No Game No Life - Volume 6 - Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5 
1 ÷ 0 = SELFLESS 
“Nya-ha, Jibs, you worry too muuuch! ? ” 
The eldest sister among the Flügel—the first article, Azril—beamed as she bounded through the air. 
“You always get mad so easilyyy… Oh, but! That’s cute in its own waaay! ? And you’re so, so cute as li’l Jibs… Hhh… Rites of restoration are such a bore.” 
Azril was terribly fond of the Irregular Number—currently the youngest of her sisters, Jibril. The unpredictable, uncontrollable, freewheeling Jibril would go out alone and come back having slain a Dragonia. The purpose and reasoning behind the Irregular Number’s wild eccentricity were beyond all comprehension, but as both were part of the “imperfection” granted the youngest by their lord, it made her seem all the more adorable. 
Meanwhile, Jibril was peeved from the bottom of her heart. All the vast power of the Flügel collected and discharged in a single strike—her Heavenly Smite—had reduced her to the body of a child, and Azril had been rubbing her cheek for a week straight. Finally snapping after being temporarily sidelined, Jibril had applied for a rite of restoration to restore her lost power. Frankly, Azril felt her little sister could just wait for natural restoration—five years—but… 
 …… 
Returning to the throne room, Azril folded her wings, lowered her halo, and slowly kneeled. 
“What of Jibril?” 
Lounging on the supreme throne was a man exposing muscles as hardy as crags—the most powerful of gods, the god of war, and the creator of the Flügel: the Old Deus Artosh. A frame that seemed twice the size of his creations. Black hair flowing as tenaciously as steel, eighteen wings enrobing him like a mantle from his back. When those sharp, liquid-gold eyes looked down from his deeply carved countenance upon her, it was enough to make Azril feel as if her brain had gone numb. But Azril knew. That majesty, before which one could not help but succumb to awe and ecstasy, was but a sliver of her creator. A drop of the great ocean, a pale reflection of the immense power presenting it. 
“Having engaged an Ex Machina while operating independently, she has exhausted herself on a Heavenly Smite and is under a rite of restoration, my lord.” 
Azril reported as reverently as if she were praying, but honestly, she had no idea what the big deal was. Mere scraps of metal crawling about… Even collectively, they represented little more than an unpleasant heap of rubbish. It was Azril who had forbidden laying hands on them, but not because she considered them a threat. Seeing the mighty power bequeathed to the Flügel by their lord disgraced by clockwork knockoffs simply filled her with bile. Were the Flügel to attack together, they could eradicate that scrap before they had time to adapt. 
And yet… Why had Jibril unleashed their greatest weapon—her Heavenly Smite—against one of those hunks of junk? 
“—Is that so? Heh-heh, is that so—?” 
And why did her lord find it so amusing, as if having gleaned some insight…? Both questions were beyond Azril. 
Her lord was a god of few words, and consequently, Azril could never fathom his ways. 
— No . She repented of her pride. For her to even suggest a comprehension of her lord’s profundity, the heart of her god, was blasphemy. Her lord was all-powerful. He was the zenith. The strongest of gods, Artosh, god of war—the god of all gods. Supreme. Her lord, the very embodiment of the concept of war, had no rivals. He was strongest because he was the strongest. But it had been long since Azril had seen her lord’s smile—that proud, fierce grin. For how many thousands—how many tens of thousands—of years had her lord perched languidly on his throne, jaw on his fist? Yet now he was in fine spirits, as anyone could see. 
“It cometh—at last, one who will attempt to slay me.” 
Azril gasped at this prediction— surely not! —furrowing her brow as she responded. 
“Lord, there can be none on this earth who might rival you.” 
As for her lord’s discontent, Azril knew the cause: Her master was the god of battle. 
Battle meaning slaughter. Fighting, clashing, killing and being killed. Wagering their lives and deaths, they polished their souls, their beings. This cycle of struggle was the concept that had birthed her lord, his ether. Therefore, he stood on the field of battle, calling for malice. Hate ye! Rage ye! Rise ye! Stake your petty lives, spend all your wisdom on the dares of fools. For it is to crush it all—to smash it underfoot with overpowering force—that makes you strong. Who can cover the land with force, who can define strength—it is he who is lord. 
…But a one-sided massacre can be no battle. Therefore, her lord had fallen into perpetual ennui. 
“What meaning hath all-powerful strength…without a challenge?” 
As her lord wiped away his smile and turned his steely gaze to the world below, that was when— 
 
<All Kämpfer: Himmelpokryphen — Lösen — > 
In the sky behind Avant Heim, following in the Phantasma’s wake… 
< — Aim — Correct for movement — Fix —Don’t kill, okay? > 
<<<Jawohl.>>> 
… more than 1,200 Heavenly Smites (an historical salvo that would alter the fate of the planet) suddenly discharged, targeting—the Union. 
 
Reacting to the sudden flash that razed the sky and earth, Azril emitted a squeal. 
“Wh-wh-whaaaat?! Who just fired a Heavenly Smite?!” 
“I-it’s unclear! There’s no sign within Avant Heim—” 
The Flügel crowding the throne room went helter-skelter. Some cast detection spells while others shifted to fly out in the open sky. In the midst of the chaos, Azril was struck by Jibril’s story. Functioning alone, behaving erratically, one forced the Irregular Number to fire her Heavenly Smite… 
“—Ex Machina…the junk piles that can copycat…” 
What would this act of aggression accomplish? It would be assumed that the Flügel themselves had launched a preemptive attack—and there would be a full-scale confrontation. 
“Nya-haaa, you underestimate us, you scrap metal…!!” 
Having assessed the situation, Azril surfaced a dire smile and fired off orders one after another. 
“Rafil, take down every last Dwarven battleship that looks like it could launch the E-bomb, by nine-wing group. Sarakil, take Wings Ten through Eighteen, all of them, and rush down those Elves—” 
“Heh—heh-heh—heh-ha-ha-ha-ha!” 
Hearing that roar of laughter, all the Flügel hushed. 
“Ha-ha-ha! I see, ’tis thou who hast come to slay me, is it? I did not expect thee so soon, ha-ha-ha!!!” 
As her lord rocked Avant Heim with his laughter, Azril addressed him meekly. 
“I…I hesitate to inform you, Lord, but the notion that mere Ex Machinas could possibly destroy you—” 
But, as ever, her lord was a deity of few words. As if his divine insight, or perhaps his capacity as the god of war, told him all— No, it must have. 
“Ex Machinas? Of what speak’st thou? ” 
Having said enough to undermine Azril’s assumptions, her lord chortled. Perhaps knowing everything, perhaps welcoming what he had waited and longed for, he cast his gaze to the distance. 
“Indeed, it is right that the one to face me, the strongest , should be the weakest —is it not, ‘monkey’?” 
With this pronouncement, her lord raised his right arm. That gesture—and that alone—rocked Avant Heim, made space and time creak. The Flügel in attendance voiced small shrieks. Their lord spoke. 
“All troops ? prepare for battle .” 
That one phrase that overrode all of Azril’s orders meant only one thing: 
The war god—the strongest god, the king of all kings, their lord—would summon all his power. Drawing upon even the Heavenly Smites of his Flügel host, whose powers were but shards of his, he would unleash a single strike: matchless, peerless, divine and devastating. 
His Godly Smite. 
“I…I hesitate to suggest it, Lord, but isn’t that exyactly what those toys hope to provoke?!” 

