an opponent’s Status all by itself—rare magic, for sure. And if the chant really was as long as she said, its power had to be massive, with no way to break it aside from Valletta’s previously revealed conditions. It seemed that no matter how many of them there were inside it—one, ten, even a hundred—all of them would have their Statuses lowered by this super-wide-range spell. 
“The more you scuttle around, the tighter the invisible strings of my magic!” 
Everything inside the reddish-purple circle. 
Was Valletta’s castle. Her prison. 
In other words… 
“That’s right, my little flea. I’m the spider…and you’ve walked straight into my web!” 
Bete’s eyes widened in shock. 
“There’s no running away now, Vanargand! You’ve been rampaging about so much already, the threads of my web are already alllllll over you!” 
It was true. 
Bete’s Status had dropped so low by this point, he’d breached the level threshold. If he had to guess, he was down to a Level 4 already, which was perilously low. What’s more, Valletta had slowly lured him straight into the center of the barrier. Even if he used every ounce of strength he had left to try and escape, who knew how many attacks he’d have to fend off before he made it to the edge? And with every block, every dodge, his Status would plunge even further. 
The frenzied wolf had truly fallen straight into her trap. 
“Now then…let’s play! Ready yourselves, my inept minions!!” 
As the strident command echoed off the walls, the rest of the Evils materialized from the shadowy expanse behind the columns. Every single one of them—wielded a magic sword. 
“?” 
Time came to a halt. 
Then Valletta’s voice rang out again, and in one simultaneous sweep of their swords came an explosive wave of fire. 
“?Gngh?!” 
First flames, then lightning, then ice, they bombarded him with all variety of magic attacks. Like rain, the barrage fell upon him from all sides, and though Bete was able to dodge the raging hurricane thanks to his unparalleled dynamic vision and motor reflexes, the brilliance of those same abilities was already rapidly fading. And thanks to his broken Frosvirt, he couldn’t absorb the magic, either. 
The second shadow Valletta had painted across the floor—her Shaldo—had him in its icy grip. 
It was even worse than a curse. A permanent set of chains that had been wrapped around his entire body. He truly felt like a flea caught in a spider’s web. The more he struggled, the more those threads wrapped around him. 
Just like the spider’s prey, left to await its inevitable end at the hands of a ghastly predator. 
“Ngh?!” 
One of the magic blasts finally hit its mark as Bete attempted to flee the barrier. 
It was a direct hit, dyeing Bete’s vision a fiery red. 
“Gnghaaah!!” he screamed, the pained cry torn from his throat. 
“Just die already!” Valletta shouted, a sadistic smile on her face as another simultaneous blast came flying at him. 
“Nnggaauuugh?” 
The wolf’s shadow flickered in the midst of the blinding flash. 
“Again!” 
Like heralds of death, the Thanatos Familia servants raised their voices, sending forth another murky stream of light in an attempt to bring the giant werewolf to his knees. 
They went through magic sword after magic sword as they rushed, half-frenzied, to carry out Valletta’s orders; as soon as one sword broke, they simply grabbed another one and chipped away piece by piece at Bete’s frame. 
Not even the spilled blood on the floor could withstand the attack, evaporating in the brilliant gleam as the entire chamber thrummed with the building waves of colossal magic power. It became a veritable concerto of light, with Valletta holding the conductor’s baton. 
“He-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-he! Kill him! Kill him!! Kill the little Loki Familia hotshot! And then? I’m coming after you, Finn!!” Valletta squealed, practically climaxing at the scene of absolute liquidation in front of her. 
Beneath her feet, Shaldo gave its own flash of euphoric light, almost as though joining her in riotous laughter. 
 
“This…” 
Back aboveground in the Pleasure Quarter’s restoration zone. 
Aiz had just happened upon the very same message that had led Bete to Belit Babili. 
“Come to the palace…Vanargand…” She slowly read aloud the bloodred Koine words on the piece of stone beneath the archway. She’d caught sight of the trail of blood almost immediately upon entering the war-torn district of brothels and had followed it to this spot posthaste. 
She threw a concerned glance in the direction of the abandoned assassin corpse, then made to leave, prepared to follow the clue and find Bete. Except… 
“Hn…?!” 
A sudden vibration underfoot brought her to a halt. 
It was faint, almost like an earthquake. And while it wasn’t strong enough to throw her off-balance, the intermittent shock waves that followed were enough to clue her in to the fact that something wasn’t right. 
Kneeling down, she pressed her hand to the ground. 
The rumbling against her palm made for a sort of haphazard melody, almost as though a great many bombs were going off underneath the earth’s surface. 
“It’s coming from…underground…? No!” With a start, she realized what was going on. Her head popped upward, and she took off in a flash. 
Kicking off first from the ground, then the walls, she leaped free of the streets and onto the roofs of the surrounding brothels. She raced ever forward, row after row of shingles beneath her feet and the shadowy visage of Belit Babili, standing tall and solemn, in her sights. 
Making a beeline toward that towering palace, she ran, moving among the rain-swept slopes and dilapidated crags of the buildings below. 
 
The cacophony of explosions continued in the underground chamber, so numerous that Bete had lost track of them. 
“Grrugh…Gah…!” 
Smoke fizzled from his skin; Bete himself was only just managing to keep from collapsing to the floor as globules of scorched, congealed blood dropped from the wounds now littering his body. 
“Tenacious little bastard, aren’t ya?” Valletta hissed, the depraved delight momentarily fading beneath her furrowed brows at the sight of Bete still standing. 
It didn’t last long, though—that unforgiving smile of hers returned within seconds. 
But this is the end, Vanargand. Once my Shaldo’s got its grip on you, it never lets go. 
Even now, the wolf’s entire body was being bound tighter and tighter by the invisible threads of her masterpiece glowing underfoot, not only sapping his Status but completely inhibiting his escape, as well. 
One quick stab from a cursed weapon’d end this right quick…But why take the risk? There’s no need to get that close. Even as he is now, one misstep could see his teeth in my neck! 
Yes, there was no need to rush things. Not anymore. Better to just keep on doing what she was doing, chipping away at his life bit by bit from afar. 
He was much too wounded to make any attempt at escaping now, after all. 
And it’s a good thing I lured him down here, too. Don’t wanna risk his going all beast mode on me…No, there’s nothing Vanargand can do to turn the tables now. 
