CHAPTER 106: OTTO SWEIN
Grimacing at the crackling heat on his skin, Garfiel violently kicks a pile of nearby leaves.
Garfiel: “Fuckin' thanks for th'gift, huh.”
Garfiel's mutter is one of irritation, but also one of honest praise. Contempt will be your undoing, the man had declared. And his statement was irrefutable fact.
Garfiel had unmistakably, thinking Otto had not a speck of combat ability, underestimated him.
Garfiel: “Fire spellstone... what's he plottin', using one that ain't threatenin'?”
A momentary, sight-obstructing curtain of fire. For a single instant it had singed his petrified body before disappearing. Garfiel reflects on the thing, annoyed. It was a lark of an attack. It did sting his skin slightly—but it amounted to nothing more than sunburn, far removed from any prospects of damage. But there is one thing he can state clearly.
Garfiel: “'F that hit'd been a deadlier one, not even my amazin' self wouldda gotten out unscathed...”
His opponent had forced him to circumvent something which should have been fatal. What to call that except being shown mercy? An opponent who he had held back on, and failed to knock unconscious, had turned around and slugged him. And with that, Garfiel is overwhelmingly wretched, foolish.
Garfiel: “He's goddamn fucking with me!”
What's even more annoying is that his opponent had entirely ignored Garfiel, attention pilfered by the flames, and instantaneously chosen to run. Garfiel's late reaction to the resolute deed, which paid no heed in the least to prospects of attack, meant he had completely lost sight of Otto.
Soft dirt. Piled leaves. For an environment which should be unfamiliar to him, he certainly did manage to get away skilfully. This agrees with his statements about walking around the forest at night. Nevertheless, if this turns into a genuine chase scene, then there is no way he will escape Garfiel. Every ten steps that Otto runs is a distance that Garfiel can close in two. That's how great the racial difference in physical ability is between them. But even this, Otto had cleverly compensated for.
Garfiel: “—Ghgg! What, hell is!? This... augh! Fuck, my nose's broke!”
The instant that Garfiel sniffs in an attempt to pursue Otto, an intense, painful stench spears his nostrils. Garfiel's inhale had been incredibly deep—and he wrenches back, shaking his head at the sting, so intense that his vision strobes.
Garfiel looks, to find sitting there in the spot where Otto had been standing, a transparent bottle. A colourless liquid flows from the uncapped thing, and Garfiel perceives that this is where the rancid odour originates. But that is the limit of what his nose will tell him.
Garfiel: “Asshole... bet he thinks he's fuckin' won, sealin' off my nose.”
Baring his fangs, his options steadily being cut off, Garfiel voices his anger. Just how many Anti-Garfiel tactics has Otto come up with? Every step of the way, these plans have suppressed Garfiel perfectly.
Garfiel: “—”
Touching his forehead scar, Garfiel takes a ragged breath as he undergoes his ritual to calm himself. He takes a deep breath to settle his heart and lungs, wrangling his sense before his fury can drown it. Thinking is not a faculty which will trigger any more of Otto's traps. Why was Otto throwing himself into this reckless battle?
And actually, this situation where Otto is challenging Garfiel is already weird. His objective is to buy time—to pull Garfiel's attention onto himself, allowing over that period for the evacuees to escape along disparate routes. If Otto's statements are true, then indeed, there is no way that Garfiel will be able to stop all the carriages now.
The idea to utilize the command right and have the Lewes doubles chase them crosses Garfiel's mind, but being that he does not know exactly where each of the carriages departed from, the effort will amount to nothing. The doubles lack knowledge and experience, and can only succeed in executing very broad commands. And furthermore the girls would not even eat meals regularly unless instructed, and should they hit their limit inside the forest, they would shrink up into little balls as they attempted to abandon life. Going to the frantic effort of finding them before they could disappear was yet another prospect Garfiel was sick and tired of.
Garfiel: “N'th'end, only thing I can count on's my amazin' self. Ha! Just like always.”
He is lacking in moves. His nose is suppressed. But nevertheless Garfiel takes no pessimistic view. What he has is this tempered and strong body. More than enough power remains in him to run through the forest, and achieve his goal.