The Ex Machinas’ objective was for him to fire his Godly Smite in the engagement with the Union, which the scrap would then emulate and reproduce. Azril’s plea, however, simply elicited the immodesty that was the exclusive province of a god. 
“What of it?” 
With both of her lord’s savage, golden eyes fixed on her, Azril was stunned as if by lightning. Her lord was the supreme god, and they were his servants. Her lord was absolute. Her lord was all-powerful. Strong meant her lord, and weak meant— all others . If the weak devised tricky little schemes, the strong—the king, the god, the lord—would what…?! 
Ashamed to have forgotten this even for a moment, Azril shouted: 
“All Flügel—ready your Heavenly Smites—and surrender them to Lord Artosh!” 
Their lord had no need of words as, like Azril moments earlier, those around him who feared Ex Machina’s emulation faltered. His savage smile alone charged Azril with his divine intent. 
“Our lord is all-powerful—without peer anywhere between this heaven and earth! So, let the weak devise their wily little tricks!! What have we to fear? Why should we hesitate? What should give us pause?!” 
Responding to Azril’s speech, the Flügel revved their wings as one. 
“He revels in those who hate, feasts on those who rage, styands for those who rise! It is our lord who loves their folly, and we Flügel—created by this lord—shall now devote our wings to the decree of our one true king, the embodiment of strength, our lord, and sing it on high!” 
To those ignorant fools who knew not the glory of their lord— 
“That exercising one’s force freely ? trampling indiscriminately ? is what makes one strong !!” 
As the Flügel released the power they had summoned, their lord’s satisfied smile deepened, and even his whispered warning rattled the heavens and earth. 
“Pitiful creatures and prideful creators who call yourselves gods before me—ye be nothing.” 
Whoever they might be, they amounted to nothing but a herd of rabble. Before the overwhelming, all-encompassing power of total and universal destruction, unto dust they should return. 
Such was the verdict of Artosh, god of war, strongest of all, lord of the entire world. The Flügel host transferred the power of their Heavenly Smites, the entirety of their spirits, to the raised arm of their lord. 
But despite this, Azril still could not fathom the blessed heart of her lord. As the laws of the universe wailed, as the order of the planet bent around his arm— 
“I have waited for thee, O true enemy .” 
—the meaning she was able to derive from her lord’s soft whisper was still… 
“If it be the fate of the strong to be overthrown by the weak, then to be strong must at last be mine ether.” 
His power became manifest, proclaimed the law, defined strength. In his right arm gathered his truth, which no one in this world could contravene. Without bothering to rise from his throne, his cheek still planted on his left fist, he unleashed his savage smile. His immaculate white wings spread, and his holy countenance glowing with a joy that filled his chest, the lord spoke. 
“Come what may—today, I shall answer an eternal question.” 
 