The biggest risk one took confronting a werewolf on the surface was their transforming under the light of the moon. And once that happened, they were said to possess power far greater than that of any other species. 
The rain may have stopped up above, but they were safe below the surface, where not even the slightest trace of moonlight could filter through. 
Valletta let out a loud peal of laughter, completely assured of her coming victory. Hearing this was enough to bring smiles to the faces of her minions, as well. For them to take down a first-tier adventurer, after all, would be a major step toward attaining their life’s greatest desires. 
Seduced by thoughts of joy, excitement, and an appetite for destruction, they released yet another salvo at the already crippled werewolf. 
“…Tsk.” 
Bete grimaced through the bolts of lightning, shards of ice, and flaming embers as they formed a whirlwind around him. He clenched his hand into a fist, muscles practically shaking from the sheer fury rushing through him. 
“Dammit…dammit…dammit…DAMMIT!” he groaned, teeth grinding against one another. 
He was angry with himself. With Valletta and her men. With the world. The fang on his cheek felt like it was on fire, the pain buried inside begging to break free. 
His world was red. 
The anger had taken control. 
He cursed the world. Cursed fate. Cursed reason. 
A white heat overtook his vision. His thoughts were a raging, chaotic mess. He couldn’t accept this. He couldn’t accept himself. Just like he hadn’t been able to accept much of anything for as long as he could remember. That scar, that wound from his past, was always there to prolong the anger inside him. Bete’s heart was a constant storm of turmoil on the battlefield. 
But there was one thing for certain, and that was if he kept going like this, his anger would have nowhere to go. It would completely destroy him. 
The fiery rage from having his companions torn from him. The inferno of enmity at seeing that girl get killed. 
They were unacceptable. 
Not everyone could be protected. Not everyone could be saved. But Bete was the only one who couldn’t seem to put out the flames. 
The strong were the only ones who couldn’t forget. 
The cries of the weak as they fought back against the world. 
The tears of the frail when they were forced to yield to fate. 
“ ?Goddammit!!” he roared, cursing his own self. 
And then, raising his head, he looked through the waves of flames to meet Valletta’s smile head-on. 
He decided, then and there, to break the one “commandment” he’d given himself. 
The one selfish act he’d childishly told himself he’d never resort to, even in the face of certain death. 
All of a sudden, the memories of the past few days flashed across his amber eyes. 
Then. 
He began weaving his song. 
“Chained Fros, king of the wolves?” 
And casting his spell. 
“Wha…? Vanargand using…m-magic?!” Valletta stammered, completely taken aback. 
This wasn’t possible. How could she not have known about this? Loki Familia’s Vanargand was a meaty powerhouse who belonged on the front lines with the Amazons. That was why he had to rely on his metal-boot Superiors if he wanted to use any kind of magic. 
A look of panic crossed her face. This kind of trump card might actually be able to turn the course of battle. There was no way she was going to let him get away with this. 
“Don’t just stand there! Hurry up and fry ’im!!” she screeched, her underlings releasing another wave of fireballs and lightning bolts. But Bete made no move to dodge or even block them, his eyes shut and arms dropped to his sides as he focused everything he had on the chant. Withstanding direct hit after direct hit, he simply stood there, continuing his spell as the world of shadow around him lit up in a brilliant phantasmagoria. 
“The first wound: Gelgja, the fetter. The second wound: Gjöll, the cry. The third wound: ?viti, the hammer. The ravenous slaver your only hope, may it form a river, mixing in the tide of blood, to wash away your tears.” 
Bete wasn’t capable of Concurrent Casting. 
Nor was his magic power anything to write home about. 
He’d never had any reason to spend time honing a skill he’d told himself he’d never use. 
“Never forget those irreparable wounds. This rage and hatred, thine infirmity and incandescence.” 
Bete hated this spell. 
It was a reflection of the caster’s nature, as well as the contents of their soul. 
“Denounce the world. Acknowledge fate. And dry thy tears.” 
And it revealed the weakness buried in his heart. 
Brought his focus back to the scar he’d tried so hard to ignore these many years. 
“May the pain become your fangs, the lament your roar—and your lost companions your strength.” 
He hated this spell more than anything else. 
“What the hell are you guys doing? Are you even trying to hit him, you incompetents?! He’s half-dead already—I couldn’t have served ’im to you on a better platter!” Valletta screamed 
“L-Lady Valletta, we’re definitely hitting him…he’s just—not going down!” one of her associates yelled back helplessly. 
And it was true. Though the blasts from their magic swords were landing direct hit after direct hit, setting him ablaze, the werewolf’s feet were still firmly planted on the ground. Even as his upper body rocked from each subsequent impact, his lips kept reciting the chant, almost as though some sort of caged beast was struggling to break free. 
“Free yourself of the chains that bind you, and release your mad howl. O lineage of enmity, pray use this vessel and devour the moon, drinking greedily from its overflowing cup.” 
With that, the chant of the wounded wolf began to increase in speed. 
Valletta, meanwhile, could only scowl in growing concern as more and more magic swords began to explode, having reached their maximum use. 
“Gnngh…Fine! Then just attack him directly! Skewer ’im with your cursed weapons! Go, go, go!” she finally howled, completely giving up on the magic approach. Her followers were quick to respond, gulping as they took off toward the wolf. 
Grabbing cursed spears, they leaped, four of them flying across the length of Valletta’s magic barrier and quickly closing in on Bete with spearheads hurtling. 
“Bare your fangs—and devour all.” 
Only… 
Bete was a second faster. 
His amber eyes popped open with a treacherous glint—then he released the chains of ego muzzling the colossal wolf of his magic. 
“Hati.” 
The short name seemed to echo throughout the room. 
Then… 
A flaming pyre engulfed Valletta and her men. 
“?GGRRRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” 
As Valletta hastily threw her hands up to shield her eyes, she heard four sets of screams. With a startled gulp, she made to strengthen her magic barrier, only to see the forms of her companions wriggling and squirming as they burned alive in the searing inferno—followed by the terrifying visage of the werewolf as he shredded them to pieces. 
Through the multitude of embers he walked, four searing flames now sprouting from his body. 
One on each of his hands and each of his feet. 
Four flames, four parts, and at their center, a crimson inferno. 
“Ha…ha-ha…ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! What the hell is this, huh? All that buildup for a stupid little enchantment? I ain’t scared of that shit!” Valletta forced out a great guffaw, her earlier tension melting away. 
