Fremd Torturchen - Volume 7 - Chapter 8

8

Wombs and Babies

Now then, let’s talk about compensation. For what, you ask? Why, it’s simple.

I’m talking about your reward for betraying everything and helping to destroy the world.

Unfortunately, I haven’t the faintest idea of what I can offer you. You saints have had much taken from you, but it’s unclear if there’s any method to change you back. And people haven’t exactly been diligent in searching for one. After all, why think too hard about the world’s enigmatic phenomena when you can simply write them all off as miracles? But hasn’t the thought ever crossed your mind?

The being who stole your flesh, warped your bones, and corroded your minds…

…is it really God?

Could your prayers not have coincidentally resonated with a different higher entity, one we lower creatures can’t even perceive? Of course, this is nothing but an armchair theory. Little more than a cynical guess. But it’s impossible to refute, isn’t it? After all, nobody knows the exact specifics of the mechanism by which people become saints.

Yet even so, you still believe. You say all mankind is capable of is prayer, and so it is our duty to pray.

May salvation find us all, you say. Blessings unto all. For comporting yourself nobly, helping the weak, and thinking of God is faith manifest.

How dubious.

How foolish.

The end of days gave us our proof—God is nothing more than a phenomenon. The Saint hated everything, and she sowed the seeds of evil. There was no noble Creator receiving your prayers. Just some alien thing that gave and took as it pleased.

Why, that almost sounds like the contracts demons make, doesn’t it?

No, forgive me. That was hardly the way one should talk to a friend. Allow me to get back on topic. The things you’ve lost can never be reclaimed. Even so…or rather, because of that, is there anything you desire in their place?

We intend to deliver punishment. To take the world and make it our own. And to kill every last fool who lives in it.

But regardless of whether we’re successful or not, the end result will be the same. No one will be saved.

Eventually, all this will end. Is there something you want to obtain before that happens?

Surely, there must be at least one— There…is? There is, you say?!

Ah, my apologies. Even though I’m the one who asked the question, your answer still caught me by surprise. Please, I must know. As long as it’s within my power, I’ll get it for you. So go on, La Christoph, O Modest Birdkeeper, O devout faithful wrenched from humanity.

What is it you desire?

…Ah, hold that thought. I hear Alice’s voice. The Torture Princess must have finally arrived.

I’ll hear you out in a moment. But please don’t change your mind. I simply must know.

That wish you might have had fulfilled—

—if only God were more merciful.

Elisabeth’s footsteps echoed loudly as she dashed down the hallway.

The passage’s walls were built out of stone, and there were no windows anywhere. However, the metal lizards and flowers mounted on ornamental pillars did a decent job of breaking up the otherwise-stifling gloom.

Fortunately, there were no sliced-up corpses or viscera to be seen. Apparently, the tragedy hadn’t reached the villa’s center.

Even so, though, Elisabeth’s expression was fierce and grim. Also, a strange thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump noise was echoing in her wake. She was still dragging La Christoph along the ground.

She was holding him by the collar and carrying him diagonally behind her.

Although he was still largely upright, La Christoph had cleverly elected to go limp. The image of his resigned form was like that of a corpse ripped from its coffin, or perhaps that of a cat that’d grown used to its owner’s tyrannical abuse. However, seeming to have suddenly remembered he was still alive, La Christoph spoke.

“Might I have a moment, Elisabeth Le Fanu?”

“Hmm? While we’re in the middle of fleeing? If it’s about the ruckus in the temple, I’ll explain later.”

“That’s quite all right. Once I realized that Izabella and Jeanne de Rais were acting separately from you, I got a fairly clear picture of the situation. At the moment, I have something else I’d like to discuss. Might I ask that you mind my hair a little more? It’s getting torn to shreds.”

“Hmm?”

Elisabeth came to an abrupt stop. She turned and looked back.

It was true. After getting tangled around his shoes and robe, La Christoph’s hair had met a terrible fate. There was a lot of it, so the damage wasn’t immediately obvious, but there were a number of large tufts scattered about on the floor behind them.

After surveying the grim spectacle, Elisabeth went silent. She lowered La Christoph a little and spoke.

“Well, I am sorry about that, but was this truly pressing enough to warrant stopping me over?”