Think Nirvalen, after rejoicing for a few minutes, briefly cursed herself for having done so. The scene before her eyes—a storm blowing the world to its end—raised an unthinkable question: 
“…Just…what are Old Dei?” 
 …… 
A United fleet had been positioned around Artosh, staring down his forces—when suddenly a Heavenly Smite had been fired. Think immediately recognized that it was not a Flügel attack , and she directed the Elven Alliance response appropriately. The evidence could not have been clearer—the spirit response was different. Also, the strike had yielded no fatalities. Most importantly, there was no point in Artosh’s camp firing Heavenly Smites. Had that been their intent, they’d have fired a Godly Smite, fully aware that only that could deal a decisive blow to the Union. So she knew—having met the ghost that day, Think knew—that though masked as a first strike by Artosh, this action was, in fact, a gift of time for them to strike first with their maximum firepower: an attack disguised to catch the god of war unawares . Think promptly ordered all the Elven forces to release every rite in the arsenal of Áka Si Anse. There were eighteen, half of which would be directed at Artosh—so that, immediately thereafter, the remainder could strike the Dwarven Alliance. Just as she received the report that the release of the rites was nearly complete—it happened. 
A power emerged from Avant Heim that shattered conventional descriptions like absurd . 
A power beyond all law…a destructive pulse radiating outward to make gods high and low cower in fear. 
The boundless force, beyond the faculties of even an octa-caster like Think to grasp or measure, demanded at a primal level that she take action. Think ordered all fleets—including those of the Dwarven Alliance, their hypothetical enemy—to share intelligence. While all fleets of all stripes scrambled to assess the situation with their respective means of observation, every report came back the same. It was impossible to quantify. Even the two Old Dei allied with the Union—Kainas, god of the forest, and Ocain, god of the forge—were silent. A pulse that shook the planet. At this late hour, at last, everyone understood. 
A Godly Smite—its power universally and entirely underestimated. The threat laid bare, the Union unanimously decided on the spot to unleash all firepower on Avant Heim. In the face of that , the squabbles between the unions were secondary, tertiary— The power was too inexorable for them not to finally see. And then, as if to say, I’ve been waiting — 
 …… 
The god of war’s peerless, singular blow —the Godly Smite —pitted itself against the doomsday weapons of every race most proficient in carnage, each onslaught capable of razing the continent. The attacks collided in a firestorm, yet were incapable of canceling out one another… Instead, it whirled like a vortex. Sparkling radiant, a power that eclipsed natural order. A catastrophe that would slay heaven and earth and still rage. Áka Si Anse—a rite that detonated the cores of Phantasmas, releasing their unbridled power. An attack designed to fell multiple Phantasmas in one strike. Elf had fired every blast they had—eighteen rites in all. At the same time, Dwarf launched their E-bombs, comparable in their capacity for devastation—twelve of them. Meanwhile, the eight Dragonias fulfilled their contracts by sacrificing their lives to contribute eight Far Cries— 
“To be undeterred by this— what are Old Dei ?!” 
The Old Deus Artosh—indeed, his power was fearsome and divine. One might also mention that Áka Si Anse operated under the protection of the Elves’ creator—Kainas, god of the forest—as a 186-fold rite , likewise divine. So why was their relative scale like the difference between heaven and earth? The sight of the planet crumbling before her eyes evoked in Think’s mind the sound of Artosh’s answer. 
Know your place, O schemers of dust. Writhe. Squirm. 
Learn at last, O worms of the earth, that, rail as ye may, ye may never reach the heavens. 
…Lashing down her reason, which threatened to fly off, Think ground her teeth and thought. It was impossible to stop this devastation, even to understand it. Accept it. This was reality. In which case, this whirling power—what would become of it? A vortex formed by the collision of powers surpassing this world. A force whose merest ripples would vaporize all possessed of spirit corridor junction nerves on contact… Even for such an inconceivable power, the result—as prescribed by the laws of energy dispersal—was predetermined. The whorl would ultimately converge, diffuse, and radiate ? in all directions . 
“Attention all ships! All mages mobilize—deploy Kú Li Anse! Nooow!!” 
Bellows pumped at Think’s command, but the Elf knew—it was futile . Twenty-five years earlier, a rite of protection deployed by three thousand had failed to block the Heavenly Smite of a single Flügel. In light of this, Think had composed a greater rite of protection—no, of sealing —Kú Li Anse. Such a rite, deployed under the protection of the Old Deus Kainas, would stand against a Heavenly Smite. Of this, she was utterly confident. However, watching the nebula before her, she snickered. 
Why, facing this, I doubt its protection would be more effective than a scrap of papeeer… 
The turbulent range of this effect once it converged, diffused, and radiated—was impossible to measure. But taking into consideration the range of an Áka Si Anse rite, one could imagine it. In the most optimistic scenario, at least half of this continent was gone. Everything would die. On this land where nearly every race had gathered, most likely all but Artosh would be eradicated. 
“—Great War…Suniaster…Old Deus—ether…” 
—“Don’t second-guess,” “Don’t think”— Sentiments that had lingered somewhere in her unconsciousness, faced with this mad vision decrying the end of the world, blew away, leaving only doubts to surface. The Old Deus Kainas…creator of the Elves, god of the forest—the concept of nature. Old Deus: a concept that, through the activation conditions of prayers and wishes, accumulated ether—assumed identity. 
A concept made sentient…? Is that really a god ? Just what is— 
Ether —her mind would have kept racing, but— 
…Huh? 
The mad storm of annihilation heralding the end of the world ? swerved . Like a drifting cloth snatched away by the wind, it flowed southwest . As everyone exhaled as the lawless power mowing through the continent moved off, Think alone followed it. Casting her full capacity of eight spells simultaneously, she stretched her vision far, far beyond the horizon to see— 
“…Ex Machina………? Why—?” 
Then, beyond where the world-ending light fluttered like a curtain, rending the continent as it ran, beyond the thousands of Ex Machinas who were swallowed up and vanished—Think Nirvalen saw it. For an instant, a thought flashed through her mind: It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be… Think worked a complex web of rites thick enough to burn out her spirit corridor junction nerves. She searched for something, and finally—she spied two figures. That meant— In short, “just as planned,” to the bitter end—someone had played her . The realization elicited a brutal grin, and she whispered maliciously: 
“—…Why, youuu were the ghooost…were you, monkey ?” 
 
Atop a faraway hill, where the collapse of heaven and earth seemed distant… 
“—Zeichner report—Reproduced successfully with seventy-two-point-eight percent output—Synchronizing.” 
Her report delivered to Riku, an Ex Machina woman raised her arm. 
“ Lösen —Org. 0000—Stalemartyr—This is for you.” 
Appearing out of thin air, a gun the size of a small tower pierced the earth. The vortex of violence they’d just witnessed, portending the end of the world—the combined energy of the Godly Smite, Áka Si Anse, the E-bombs, and the Far Cries, all intermingled—over 70 percent of that energy had been reproduced in this object. Riku alone—no, any number of people—would likely have been unable to lift it. Towering several times Riku’s height, it was too gigantic to be rightly called a gun… It was more like a stake. The “gun”—muzzle thrust in the ground, barrel standing on its own—quietly waited for someone to pull its trigger. That is, it waited for the signal…for Riku to draw it. His eyes black and unreflective, Riku gazed at it, mute and expressionless, until the Ex Machina broke the silence. 
“ Report: Well, then, unit will return to battlefront, so, with that—” 
It turned to leave, but a question from Riku stopped it. 
“Just now…making this… How many tools … broke ?” 
“— Answer: Twenty-one clusters input. Five units remaining. Four thousand eight hundred two units lost .” 
“…Five units remaining, huh?” 
“ Affirmation: Do you have any other questions?” 
“Not a question so much as a confirmation… I just wait for you guys to strip Artosh’s ether, then I pull this guy’s trigger and pierce the core of the planet—and the Suniaster will manifest. That’s it, right?” 
“ ? Affirmation: Neither Artosh nor anyone else will die. Rules upheld.” 
Closing his eyes like darkness, Riku clenched the ring Schwi had left him and reminisced. 
— Huh, it was so simple… 
 
