"PRIDE BREAKER!"
Natsuki Subaru's scream erupted from his throat like a serrated blade carving through his very being. It wasn't just a shout—it was a raw, soul-wrenching cry that shattered the silence and tore the veil between emotion and reality. Fury ignited every syllable. Grief weighed it down. And devastation... devastation gave it teeth.
The moment the words tore free, the world answered.
Like a thunderclap splitting the heavens, the Authority surged forth. The air howled as a deafening roar rolled across the battlefield, shaking the very bones of existence. For one suspended instant, the universe paused, breathless. The hall of endless mirrors, summoned by Lucas's Authority of Pride, trembled—then fractured. One by one, hundreds of reflections splintered, cascading to the floor like rainfall made of glass. Each shattering pane screamed in anguish, a chorus of dying egos. Overhead, grey clouds writhed in an angry dance, lightning pulsing silently behind the gloom. The ground groaned, then buckled beneath the weight of what had been unleashed. Mana, thick and suffocating, surged through the air in roaring torrents. This wasn't just destruction—it was reclamation.
And at its center stood Subaru.
Each mirror shard that hit the ground mirrored not his brokenness—but the forging of something new. Every crack, every echoing burst, was a part of him shattering the chains Pride had tried to bind him with.
Lucas stood paralyzed, eyes wide in utter disbelief. For the first time, arrogance fled his features. What remained was naked panic.
"HOW DARE Y—"
But the words choked in his throat, never escaping. The space around them ruptured.
The realm of mirrors collapsed like a dying star.
Crystalline debris exploded outward in a storm of glittering ash. The throne of Pride, once towering and invincible, dissolved beneath Lucas's feet. Its authority crumbled, unmoored from its anchor.
Then—blinding light. A searing white pulse engulfed everything.
The illusion shattered.
Both combatants were thrown across time and space, hurled back into the grand chauffeur's hall—the site of their first confrontation. The ornate marble walls were still there, but the air had changed. No longer was it a place of defiance. It was a tomb.
Subaru crashed onto his knees. His chest rose and fell in jagged waves, each breath a dagger lodged between his ribs. Blood streamed from his nostrils, warm against the cold floor, but he paid it no mind. Before him, Lucas still stood—but barely. The man was now a husk, a crumbling ruin wrapped in flesh.
Lucas gasped. A pitiful, ragged wheeze. His lungs fought, but the air refused him. The body that once held dominion had become his prison. His fingers clawed weakly at his throat, blood slick and trembling. Behind his eyes raged the storm of a collapsing god: shock, disbelief, and wrath battling for supremacy.
Subaru rose slowly, each motion defying pain. He raised his left hand.
It was no longer empty. Duskveil had returned.
The blade shimmered like liquid night, reformed in the forge of his rage. Its edge pulsed with crimson heat, almost breathing. From its tip, a drop of molten essence fell and hissed as it met the floor—like the earth itself recoiled from it.
Subaru's eyes were like twin voids, still and merciless.
No pity. No triumph. Only reckoning.
He stepped forward, one dragging foot at a time.
Lucas stumbled, trying to speak, to plead—but too late.
His knees buckled. His neck twisted unnaturally as Duskveil cleaved through him. His head fell, a crownless weight tumbling from ruined shoulders. His body followed—slowly, gracelessly. With a final thud, the last breath of Pride vanished into silence.
But Subaru wasn't finished.
His face betrayed nothing. His movements were mechanical, ghostlike. He leveled the dagger at the corpse, his voice a whisper spoken by a grave.
[Overburst – Searing Detonation.]
A heartbeat. Then fire.
Flames erupted with white brilliance, devouring what remained. Flesh, bone, clothing—none were spared. The very soul seemed to burn. The air screamed as it rippled under the heat, but then—stillness.
Not a single sound remained. No scent. No ashes. No trace.
Subaru collapsed forward, one knee giving way. His body trembled. Not just from pain. Not just from cold. But from the pure, consuming weight of exhaustion.
