Because I Am Surtr

At Talulah's center, the point of intersection where swords clashed. Everything within a one-kilometer radius had melted into slag. The color of crimson engulfed everything, leaving only a clean three-meter space beneath her and in front of her to stand on.

But Talulah no longer had feet.

Laevateinn's counterattack had erased the lower half of her body from the abdomen down. The remaining parts were turning to ash at a visible rate—continuously growing Originium crystals and unceasing, scorching dragonfire intertwined. Barely sustaining the last bit of her life.

Surtr stood beside her, watching her, her delicate brows filled with distress.

Not pain, not sadness, not confusion, just distress.

And Talulah's once hopeful gaze gradually dimmed.

"In the end... I've only done something futile?" the Dragon Girl's weak words escaped her pale lips, her eyes filled with self-mockery as she looked at Surtr. "Indeed, just... such a small offering, and I wanted to satisfy a god... For a mortal, that's a bit arrogant."

"...But I won't be the last."

Her eyes slowly closed, but before the final radiance dissipated, she heard a questioning whisper from the god of the present world.

"...Was it worth it?"

"It was worth it."

"There are two kinds of gods. The first kind are born gods, who see all things as inherently inferior. And the other kind is you. You only wish to bestow, not to receive. And I judge that behind this behavior lies fear... You fear losing what you have gained, you fear that after giving your true heart, only pain will be returned. You fear that this is harsh and malicious towards all living beings, yet too weak for you and your power on this land. You fear you cannot do your best. So you prefer to walk alone."

"But this won't do. No matter how strong a dam is, it will eventually collapse without maintenance. No matter how tall and strong a tree is, it will wither without nourishment. You will fall sooner or later, crushed by your own weight. And from your remains will be born the true despair of this land."

She laboriously raised her hand, wanting to touch Surtr's fingertip—the latter's hand trembled, but ultimately did not avoid the contact.

And so she smiled with satisfaction.

"To change the world, you need idealists. To maintain the world, you need realists. And you are too strong, so strong that under your will, both the old world and the new world would be easily shaped and changed like soft mud. Therefore, I judge that before you have a sense of belonging and identity with the new world, instead of simply completing a task, whether it's fighting for the rights of the Infected or reforming this world, it is all meaningless."

"The power of mortals... even if united, cannot contend with the sun. So..."

"If my death can make you realize that going it alone is not the right way. Then it is worth it."

"If the destruction of Reunion Movement can let you know that there are many people on this land chasing after your shadow. Then it is worth it."

"You destroyed your own cause." Surtr did not answer any of her previous words. She simply posed a simple question. "You knew I would come, you knew I would destroy everything Reunion stood for."

"No, no." The dying Dragon Girl shook her head with difficulty. "The rise of the Infected will continue, marked by the fall of Reunion Movement. Because the legendary Ember Demon, the great extinction, the wanderer of the mortal world, has deigned to personally destroy this nascent force...

...I already feel the obstacles and hostility from all directions that Reunion Movement encountered as it grew. So this banner must fall, because only when Reunion Movement is destroyed. Will the stars ignite across the land of Terra...

...This land fears you, and is wary of you...

...So they will be curious about your actions, and give the Infected time to develop..."

She spoke no more.

Her fingers gradually grew cold, her blood stopped flowing. She didn't even have time to call out 'Alina'.

Perhaps she didn't need to.

Because Surtr recognized the silver ring on her finger—it was originally an ornament from Elafia's antlers. And as Talulah touched Surtr's fingertip, she might have also been caressing this ring.

She fell into slumber.

Surtr bent down, placing the hand wearing the ring on Talulah's chest—and then she turned her head, looking into the distance, towards the burning city.

Flames spread outward from her body—not sulfurous fire, but a fire that directly acted upon the fabric of space-time itself, different from conventional physical phenomena. This was a skill she learned from Persephone; the manifestation and effects differed, but the principle was largely the same.

