The pitch-black cross and grayish-white fog danced together inside the church. Explosions rang out all around, one after another, like stars twinkling in the dark depths of space.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl at that instant. Amid the violent explosions, the Sun Holy Emblem atop the church let out a deafening clang. Faint, brilliant sunlight flickered over it, but under the force of the blasts and the erosion of the gray fog and cross, it still fell from its perch.
The Sun Holy Emblem representing the Eternal Blazing Sun had fallen.
The light of the explosions mingled with the sunlight, their flickering radiance like dazzling spotlights on a stage. Standing beneath the Sun Holy Emblem as it slowly fell through the blasts, Nimrod was the stage's sole protagonist.
For a moment, fear and bewilderment filled the eyes of the Shepherd, Pierre Berry.
Every wisp of gray fog was like a hand scrambling his senses, leaving him unable to tell one direction from another and throwing his surroundings into chaos. Meanwhile, the pitch-black inverted cross flickering behind this monster stirred up every sin and every agony in his heart, dragging his soul ever deeper into a mire of guilt.
He had believed that, since placing his faith in that great existence, he had witnessed countless bloody, bizarre sights. Yet the scene before him now lay beyond his understanding. He felt on the verge of madness, as though he had encountered the most uncanny evil god in the world.
-in fact, Pierre Berry's guess was correct. In terms of symbolism alone, the powers Nimrod was borrowing were a Rose Bishop's Flesh Magic and the gray fog of Sefirah Castle, whose sources were God Almighty's "depravity" and the Celestial Worthy's "mysteries," respectively.
Before "depravity" and "mysteries," even "inevitability," the symbolism and authority belonging to the Circle of Inevitability, sounded almost neutral.
The next moment, amid time that seemed agonizingly slow to everyone's senses, the Sun Holy Emblem that had hung high above the Eternal Blazing Sun's church crashed heavily to the floor. With a dull boom, it shattered, scattering sparks of sunlight.
"-your sun has set." Smiling, Nimrod raised the scythe in his hand high.
With a single swish, Pierre Berry's head flew into the air, fear and incomprehension still lurking in his eyes, then tumbled to the ground.
Blood sprayed sideways, staining the face of Lumian, who had already run up beside Pierre Berry, crimson. Lumian's gaze lingered on the shattered sunlight on the floor. His expression was dazed, his thoughts unreadable.
Even in death, Pierre Berry's eyes never closed. He had never understood why a humanoid monster shrouded entirely in fog had crawled out of that harmless, foolish goose girl's belly.
Nimrod looked at Ava beside him, a gaping, bloody hole torn through her chest and abdomen. He extended his scythe and gently drew it across the wound-as a vascular crimson flashed over the blade, the edges of her wound writhed toward each other like living clay, rapidly knitting together.
After only a dozen or so seconds, aside from the pallor caused by excessive blood loss, there were no other wounds visible on her body. She was even still alive.
In the distance, Guillaume Bénet, the Father of the Parish, showed no panic at Pierre's death. He merely opened his eyes calmly and looked at Lumian and Nimrod with those nearly transparent eyes.
He wielded the power of "inevitability." As long as he could shift the rivers of their fates and make their destinies reach that place...
Ponce Bénet, a subordinate of the Father of the Parish, had appeared beside him at some point. Like Guillaume, he stared at Lumian with eyes brimming with malice.
After meeting his gaze, Lumian gave a vicious grin, snatched up the machete from the ground, and sprinted toward him.
Blood mingled with his savage expression, making Lumian look like a fiend straight from hell.
Yet at the sight of the Father of the Parish's gaze, a calm, mocking smile appeared on Nimrod's face. The Celestial Worthy in his ears also let out a delighted laugh, as though witnessing some farce beyond His expectations.
[In this respect, he has already surpassed the Circle of Inevitability,] the Celestial Worthy said merrily.
It was the first time either Nimrod or He had seen someone reckless enough to try shifting the river of fate of the Beacon of Destiny.