Blood oozed from his wounds in sluggish trails. His left arm dangled lifelessly, connected by tendon and willpower alone. His ribs were broken—some bent inward like jagged teeth. He couldn't tell how many. He didn't care.
Because the true ache wasn't in his flesh.
It was in his soul.
He had torn through a world of illusions, crushed a god's will, and burned it to nothing. But in doing so, something within him had burned away too.
What remained was tired. So very tired.
He wanted nothing more than to lay down. To find stillness. To surrender to the dark and disappear into the folds of sleep.
So he closed his eyes. And when they opened again... He stood somewhere else.
A world swallowed by mist. A liminal space where light was dull, and time had forgotten its rhythm. The air was still, yet trembling—like it held its breath. Shades of grey dominated everything. In the distance, thunder rumbled low and angry, like the growl of a sleeping giant.
This place was neither dream nor nightmare. It was the space between.
And Subaru had entered it alone.
Standing before him, draped in his usual black and wrapped in a tattered old cloak that fell to his shoulders, was Flugel. The edges of the cloak fluttered gently despite the still air, as if responding to an unseen force. His expression was calm, yet intense—his gaze piercing through Subaru like moonlight through a windowpane, quiet but unrelenting.
Subaru sat down with a heavy thud, his legs giving out beneath him as exhaustion caught up all at once. His hands came to rest limply on his knees, and his voice came out weakly. "Flugel... it's been a while, my friend. How many days has it been?"
Without speaking, Flugel stepped forward, each movement purposeful, echoing with the weight of experience. He crouched before Subaru, his dark eyes unreadable. "Two days. Your body remained still here. But your soul... it was imprisoned in the dominion of Pride. A space not built to contain, but to erode."
Subaru lowered his head as a quiet, bitter laugh escaped his lips. His fingers clenched into tight fists, nails digging into his palms. "You live inside me. You're part of me. My soul. Why didn't you help me? Why didn't you say something? Anything?"
A flicker of emotion passed across Flugel's face—so brief, it might have been imagined. Yet the weight of sorrow in his voice made it unmistakably real. "I did help, you fool. I screamed through every crevice of your fractured mind. But you couldn't hear me. Lucas cloaked your thoughts in a veil of silence. A wall thick enough to block even the deepest signals. I tried again and again. Even system messages... were swallowed into the void."
Subaru looked up slowly, his movements sluggish, as if dragging the weight of everything he'd seen. There was no anger in his eyes, only a vast, aching emptiness. "So you watched everything? You saw what happened... and said nothing?"
"I've seen it before," Flugel said, his voice neither defensive nor apologetic, but worn with age and burden. "More times than I can count. This wasn't the first time I've seen you brought to your knees by something too cruel to name. Of course it hurt. Every moment tore through me. But I couldn't let it consume me. I had to stay anchored—for you. You needed someone who wouldn't fall."
Subaru hugged his knees tightly to his chest, trembling like a leaf clinging to a branch in winter wind. His voice was a whisper, but every syllable carried pain. "It was worse than Echidna's trials. So much worse. Those mirrors... they didn't just show the past. They reached inside and clawed at who I was. They wanted to erase me—rewrite me."
(A/N: Like this)
Flugel rose slowly and took a step forward, his presence almost shielding Subaru from the dark. "You survived Echidna's trials, Natsuki Subaru. And now you've clawed your way out of Lucas's psychological hell. Someone who can do that doesn't lose their way. You were never lost. Even as the world tried to bury you, your light—your virtue—still shone."
Tears welled up in Subaru's eyes, distorting his vision into a blur of light and shadow. He tried to stand, muscles twitching in resistance, but his legs betrayed him. His knees buckled with a soundless groan.
Before he could hit the ground, Flugel lunged forward and caught him. His arms encircled Subaru in a firm, grounding embrace. And strangely, they radiated warmth—real warmth—not just from memory or shared essence, but something undeniably human.
And in that moment, Subaru broke.