While certainly it must have been a fairly strong enchantment to allow him to take down four of her guys even after the Status Down, it was still just an enchantment. So long as she didn’t get close, that thing couldn’t reach her. And considering Bete’s abilities were still dropping by the second, he’d go down long before he got anywhere near her. 
Bete, however, wasn’t fazed by her laughter, not saying a word as he began walking toward her. 
“Shoot him, you half-wits! And this time, make sure you blow him away!” she commanded, stirring the rest of her troops back into action. As they began their magic-sword barrage anew, the underground chamber was once more filled with a brilliant deluge of light, a whirling storm of flames forming around Bete. 
“Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha ?Huh?” 
Only… 
Her laughter among the explosions quickly came to a halt. 
She watched. 
As with every new wound opening on the wolf’s body from the magic salvo, the flames encapsulating his limbs grew in strength. 
The hellish conflagration pouring from his body grew more fierce, more crazed, the more he was attacked. 
“L-Lady Valletta…?!” came the shaky voice of one of her fellow Evils. 
Though the flaming wisps on his hands and feet had started out around the size of a shield, they were silently, and ever so certainly, growing. They were already taller than Bete himself. Even now, from where they stood a safe distance away, the malevolent waves of flame seemed liable to swallow them whole. 
“It’s like he’s…eating the magic,” one of the Evils associates muttered in awe. 
And suddenly, they all came to the same realization. 
The glinting hellfire in front of them was actually absorbing each one of the blasts from their magic swords. Just like Bete’s broken Frosvirt—just like a ravenous wolf—the flames were devouring everything, magic and all. 
As they watched the blaze grow larger and larger, they quickly halted their attacks in horror. Their zealous determination to take the wolf down first had been completely engulfed by the flames. 
As it would turn out, though, their hypothesis was only half-correct. 
Because Valletta noticed something else about Bete. 
And that was the new burn that had appeared on his right shoulder. 
It almost seemed to be in sync with the flame enveloping his hand, a hazy film of light hovering just on its surface as the wisp on his fist grew ever larger. 
Don’t tell me—? 
Valletta swallowed hard, unable to believe what she was seeing. 
Then, with a glint in his eye, the wounded wolf charged. 
The speed was nothing compared to Bete’s normal abilities. 
However, it was just enough to close the distance between him and the stock-still enemies in front of him now. They barely even had a chance to react, their eyes widening as he leaped forward, flourishing the blaze on his right hand. It drew from the power of the three other mini infernos, swelling up to an unimaginable size as he sent his flaming fang flying. 
Valletta immediately grabbed the shoulders of one of her nearby subordinates, using him as a shield. 
Then… 
 
In one single swipe of his arm, the entire chamber erupted in a brilliant, incandescent hellfire. 
 
It happened the moment Aiz reached the palace, bringing her wind-like rush to a halt. 
The immense garden guarding the entrance exploded into flames. 
“?!” 
The mighty crimson roar burst straight out of the earth, splitting the ground with it. 
Aiz barely had time to avoid it, forcefully diverting her forward momentum and activating her magic as the fiery hurricane swallowed everything. 
“Awaken, Tempest!” 
Protected by her armor of wind, she pushed back against the oppressive waves of heat. 
“What the…?!” 
The explosion was visible from even as far away as Babel Tower in the center of the city. 
Like an incarnate of fire, the colossal pyre towered, a monstrous wolf howling at the sky. 
“I-it’s an inferno! And it’s coming from the direction of the Pleasure Quarter…?!” 
“Seems our boy has gone and used that magic of his.” 
“M-Mister Bete? Magic? Does he even know any?!” Raul sputtered in response to Gareth’s awed murmur. The dwarf merely nodded as Raul and the rest of the stupefied Loki Familia members looked on. 
“He does, indeed. Though he’d rarely deign to use it,” he continued, throwing a glance at Loki, who confirmed his words with a nod of her own. 
“True that. The only time we’ve seen it is when he first converted.” 
Gareth turned away from his bewildered companions and back toward the southeastern corner of the city, where even now the inferno had started to dissipate. “This magic of his…it feeds on magic power.” 
“Feeds on…magic power? Then, you don’t mean…?” 
“Aye…A type of magic drain, it is.” 
Bete’s spell: Hati. 
While the four enchantments on his arms and legs boasted firepower of their own, its true strength lay in its ability to drain other magic. Any magic-based attack it touched was absorbed, boosting its magic output and destructive power. 
“Bete’s Frosvirt is actually a downgraded version of the spell. Stubborn lad as he was, refusin’ to use his own magic, he had Tsubaki make ’em for ’im to use in its stead,” Gareth explained. Raul and Anakity gulped at this new piece of information. Not even they, for as long as they’d known Bete, knew any of this. 
“But…but why wouldn’t Mister Bete use his magic if it’s this crazy powerful…? Wouldn’t that make him even stronger…?” 
“His scars.” Loki answered Raul’s confused question. 
“Huh?” 
“Usin’ that magic…forces Bete to face the scars of his past,” she murmured almost sadly, looking down at her own palm as though picturing the Status on Bete’s back. “You see, it’s got one more attribute to it, as well. Its true feature, you might say.” 
“True feature…?” 
“It’s a damage drain…Meanin’ that the more Bete gets hurt, the stronger it becomes.” 
“…!” 
“It ain’t like Tiona and Tione’s Berserk magic. This thing basically has no limits on how strong it can get. It can even become the sort of column-like pyre we just saw earlier.” 
This news left Raul and the other’s utterly speechless. 
That was the true nature of Bete’s magic, Hati. 
As it absorbed more and more magic, the enchantment properties of the spell made it impossible for Bete to avoid burning himself in the flames. And as Bete took more and more damage, the spell would grow even stronger, the wounds on his body acting as kindling for the growing inferno. 
His own pain and suffering would make the fang of that colossal wolf stronger, more powerful than ever. 
“And that is the true form of Bete’s fang…or its origins, I suppose,” Loki finished sadly. 
“He’s only ever used it once in front of us,” Gareth continued. “During an expedition. When the tail end of the party got ’emselves caught up with an Irregular. You remember, don’tcha? Raul? Aki?” 
“You mean that one time five years ago?” 
“I remember we were with the front line…but that a number of people on the back line got killed. Is that what you’re talking about?” 