Regardless of whatever Otto's objective is, he has been opposing Garfiel. Surely he was resolved to earn Garfiel's umbrage, and to have claws and fangs borne at him. Garfiel has stopped disdaining Otto as being nothing more than simple prey. He deems him as a catch which requires the utmost in effort, absolutely to be cornered and slain.
—Garfiel fails to notice that the instant he is thinking like this, it means he has already forgotten his initial goal, and is being wheedled into Otto's plans.
Garfiel: “Sure're behavin' good, y'two. 'S another thing that bastard instructed yer... 's the crap he's seriously fuckin' sayin'.”
Just before moving to enter the forest in pursuit of Otto, Garfiel turns his head, his sight landing on the carriages.
Two dummy vehicles, feigning a flight of evacuees. But that said, the two earth dragons heading the carriages are legitimate, and they have been seated there ever since the start of Garfiel and Otto's dialogue, keeping entirely out of the issue.
Garfiel: “Yer make a bad move, n's possible my amazin' self'll hurt ya, huh? Clever of yer. But actually, ain't that I wanner do any unnecessary kills at all.”
Shaking his head, Garfiel passes the dragons as he again reaches out for the passenger car. A great number of clothes had been piled inside the car to fool Garfiel's nose into thinking the villagers were here. Garfiel had dropped the issue after confirming that, but perhaps he should take another look around.
Garfiel's foot nudges the messy scattering of clothes out of the way as he gazes over the seats and walls. Nothing particularly stands out, and just when he moves to end the search and alight the carriage—
Garfiel: “—Eh?”
As he turns around, there hidden on the rear side of the carriage door, is something pasted to its face. The white paper flutters in the wind, placed in a position where it is only visible from inside.
—Feeling a sense of foreboding, Garfiel marches to door, tearing the fluttering thing off and unfurling it in his hands.
<—If you are so completely in the palm of my hands, then doing this was worthwhile.>
Reading the message, Garfiel's vision flashes to furious crimson.
The next instant—the seats of the carriage overturn as a black bundle inside this cramped space explodes. Beneath the gale-force buzz of the swarming insects' wings, Garfiel's roar drowns to nothing.
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※
—When Otto Swein was young, for him the world was a cradle of hell.
???: “—” ???: “×××××××××” ???: “※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※” ???: “*********************!*!*”
Perpetual and indefinite, Otto's ears kept hearing words arcane to him. He would sit dazedly on the floor while, spoken as proximate whispers, otherwise as faraway shouts, sometimes as lilting songs, elsewise as shrieking deaths, the world constantly inflicted Otto with its connection.
No matter where he went in the world, the voices chased Otto without end.
Days and days without reprieve. The eternal echo of this discordant chorale. This cacophony, this entirely unhelpful infernal concerto, remained constantly attendant at Otto's side.
—How does everyone live in this noisy world like it's nothing?
This was the question Otto held, amid a hell where he could not properly understand the speech of those around him. His parents would hold him close, and alongside their smile, fling some kind of words at him. But regardless of how great a love these words abounded in, the clamour and dissonance would consume them, never allowing them to reach Otto's ears.
His parents noticed their son's abnormality, and immediately took him to see a doctor. Wouldn't laugh, wouldn't anger, wouldn't cry. His absolute failure to foster any emotional expression owed to the fact that Otto perceived all external influences as being exactly identical. Thus, to the point that it worried his parents, Otto spent his infancy as an emotionless human being.
Perhaps call it fortune that the Swein household was a merchant family, and preserved a middle class standard of life, with more than enough savings to send their son to and from the doctor's. But no doctor could find anything physically wrong with Otto. Of course not. If one were to name Otto's condition, it was assuredly deafness resultant from excessive noise.
A brother two years his elder, and a brother two years his junior. Unlike Otto, his siblings passed their days as healthy children, growing up heartily alongside their parents' love. Their parents' attention toward Otto steadily thinned as love proportioned for three people was instead allocated to two, distancing Otto from his parents' warmth.
Otto held no grudge or jealousy for his brothers or about his parents. For one thing he hadn't fostered neither the negative nor positive emotions of hatred or finding things enviable, but moreso, even though Otto generally would not understand what they were saying, his brothers would interact with him patiently. He thought his parents' mental exhaustion inevitable. Otto didn't know, had he been in his brothers' position back then, whether he would've been capable of being so insistently kind to such a strange family member. So in fact he was grateful to them.