He began to cry. Not loud or dramatic—but deeply, viscerally. Silent, muffled sobs shook his entire frame. His chest heaved, and his tears fell like droplets of light into the void. They glimmered, suspended briefly in air, before vanishing into the night.
Flugel said nothing. He held him, solid and unwavering. Because sometimes, there are no words that can offer comfort. Sometimes, presence is all that matters.
Time passed—minutes, hours, maybe longer. When Subaru finally stirred again, his eyes opened with difficulty. His eyelids were heavy, as if each blink demanded strength he no longer possessed. Every breath he took burned slightly, reminding him that he was still alive. The night had fully returned, wrapping the world in a quiet, endless indigo. Overhead, the stars twinkled with muted defiance. They were constant, even in the face of nightmares.
He lay still for a while. Eyes open, yet detached, unfocused. But slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His joints groaned in protest. His skin felt too tight for his bones. Every motion was an act of resistance against defeat.
Before him lay two objects that pulled his attention like magnets: the first was Excalibur—the fabled blade said to sever fate itself—its surface still faintly glowing from its clash with Lucas; the second, a sealed box carved with moving arcane runes, their shapes shifting as if reacting to breath and thought alike.
Ding!!
[Quest Progress Updated!]
[1 Sin Archbishop: Defeated.]
[1 Cursed Weapon Obtained: "Excalibur"]
The notification burst into view like a bell toll in silence, and Subaru flinched. Its sharp tone shattered the delicate quiet. As the message faded, a shadow emerged from the darkness ahead. It slithered forward until it took on shape, then form, and finally, face.
A familiar one.
Flugel once more. Though unchanged in form, this presence was somehow... more. There was elegance in the way he moved, yes—but also an uncanny gravity. He was like a storm compressed into a man's silhouette.
He looked at Subaru—then at the sealed box—and his voice came low and steady.
"So... he's truly gone," he said, not with satisfaction, but something colder—like closure earned at too great a cost. "And the Authority of Pride is finally... in our possession. Let's hope it doesn't consume us before we understand it."
Subaru noticed his fingers trembling slightly as he picked up the box. What lay inside was something he had only read about in ancient stories and myths—tales whispered between desperate survivors and delirious travelers. And now, impossibly, it was in his hands. His voice cracked, tired from countless resurrections, yet filled with a dread-soaked curiosity.
"So... what am I supposed to do?"
Flugel didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the box, not with caution but with grim acknowledgment. The air grew still as his expression hardened with solemn resolve, his features momentarily cast in shadow by the flickering moonlight above.
"Take the Authority. There's no room for hesitation," he finally said. His voice cut like a blade, absolute and merciless. "If you falter, even for a moment... you'll cease to exist."
Subaru felt his breath hitch. The weight of those words settled into his chest like a stone. His heartbeat quickened, not just from fear but from the looming awareness of what he was about to accept. Swallowing hard, he raised the lid of the box with trembling fingers.
The moment it opened, a crimson light surged outward, alive and pulsing, as if aware. It reached for him, coiling around his arms, his chest, and finally, his heart. In that instant, time shattered. Sound dissipated. The colors of the world dulled. Even Subaru's thoughts slowed until there was only stillness.
And then, violently, reality returned. The silence cracked like glass, and Subaru gasped. The ground was firm beneath him again. The air filled his lungs. But inside, there was nothing different. No pain, no tingling, no grand revelation. He stared at his hands, uncertain.
"What just happened?" he murmured. His voice carried a faint tremble, a mixture of doubt, unease, and a quiet disappointment.
Flugel, unphased, shrugged. "It will activate in time. The Authority of Pride is dormant now, slumbering. For the moment, you're its bearer, not its master."
Subaru slowly sat on the cold ground. His eyes drifted toward the gleaming sword resting nearby. Excalibur. Its radiant glow caught the moonlight, refracting it in a way that made it feel like it was staring back into him. The weight of it—even from a distance—pressed on his soul.
He took another breath, this one slower, heavier. "And the 'Pride Breaker'... what exactly is that? I mean, it's how I beat Lucas, right? But I don't understand it."