“Aye…One after another, they were gettin’ wiped out. So Bete cast his spell…and incinerated all. Aggro’d everything and wiped ’em all out. The lot of us were takin’ care of our own enemies an’ could do nothin’ but watch…” 
The only one who’d made it out alive from the group, and who’d seen firsthand the werewolf’s rampage, had been Leene, Gareth further explained. The old soldier dwarf’s voice was laced with regret. 
The room grew silent, no one saying a word, as Gareth turned his gaze toward the door and the sky beyond. The earlier clouds were gone, almost as though frightened away by the flaming wolf, revealing the golden light of the moon. 
“That lad…Once he shows ’is true colors, he’s stronger than anyone I know,” Gareth muttered as he narrowed his eyes. “Those blokes really stepped on the wrong wolf’s tail this time.” 
“What the…hell…?!” 
Everything was in flames. 
Tossing aside the colleague she’d used as a shield, his body now slumped and charred to a crisp, Valletta rose to her feet, her eyes practically trembling as she took in the sight of the blazing red hall around her. From the collapsed columns to every nook and cranny of the grand chamber, everything was alight with crackling cinders as wave after wave of heat rose from the floor. It looked like the inside of a broiling-hot oven. 
Valletta’s cheek twitched. The sheer overwhelming power of the flames had scalded her skin. The rest of her troops, too, having quickly darted beneath the safety of the columns and barely hanging on to their lives, had lost all will to fight. 
She turned her gaze skyward to where the blast had carved through the thick crust of the earth, leaving a gaping hole overhead. The dark sky was now connected to the hellish world below the ground. 
Shit. 
She mentally cursed, sweat running down her face. And almost as if answering her fears, the visage of the fire starter himself, now standing in the middle of the chamber, had begun to change. 
Clouds parting, the light of the moon spilled down into the underground chamber. 
Almost instantly, Bete’s gray fur stood on end, his muscles rippling. 
Then, the pupils of his amber eyes turned to slits. 
He was transforming. 
Making him not only more aggressive but insanely more powerful, to boot. 
The second Valletta realized what was happening, she screamed. “Kill him! Kill hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim! It’s not too late! Take him dooooooooooooooown!!” 
The maddened screech of her voice spurred what minions of hers remained into desperate action. The Thanatos Familia puppets didn’t fear death—not with the promise of resurrection that their god had given them. Though fearful of the pain that would come, they would do anything to fulfill their life’s greatest desire, and so they launched themselves at the wolf, shaky war cries tearing at their throats and blood, tears, and snot flying, almost like suicidal warriors dying for their cause. 
But— 
“?GNGGGH!” 
Before they could even reach him, the wolf was gone, leaving behind a cracked floor in his wake and taking out two of them before they’d even realized what had happened. He seized them by the face, the flame on his right arm still increasing in fervor, and slammed them straight into the ground. Their bodies shattered instantly into flying, flaming chunks. At the same time, he lashed out with his legs, the scorching blades slicing through the upper halves of another set of assailants, turning them into nothing more than clouds of black dust. The Inferno Stones they’d equipped themselves with in case they needed to self-destruct began going off en masse, the resulting blasts acting as further fuel for Bete’s Hati. 
“Guh…wah…?!” 
The supposedly death-accepting followers of the God of Death went white with terror. 
Nothing they’d ever witnessed before could hold a candle to the brutality taking place before them now. 
Bete had truly become one with his fang. 
On his arms, on his legs, on his every limb. 
Four fangs, forming the top and bottom of a fiery jaw, that would consume them whole. 
His hands were the upper fangs, ripping apart the flesh of his enemies, and his feet were the lower fangs, crushing their limbs. 
The merciless amber eyes of the werewolf shot straight through his terrified prey. 
And then he opened his jaw, prepared to swallow the sun, the moon, the entire world. 
“G-GUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!” 
The few Evils who remained screamed, half-crazed, as they saw their final battle looming before them. Even as they quaked with fear, they rushed forward, a veritable army of the dead as they attacked the wolf. Bete sidestepped them easily, his instincts now as sharp and wild as a beast’s, his fists turning his enemies’ entrails to ash and his heels coming straight down on their heads in a vertical line of scorching fire that charred their bodies, cursed weapons, and everything. His flames swallowed what incoming magic attacks yet flew at him, growing ever larger as he annihilated every one of the God of Death’s followers. 
It was a dance of embers, a nigh uncountable amount, his punches and kicks leaving trails of fire in the air. It was a scene not of this world, truly reminiscent of the end of days, and as Valletta watched from a distance, her hands and feet shaking, she murmured in awe. 
“It…can’t be…” 
Before she knew it, her companions were gone, and the giant wolf turned his sights on her. 
Every single hair on her body stood on end, but in that split second… 
A shadow suddenly descended from the hole overhead. 
“S-Sword Princess…?!” Valletta’s voice cracked at the progressively worsening state of affairs, while meanwhile, Aiz herself could only look around her in bewilderment. 
“What’s going on…?!” 
Shit, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me! 
As Valletta’s thoughts became a whirl of obscenities, the golden-haired, golden-eyed swordswoman’s gaze fell on the last remaining enemy left in the chamber. 
She made to unsheathe her sword. Only… 
“Don’t touch her!!” came the sudden incensed order. 
“Mister…Bete…?” Aiz stopped, stunned. 
“You touch her and I swear…I’ll kill you, too!!” Bete howled threateningly before turning his eyes back to the woman in question. Leaving Aiz to stand there in shocked silence, he took first one step, then two, then more and more as he slowly crossed the world of hellfire and approached Valletta. 
“Th-this is insane…This is insane…This is insane…!!” Valletta began to see red as she watched the wolf chuck aside the bodies of her former comrades, leaving nothing between the two of them. Somehow that rage had washed away the fear and the dread, leaving her almost, just the tiniest bit calm. 
Gimme a break, Vanargand! You’re really gonna come at me when your own body’s about ready to fall apart…?! 
It didn’t matter how much damage and magic his Hati had drained at this point—the wounds plaguing his body weren’t about to heal anytime soon. He’d kick the bucket far before Valletta even got close. 
Plus, my Shaldo’s still workin’ its stuff! So what if he’s transformed, huh? He keeps flailin’ around like that and it’ll suck ’im dry, back to the exact way he was before, she calmly told herself, glancing down at the still-glowing reddish-purple patterns beneath her feet. She smiled despite the anxiety tugging at the back of her mind. 