“Not at all, and I myself don’t particularly mind. Even if all my hair was torn from my head, as long as my scalp remained, I would consider it a victory. It was simply a bit of sophistry to get you to stop running. My actual question is about where we’re going.”

“Even I would feel guilty over leaving you bald, but… Wait, why not simply ask that, then?!”

“I judged that the hair comment would be likelier to get you to stop.”

“What kind of absurd judgment is that?!”

Elisabeth shook La Christoph from side to side. He cocked his head. He wasn’t mocking her; it was merely an automatic reaction. He then went on as though nothing had happened, his tone as serious as ever.

“Allow me to repeat myself. It would seem you memorized the building’s blueprints ahead of time, and we do appear to be making our way outside. However, it looks like we’re taking a fairly roundabout route. Am I correct in assuming you made that choice when you noticed the irregularity?”

“…If you know that much already, what meaning is there in asking it aloud?”

“The decision I made to stop you was founded on sheer arrogance. But I ask you again, Elisabeth Le Fanu—as the Torture Princess, do you truly believe it’s something we ought to witness now?”

The look on La Christoph’s face was earnest. Elisabeth thought for a moment. Saints had peculiar dispositions. No matter what was waiting for them at their destination, La Christoph would probably be fine.

In other words, he was worried about the emotional blow it would deal to her. It felt as though she was being made light of. However, she refrained from voicing her complaints. Instead, she merely checked to see if anyone was chasing them.

There wasn’t a soul behind them for quite some distance. Alice didn’t appear to be following them. But given the situation, that fact seemed highly unnatural.

La Christoph’s unwarranted concern is hardly unreasonable. Alice and Lewis show no signs of pursuing us…which means odds are high they’re allowing us to roam free on purpose.

Go. Follow. Run. Witness. And burn the image into your eyes.

Abandon every last shred of hope—that was the sentence their foes seemed to be levying on them.

Yet still, leaving the situation as is and fleeing will cause no small number of problems in the future.

Elisabeth was all too aware that once sowed, seeds of evil quickly took root and bloomed into massive flowers. The moment you noticed them, you had to eliminate them as quickly as possible.

She gave a small nod, then set off in the same direction as before.

La Christoph stopped talking out of respect for her decision, staying silent even when his black hair started getting mangled again. His expression was the spitting image of an old dog putting up with a young girl’s mischief.

At the moment, the two of them were heading outside. At the same time, though, she was also heading for a certain location, one that was on their way—probably. However, the details were fuzzy, and she had no exact notion of its location.

At the end of the day, all she was doing was following a worrisome smell.

She’d noticed it after they left the prayer room, and it seemed La Christoph had become aware of its irregularity at about the same time. They were heading in the opposite direction of the corpse-strewn entrance, yet the farther they went, the thicker the air grew. Fleeing without dealing with it was an unsettling proposition, but the moment they saw its source, there was a chance they’d be overcome with despair.

As she ran, Elisabeth’s mind turned.

In order to revolutionize the world, Lewis said he and his group created innumerable demon grandchildren.

In all likelihood, that foul air was related to their taboo experiments.

The vivid smell had two parts to it: the reek of blood and the fragrance of something that only mages who’d used it themselves when brewing medicine would likely recognize. An ingredient that was, in a sense, maternal in nature.

It was something that had no right to be wafting through the air.

Amniotic fluid.

“’Twould seem we’re here.”

Click.

Elisabeth’s heels clicked one final time as she came to a stop.

A set of double doors with metal adornments stood before her.

A short while ago, the two of them had arrived at a hall reserved for the king and guests of honor. Instead of using its main entrance, though, they’d slipped through the passageway on its right. The farther they went, the more ostentatious the decorations got.

Now they’d reached an area with hundreds of lizards carved on its walls and ceiling. Each one of the overlapping reliefs had glimmering jewels for eyes, and all the lizards, large and small, were heading deeper inside, eventually gathering around the double door and forming a decorative frame around it.

Other than their handles, the doors’ entire surfaces were covered in silverwork scales.

As Elisabeth ran her hand over their rippled exterior, she referenced her mental map of the villa.

Beyond here lies the banquet hall.

The banquet hall was used for all sorts of things—balls, feasts, concubines putting on performances to entertain guests of honor, succession ceremonies, and more. And even when there wasn’t an event going on, it still should have been a lively space. Now, though, it seemed dark and gloomy. But that was to be expected.