Nimrod softly uttered an explosive syllable:
"Bang!"
As that sound left Nimrod's mouth, dense grayness surged from the Father of the Parish's eyes like mottled patches of color. His head instantly swelled to two or three times its size, forcing apart his skull and stretching his skin until his entire head became a translucent blue-black.
Lumian was just about to turn and kill the Father of the Parish, whom Nimrod had restrained, when a sudden agony erupted in his mind, as though countless worms were gnawing at it.
But he did not stop. His eyes bloodshot, he hurled a punch with all his strength at the dying Father of the Parish!
Guillaume Bénet, the mastermind behind everything, had to die!
-meanwhile, seeing that Lumian was also suffering the repercussions of the damage inflicted on the figure within his dream, Nimrod slowly withdrew the gray fog he had poured into the Father of the Parish's brain, allowing his head to shrink rapidly.
But the stretched skin of the Father of the Parish's head sagged slowly from above, wrinkled like an old man's, making him look particularly horrifying.
That horror lasted only an instant. The next moment, Lumian's fist struck Guillaume Bénet's head. The strength of a Hunter erupted in full, pouring into Guillaume Bénet's skull and smashing the already fragile bone and flesh with a single punch!
After doing all this, Lumian panted heavily and burst into laughter:
"Godfather, I did it! That son of a bitch Guillaume..."
Yet Lumian saw Nimrod staring behind him with an utterly calm gaze. His voice gradually faded, and slowly, following Nimrod's gaze, he turned around.
He looked back and saw his sister, Aurore.
Aurore, with blood-red eyes.
At the sight, jumbled fragments of memory seemed about to burst out of Lumian's mind, making his head ache as though it would split apart.
For a moment, Lumian felt that both the scene before him and his experiences over the past few days had become unreal, as though a pane of blurry glass had been placed before his eyes.
He seemed to have... seen this somewhere before.
He. Had. Seen. This. Somewhere. Before!
Lumian's face contorted, as though he were enduring some unspeakable agony.
But just then, Nimrod's voice reached Lumian's ears, anchoring his heart:
"Don't worry. There's still a chance to turn this around."
Lumian raised his head and looked at Nimrod in disbelief, one final spark of hope igniting in his heart. "Godfather, Godfather... please save Aurore...!"
Like a drowning man, when a lifeline appeared before him, he would seize it with every ounce of strength he had, no matter how fragile it was.
Before Lumian could finish speaking, he saw Nimrod reach out and press his hand against Aurore's head, then heard him utter several strange phrases.
All at once, it felt as though something had struck his head hard, and everything before him went black.
Lumian abruptly opened his eyes and looked around, anxious and bewildered.
But when he made out his surroundings, only uncertainty suddenly remained in his heart. He opened his mouth, not knowing what to do.
He... was actually sitting in his own room. He saw cold light from the sky fall through the window onto his face, and Nimrod sitting in his room, dressed in specially made clothing.
Lumian hurriedly stood and shouted urgently at Nimrod, "Godfather, my sister..."
"Go see for yourself. Aurore is still alive."
Nimrod spoke calmly to Lumian, watching him race downstairs:
"...but be prepared."
Be prepared? For what? Lumian heard Nimrod's words, but for the moment, he did not think deeply about what they meant. His mind was entirely occupied by Aurore.
As he hurried downstairs, he called loudly to Aurore in front of him:
"Aurore! Sis! What happened to you just now?!! Did Mr. Nimrod save us..."
Nimrod heard Lumian's urgent voice, followed by a puzzled female voice:
"Nimrod?"
"...who is Nimrod?"
Lumian's gaze froze on his sister as she questioned him in confusion. Wind blew through the open window beside them, but its warmth struck Lumian as though it would strip away his flesh and blood.
The wind flipped the pages of the calendar hanging on the wall, making them rustle.
Two enormous digits, "29," stabbed into Lumian's eyes.
Today was March 29, 1358.
The day before anything had begun.
Before you continue