Sounds may not reach him, but written word did allow for communication. It was his elder brother who both discovered this, and attempted to read books aloud for Otto.
Learning to read and write was naturally the ultimate in difficult tasks. He could not register the sounds needed to comprehend the words. For Otto to understand what a sequence of words meant took him ten times longer than ordinary children. But that said, he found no suffering in that. Quite sadly, the sensibility required to find things agonising was absent in Otto, and children incapable of proper lifestyles lacked in daily activities.
<—Thank you, for everything.>
After he wrote and showed his parents this message, they hugged him, tears streaming down their faces. Otto still remembers it vividly.
Though he did not clearly understand what gratitude was, he had been treated in a manner where he ought to do this. That was the decision his young self had made, and after having the words he wrote out of obligation be judged in this manner, a wave formed in Otto's heart.
—That might have been the first time since his birth that he cried himself hoarse, screaming. Supposing it was, then that makes it Otto's second birth wail.
???: “Thiydnyityitkauoubibibibibi” ???: “カモカカモヤヤモヵモカヘヤカヤカカモヘカヤカムモモ” ???: “miii miii muuu miii meeh miii miii”
It happened immediately after Otto's second birthing cry that he discovered a faint consistency within the hellish and once-arcane chorus. The chaotic noises of this din assaulting his ears could, little by little, be progressively screened and removed according to Otto's own volition.
It was around Otto's eighth birthday that he became capable of perfectly separating himself from the ambient noises at will. Otto was practically a healthy child now, and as if pouring water into an arid desert, he greedily consumed everything he could.
He had already had to forsake learning what most children did in their first eight years of life. Also had he endeavoured over his time-consuming studies to learn reading and writing, but nevertheless his comprehension level was inferior to children his age. Using the weapon so called 'concentration', Otto shortened that gap in one fell swoop.
Otto Swein's sleeping talent, here, bloomed. He was on par even with his brothers. Or no, his comprehension level and thinking ability surpassed them. Otto with his exceptional ability to learn then steadily joined the ranks of his peers, distinguishing himself among them and he—
—Magnificently made repeated blunders at human relations and was entirely friendless.
Otto: “How does everyone live in this difficult world like it's nothing?”
Muttered Otto as he hugged his knees, his face red and swollen from the slap of a girl he was interested in. At ten years old, Otto was working diligently in his studies, so as not to shame himself as a merchant's son. Environments where one could receive a proper education from youth onwards were not so common in this era. He unmistakably lived in blessed circumstances, spending ideal days alongside his peers. The problem here was Otto's methods of emotional expression and mental age, both of which were seven years immature compared to other children his age.
Otto had neglected to make the mistakes that many children naturally did, and now that he was capable of them, he was naturally making those same mistakes. However, most of those blunders were forgiveable because they were committed even when young for children, and when an Otto who had already passed the majority of that life period perpetrated them, it resulted entirely in things only describable with the word 'perpetrated'.
And even less fortunately, Otto Swein was a boy blessed with bad luck. Have his parents tell the story, and Otto's misfortune begins immediately at post-partum, when he almost drowned during his first bath. And despite this being entirely unintentional he would always get dropped, get hit with bird excrement, almost drown in vases, generally his life was one constantly beset by misfortune. He had lacked awareness about the fact because he had failed to foster any sense of what misfortune felt like.
Looking back on his past after having fostered that sensation, Otto shuddered at his own history. What on earth was it that made a person spend their days so absolutely disowned by fortune?
???: “big one, went. now, just went. its gone.” ???: “shining, shinied, shine is, passing, shiny, shiny, shining,” ???: “hey, bad thing's coming. hey, bad thing's coming.”
It was around this time that a change occurred in those noises which Otto could now shut out. The chorus, once entirely bereft of any meaning, had become meaningful. Its majority was things where he even though he understand what it said, he did not understand what it meant—but, after running around in an effort to transform confusion into comprehension, Otto discovered the true nature of the hell from his infancy.
Apparently, he could communicate with non-human creatures. Eleven years after its manifestation, this power later to be discerned as the BLESSING OF XENOGLOSSY, had finally been recognized by Otto Swein.