After all, the smell of blood and amniotic fluid was coming from beyond those doors.

La Christoph freed himself from Elisabeth’s grasp and hopped down. His arms still bound in chains, he deftly turned toward the doors. The low whisper that left his mouth was clearly a warning.

“Elisabeth Le Fanu.”

“Aye, I know full well.”

As she stood by his side, Elisabeth looked down. A large pool was spreading on the floor beneath their feet.

The liquid was leaking out from under the doors. Demi-humans rarely used carpets on account of all the sand, so the red mixed in with the liquid was clearly visible.

Also, they could hear laughter from beyond the doors.

It resembled the sound of children whining and crying.

’Tis hard to imagine any children being here, though.

Elisabeth glared at the doors. Other than the butchered corpses, they’d yet to find a single demi-human on the premises. The concubines and king’s children were a given, but even the servants all had extremely pure blood, so everyone inside had been captured and taken to the temple. Lewis and his group had probably decided to use the empty building as a temporary base. And when they did, they’d brought something with them.

But what?

The grim premonition grew stronger and stronger. A sudden conviction welled up in Elisabeth.

These doors would be best left unopened.

The barrier between this side of the door and the other side was concealing a sight that must not be seen. However, she couldn’t simply ignore it. Averting your eyes from an ugly truth did nothing to change its veracity.

Eventually, it would catch up with you all the same. And when it did, it would pierce you through the back.

The sole potential problem was…

As I am now, how much will the contents of the other side affect me?

It was a worry that the old Elisabeth would never have felt. If someone else had mentioned it to her, she’d have snorted at them. After all, she was the Torture Princess. She’d borne witness to innumerable tragedies. She hadn’t just seen the First Demon; she’d had her body bound to its pillar’s core.

By all rights, she was on the side that created hells. Why, Elisabeth had once drowned an entire town in pain and despair, basking in its people’s hateful cries like they were cheers of admiration.

Loathsome Elisabeth, repulsive Elisabeth, cruel, hideous Elisabeth!

A curse upon you, a curse upon you, a curse, a curse, an eternal curse upon you, Elisabeth!

What was there that could still surprise her? But boasting she could take it all in, no matter what it might be, would be base carelessness. She was a different person than she’d been before the end of days. Every assumption and preconception she’d had had been violently overturned. It was difficult to predict what kinds of things would shock her now.

Of all the things left in this world…

Could she really witness any of them and feel no despair?

Not even she could say with any certainty.

Yet despite that, the Torture Princess reached out and slowly pushed the doors open.

Then she saw them.

With her own two eyes.

The white wombs—

—strewed about the room.

They were smooth—

—the wombs—

like freshly peeled eggs.

The wombs were round and horribly bloated. Stretched taut, they were smooth and sleek. They were clearly nothing more than sacks of flesh. However, they were more than just sacks. Each one had a little navel resting on its peak, and they were just barely covered in living skin. In other words, they were people, though they’d expanded in ways no living person’s body should grow. Some of the wombs were female. Some were male. But they were all just flesh.

They were sacks of flesh.

Yet they were wombs.

“I…see.”

After confirming what was on the other side of the door, Elisabeth let out a succinct murmur.

The scene laid out before her was a good deal more graphic and repulsive than she’d expected. That wasn’t to say it was overly nightmarish, though. It was simply a different kind of tragedy than the ones demons were partial to.

That was her rough appraisal of the situation. As a matter of fact, Elisabeth had seen something like this before. The specifics had varied greatly, but the impression she’d gotten was one and the same.

Some time ago, there’d been a case she’d been tasked with cracking. The victims, all mixed-race children, had had their beastfolk ears torn off and the fur flayed from their skulls. And despite his head being reduced to little more than a lump of muscle fibers, one boy had even survived the process.

Compared with what demons did, this was child’s play. But it was still so monstrous that it was hard to imagine a person having carried it out.

’Twas much the same as this.

“You’re not the same as me. You’re different from us.

We’re completely different creatures.

That means I can do whatever I want to you.”

Without that vile rationalization some people had come to, no person could create a spectacle that grisly.

Elisabeth glanced over the banquet hall again. The inside was completely empty. The room was set up to be easy to rearrange on account of the various events that took place there, but now even the bare minimum of furniture it was normally adorned with had been removed.

All that existed there were the wombs.