Yeah, bring it on. 
Let me cut you down to size. 
With a sadistic grin worthy of the name “Arachnia,” she readied her cursed shortsword. 
“Huh—?” 
Until her wandering gaze froze in an instant. 
The patterns underfoot, the ones spanning the entire length of the chamber, and Valletta’s carefully woven barrier… 
Were beginning to flicker, almost as though giving up a dying wail, their power being sucked into the ravenous wolf’s fangs. 
Magic drain. 
With those two words, Valletta felt an overwhelming despair wash over her. 
This is insane…This is insane…THIS IS INSANE…!! 
Because Bete’s Hati had one thing different about it from the weaker Frosvirt he normally employed. 
It could eat anything. Attacks. Curses. Even barriers. 
Anything that used magic power. 
“B-but it’s not even attack magiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiic!!” 
Bete’s fang, his scar, was one even Leene, as a healer, couldn’t mend. 
This time, the color really did leave Valletta’s face. 
If Bete sucked up her barrier and broke the Status Down binding him… 
As Valletta grew more and more panicked, Bete lunged forward at lightning speed. 
“RRRUUAAAAAGH!!” 
“Gnnaagh?!” 
He hurled his fist of flame upward, a sweeping uppercut right into her belly. 
Valletta’s body curled in on itself as spit went flying from her mouth. Before she could even recover, Bete was spinning on his heel, delivering a flying kick as powerful as a raging river that sent flames across the side of her face as she was launched across the room. 
Still, the hungry wolf kept up the attack, the tremendous force of his fang pounding into her again and again and again for a multi-punch salvo that left her body a crippled mess. 
“GNGH…GRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!” 
The scream of agony was enough to make even Aiz, with her years of experience on the battlefield, plug her ears. 
Her bones snapping, her skin searing, even her tears themselves evaporating into mist, Valletta was beaten to a pulp. Bete’s strikes carved through the very air itself, his left fist, his left fang delivering a resounding blow that sent her hurtling straight into one of the columns in the middle of the chamber. 
“Bete!” Aiz suddenly cried, having come to herself, but not even her desperate plea could get through to him now. His fury had taken control. 
He walked toward Valletta, now writhing on the ground, as his every step sent the stone below him up in flames. 
“A-aggghhhhh…?!” 
“On your feet,” Bete ordered coldly. 
He was doing everything in his power to keep from turning her into ash right then and there, his slit eyes simply staring at the woman on the floor. 
Valletta did as she was told, pushing her trembling, half-charred body to its feet. 
“E-enough already, Vanargand…I—I can’t take it anymore…It hurts too much…Too hot…I-I’m begging you…! L-look what you did to me! I’m not even th-thinking straight!!” she pleaded shamefully. “I—I don’t wanna die! I still haven’t…That pompous bastard Braver…Finn and I…I still need to…have my way with him…So let me go…please!!” She forced a smile in desperate appeal. 
“And what did you do, huh? When all those weaklings you killed looked up at you with those same words?!” Bete hissed back, the flames around him flaring up as her expression froze under his callous gaze. 
They were so close. A mere five meders away. With only a single step, Bete could swallow her whole. Valletta could almost see the giant flaming wolf, his fangs bared as he stared at her from over Bete’s shoulder. 
“S-seriously?” she sputtered. “You’re still mad about that Amazonian brat?! Or do you mean those friends of yours I killed down in Knossos? D-don’t you think you’re kinda barkin’ up the wrong tree here?” 
“…” 
“You guys are adventurers, aren’t you? Fully prepared to die at a moment’s notice! That’s just our way of life! Y-yours and mine!” Valletta stammered, already starting in on her high-handed excuses, while behind them both, Aiz’s fingers unconsciously curled into a fist. 
Bete remained silent until Valletta was finished, then answered softly. 
“…It’s true. You’re not wrong.” 
At this, Aiz couldn’t believe her ears. 
“They died because they’re weak. So perhaps my anger is misdirected…It’s the duty of the strong to take from the weak, after all. That’s just the way of this goddamn world,” he acknowledged. It was the same thing he’d said to Aiz back in the pub. 
That was right. 
The strong could do anything. Could take anything. 
While the weak were powerless. Constantly having the things important to them snatched away. 
The weak shouldn’t be allowed to live. 
That was simply the way of the world, since the day life came into being. 
“Th-then…?” Valletta started, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. But then… 
“—WHICH IS EXACTLY WHY!!” Bete suddenly howled, his eyes flashing with rage. 
“There’s nothing wrong with me ripping you to shreds!!” 
Valletta’s face went stark white at the werewolf’s outraged howl. 
There was a loud crunch as Bete stepped forward, then Valletta turned tail and ran. 
“G-gaaaaaaaagh?!” 
That was enough for Bete. This piece of fish bait who couldn’t even howl, who was running away with her tail between her legs, didn’t deserve to live. 
“RuuuuuuaaaaaaAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH!!” 
“G-G-G-YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” 
He was on her, fists flying, legs sailing, and finally, claws curling around her face in an iron grip. He lifted her off the ground, slamming her into the nearby pillar and causing the very flames surrounding his body to tremble. 
“W-wait?! I-if you kill me, you’ll never…never find the key?!!” 
“Oh, shut up.” 
Nothing could stand in the way of the hungry wolf now. 
His fangs would systematically, impartially tear the flesh of his prey into thousands of tiny pieces. 
Valletta’s desperate appeal to the key was immediately quashed. 
“WAIT, BETE!!” 
Not even Aiz could stop him now. His fangs were bared. 
“BURN IN HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELL!!” 
The world around them erupted. 
AGH?!” 
The jaws of the inferno opened wide, and its tremendous roar completely masked Valletta’s scream of agony. Her body was engulfed in flames, turning her into blackened ash in mere moments and frying her alive. She made for an even more wretched sight than that of the many monsters he’d previously incinerated. 
And Aiz saw everything. 
The spectacle seared into her eyes. 
The world of death and destruction the werewolf had invoked. 
The terrifying spectacle of fire and brimstone his fury had set into motion. 
There, in that giant underground chamber of glowing red, Vanargand had writ the final page of the Evils’ saga. 
“AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?…” 
Enshrouded in flames and drenched in the light of the moon, the lone wolf howled into the night sky. 