“Reporting frankly—there was error in Preier Schwi’s calculation.” 
At Riku’s hideout, the Ex Machina called Einzig went on to explain that convergence—even if thirty-two Umweg stations were aligned—was impossible. 
“There is a 10 ?609 -second gap that would prevent the Umwege from drawing all of the combatants’ attacks downward. Instead, the power would collide and form a vortex. Assigning it directionality and causing convergence thereafter—is impossible.” 
An error in Schwi’s calculation, so minute as to cast a pall over the quiet of nirvana. This was the conclusion Ex Machina had reached via parallel processing across multiple clusters. Hearing this, Riku lowered his eyes and smirked. Even if everything had gone well, they’d still have failed. Riku had just about resigned himself, but —Einzig wasn’t finished. 
“With the twenty-four ‘detours’ installed by the Preier—it is possible to divert it.” 
“…And?” 
“Under the original conditions, the whirling power nebula would converge, then diffuse in all directions. However, because your plan to install thirty-two Umwege in a circle was aborted at twenty-four— there is a hole to the southwest .” 
— In other words , Riku saw where he was going and jumped in: 
“So it’s not possible to aim it down—but southwest is feasible, you mean?” 
Nodding once, Einzig continued. 
“I shall provide supplementary data—” 
Just like a tool. 
“One: Ex Machina has an armament called Himmelpokryphen that emulates the Heavenly Smite.” 
Nothing more than data captured by instruments. 
“Two: As the Preier, in fact, also recognized, if the Suniaster is manifested using the power released by piercing the planet, the probability is fifty-two percent that it will appear in the hands of Artosh. This is representative of the extent of his ether.” 
The remark made Riku wonder again— What the hell is ether? —but ignoring his reaction, Einzig continued. 
“Take these facts into account, Spieler. To correct strategy—Input command. ” 
Yes, they were machines. Mere tools. And the one who utilized them—the one who made the decisions—was the user: Riku. 
“—That makes things simple. We’ll fake a preemptive strike from Artosh’s base.” 
Cutting off emotion, gazing at the strategic map with eyes that reflected no light, Riku elaborated. Flat, calm, cold, calculating—thorough. 
“Fire Heavenly Smites from behind Avant Heim at the Union without killing anyone . That should be enough to prompt Think Nirvalen to move—then they’ll smash all their firepower together for us. After we get that off to the southwest, then—” 
Riku’s hand, arranging the pieces on the board, almost stopped for a moment…but he kept going. 
“ A weapon that emulates, reproduces, and focuses the energy —I’m sure Ex Machina can make one, right?” 
“Affirmative. If twenty-one of thirty-two clusters are input, at least seventy percent reproduction is possible.” 
Moving his hand to his chest to grab the lock that creaked, Riku continued. 
“And will that be enough to pierce the core of the planet and materialize the Suniaster?” 
“Affirmative. If four thousand eight hundred and seven units are sacrificed to converge seventy percent of the original power and fire it through the core, the source of the spirit corridors will fail—erupting with sufficient magnitude to manifest the Suniaster.” 
Which means a death sentence for five thousand of Schwi’s—my wife’s—breth ? 
Riku shook off the flash of sentiment and once more chanted as if ripping his chest. 
— Lock it. And he reiterated as if to remind himself: 
“‘The Rules’ do not prohibit the destruction of tools—just like I threw away my arm.” 
“Correct.” 
With that, Riku posed the final question. 
“Can the remaining twenty-one clusters neutralize Artosh without killing him?” 
“—Affirmative.” 
…… 
“The Godly Smite is a strike that aggregates all the Flügel’s Heavenly Smites and Artosh’s power into a single blast. The Flügel will be neutralized, and Artosh will be weakened. In this window, we shall strip Artosh—of his ether.” 
“…An Old Deus stripped of his ether is likely to be deactivated for one hundred years. If we achieve this and then bore through the source of the spirit corridors, it is almost certain—that the Suniaster will manifest in your hand, Spieler.” 
The way he said it made Riku avert his face to hide a smirk. This guy’s really awkward , he thought. Just like Schwi. If he’s gonna pretend to be a heartless machine, he should figure out that machines don’t say “likely” or “almost certain.” 
“We are machines without hearts, mere tools, faithful executors of commands—so.” 
And, most fundamental of all , thought Riku as he lowered his eyes— 
“When you see the light of Artosh being stripped of his ether, do not hesitate. Pull the trigger and acquire the Suniaster.” 
— don’t look away when you tell a lie…damn “machine”… 
 
No sooner had Riku completed his reminiscence than the female Ex Machina bowed, saying: 
“ Report: Well, then, I—unit will join battlefront. Spieler Riku—” 
So the race professing themselves mere machines to the very end left him with words they didn’t even realize they hadn’t got the hang of: 
“—Fortune in battle be yours…” 
And she leaped. 
 
< — From: Einzig — 
<To: Julius, Kafma, Luis, Marta, Nord, Ohto, Ökon, Paula, Quelle, Richard, Samueh, Schule, ß, Theodor, Uhlig, Über, Wil, Wilhelm, Yksati, Ypsilon, Zacharia — All 9,177 units remaining in Größt-Cluster. 
< — Befehl ist nur einer. Stake the souls we have been granted by Preier Schwi to support Spieler Riku — as follows. Terminate the ether of the Old Deus Artosh. Eliminate all obstacles and ignore all damage to achieve this … As a supplement, I conclude this command with a declaration somewhat uncharacteristic of an Ex Machina — 
< — Let us go without life, go without life — and go away with life — Aus .> 
<<<Jawohl — !!>>> 
Mocking himself as hardly an Ex Machina, Einzig apologized for his lie. 
I am sorry, Spieler. Even after the Godly Smite, to face Flügel, Avant Heim, Artosh… To strip Artosh of his ether without killing anyone is impossible—to conquer him at all strains limits. Please—I hope you will think of it this way: that tools without hearts went haywire on their own. 
…Thus, the living things that professed to be lifeless things now shouted aloud: 
“All units: Permission granted to use all armaments without restrictions—!” 
““— Lösen …Enderpokryphen—!!”” 
 