Or rather, all that “lived” there were the people.

Adult women, adult men, old women, old men, young women, and young men were rolling about the hall.

However, it was arguable as to whether or not it even made sense to still call them people. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to call them “round, bloated wombs with human limbs and heads attached to them.”

That was how thoroughly the victims had been transfigured.

The wombs were blown up like eggs, far past the point a human body should have been able to distend.

All of them were naked, and their genitals were in plain view. Compared with the wombs’ expansion, though, that seemed hardly worth mentioning. Their thighs were stained with excrement and amniotic fluid. Although these poor creatures clearly weren’t being cared for, their undersized feet all had numbers carved into them, like the branding marks you’d see on cuts of meat being stored in warehouses. They looked like ID numbers. They might not have been receiving care, but they were clearly being monitored, at the very least.

For how the scene was, it seemed almost industrial. Every action that had been taken leading up to that point had been utterly amoral.

True, though. ’Tis surely convenient to be able to leave them lying about like that. Makes them easy to transport, too.

Elisabeth took a second to think about how they’d been brought there. She nodded dispassionately.

As she did, she also ruminated on Lewis’s words.

“I summoned a pair of weaker demons into a man and a woman, then destroyed both their egos. They had two children. Then I bred the children together…” That all falls under the purview of those whose human forms have collapsed and degraded. But then…

…What about the subsequent steps? Demon grandchildren were able to breed with humans. Lewis had said so himself.

The things rolling about on the ground must have been the fruits of that research. Based on what Alice had said, women were better suited to the task. If you weren’t concerned with quality, though, people of any age or sex could serve as “mothers.” After all, the demon grandchildren that served as “fathers” were barely human to begin with. Their version of copulation probably took cues from their human instincts, but the act itself was closer to a magic ritual. In short, whether or not the other party had genitals was of little concern. That said, there seemed to be some variation in the victims’ swelling, irrespective of their sex. It was revolting, but at the same time, highly intriguing. Elisabeth thought some more.

Lewis wanted me to breed with demon grandchildren and have two babies. In short, he judged that the first birth wouldn’t be life-threatening.

Even though the conception method looked more than deadly.

But Alice hadn’t seemed like she was lying, either. She really did plan on reuniting Elisabeth with Kaito Sena. Between her and Lewis’s reactions, a reasonable assumption would be that powerful mages didn’t go through the physical deformations. And the correlation between the victims’ swelling and the amount of mana they had supported that thesis.

’Twould seem the babies consume their host’s mana as nutrients.

However, that gave rise to a new question. Why did the “mothers” who didn’t have enough mana swell up? But the answer to that was simple. When the babies couldn’t get their nutrients from mana, they hastened their growth so they could use something else instead.

After growing until they had teeth, they feasted on their mothers’ flesh and organs.

And that was no mere theory; it was being proven by the moment. The sound of chewing was audibly coming from inside the wombs. As the sloppy noises grew louder, the mothers began silently flailing their limbs about. They couldn’t even open their mouths to scream. However, the laughing, crying voices continued.

The voices weren’t coming from the mothers.

They were coming from the unborn babies.

The fetuses knew nothing of their mothers’ wills.

Yet they danced all the same.

At that point, Elisabeth stopped pondering and closed her eyes. Amid the darkness, she quickly sorted through the many things she’d seen and heard on her journey to reach those double doors.

The mixed-race folk tried once to pardon their long history of oppression. But then the end of days came, and in the mayhem, the slaughters took place—tragedies senseless enough to make civil officials vomit. And after that, they continued. A boy had the flesh flayed from his head while he yet lived, and similar events were a frequent occurrence.

If any of those things hadn’t happened, the scene before her probably wouldn’t have come to be. But they all had.

Time marched mercilessly forward, leaving mistakes perpetually unatoned for in its wake. As a result, the mixed-race folk chose to cast off their role as innocent victims. Proclaiming oneself weak in order to oppress others was unforgivable. Yet even if they knew they wouldn’t be forgiven, they would no doubt continue down their path.

That was what it meant to be an avenger. The world’s unrelenting malice and apathy had forged them into that.

Those who take are taken from in turn.

Ultimately, the mixed-race folk were even stripped of their humanity. That was simply the way things were.

That was the sad, sad way things were.

Elisabeth’s silky black hair swayed as she turned to the side and looked up at La Christoph.