What happened next was that Otto, interested in learning the limits of this gift bestowed to him, ventured all around town as he tested his blessing. Over repeated sessions of trial and error, he discovered that the more intelligent the creature, the clearer their messages would be. He spoke with the family's pet ground dragon in presence of his brothers, and revealed that he had possessed the blessing since his infancy.
Brother: “Right, okay. Right. ...Um, so... Otto. That power is, erhm, it's something. Right, it's really something and... well, you know. Don't use it where anyone can see you.”
Possessing a blessing meant being blessed by the world, but not everyone welcomed possessors of such powers. It was one thing if the blessing benefited many people, but Otto's ability only applied to himself, and his young mind could think of many ways to use it for misdeeds. Indeed, Otto could agree with his concerned elder brother's opinion.
After making a promise with his brother, whose face was pale and gaze averted, Otto resolved not to let those around him know about his BLESSING OF XENOGLOSSY. It wasn't just about him; this power could be dangerous for those in his vicinity, as well. Up sparked in the young Otto a sense of duty: he must protect his beloved family.
Three days after his promise with his elder brother his BLESSING OF XENOGLOSSY became common knowledge and all of his peers shunned him entirely.
His younger brother caught him talking with the family dragon, and Otto reluctantly told him about his blessing. He also informed him that their elder brother was concerned about it, and that his powers were incredibly dangerous. The next day his younger brother dragged Otto along into a huge group of kids in an attempt to brag about him, they witnessed him talking to a bug, and for the first time in years Otto saw hell.
The BLESSING OF XENOGLOSSY's flaw was probably that it needed to use the other party's language during communication. Put succinctly, when Otto spoke with ground dragons he would roar like a ground dragon, and when he spoke with bugs he would sound like a bug.
It took only an instant for the epithet 'the awkward zoddabug bugger' to spread. Otto henceforth sealed away his BLESSING OF XENOGLOSSY and determined never to use it again. Over several years he managed to undo his horrendously poor reputation, succeeding in erasing the mortifying memory from the minds of many people. He achieved it when he was fourteen. A delicate age.
Being fourteen, excuses about his mental maturity would stop having any effect. His physical maturation was also steadily proceeding into adulthood, and once he finished growing, Otto possessed rather decently attractive looks. Grey hair, and somewhat luckless, tender features. Mild eyes alongside a disposition to pour his best into his activities. Otto had grown to possess surprisingly many factors which tickled the maternal instinct, and just when he, like any boy his age, began taking interest in romance—
He made an enemy of the most influential figure in town's daughter by using his BLESSING OF XENOGLOSSY, and was banished. It was just before Otto's fifteenth birthday, during the cold season.
Sparing the details, he had gotten dragged into some romantic drama affair. On the night of the most influential figure in town's daughter's birthday party, her boyfriend had come storming in enraged and claiming that his girlfriend had been together with another man. The crosshairs landed on, having been spotted talking with the girl immediately prior, Otto. Otto replied sincerely that he had just been asking her the time, but the red-faced man and his screams of “Zoddabuggerer!” had no intentions of hearing it. With this supposedly-erased history dug up on him, yes indeed even Otto had to lose his usual compunctions.
Thus he unsealed his powers, did everything he could to clear away the suspicions cast on him, and after listening to every single creature across town, he discovered that the problem girl on the problem night had actually been with seven different men, and he cheerily conveyed to the poor guy: “It would seem that you're the eighth!”
After the man punched him, the girl with her relationship statuses exposed hired an assassin on Otto, who scrambled to escape his birthtown. He relied on his father's connections to then wind up working for an acquaintance’s company. He accumulated experience, setting out to journey as a travelling merchant when he was sixteen— this being Otto Swein's establishment of his independence, as a man.
Otto's journey as a merchant would safely be called a string of difficulties. His nature to suffer misfortune, despite the passing of the years, had not loosed its grip on him. Horrendous weather would strike whenever he was transporting fragiles, whenever he thought to take shortcuts through the hills he'd be attacked by mountain bandits, and whenever he went camping in a joint venture with other merchants, Otto alone would be attacked by bloodsucking insects. That Otto somehow managed to survive despite this constant misfortune was because, quite sadly, he had been blessed with outstanding enough business ability to counterbalance his poor luck.
He made no big profits, but suffered no debilitating losses either. He helmed a miraculous and merchant-wise nigh depraved sense of balance, sitting on the line of net zero, four years passing in the blink of an eye to land him at twenty years old. His failure to lose spirit and return home resulted from the presence of the one he had brought along when he was expelled from his hometown, who he had known since he was little, his ground dragon Frufoo.