“—Who do you think you are—you scraaaap!!” 
Azril shouted as she took up a position in the corridor leading to Artosh’s throne room. She wrung out what little remained of her power to light up the crimson sky with countless blades of energy, several of which intersected with the enemy. She just barely could make out several Ex Machinas launching blue light just before they blew to bits. 
The full-power—Godly Smite—had just been fired. The Flügel had all but lost their power. Some couldn’t even move. As if they’d planned it—no, they must have—the machine legion approached as if to cover the sky. Aranleif, a Ruler of Dragonia, had been put down by one-fourth of the forces now descending in full . Only a few Flügel, like the later articles, still preserved a modicum of power, and Azril, together with Avant Heim, defended vigorously—but they could only do so much. The anti–air cannon steadily blasted Ex Machinas, but the machine legion stormed forward seemingly heedless of damage. 
What struck them must have been what Jibril had described, the weapon imitating Aranleif’s Far Cry. A volley struck them broadside, blowing away the handful of Flügel who still had a bit of fight left in them, one after another. The Ex Machinas didn’t spare a second glance for the Flügel who were immobile—who they deemed no obstacle. But that wasn’t the half of it. What were they doing? The machines were even attacking the Union fleet as it attempted to seize this opportunity to invade. But the attacks weren’t lethal. They just robbed the ships of their combat capabilities. 
— Do not resist. We wish to kill as few of you as we can. — 
This seemed to be the message as the machine swarm attempted to flood past Jibril, who’d been brought to her knees. 
“…You—screwing with me…? Huuuh, you specks of duuust—?!” 
She knew where they were heading. Straight to the throne room—to Lord Artosh. 
“You telling…me…to stand by while our lord is slain—is that it, you heap of scraaap?” 
As she screamed, Azril’s halo deformed and broke irregularly. The swarm of Ex Machinas closing on her, she thrust her hand out in front of them— 
“Yew think all we know how to do…is cast Heavenly Smite over and overrr?” 
That instant, the distance between them exploded. She’d applied the Flügel shift—to space. The air itself was gouged out, and the rebound tore forward and shattered everything. Space twisted, warped, and everything in its radius was reduced to steel chunks. 
How many dozens were caught in that attack…? But that was her limit. 
“— Hff…! Hfff… hff…!” 
Her back against the door leading to the throne, Azril, like Jibril before her, had exhausted all her power and assumed the form of a child, panting. 
Even so, Azril stared daggers, making it plain that none would pass, but a cold voice reached her ear. 
“—From Prüfer, to Befehler… Analysis of Flügel shift mechanism— complete.” 
“ ? !!” 
So this is what it means to feel the blood drain from your face? Azril recognized her error a bit too late. The Ex Machinas analyzed the “attack” they’d just suffered and commenced construction on a device to replicate it. They’d never been able to analyze the shift before, since it was directed at the caster—but as an attack … The implication was confirmed by the communication she overheard. 
“—From Zeichner, to remaining units—Design of ‘Shurapokryphen’ complete. Synchronizing.” 
At the same time, behind Azril, a flash of light shot through the door to Artosh’s throne room— 
“Target location observed . Sharing across all units—immediate enemy neutralization is complete—shifting.” 
“Crya—!” 
“— Lösen —Shurapokryphen!” 
Not even giving Azril time to regret her failure, the Ex Machina issuing this update vanished. Flying be damned. Azril could hardly even walk straight at this point, but even so, as if crawling, she passed through the shattered doorway…to the foot of her lord— 
 
Shifting to his final destination, the throne room, Einzig found himself greeted by a massive man. It was the first time Einzig had observed him—to be precise, no unit had previously observed him and survived long enough to share the data. Therefore, no data was available. But he didn’t need reference data for positive identification. The thing seated on the throne, its presence overwhelming, its golden eyes savage even in its state of repose, chin resting on its fist—bold, proud, and unmoved. Its very being announced itself the strongest of all, the god of war, and his target: the Old Deus Artosh. To the Ex Machinas who, one by one, joined Einzig, their ranks swelling into a swarm— 
“I permit it. Name thyself.” 
—Artosh extended a courtesy, his simple utterance rocking space and introducing variation into their collective observation equipment. 
“ Rejection: Tools do not name themselves.” 
Artosh laughed at Einzig’s response—“Such jest.”—and time creaked. 
“Wherefore shall I ask the names of tools? I ask the name of mine enemy.” 
“ ? .” 
Einzig did not answer. It was not his answer to give. Maintaining his silence, he simply assessed the battlefield and waited for the remaining units capable of combat to arrive. Surviving forces: 872 units. Units able to assimilate “Asura Apocrypha”: 701. In other words, even if all units arrived, their maximum force would be 701 units—not even enough for two conventional clusters. To think that we could be so depleted by exhausted Flügel and a single Phantasma— Einzig smirked. The Spieler had pointed out that the tools’ mathematics were critically incomplete. For a machine to acknowledge this was a strange twist of irony. As Einzig silently considered this, Artosh’s smile— 
“Mm, I approve. That is as it should be.” 
—simply deepened. 
“That the strongest of all, who resoundeth across three thousand worlds, should face the weakest of all, on whom nothing in the world looketh twice… It is meet.” 
And, sliding his cheek off his fist— 
“I have awaited thee, O warrior fit to be mine enemy.” 
—Artosh rose from his throne. With that mere motion… 
<From Einzig to remaining units … Is this unit error?> 
…all Ex Machina observation equipment indicated that his mass increased. No, Einzig’s assessment was incorrect. This was no optical error. It was simply that the man before them had stood. 
Correction. The quantity of associated energy had increased… Recorrection. Not energy. The entity data itself was increasing, as if what hadn’t existed was coming to be. But finally, all 701 units gathered in the throne room answered Einzig’s astonishment. 
< — Nein.> They all observed the same phenomenon. 
It was impossible. It violated all laws of thermodynamics. Even magic only twisted the laws of physics using spirits within the scope of exchange of energy. This defied all explanation. 
Nevertheless, every unit’s sensors produced the same conclusion—namely: that his mass was increasing. That concepts which enveloped the heavens, the earth, and the planet were taking shape and form. 
<Impossible! What is happening … ?!> 
After discharging his Godly Smite, Artosh’s power should have been less than 12 percent its usual level. This was the unanimous estimate of every Seher and Prüfer—and yet. As if reading their thoughts—or perhaps actually doing so—Artosh professed: 
“The strongest is strongest for that he is the strongest. What meaning hath increase or decrease of power?” 
 . 
I see. Einzig accepted it. Though the sentiment was entirely irrational, the machines that now possessed emotions could not help but react with: True . 
The concept of strongest . If that is what this is …, considered the automatons who had gained “hearts,” and being somewhat anomalous themselves in a not dissimilar fashion, they derived a hypothesis about something long unknown. 
<A concept that has gained an identity. Is this not — a law with will?> 
Which meant that ether was— 
“There is nothing over which ye must fret. The strongest is I, and the weakest is all others.” 
Hearing Artosh’s fierce yet somehow self-mocking declaration, Einzig smirked. 
<All units. Units who share my thoughts: If any of you survive, reassess this hypothesis.> 
< Jawohl. > 
If ether conformed to this hypothesis , then overthrowing Artosh was theoretically impossible . But — Einzig put forward a query. 
<All remaining Seher and Prüfer — is ether an observable physical entity?> 
<<< — Affirmative.>>> 
In that case, there was no issue. 
“All units prepare the algorithm compiled by the Preier to combat the unknown — Lösen —!” 
Before his eyes, still increasing in mass—a giant, a concept, a phenomenon, or perhaps a law. Before the true god who seemed likely to swell until heaven and earth were enveloped, Einzig issued his command. At the moment, it was just a hypothesis. 
To gauge the enemy’s power is impossible. Then what to do? All that remains is to act as the souls we have been granted command. That is to say—if the enemy is unknown, then all you have to do is anticipate everything you can’t anticipate. Don’t try to understand. Don’t try to calculate. Just believe what you feel and move—isn’t that right, Schwi? 
Avant Heim. In the throne room staring down a god, 701 living things that professed to be machines roared: 
<Target Artosh’s ether — hypothesized capacity to distort space-time and even alter natural law every second — > 
In which case… 
< Adapt every half-second accordingly. I ask all units — is this beyond us?> 
<<<Negative!>>> 
No—no matter the foe, no matter the obstacle. 
<If it touches us, we will adapt — that is who we are. All units, I pray you fight valiantly. Aus!> 
<<< Jawohl! >>> 
Linking with one another, all units faced their divine enemy—who continued to manifest, to swell—and shouted as one: 
“— Lösen —!!” 
Gazing upon the oncoming Ex Machina swarm, Artosh delivered a single sentiment in a voice that reverberated across the continent. 
“Come, display mine ether—show the quintessence of battle to the world, my dear, true enemy—!!” 
—… 
 …… 
 