Flugel turned his back. He walked a few steps away, silent as the night. His form, although solid, felt like it belonged to the darkness rather than the world. When he finally spoke, his voice didn't just reach Subaru—it reverberated like a decree across unseen dimensions.
"The Authority I gave you is called 'Resonance by Death.' It synchronizes with your Return by Death. Every time you die and come back, it pulses, collecting fragments of potential, gathering echoes. But it's ineffective against the Archbishops. They are entities no longer tied to the cycle of life and death. They exist beyond structure—beyond fate."
Subaru froze. His breath caught. He had died so many times—dozens, maybe hundreds. Every death etched a scar in his soul. Yet he had endured, always hoping, always trying to make things right. And now... that hope was being questioned.
Flugel's voice turned sharper. "Your hope has become a cage. You move forward, but the chain around your ankle gets tighter. That's why we didn't just grant you power. We gave you direction. A fate."
He turned slightly, and his eyes glinted. "The Pride Breaker is the only force capable of silencing all other Authorities. It doesn't merely negate—it devours. Magic, divine blessings, witch Authorities... even the will of the world. It is the absolute antithesis of control."
Subaru stared blankly, eyes wide. His lips moved, but no words came. Everything Flugel said crashed down on him like a tidal wave.
"Wha... that's ridiculously OP," he finally managed, forcing a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "I mean, sure, I'll use it well. I'll be careful."
Flugel nodded once, slowly. His face was unreadable. "I know you will. And that's exactly why it will tempt you. Mold you. Eventually, you won't know where you end and it begins. If you're not vigilant... it will devour who you are."
Subaru looked away. A long silence passed before he exhaled. A shadow of fear loomed inside him—but alongside it, something else. A steel-hard resolve that had only ever surfaced in his most desperate moments.
Then, Flugel's tone shifted. "There's no more time. We need to move. Time has never been on our side. And before we go... take the sword."
Subaru reached out and grasped Excalibur. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, a pulse of pressure radiated through his arm. It felt like holding an ancient mountain—immovable, timeless, and utterly powerful. His knees buckled slightly.
"I can't wield this... not yet. It's resisting me."
Flugel nodded. "You're not wrong. To unlock its potential, you'll need a contract. A pact with a Yang Spirit. That too will come in time. For now, place it in your inventory."
Obediently, Subaru did so. The blade vanished into the ether, but its weight lingered in his mind. A silence fell over them again. Yet one thought continued to echo in his head.
"Flugel... Lucas destroyed Duskveil. I saw it with my own eyes. But the weapon still exists. Why? How is that possible?"
As Flugel began to fade, his form blending into the shadows of the night, his voice reached Subaru one last time:
"Because Duskveil is cursed. It binds itself not to flesh, but to the soul. It endures through the echoes of its wielder.
As long as you live—even by borrowed time—so too will Duskveil linger. Now enough talk. The path ahead is long. And destiny waits for no one."
Above them, the stars remained in their silent vigil, cold and distant. But within Subaru, the chaos had begun to settle. Not into peace—but into something sturdier. A firm, rooted will.
He was no longer just preparing. He was becoming.
And the world would tremble when he arrived.
[Yang Travel – Active]
Subaru cloaked himself in Yang once again, the inner energy flowing through him like a river of fire. The warmth surged through his limbs, reigniting his weary muscles and setting every fiber of his being ablaze with renewed determination. With a soft exhale, the glowing aura around his body pulsed—alive, defiant. He resumed his journey, driven not just by duty, but by a longing that burned deeper than any battle wound. He missed his family. He missed Hikari's teasing smirk, that glint in her eye that always pulled him from despair. He missed Beatrice—her stubbornness, her sharp tongue, and the quiet, rare moments of gentleness she shared only with those she trusted. He longed to lie beside them, to hear their breathing, their presence grounding him in a world that never ceased to test him. To capture even a second of fragile, fleeting peace—that was the dream he kept chasing.