Honestly he did have some complex feeling about Frufoo, trigger for his brothers finding out about the BLESSING OF XENOGLOSSY as he was, but as far as the present Otto cared he was a definite bond, and something like a beloved family member. For some reason Otto generally couldn't make other merchants team up with him, and so he often spent sleepless nights talking with Frufoo to distract himself.
Let me sleep already, Frufoo would say, to which Otto's imploring would somehow manage to get him to keep going. It was the usual outcome that other merchants, witnessing him talking in dragon roars beside his fire in the dead of night, would take detours away from him.
While from an outside perspective that uniformity looked rather uneventful, for Otto the days he spent were considerably frantic ones—when there came a turning point.
—He had lost out on a business opportunity, and utterly screwed up.
Otto was peddling oil. It would sell for outrageously high prices in northward Gusteco during the cold season, is what he heard from a red-faced bald man with an eyepatch. Otto exchanged his metal wares for oil before triumphantly setting his sights on Gusteco—when an entirely unanticipated breakup of foreign relations slammed him, and he lost any hope of selling his goods. The next shock to his heart was the news that the metal goods he had struggled to exchange at any decent value were selling for exorbitant prices in the Capital.
Hit with this development, Otto sensed that his life as a merchant was in peril. His neglect to search for means to turn the situation around and resuscitate himself was because it would likely mean letting go of Frufoo. Or forget that, it could even wind up with him leeching off his family.
That situation alone was one that Otto would never let himself get into. He had gone five years and over without seeing his family, but his love for them had not waned in the least. His ability to live his present life, however imperfect it may be, was thanks to his family who had gone without abandoning him when he was young. Over those ten years Otto had already given his family a lifetime's worth of trouble. He had to spent the rest of his life making repayments for those ten years.
His calculations of loan and debt were accurate. After all, Otto Swein was the son of a merchant.
—A trader he knew presented him with an opportunity to make a profit. Otto took it.
However the necessities for this job were not goods, but his dragon's legs. Someone wanted to get people on traders' carriages, and then have them transported in large quantities. Otto leapt for it without hesitation, using his BLESSING OF XENOGLOSSY to blast away at top speed, enthusiastic to reach the destination before anybody else could.
He zoomed through shoddy roads, travelling along unmarked paths, ignored Frufoo's statements of “Ought we stop already, wee bub,” and reached the destination quicker than anyone. Where,
???: “My my my... where could you be destined with such...
”
He fucked up.
A group of people with lunatic eyes imprisoned him, rendered him immobile by wrapping him up, and here Otto sensed that his misfortune had truly, truly hit its peak.2 They separated him from Frufoo, stripped him of his belongings and tossed him into a cold cavern, their capricious amusement turning him into merely a creature waiting to die.
Who could possibly understand the depth of the despair which submersed Otto's heart back then? Surely no one. Because back then Otto had strained all the abilities he had in an attempt to escape, wrenching his BLESSING OF XENOGLOSSY to full power, as he searched for means to flee their wicked clutches. What broke Otto's rebellious spirit was the entire, overwhelming silence. —When he unleashed his BLESSING OF XENOGLOSSY, a hell equivalent to what assaulted him in his youth should have struck.
The familiar, loathsome cacophony rang entirely, utterly mute. Insects, woodland creatures, things that supposedly dwelt in the forest and caverns, all of them hiding from this diabolical presence—and Otto, prepared for hell. Witnessing a hell far transcending what he resolved, Otto's heart fractured.
His eyes lost their vigour, the strength sapped swiftly from his body. He knew it was all over. Nothing he could try would work, and here in this cold cavern he would end. The despair was too great for tears. It happened around the time that he had numbed to the passing of the empty hours that suddenly, Otto Swein's fate was salvaged.
???: “Whasserere! Damned there putzes witch cult, no discriminates in there's work, har! Nothing other cuerr'yar expect!”3
A booming voice reverberated through the cavern, bringing Otto out of his trance and jolting him back to reality. He lifted his head and called in frail voice for help. The person who heard and appeared before him was a large, dog-faced beastman with proficient command of the Kararagi dialect, who freed the captured Otto.