The Stalemartyr entrusted him by Ex Machina in hand, Riku’s mind wandered. 
What the hell am I doing here? Ruining a game that’s a certain loss with mad— 
“—Shut up. It’s not time yet. Don’t think.” 
Cutting himself short, he checked the lock that seemed to be loosening on his heart. 
It was fine. Still locked. He wasn’t done yet, not yet… Far, far, so far in the barely-visible distance, Avant Heim. There, the tools were operating to strip Artosh of his ether without killing anyone. All he had to do was wait for the signal—and pull the trigger. Then, a voice out of nowhere—no, a convulsion shaking the entire planet. O heavens, O earth, O all in every place—listen , the voice demanded. With the absolute roar of a true god, of the strongest of the Old Dei, it said: 
“So this is defeat—I see. It was an enjoyable battle, such that it made mine heart boil.” 
It went on as if convinced, I am certain thou canst hear me. 
“Nameless weak one—thou mayest hold thine head high, having truly proved thyself worthy to be mine enemy.” 
 Then, in Riku’s single eye like night. Far, far away—a white light flared to paint out the red sky. Emptily, he noted that it looked just as Einzig had described. It was their signal, indicating Ex Machina had succeeded in stripping the Old Deus Artosh of his ether. 
At least…that’s what they’d agreed to. 
“……” 
In truth, he knew—but he had to admit, he didn’t know it for a fact. He shook his head at that and, alone—placed his finger on the trigger of Stalemartyr. None of the Ex Machinas would come back… Unaware what that meant—no. 
Keep pretending you don’t know. Just like Artosh must have known but presumably never said the words, I am slain — 
“…You’ve held for me somehow, huh…?” 
Checking the lock on his heart, which seemed on the verge of breaking, Riku remembered the Rules that he himself had set: 
—One: No one may kill. 
—Two: No one may die. 
—Three: No one must know. 
—Four: All means are fair. 
…Yes, there was a loophole in these rules. If he didn’t recognize Ex Machinas—Schwi—as living beings, but tools. And no one knew what foul means the tools had employed. If he just pretended he didn’t know— it wouldn’t break the Rules at all . Chuckling, Riku thought: Now this is the height of sophistry and fraud . Schwi—an Ex Machina—had fallen back on a false premise . Knowing what this meant made it impossible for him to refuse. It was Schwi’s wish from the “heart.” Letting go of each other’s hands—the mistake that placed them in this overwhelmingly inferior position that guaranteed defeat… 
Checkmate might be beyond their reach. 
But this gave them one last move that could potentially earn a stalemate, gouging the planet and destroying the board in the process—hence Ex Machina’s name for it: 
Stalemartyr. 
“So now it’s gonna be a draw… Sorry, gods—” 
Muttering, Riku gripped the trigger of the giant gun thrust into the ground like a stake—and pulled, with immediate results. 
Far taller than himself, Riku felt that stake start sucking up all the gods of heaven and earth—everything. A magnificent influx of power—at which point, the buried muzzle erupted in light. Seventy percent of the force that incinerated the continent and scorched the very planet. That power converged into a single-stripe beam and pierced the planet like a needle, penetrating its core and destroying the spirit corridors. 
From Riku’s perspective, it all transpired in an instant, but in that same instant, he felt the lock on his heart explode— 
“…What part of this shit is a stalemate …? How do you call this—a draw—?” 
As if he’d literally come undone, light returned to his eyes, and Riku let all the emotions he’d locked away erupt. The lock broken, his heart could no longer be contained. 
How many had died? Schwi’s comrades. Living beings. Flügel—how the hell many had died?! Deluding himself—pinning it on Schwi’s last wishes! The final sacrifice to end the war that demanded infinite sacrifice… Now that he was here, he wanted to murder the Riku that had come up with all those excuses. 
How is this a stalemate? You’re just a shitty little bastard. A loser. You can squawk all you want about how it’s what Schwi wanted or whatever! But you! Have lost! Pathetically—Riku!! 
…… 
“Hey, Schwi. What was I missing, I wonder…?” 
…Yeah. He didn’t have to ask. He knew… 
“Hey, Schwi. If you and me were two in one…” 
…Yeah. Next time, I wanna win, Schwi. With you… Next time, no one will die. No one will have to die. Not in our game… 
The planet’s crust obliterated, its core gutted, the source of the spirit corridors detonated. The unfathomable power that had been unleashed moments before seemed like the prick of a pin by comparison. The power that forged the world—sufficient to blow it away without a trace—was unleashed. As he was being consumed, Riku ? saw it. 
“……Is……that it…?” 
The Suniaster. 
Glowing, a star-shaped dodecahedron, its sides embossed with five-pointed stars. It materialized where all the expelled power released converged … Huh. It really did appear to the winner… But when he stretched out his hand—Riku couldn’t reach. Dropping his gaze, he chuckled. 
“…I see. Guess I wouldn’t be able to reach it…” 
Having lost his right arm now, too, he had nothing to reach with. Besides…he hadn’t won. In the glitter of the spirit corridors as they spilled out power beyond measure, his body was swallowed, broken down…and his essence slipped away. 