“What do you intend to do?” she silently asked him. His response was a dignified nod.

Then he solemnly spread his bound arms wide.

A metallic, alien clank echoed out as the thick chains fell to the floor. Bloody amniotic fluid splashed around them.

La Christoph had cast off his restraints. His crossed arms were parted, and his chest was laid bare.

Most saints had undergone changes to their bodies and minds that would normally be impossible, and La Christoph was no exception. All the flesh surrounding his ribs had been shorn away, and he had no lungs or internal organs to speak of. Instead, his ribs were filled with little birds, which were made out of light and resembled skylarks. They were sacred beasts. Overuse of his powers during Ragnarok had left his ribs stuck open, but now they were healed and serving their purpose as a cage once more.

He was the Birdkeeper, and he was a “living birdcage.”

That was La Christoph’s nature.

And when the Modest Birdkeeper undid his chains, it could only mean one thing.

Elisabeth quietly posed a question to him.

“So you agree, too, that there can be no other end to this?”

“I’ve already confirmed it. The creatures nesting in their wombs possess amounts of mana no normal human could bear. Even the ones who have not swelled up as much are in a similar state. Their organs are destroyed, and their hearts have all stopped. However…”

“In spite of all that, their bodies are alive… Their senses—particularly their sense of pain—are intact, I take it?”

“Demons seek pain. And demon children are no different. It’s a cruel situation. At this point, their only options are to die giving birth and to die without giving birth. Thus, the question becomes what the merciful thing to do is, and for that, I defer to scripture and my own faith.”

La Christoph made his declaration without hesitation. His voice was cold and resolute.

“I shall grant you salvation, O wretched ones. For who but a saint to bear the burden of purifying you?”

Elisabeth offered no response. In a rare turn of events, there was nothing for her to do here.

If Kaito Sena were here, what would he do?

If his reaction to the Room of Pain was anything to go off, he would have been furious. Trembling with rage, he would’ve cried, Don’t you have even a little respect for the living?! For the deed he’d be faced with belied no respect for them whatsoever. Yet even so, he’d have chosen to put them out of their misery himself.

This isn’t purification. This is murder—and it’s a burden I should be the one to bear, he’d have said.

He was simply that kind of person. But Elisabeth wasn’t. She cared little about who in particular dealt the coup de grâce. After all, it didn’t change the result. The ones death awaited would die, nothing more.

She took a step backward. La Christoph nodded. Despite his lack of lungs, he took a deep breath, then began chanting his prayer. The words had a pleasant heft to them as they echoed through the room.

“We gather and wait.”

“So hark and rejoice.”

Suddenly, a different voice cut in. Elisabeth narrowed her eyes.

The voice was Lewis’s, but he wasn’t there with them. Elisabeth looked up at the ceiling. The countless lizard engravings were all looking down. One of their eyes must have contained a magic communication device.

The wombs responded to his distant call by beginning to vibrate. Then the sacks of flesh started undulating from within like lumps of soft bread dough. Laughter sounded from within them, crying echoed out from them, and the two merged into a single perverse melody.

Elisabeth could tell.

’Tis a song.

A song of blessing—

—and a song of joy.

The voices were celebrating the most basic pleasure known to any living creature—birth.

“The hammer falls on thee!”

“Be born unto joy and love!”

La Christoph and Lewis’s voices overlapped completely.

Lewis’s words were ironic and bordering on blasphemous, but at the same time, they were completely true. The mixed-race folk sought greater weapons. The babies’ birth would bring them joy. And the babies would surely be loved.

Elisabeth knew.

No matter how malignant a weapon may be…

…Any blade that lopped off a hated foe’s head would be loved all the same.

And the world would keep turning, just as properly as ever.

““Ah, aah, ah, AH, ahh, AAAAAAaaaaaaAaAaAaAAAAAA!””

The choruses rang out. La Christoph’s ribs opened. A vast flock of skylarks took flight.

As they did, the wombs burst open. A perversely satisfying popping noise filled the hall as skin split and tore. Chunks of fat and flesh sprayed through the air. Organs, now fully liquefied, gushed out as the babies thrust their gray arms upward. It was a horrible, grisly spectacle. Yet even so, someone had wished for that birth.

Seeing that made Elisabeth realize something.

Perhaps the world, which turned so properly—

—had been doomed from the very beginning.