Beastman: “Happy luck for yours, fella! Say wes weren't coming, and no question twice there's bunch had you slaughtered! Make usses here later and same thing farryarr. Y'gotin by a nick! Byarrr nick! And course for usses, but sameways make your thanks for the boss kid!”
Otto: “B-Boss, kid?”
Rotating his once-bound limbs, Otto tilted his head at the boisterous beastman.
2 Referring to a method of execution where an individual is wrapped up and bound in a straw/bamboo mat before being thrown in a river. Otto's case lacks rivers and also likely bamboo. 3 WELCOME TO HELL
His eyes widened in response to Otto's doubts, before he smacked him in the back with his enormous palm, earning a wail from Otto.
Beastman: “Boss's a boss! Kid's a kid! Smack there up farra boss kid! Saying honcho, guy ordering usses upter this far! Won't have a look like his head's chugging muchaways, gottarr say's there where a straightwise looks say nothing'arr their fella! Ghahahahaaha!”
Otto: “Ha, hauh.... U-understood. Anyway, I thank you very much. And, right, I'll also have to...”
...Thank him as well, is how Otto meant to continue, when he noticed something. The beastman was looking at him, and had scrunched his face up in surprise. Otto had no clue as to what this meant. The beastman withdrew a shockingly white napkin from his pocket and handed it over.
Beastman: “Wharyarr doing, say yours innarr cry then make your cry wharryarr unseen. Whole pathetic where a man there bawling in public.”
Otto: “Weh, aeh... c-crying?”
Beastman: “Teardrops'errr got yours eyes sploshing whole! Call what for this saying there's not crying! Sweat!? Heart having sweat!? Fella, even usses Kararagi folk long quit having that joke!”
The beastman turned his back to Otto, considerately taking distance from him. Otto put the cloth to his face, incredulous, to then witness the great volume of tears that the handkerchief caught— sincerely surprising him. The moment he realised he was crying, greater and greater did they overflow.
Otto: “Auh, shit... wh-what is, this... this...hk”
Otto clenched his teeth at the unstoppable torrent of tears as he pressed the cloth to his face. He could not understand why he was crying, a stream of incoherent curses filling his head to full.
—He'd been released from a despair so intense that his tears had dried up, and so perhaps accordingly, he was in tears now.
Otto: “I-I'm so glad, I... didn't, die...”
He hadn't achieved anything yet. He had not repaid a single one of his debts.
If he had died there, he would have ended without his life having any meaning. As it never had. It was because he survived it that he now recognized that fact.
—With every single teardrop shed, Otto keenly felt his life beginning again.
His first birthing cry, upon being given life in this world. His second birthing cry, upon learning of his parents' love, and the whereabouts of his own heart.
And his third, upon bypassing the death he had supposedly resolved himself for, and comprehending what it meant to live for a purpose.
—Otto Swein, on that day, screamed a birthing cry once again.
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※
Otto: “—Not that I was actually requested to buy time like this.”
Taking great strides, dedicating himself to unfitting acts of physical labour, a wry smile arises on Otto's face. These memories of his shameful bawling are awkward enough things that he'd like to forget about them, but unfortunately all his memories of crying are precious. He couldn't forget them even if he tried.
The beastman Ricardo who had saved Otto back then said nothing to anyone, and kept Otto's amazing sobfest a secret for him. That was a debt he would have to repay someday.
And,
Otto: “I repay my debts no matter what. —Since after all, I am a merchant.”
—Who saved his life, the boss kid.
Otto Swein owed something to Natsuki Subaru that he needed to reciprocate. He would expend his everything to repay the debt of him saving his life. It was a natural mentality for a trader.
But most importantly—
Otto: “—I am doing it for a friend!!”
Both as a merchant, and as an individual human being, Otto was impelling himself to here, now, stay his ground. Otto Swein was entering into a challenge where he was unlikely to succeed. He had taken a bet with disregard to chances of success, and would dedicate everything in his power to increasing Natsuki Subaru's chances of victory.
That was Otto's merchant soul at work, and the proof of his friendship.
—Distant from here, coming from the abandoned carriages, he hears the roar of a beast.
Sensing that the fight has begun in earnest, Otto unleashes his blessing—and as he entrusts himself to the familiar hell, intent to muster everything he has, he runs.
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