 
When had it started? He finally realized now, after everything, as he shamelessly, pathetically gushed tears… The armless man covered in bandages breaking down and sobbing like a little kid— 
“…Ha-ha…I’m such…a dork…” 
He’d figured he might as well live awesomely and die the same. But here was his life, not a single victory to his name. 
A ludicrous death befitting a loser. It was too late for shame or pride. 
“Hey, Schwi. I’ve got a million things I regret… Sorry for being such a dopey husband.” 
Countless, countless regrets were the only things that flashed through his mind. The faces of the people he’d let die passed by one by one. The sight of the 177 ghosts who’d indulged his arrogance elicited a guilt that threatened to crush him, but then it dawned on him that there was something even direr—his greatest regret. 
Mystifying even himself, he laughed aloud at his immeasurable disgrace. 
“Ahh, damn it… I should’ve got down on my hands and knees and begged Couron if that’s what it took to make love to you, Schwi.” 
Riku. Virgin. Twenty. Married, but dying without knowing the touch of a woman. Hmm, when you think about it, isn’t that kinda cool in its own way? 
“Nah, guess not… Can’t dress that up… Ha-ha…” 
In any case, it seemed he’d exist without dignity right to the bitter end. And at that point, why not go all the way—at the end? Throwing away his last shred of pride, he pleaded to a god. 
“…Hey, if gods are born from feelings— god of games .” 
If the hands you already took— 
“Though this life of mine is rubbish, I offer you all I have. I’m praying for the first time in my life—please.” 
—belonged to a loser and were too dirty to seize the Astral Grail. If they were too blood-soaked to hold the throne of the One True God… 
Please. I beg you. At least tell me our hearts meant something. It doesn’t have to be me. It can be anyone. Just…anyone. As long as they’ll end this war. Anyone… Let them have it…the Suniaster…a…ny……one………… 
…… And with that, his consciousness faded away. 
“ Hh —” 
Riku saw someone approach the Suniaster, and he smiled. The figure striding forward against the light was no one he’d seen before. He wore a large cap, and his pupils were a diamond and a spade. The boy didn’t look familiar—but Riku knew who he was. Because the boy had always—always, always, always, even after Riku was sick about it—beaten him, and always wearing that bold grin in the darkness. 
“…Ha… Ha-ha-ha-ha— Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” 
—The hell? I knew it. You do exist… Little bastard… 
“—Hey, let’s play again… ’Cos this time, I’m gonna show you, all right…” 
—Together with Schwi… I swear……I’ll… 
…… 
Leaving these words in his wake, Riku was swallowed by light and disappeared. Born of the faith of just two—Riku and Schwi, the weakest—the last Old Deus returned a forced smile, as if straining to hold something back. Softly, he reached for the Suniaster, and then …… 
 
The entire world witnessed this moment. Therefore, it is one of the few facts in this story recorded as history… 
First, light enveloped the world. A light spreading from the horizon whitened the red heavens and the blue earth, stealing the border between them. When it stopped, spreading without a sound—the world had lost all color. Everyone was befuddled as they searched the heavens and earth, and then, after a beat, they realized. The ashes drifting through the sky had frozen there, and the flames of war had forgotten to flicker. Everything had stopped. 
Even time. Everything that did not live. Gaping in wonder, every living thing was lost as to what was happening, and then— 
—A shock tickled the planet. It clearly wasn’t destructive. The gentle force just sort of brushed up against the world like a lick. At the same time, those who turned to the skies…marveled. A sight that defied expectation that every race—every living thing—just gaped at, dumbstruck. 
Except. One hundred seventy-seven ghosts and one human saw and understood… 
 
 …… 
A ghost that once had a name, its body corroded by dead spirits, leaned on a crag. 
“…You really did it…General…” 
With what little vision it had left, it looked up to see the dust that tinted the sky red—just flap away in the breeze, disappearing like cards snatched off a table, before disappearing into nothingness as if it had all been a joke. 
 …… 
Another ghost that, likewise, had once had a name had been afflicted by the bite of a Dhampir. 
“…Ha-ha… Damn, he pulled it off—that son of a bitch…!” 
Bathing in light for the first time, he felt his body sear, but at the same time, he felt the mountains—ravaged and devastated—regenerating themselves as if by a magic trick to assume their proper form. 
 …… 
One hundred seventy-seven ghosts, in their respective locations, with their respective bodies, understood what was happening and watched with chests brimming with individual emotions. An irresistible, absolute command was being echoed by all things as the world was remade. Humans had no way to detect magic, but they knew just the same. They didn’t know why—but. They knew that the War—the long, long Great War—had ended. With this conviction teeming inside them, they laughed aloud—from their “hearts.” 
 …… 
Lastly, there was just one other besides the ghosts who watched and understood what was happening. On the continent of Lucia, she peered out of Riku and Schwi’s bedroom window. 
“…You really…got the Suniaster…everyone…” 
Before she knew it, the ash had stopped falling. Turning her eyes to the heavens, Couron discovered that the tale about the sky being blue was true. And for the first time… 
…she saw the sun. 
“…That’s my—darling little, brother…and…sister…” 
Despite closing her eyelids, the dazzling sunlight still stabbed through them, stinging her eyes. That had to be it… Riku, Schwi, everyone—her darling, darling brother and sister—those two…had really—really—ended the eternal War. As their sister, as their loving sister…more than anyone—she could take pr ? 
“…Uh—wuh…waaaaaauuughhhhh!!” 
I knew it… It’s impossible— I just…you know…! 
“Hey, Rikuuu, Schwi, your sister still can’t take thiiiis!” 
’Cos—you both made her a promise…and broke it! 
“I said—I didn’t want to lose any more family… Why? How could you—?!” 
Weeping at the absurdity, Couron called her siblings’ names. Cradling the blue stone engraved with all their names, she shed pathetic tears and wondered: 
Why’d it have to be them? Couldn’t it have been me? Why can’t I do anything? 
Fair enough, the long Great War had ended. The days of cowering before death and grieving in despair were presumably over. In exchange, Couron had lost the one most important to her, her brother, and her sister, whom her brother had loved. After that—what in the world was she left with—? 
“This is, too much…for me… Why does everyone leave me behind…?” 
“—Hey, Couronne Dola.” 
Suddenly, her last conversation with Riku came rushing back to her. 
 