An indicator, perhaps, that he’d fulfilled his oath; to Aiz’s ears, it sounded both ferocious and heartbreakingly sad. She watched him, embers singeing her face, sweat pouring from her temples, and her golden hair glinting. 


 


While the wolf stood there, savage, gallant, and destitute in the flames. 
 
The heinous “Amazon Hunt” that had rocked the city had finally come to a close. 
As far as official announcements, the ringleaders who’d hired the assassins were still unknown. In order to avoid any unnecessary chaos, no one aside from Loki Familia was to know it was the remnants of the Evils who’d been in charge of the attack. 
As for the battle that had taken place in the restoration zone of the Pleasure Quarter—and the giant pillar of fire that had been observed all across the city—the Guild had already begun their investigation. Both the Guild and its workers, as well as the whole of Ganesha Familia, were quite rightfully horrified upon discovering not only the corpses of the two dead guards but the scarcely recognizable charred bodies of the assassins around the scene of the attack. Though they fully understood that the perpetrator was a “certain elite member” of a “certain large familia,” no word or even allusion to him was ever released. Instead, they were simply forced to concede that the threat to the city was gone and that there was no reason to “step on the beast’s tail,” as it were, by questioning the measures taken to do so. Even the Guild’s upper echelons agreed that this was a matter best passed over. Indeed, aside from the fact that it was going to take a bit longer to rebuild the Pleasure Quarter, the goings-on from that night might very well never have happened, buried beneath the darkness from whence they came. 
Upon observing the bodies of the assassins they’d recovered, it was clear there would be no more risk of attack; thus, the Guild released the protective sanctions they’d placed on the former members of Ishtar Familia. And with that, the usual peace returned to Orario, almost as though the rain had simply washed away the night’s tragedies. 
Save one person, who now had to live with one more scar. 
Back in the Pleasure Quarter in the city’s third district, where the ravages of war still painted the restoration zone… 
Bete sat alone among the debris in a corner of the ruins, the brilliant sunset staining his features. This was the exact spot where he’d last seen her face. He narrowed his eyes into the fiery sheen of the twilit sun along the western horizon. 
“Bete…” Aiz murmured as she and Loki watched over him from a short distance away. 
It had been two days since he’d taken down Valletta, and the wolf had yet to return to Twilight Manor. It was only by chance that Aiz and Loki had finally found him there. There was no telling how long he’d stay, either. Though at the very least, it didn’t seem he’d be leaving anytime soon, as he’d yet to move during the few hours since they’d arrived, simply staring off into the ever-changing sky. 
Bete looked so small sitting there—quite possibly the quietest Aiz had ever seen him. 
“Let ’im have his sunset, yeah?…We go bustin’ in there now without a care for his mood an’ he’ll just turn himself off.” 
“Yeah…He doesn’t seem very…happy.” 
It was true. 
The two short days he’d spent with that girl, his own self-reproach at being unable to protect those weaker than him, and plenty of other emotions that Aiz couldn’t even begin to imagine—they should have washed through Bete by now. 
Aiz let her gaze fall before turning toward Loki. “What do you think…we should do?” 
“Heh, I may not’ve mentioned it to the others, but I’ve got myself a little plan up my sleeve,” Loki replied with a sudden smile. “Aiz, I’m gonna tell ya somethin’ and I want you to pass it along to Bete, all right? Should cheer him right up.” 
“…What is it?” 
As Loki leaned in closely to whisper in Aiz’s ear, the girl quickly nodded. It took less than a second. Then, Loki’s words in her head and a look of determination on her face, she took off across the square. She could hear Loki’s whispered “You can do it!” from behind her as she approached Bete. 
But before she could get a word out, the werewolf beat her to the punch. 
“You need something, Aiz?” 
“Bete…” 
“I don’t feel much like talkin’ to anyone right now, okay? So just beat it,” he mumbled, not even turning around. 
Aiz gave a little gulp but stood her ground as she eyed the wolf bathed in the light of the setting sun, the fang on his cheek glowing red. 
Then, with a little plop, she placed her hand on his shoulder. 
As he slowly turned to face her, she relayed the words Loki had imparted to her. 
“I got you, bro.” 
She had spoken in a completely monotone voice. 
“…………………………………” 
The sight of the emotionally challenged girl, her features absolutely deadpan as the ridiculous attempt at encouragement left her mouth, was enough to make Bete’s cheek twitch. 
“BWWWPHHHH!!” came the stifled laughter from the nearby shadows—and the provider of the phrase herself. 
“…………………?” 
Aiz could only look on in confusion at the reaction she was receiving, tilting her head to the side with a silent Huh? 
Seriously…? Bete, meanwhile, realizing things had gotten too unbelievable by this point, simply let out a sigh before rising to his feet. Saying nothing and bringing his hand down on the girl’s head with a more-forceful-than-intended donk, he walked right past her. 
Aiz brought her hands to her head as she watched him go, now even more despondent. 
“Well, lookie who it is! What a coincidence runnin’ into you here!” Loki popped out from the shadows like a bouncing clown to land in front of Bete’s path before he could make it out of the square. 
“You got some nerve sayin’ that, you old hag…” Bete half glared at her, annoyed that the earlier ambience of his sunset had been spoiled. 
“We’ve been lookin’ all over for ya, you know? Whatcha been doin’ these last two days, huh?” 
“What do you care? ’Sides, not like everyone’s gonna throw a party for me if I just waltz back home, now, is it?” Bete pointed out, referencing the two Amazons he’d left on less-than-stellar terms. Loki, however, just hummed through her nose, her smile never leaving her face. 
“Hmm…I dunno about that…” 
“…?” 
But as dubious as Bete was in the face of his goddess’s antics, he wasn’t about to stick around any longer, and he made to leave the square for good. 
“Hey, Bete. Time-out, ’kay? ’Cause Aiz really, reeeeally wants to ask ya somethin’.” 
“…Huuh?” 
Bete turned around to see Loki’s eyes widen ever so slightly in mirth—and Aiz running after him with a decisive air about her. 
As his amber eyes met her golden ones, she took a deep, nervous breath, then gave her question voice. 
“Bete…Please tell me…why are you always looking down on people? And…why is it that you want to get stronger?” 
“Ngh—!” 
“You didn’t answer my question back…back in the pub that night…” 
Bete’s brows furrowed. 