“NOT ON MY WATCH!”

“…Hmm?”

Then a very out-of-place voice echoed through the air.

Elisabeth instinctively whirled around. A mass of copper-red fur was racing toward her like a fireball. Her eyes went wide. Without a moment’s hesitation, the voice’s owner brandished his sword.

“HAVE AT YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!”

“Why, you’re—!”

With an air-splitting cry, the man leveled a beautiful slash. The broad side of his sword grazed Elisabeth’s hair, then smashed the face of the baby who’d been stealthily approaching her. Amniotic fluid splashed around her would-be assailant as it crumpled to the ground.

“There’s more coming!”

The man slammed the back of his blade into another one’s abdomen. It did a tailspin through the air, then slammed into the wall with a horrible splatting noise. Good eye, Elisabeth thought, nodding in admiration.

Slashing attacks didn’t work on demon children.

They may have been defective products, but the babies had still inherited their parents’ physical properties. The man had probably learned this from the huge number of Ragnarok foes that couldn’t be harmed by swords. He was instinctively using his long sword as a bludgeoning implement. Not only was it clever, but his blows were also quite fast for how hefty they were.

Yet as always, he relies too heavily on brute strength.

“Phew… That should keep us safe for the time being.”

After confirming that their foes had been temporarily rendered powerless, the man—a beastman with a copper-red wolf’s head—exhaled heavily.

Elisabeth was well acquainted with the fighting style, as well as with the man using it. In the Peace Brigade, which she was captain of, he was her second-in-command. He was a seasoned warrior, and when Kaito Sena had been around, he had been one of his closest friends.

But more importantly, he was someone who had no business being there.

“Lute!”

Elisabeth turned to her subordinate, who should have been at the World Tree, and shouted his name.

“Ah, Madam Elisabeth, you’re all right! Ah, er, Captain Elisabeth, rather. To think it’s been this long and I still haven’t gotten used to it… I beg your pardon for my persistent rudeness!”

“It’s fine. I can’t say I much care how you refer to me, but what in the blazes are you doing here?”

“Well, you see, Captain Elisabeth, I— Why, I say!”

Right as Lute was about to answer, the babies hunched over like animals and rushed toward them all at once. They had the curiosity of children, and it would seem Elisabeth and Lute had piqued their interest.

A veritable wave of gray arms came reaching for them one after another. Lute desperately batted their soft, pliable hands away with his sword.

“Damn you cowards, grouping up like that! Face me one at a time like men!”

“…Hmph.”

Lute may as well have been talking to a brick wall, but he continued shouting nonetheless. It was no wonder he and Kaito Sena had gotten along. As Lute struggled alone, Elisabeth quickly counted the babies.

The ones in the group’s center had been burned up by the skylarks, but many of them had escaped evaporation.

This is looking to be quite a hassle… Come to think of it, how’s La Christoph holding up?

Elisabeth glanced to her side. La Christoph was completely unharmed. For some reason, though, he was tilting his head to the side. It didn’t look like he was emotionally shaken or anything, but he seemed to be having trouble wrapping his mind around Lute’s sudden arrival.

Once she realized that, Elisabeth finally figured out what was going on.

“Hmm… ’Twould seem that while you’re fit to command in dire situations, when it comes to matters involving yourself or unexpected aid such as this, you’re a little slow, aren’t you? Or rather, quite slow, ’twould seem.”

“It’s a weakness all saints share, but I do have deficiencies when it comes to common sense and knowledge of customary reactions. As such, I’m afraid I can’t make an accurate comparison, but…if the worldly Torture Princess says it is so, then I imagine you’re right.”

“I don’t know about ‘worldly.’ It merely… I don’t know… It seemed as though you were spacing out—”

“Rgh! What are these foul creatures?!”

Elisabeth blinked in surprise. Now that she noticed, Lute’s situation had grown somewhat dire.

One of the babies had grabbed hold of his sword and was gnawing on its point. In seconds, it began crumbling away into sand. Flustered, Lute fell back.

The moment he did, Elisabeth snapped her fingers.

“Holy Water Sprinkler.”

Several spiky iron balls came crashing down from the air. Each ball happily bounced around, landing on the babies’ heads over and over and riddling them with holes.