After hearing out Riku, who’d turned up with an Ex Machina—Einzig—in tow, Couron insisted: 
“ ? Don’t.” 
As she stared into those eyes as black as obsidian she’d thought she’d never see again, eyes that reflected no light, her brother went on undeterred. 
“Then, if everything works out—” 
“—I said don’t…didn’t you hear me?!” 
Couron’s hysterical scream cut him off. 
“You’ve never called me by my full name before—not once!! And now what—” 
Watching his sister—Couronne Dola—wailing with tear-filled eyes, Riku continued. 
“If everything works out, I think you’ll see. And then—” 
His gaze still black, Riku nevertheless summoned a pleading smile. 
“The chessboard on the table. Can you move the white rook…to e6 for me?” 
“…Why don’t you…do it—yourself?!” 
Couronne Dola clenched her fists as if it had taken everything to wring out those words. 
Really, she knew. Their relationship was not so shallow that she didn’t understand what he was saying. Self-proclaimed or not—they were family. Their relationship was anything but shallow. But for that very reason—she couldn’t say it. That one thing: Don’t go. Because Riku…Riku and Schwi— 
Riku peeled his attention away from Couron, turning it to the empty seat at the table in the room. Narrowing his vision, staring somewhere beyond where they stood, he muttered as if in prayer: 
“…Hey, God. If you’re not just my hallucination and you really exist…” 
 . 
“…will you remember that there was a hopeless twit who tried to eliminate war using games?” 
He turned back to Couron. 
“…Couronne Dola…no—” 
He bent to pick up his pack. 
“— Sister… Thanks for everything. And also…” 
With that, he took his leave, his last words trailing behind him. 
“Humans, ‘next time,’ ‘after’… I leave it all to you. You’re my sister, and I believe in you.” 
 
Ruining her face with tears, Couron staggered to the table. Then, as per Riku’s “will,” she placed the piece and muttered: 
“…Check…mate…isn’t it…Riku…?” 
Wiping her tears with her sleeve, Couron stood. 
Much had been left her…many things to do. She had no more time for crying. To insure that what Riku and others had created would not be for nothing, she first had to dispose of all the evidence that Riku and Schwi…the ghosts…had ever existed. Burn the records, the notes, the scrolls—everything. Wipe all evidence that Riku, Schwi—the human race—had played a game in the shadows. She’d leave nothing. In the world to come, it would be the same—so no one could notice them. So they’d all believe humanity too weak to bother with. For next time. And the time after that. Looking down at the blue stone engraved with their three names, Couron mumbled. 
“Hey, Riku, Schwi… You two really are amazing…you know that?” 
Sure, in the game that Riku had outlined their deaths meant that, even in the most generous assessment, it had been a draw. They’d achieved their objective but lost the game. 
“But still your sister thinks the same… You two are too amazing to believe.” 
They’d challenged the gods, taken on the world. Never spotted and without a trace, they’d ended the eternal Great War—in just two years. With no memories and no records, they would never become legend. They wove a myth that could never be sung…for the people who came after. Was this defeat? It was impossible for Couron to see it that way. If it wasn’t a feat, an epic victory, then what was it? 
“But, still, it’s weird… Why……?” 
After all this, she wondered, Is this it? What Riku had been feeling his entire life? 
“…Why, am I so…frustrated…?” 
She’d decided not to cry anymore—so. Couron just covered her face, leaning on the wall as she left the room. 
 …… 
“—Because the game’s not over.” 
The empty room Couron had vacated. 

Who knows how long he’d been there, the boy wearing a large cap with a front brim. The boy with a mischievous smile and a star-shaped regular dodecahedron—the Suniaster—floating beside him. He walked up to the chessboard, softly moved the black queen, and under his breath—he corrected Couron’s mistake . 
“It’s not checkmate—it’s check . But with this…” 
Contemplating the board, the boy painted out in his mind all the moves he could conceivably make. Seeing that, no matter how he moved, the final result would be endless repetition—he grinned. 
“You got me in perpetual check… That’s the first time you’ve forced me to a draw .” 
To the end, to the bitter end—he’d never given up. Even from a position of overwhelming disadvantage, he’d said, At the very least, I’m gonna bite you hard, even here— 
—Hey, let’s play again… ’Cos this time, I’m gonna show you, all right… 
—Together with Schwi…I swear……I’ll… 
Recalling this, the boy—the Old Deus born of the faith of just two, just as he was in those days when Riku was young, when he was still just the most powerful of gamers dwelling in the dark recesses of Riku’s imagination—grinned, boldly and impudently, and held out the Suniaster. 
 …… 
All intelligent life-forms in this world were created by the Old Dei. 
Except for one: humans. 
“O ye created of none, wished for by none, asked for by none. The only race that, by its own will, hath stood from beasthood on its own two feet to seize wisdom—and that therefore hath no name—O humans .” 
Only they had succeeded in ending the futile, fruitless, fatuous War. Even if the result had been a mess—it was still only them. Could one speak of them in the same breath as beasts…? Surely not. 
“For these reasons, I, the One True God, grant you a name: Immanity…after immunity .” 
A fitting name for those who kept learning, built up endurance, never stopped resisting, never surrendered though they might be reduced to one. Who, in the end, put a halt to this foolish scourge, serving as the immune system of the planet itself. The race that concealed within itself the concept of progress—infinite possibility. 
Gently, Tet smiled and continued. 
“Come, then—let the games continue .” 
It wasn’t his thing to leave after he’d been stalemated, so he’d give those guys what they wanted— 
“I’ve got a game that’s fun for everyone, where no one will die, and I’ll be waiting.” 
In this world, there was no reincarnation. Even so, till the end, they believed in “next time”— so why don’t I try believing in it, too? 
“All right. With that—” 
With these words, the weakest and last Old Deus held out the Suniaster and proclaimed in a voice that reached throughout the heavens and across the earth: 
O Ixseeds that claim yourselves wise—! 
And so the myth that would never be sung continued into the myth that still is told. That is: 
By the vow of achéte and the bonds of aschent , 
the One True God, on his ascente , setteth forth the Ten Covenants. 
Which ye shall heed. For this day, today, the world hath changed. 
— Aschente —!!