The girl’s expression remained steady and strong even as she stuttered out an almost desperate question. There was no way he could blame things on alcohol this time. Nor was there any way for him to lie. Not in front of those eyes. That would simply be unacceptable. 
Instead, Bete made to leave. Then— 
“Answer her, Bete. That’s an order from yer goddess, ya hear?” 
“You…” 
“C’mooooon! It’s not like it’s in front of everybody. Just this little chick here!…Even you understand it’s a cryin’ shame to up and leave without sortin’ out these misunderstandings.” 
Loki’s words felt like a knife to his heart. 
And as his goddess’s words pried away at the doors to his soul, he felt anger rise up inside him. Making a none-too-kind gesture, he turned back toward Aiz. 
The swordswoman was standing just as he’d left her, waiting for his response. 
Her features so reminiscent of those of his younger sister, her eyes invoking the same determination as the girl he’d loved back in Ví?arr Familia, and her golden hair, fiery in the setting sun, just like the girl he’d lost on the plains. 
Yes, this was the one person in the entire world he couldn’t lie to. 
Which was a realization Bete suddenly understood all too well. 
His mouth seemed to open on its own, unable to fast-talk its way out of this one. 
“…Because I hate weaklings. That’s why.” 
“That’s…all?” 
“They’re disgusting. I don’t even wanna look at ’em.” 
“And?” 
“Hearin’ ’em cry gives me goose bumps…” 
“And?” 
“—What else do you want from me?!” Bete finally roared, unable to take the girl’s unending deluge of questions. “That’s our duty, isn’t it? The strong are supposed to bad-mouth those weaker than ’em! If we don’t do it, who will? And then what, huh? The chicken-livered wusses’ll just keep on coming! Is that what you want?!” Bete howled. 
It rushed out of him like a dam had been released, everything he’d been keeping stopped up inside, all the pain from his scar, flowing out of him and dashing itself against Aiz. 
“They don’t belong on the battlefield! They should all just stay in their little holes! Learn their place! Not run around boo-hooing at every single goddamn thing. Makes me sick! Pissin’ and whinin’ like a bunch of little babies!! What else did you think was gonna happen, huh? They were doomed to die from the start!!” 
Their deaths flashed through his head as he carried on, his parents, his tribe, his sister, his childhood friend, her. 
And finally, the final moments of the girl who’d tried to heal him—and the Amazonian brat. 
All these thoughts plaguing his mind, plaguing his heart as he continued his tirade, he finally ended it with one last bellow. 
“I DON’T WANT ANYONE TO CRY ANYMORE!!” he roared, his voice echoing in the scarlet sky. 
And then it was silent. Only the sound of Bete’s ragged breath cut through the tension. 
Aiz stood there, shocked into silence, before finally, ever so slightly, beginning to fidget. 
Apologetically, almost, making herself as small as possible. 
“I’m…I’m sorry…” 
“See?” 
But the first person to reply to Bete’s dubious grunt wasn’t Aiz, in fact, but Loki. A smug grin on her face, she brought a hand to her mouth before yelling at what appeared to be no one in particular. 
“You hear that? Pretty much what we thought!” 
Bete found himself thrown for a loop, until, from atop the roofs of the nearby buildings, heads began popping up, one by one. 
The entirety of Loki Familia was there. 
“…………H-huh?” Bete sputtered, mouth frozen in a half-opened droop. 
“We heard it loud and clear!” 
“Sure yelled it loud enough.” 
“I’m not sure whether to be happy or…embarrassed…Aha…ah-ha-ha-ha!” 
They were the voices of his peers—Tiona shouting happily, Tione shrugging, and Lefiya with her hands to her cheeks in red-faced chagrin. And the affirmations continued similarly among the rest of the bunch: Raul, Anakity, Alicia, Cruz, Narfi, and even a whole bunch of the lower-level familia members, as well. Rakuta and the rest of his party down in Knossos, in particular, had tears forming in the corners of their eyes. 
Bete’s confession had been successfully delivered. 
“The things you’ve put us through…” 
“Indeed. Perhaps if you could be a little less…aggressive about everything, it would make our jobs easier.” 
“Less aggressive? Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! We talkin’ about the same Bete here?” 
Now the voices came from the shadows of a nearby patch of rubble, Riveria, Finn, and Gareth emerging onto the square. 
Bete had truly turned to stone now, nothing but his eyes shifting toward the trio with an almost audible creak. 
“Aiz really, reeeeally wanted ya to return to the familia, yeah? So I may or may not’ve dropped a hint or two that we should pull an innocent little stunt, and, well…You can prolly gather the rest.” 
“And I’m, uh…sorry…about that…” Aiz apologized once more as Loki looked on triumphantly. Bete was still frozen to the spot. 
So that’s what had happened. 
The other familia members had carefully, quietly hidden themselves away just out of Bete’s range of perception while Finn and the other elites had absconded themselves completely, all of them waiting for the moment when Aiz would urge Bete to spill his true feelings. 
“Wh…You…Dammi…G-gaaaah…?!” was all Bete could sputter as he attempted to find his words. And as he stood there, features strained and mouth bobbing up and down, Tiona and the rest of his familia came running over to meet him. 
They all lined up in front of him with grins that could outrival even that of their goddess, and from within the boisterous bunch, Tiona’s and Tione’s voices could be heard loud and clear. 
“Hey, Tione! You know what they call people like Bete, huh? I heard it from Loki!” 
“Sure do. A jerk with a heart of gold.” 
“??!” 
Bete’s face went instantly red. 
But they weren’t done yet, with Raul and the other second-tiers quick to toss their own opinions into the pot. 
“You made my heart stop, Mister Bete! ‘I don’t want anyone to cry anymore!’ So dreamy!” 
“I always believed in you, Mister Bete!” “We’re so sorry for misunderstanding you!” “So this is what the gods mean when they say someone is ‘so cute it makes you want to eat them’!” 
“Asshole on the outside! Teddy bear on the inside!” 
“Nice ta meetcha, Teddy Bete!” 
“This new Mister Bete is an absolute dreamboat!” 
“?You bastaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaards!!” 
“P-p-p-p-please forgive uuuuuuus!” 
The screams camse almost simultaneously as Bete unleashed his fist on the group of overzealous fans. Raul was only the first to go flying. Tiona and Tione didn’t miss the opportunity to join in on the fun, either, loosing giant guffaws as they clamored along with the rest of the peanut gallery. 