Everything within several meters of her became blurred, as if clocks were shattering, as if corpses were singing, shadows like dragons and like humans were forcibly dragged out from an unknowable abyss. Then they were unresistingly stuffed back into the molten shells that were visibly regenerating.

The dead came back to life. As the eyelids twitched, she removed the Originium from the Dragon Girl's stomach.

However, she did not wait for the Dragon Girl to awaken. Instead, just as the Dragon Girl was about to wake, she pressed her fingertip to the side of her neck, plunging her into a deeper sleep.

Because she heard countless cries and wails. She heard the curses of rioters and the laments of refugees. She heard pain, she heard death and distortion. And then everything turned to silence.

Colorless flames spread outward, but stopped at a distance of ten meters—she was, after all, only recognized as a god, not a god in the truest sense. She was ultimately insufficient to directly distort the space-time of a city.

"A farce." She said softly, to herself.

"A farce." She repeated.

"But I am still Surtr." Then, she took out a communicator from her pocket, the one she had obtained before parting with Persephone. She dialed it, and the moment it connected, the other side hung up.

So she sat down beside Talulah, hugged her knees, and sighed softly.

Laevateinn hovered beside her as always, silently comforting and warming her.

"...Why make things difficult for a handyman like me?" she asked, not knowing who she was asking.

Meanwhile, on another side of Chernobog. Witnessing the slowly healing rift in the sky, feeling the silence and the bloodiness emanating from her surroundings. The un-ordained Doctor named Persephone lightly clenched her fist, crushing the corresponding communicator in her hand into dust.

There were some deviations from the plan, but the variables were not significant.

The power displayed by that foolish woman exceeded expectations, but she still hit a wall.

This was a good thing, and it meant fewer conflicts between them in the future—although even if she hadn't given her the communicator, she probably would have unleashed a full-power strike on this moving city or used some other method when she wanted to backtrack. After all, she knew her weakness, knew she couldn't change save points at will, let alone escape in these few minutes. But a deal was a deal; if one party paid, the other gained.

A gust of wind came from in front of her... Oh, I almost forgot. There's still one living person here. After all, it was an agreement; she said she wouldn't kill her, so she had to spare her life.

So the un-ordained Doctor shifted her ankle, allowing the red and white figure to flash past her previous position. And accompanied by violent explosions and missed slashes, she also received a large amount of curses.

Curses from W.

"You &*&￥＃! I'll sooner or later ##@!＆ right now @￥% (your %!＆＃ guts %--"

A keyword that was still somewhat audible.

Persephone dissipated like a shadow, and when she suddenly appeared beside W, the latter was caught off guard. She reached out her hand, her fingertips sharp and pointed—she could have easily torn open W's abdomen and removed her intestines. However, she didn't actually make a move, merely lightly pressed W's side with no lasting consequences.

W's ruddy face instantly turned pale, and she collapsed to the ground with a muffled groan.

Beside the two of them, Sarkaz corpses were piled high like a mountain. None of them were intact from their death, and each 'lump' was no bigger than a cafeteria plate. The neck down of what seemed to be the leader, a mercenary leader named Garson, had all its flesh torn from the bones as if scrubbed clean. Only a heart and half a lung remained, hanging by a few tendons from the tips of the ribs.

He was still alive, his heart still beating. Even with his eyes gouged out, his tongue ripped out, his ears and nose cut off, and his facial skin peeled away, he still maintained a faint breath. Compared to him, W, who had merely temporarily lost some mobility, could almost be considered in heaven.

"You... you lied to everyone! Hiss—You kind of person! How could an assassin kill her right under your nose!"

If looks could kill, Persephone would have been swallowed alive. However, for this true embodiment of a vengeful spirit, mere glares were of no use whatsoever.

"Her? You mean..." The purple-haired woman raised a finger and tapped her chin. She seemed to recall something, putting on a look of sudden realization.

"Oh, you mean that woman named Theresia. I remember she had an old injury on the second rib below her heart; she'd cry out in pain when it was broken," she said, looking at her unstained hand with interest. "She had a rather pleasant voice."