Fountains of blood gushed up and painted the ceiling red. As the babies crumpled to the ground, the balls bounced back and carefully ran their bodies over. After a certain point, the babies couldn’t take the attacks anymore, and their bodies broke down. Darkness and crimson flower petals splashed down and floated atop the amniotic fluid.

Shortly after, the babies breathed their last.

Lute heaved a sigh of relief. He retrieved his sword and inspected the damage to the blade. Before he could get far, though, he sensed Elisabeth’s questioning stare bearing down on him. He leaped to his feet and began talking.

“Ah, that’s right! You wanted to know what I was doing here. After we parted ways, our group successfully rendezvoused with the World Tree’s guard squad. Your prediction was right, Madam Elisabeth—nobody else was harmed. Then after we relayed the sad news of the imperial princesses’ passing, we heard about the attack on the demi-humans. When I found out you went in alone, I knew I couldn’t merely stand by, so I searched high and low for some way I could help…but my men stepped in to stop me before I could make too big a fool of myself. But right when I was truly at a loss, he invited me to join him.”

“…Who?”

“Then we decided to rescue you together! Now, um, I realize it’s a bit late to ask, but…what were those things?”

Lute’s tail curled up timidly. Elisabeth narrowed her eyes.

Now she finally knew how Lute had been able to act so normally.

He never saw the “mothers,” nor did he see the babies themselves being born.

Elisabeth cast her gaze back inside the hall. Not only had the mothers popped, but many of them had been completely burned away. Now their charred, scattered remains were barely even recognizable as having been human.

After seeing the light from La Christoph’s attack, Lute had probably charged in without thinking about things too hard. He still didn’t understand what had actually happened there. It was very like him. But perhaps it was also for the best.

Someone like Lute would be happier not knowing the tragedy’s specifics.

However, Elisabeth thought, frowning, who in the world could have invited him there?

Jeanne and Izabella aside, I find it hard to imagine anyone who would dare to try rescuing the Torture Princess and the saints’ representative with a mere two men.

In fact, she couldn’t think of a single person who might. She racked her brains, baffled.

The moment she did, there came a peculiar sound. Elisabeth whirled around once more.

A new individual was walking their way, his pointy shoes clicking as he did. He spoke in a hoarse voice.

“I can’t say I condone charging in without confirming the situation first, Sir Lute. And not only that, but you left me behind as well… Our races have been close for some time, true, but goodness gracious, how your people’s hotheadedness irks me…”

The man was garbed in a coarse robe designed to keep out sand. Claws and scales gleamed on his hands.

He fussily adjusted the glasses atop his lizard nose. It was often difficult to make out a demi-human’s facial expression, but the sarcastic smile on his face was all too plain to see. Elisabeth was shocked.

Of all the people she’d been expecting to see, he certainly wasn’t one of them.

“Aguina? Aguina Elephabred?!”

“Just Aguina is fine, Madam Elisabeth Le Fanu. I’m aware of how troublesome our surnames are for people who aren’t used to pronouncing them. If you try too hard, you’re liable to bite your tongue.”

The demi-human high official gave a small bow as he replied. He was in charge of much of his country’s foreign affairs, so he spent a fair bit of his time in the World Tree. He must have been abroad during the attack, fortunately allowing him to avoid it.

Still, Aguina is a dyed-in-the-wool blood purist.

It would have made sense if he’d headed for the temple, but there was no way he’d be putting himself on the line to save her and La Christoph. That wasn’t the Aguina she knew.

Aguina seemed to have sensed Elisabeth’s doubts, as the look in his eyes softened a little.

“Why so surprised? As I hear it, the people in the temple have already been saved. And if that’s the case, then I have but one duty. True, it might not normally seem like any of my concern, but I heard him just as well as anyone—‘this here will be our daybreak.’”

That line was part of the statement the boy proclaiming himself to be the Mad King had made.

Back then, the child who’d died a meaningless death in another world had spoken words of encouragement to the three assembled races.

“There’s no need to be ashamed. Take up your swords and ready your spears. Our mission is to murder God, and to murder Diablo. Prayers won’t bring us salvation; screams won’t bring us mercy. The only thing we have to rely on is our own strength.

“This here will be our daybreak. Let Ragnarok begin.”

“The sun has in fact risen—thus, we must do everything in our power not to let it set.”

And with that, the man who normally had no interest in anything but blood purity gave her a meaningful smile.