The sight of it brought a smile to Aiz’s face and a set of amused looks from Finn and the other elites. 
Once the two twins actually started fighting with Bete, though, Lefiya and her group quickly attempted to pull them apart, and loud laughter erupted from everyone in the square. 
Loki Familia was back, just as Aiz had wanted. 
“Well, then…” Riveria said suddenly. 
She let out a heavy sigh, almost as though she’d been waiting for a signal. Throwing an almost criticizing glance at Finn, she waited for an appropriate opening in the hoopla before pushing her way into the circle. 
“Bete, I must first apologize.” 
“Huh?” 
“It’s about Lena Tully.” 
Bete’s previously reddened face turned stark white the moment Riveria mentioned the Amazon’s name. The tattoo on his cheek twisted in irritation as he turned cold. 
“There ain’t nothin’ to talk about.” 
“No, there is, Bete. Hear me out.” 
“I said there ain’t! She’s dead, ya hear? There’s no point in holdin’ on to people who ain’t ever comin’ back?!” Bete lashed out, not even listening to Riveria’s appeal. 
“Or is there?” 
All of a sudden… 
The girl in question popped out from behind a pile of nearby rubble, bringing Bete’s world to a sudden halt. 
“Yoo-hoo, Bete Loga!” Lena Tully called out, looking none the worse for wear as she cheerily waved in his direction. 
“…………………………………” 
“And before you ask, nope! This isn’t a dream!” 
But it might as well have been, the way Bete seemed completely stunned, so Riveria stepped in quickly to explain, her eyes closed. 
“The day of the attack, Amid was able to complete her work on a magic item capable of healing the curse. Using her own curse-exposed blood, she was able to distill an elixir with anti-curse properties. Of course, the supply was limited, but…” 
“……………………………………” 
“As we moved among scenes of the attack, Alicia, the others, and I used what we had to heal all we could.” 
“……………………………………” 
“By the time we found Lena, my supply was running short. I was just barely able to rid her body of the curse, and though she was still alive when I brought her to the hospital…I had no way of knowing whether or not she’d survive, so I told no one.” 
“……………………………………” 
“That and at the time, there was still a threat of Amazons being targeted, her included. Better to continue feigning her death for multiple reasons, then…So I decided to wait until things had cooled down,” she finished. The detailed, long-winded explanation was evidence enough of the rare feeling of awkwardness she felt about the entire situation. “…So I ask you once again to please forgive me. You were hurting, yet I kept you from the truth.” 

 


Riveria threw an apologetic look at the girl in question—the very-much-alive Lena standing next to her—as Bete continued to flounder in silence. 
“All of us, too. We only knew about it after we’d already taken care of everything,” Tiona added. 
“As did I. Riveria was operating on her own with this one. And trust me, she gave me quite the earful after hearing I’d left it up to you to…resolve things,” Finn explained, his own voice remorseful. 
Bete’s gaze, meanwhile, had yet to leave the grinning girl in front of him. 
“I’m so sorry for making you sad, Bete Loga! Though, you know? Hearing that you were all down in the dumps ’cause of little old me? Made my heart skip, you know! I musta made a pretty deep impression on you! You just didn’t know how to express it, yeah?” she said with a smile, inching closer and closer to Bete, almost like a cat. 
Bete lowered his gaze before shooting his hand out, letting it drop on Lena’s head. 
“Wh-wh-what are you doing? We’re not gonna hug right now, are we? In front of everyone?! Bete Loga, you’re so bold!” Lena tittered gleefully. 
Suddenly, Bete’s leg came flying upward. 
KER-PHWOMP!! 
“Guuwaaaagh?!” 
His knee made direct contact with her abdomen. 
The impact drew a curious squawking noise from Lena as her body curled in on itself. 
And he didn’t stop there, either. KER-PHWOMP!! KER-PHWOMP!! 
His knee kept coming. A rapid-fire barrage of knees to the gut that made Lena’s orange-pearl eyes practically bulge out of her head. 
“M-Mister Bete?!” 
“You’re gonna kill her, you idiot!” 
“You think I care?! I’M GONNA MURDER HERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!” Bete roared, completely disregarding the surprised yelps from Lefiya and Tione. 
His rage was unstoppable, entirely incomparable with his earlier anger, as he lit into the young Amazon. Not even Tione, frantically trying to pull them apart, could stop him. It finally took the entire familia, Raul and the others flying on him en masse, to bring the enraged werewolf, capable even of fighting off a first-tier adventurer, to a halt. 
As the grand brawl ensued, Tiona darted in to pull the collapsed Lena out of the fray. 
“H-hey! Are you okay?! You still with us—?” 
“He-he-he…he-he-he-he-he-he-he…! My stomach…has been blessed again…I’ll definitely get pregnant now…!” Lena laughed, an almost euphoric smile on her face as drool leaked down her chin. 
Th-the hell is wrong with this chick?! Tiona drew back with a start. 
Meanwhile, Aiz and Loki, now completely forgotten, could only stare in blank disbelief at the chaotic situation in front of them. It didn’t take long for Loki to burst out in laughter, doubled over with her arms to her stomach. This was enough to draw in even Aiz, who brought her hand to her mouth with a giggle of her own. 
Finn, Riveria, and Gareth looked on in shock at seeing the swordswoman laugh for what must have been the first time. 
Was it because there was something funny about the way the red-faced wolf was howling in anger? 
Or was it because there was something cute about the desperately apologizing girl darting in and out as she avoided the wolf’s fist? 
Or was it because there was something absolutely ridiculous about the way her companions were flailing in panic, trying to put a stop to the melee? 
Or was it simply because she was so, so happy at the wild scene taking place before her eyes? 
“D-don’t be mad, Bete Loga! I’m suuuuper embarrassed at the whole thing, too, you know? But still, I can’t deny that it makes me really happy!” 
“You think I care, damn cow?!” 
“I’m just ecstatic that I get to see you again!” 
Bete’s hand shot out in an attempt to grab her, his face completely red. 
Lena, meanwhile, simply smiled, her eyes closed as tears dribbled down her cheeks. 
On and on their voices continued, the wolf’s howls of anger mingling with the delighted laughter of the Amazonian girl. 
 



Share This :


COMMENTS

No Comments Yet

Post a new comment

Register or Login