But peace was a currency he could never afford. Not in this life.
—Several Hours Later—
The sun was beginning to rise.
The horizon cracked open with light, bleeding streaks of gold and orange into a sky that had only moments ago been navy blue. Hues of soft lavender and rosy pink brushed against the clouds like the touch of a painter's trembling hand. The warmth of dawn painted the world with promise—but that promise did not extend to the ground Subaru walked upon.
Below, the world was drowning in fog.
It rolled in heavy waves across the forest floor, clinging to his boots, coiling around his ankles like cold, dead vines, muffling every footfall into silence. The temperature dropped, as though the fog itself drank the heat from the air. It was cold in a way that clawed at his bones, not just his skin. The sensation was wrong—unnatural. Hostile. Sentient.
He didn't need to squint to know where he was. His chest already ached with the weight of memory.
The Mist Forest.
The place of the infamous battle. The battlefield where the White Whale had once reigned—a gluttonous god of death that consumed men and hope alike. Subaru's every step crunched over brittle leaves and old bones—some metaphorical, others perhaps not. Cursed echoes of a past he had barely escaped. This forest remembered him. It felt like it was watching.
This was no shortcut.
It was a scar on the world. A graveyard of the forgotten and the damned.
Still, Subaru had chosen this route toward Roswaal Manor. Time was of the essence, and danger was a language his body had long since become fluent in. He moved swiftly, but every breath grew shallower, every step heavier.
Fog thickened. Each inhale stung his lungs. His vision blurred at the edges. And then—movement.
Shadows stirred in the corners of his sight. They twisted and slithered, never solid enough to confront, never vague enough to ignore. Whispers curled in his ears. Not words—not exactly. More like memories trying to speak.
Then he saw it. A silhouette. Towering. Still.
The Flugel Tree.
It materialized from the mist like a forgotten deity. Older than memory. Its roots spread across the earth like the arms of a titan sunk in slumber, its bark carved with time's cruel artistry. But none of this rooted Subaru in place like the figures beneath it.
Soldiers. Lined up in perfect formation. Armored, silent, waiting. Crusch Karsten's forces.
He blinked. Once. Twice. They were real.
Their eyes, hard as forged steel. Their breaths measured. Their mana stabilized. This wasn't a scouting party. This was an army.
"How the hell did they mobilize this fast?" Subaru whispered. The mist swallowed his voice.
This kind of preparation took time—plans, logistics, orders. He'd expected maybe scouts. Not a full deployment.
He took a cautious step forward, keeping low.
Then the world shattered. A scream. Not human. Not beast. Something in between.
It tore through the fog like lightning through clouds—violent, sharp, and undeniable.
His heart stilled. That sound. That horrible, gut-wrenching cry.
He knew it. "No... It can't be."
He turned, dread blooming like fire in his chest.
And saw it. Rising from the mist like a nightmare reborn, the White Whale emerged—its form massive, its hunger undiminished.
Subaru's eyes went wide, disbelief mixing with cold terror.
"OH, COME ON!!" he shouted, his voice rising higher than even he intended.
There was no hesitation. No room for thought. His body moved on instinct.
He ran.
The mist flew past him in blurs of gray and white. His feet pounded against the ground, each step a prayer. Trees loomed. Roots snatched at his heels. But the roar behind him was all he could hear—that monstrous cry, chasing him down like a memory refusing to die.
Then—a glimmer.
Through the haze, a figure.
Crusch.
Steady. Centered. A warrior sculpted by conviction. Her green hair caught the dawnlight, flowing behind her like a banner.
Subaru's lungs burned as he screamed, "CRUSCH KARSTEN! HIT IT WITH EVERYTHING YOU'VE GOT!"
His voice tore across the battlefield like thunder, ripping the silence apart.
All heads turned. The soldiers saw him. Then saw what followed. The White Whale. Massive. Horrific. Alive.
Crusch's eyes narrowed. Her hand tightened around her sword. Mana surged through her body, the air vibrating with its pressure.
"All units! Prepare to strike!" Her command was cold and absolute.
She lifted her blade. The wind answered. The mist itself recoiled. And with a motion like liquid grace, she let loose her power.
A blade of wind screamed forward, tearing a line through the fog.
Straight. At. Subaru.
"ARE YOU AIMING FOR ME OR THE BLOODY WHALE?!" he shrieked, throwing himself sideways, a heartbeat from disaster.
The wind blade didn't hesitate.
It struck.
A great wound opened across the White Whale's flank, black ichor spilling into the mist. The creature wailed—a sound so deep it shook the skies.
Crusch exhaled, allowing the faintest smirk.
"As if you'd die that easily," she murmured.
Subaru skidded to a stop beside her, collapsing to one knee. Sweat poured from him. His breath came in ragged bursts. But his eyes blazed.
"I still can't believe how good I am at attracting disaster," he gasped, a half-hysterical laugh escaping.
Crusch didn't smile, but her eyes softened.
"At least this time, your disaster brought warning."
He stood slowly, summoning Duskveil. The dark blade shimmered in the new morning light, pulsing with eerie vitality. He tapped its edge lightly against hers.
"Hey... Even broken clocks are right twice a day." And then they stood—together—before the rising storm.
Ready.
Crusch, without breaking eye contact with Subaru, spun on her heel and raised her voice to a thunderous command, one that cut through the noise and panic like a blade.
"ALL UNITS! OPEN FIRE ON THE WHITE WHALE!"
Her words acted like a signal flare. In an instant, the entire battlefield erupted into motion. The sky became a storm of steel and sorcery—arrows screamed through the air in volleys, spells crackled and burst like living stars, and explosive rounds lit up the horizon. Artillery squads on the ridge unleashed barrage after barrage, shaking the very earth with their fury. Each projectile, each magical incantation, had been crafted and prepared for this moment—to pierce through the thick, cursed hide of the White Whale and bring it down.
The great beast, high above them in the sky, had no escape. Its body was riddled with magical and physical onslaughts. Arrows embedded deep into its flesh, fireballs detonated upon impact, and streaks of lightning snaked across its massive frame. The air grew thick with the stench of burnt meat and sulfur. Though a handful of shots missed or deflected off the creature's tougher scales, most struck true.
The sheer intensity of the assault forced the whale to screech in pain, a guttural, monstrous sound that shook bones and hearts alike. It reeled backward through the sky, great wings thrashing in disoriented rage. Crimson mist spilled from its wounds, spreading like a shroud over the battlefield, obscuring vision and chilling the soldiers to their cores.
Subaru, eyes wide with dread, surged forward, his voice cracking under the weight of urgency. "STOP FIRING! STOP—EVERYONE, CEASE FIRE! IT'S ABOUT TO MULTIPLY!"
Crusch's head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing with disbelief. "Multiply? What are you talking about?!"
But there was no time for further explanation.
The White Whale arched back violently, releasing a soul-piercing shriek that split the sky. The sound was so intense that soldiers instinctively covered their ears, some even falling to their knees. Then, a blinding, ethereal light erupted from the creature's body, illuminating the battlefield in a ghostly, pale glow.
From the heart of that light, its shape began to distort—twisting, fracturing like a mirror under pressure.
And then— With a final ripple of otherworldly power, two new figures burst forth from the original.
Where there had once been one beast, there were now three.
Three White Whales, hovering side by side in the sky. They were perfect clones—each one identical in size, strength, and the maddening hunger in their eyes. Their wings stretched wide, stirring the air into violent gusts. Their roars, now in chorus, echoed across the battlefield with a terrifying harmony, as if the sky itself had opened to announce a grim verdict.
Panic began to ripple through the lines. Soldiers stumbled, some screamed, others simply froze in disbelief. It was no longer a battle—it was a nightmare. One White Whale had been nearly impossible. But three? The odds had shifted brutally.
And yet, in the midst of the dread, Subaru stood firm, eyes locked on the sky.
Because this... this was only the beginning of round two.