Author: I split the chapter into two; it was a bit too long even for me.
( Time skip Day 5... )
In the heart of the forest surrounding the Roswaal Manor, the shadows were thicker, saturated with the smell of wet earth and wild beast. Sitting nonchalantly on the back of a nameless abomination—a creature with a horse-like body, a deformed human torso, and a smooth pearlescent head devoid of eyes—Meili mechanically stroked her blue braids.
Her French noble clothes, impeccable and anachronistic, clashed with the acid saliva dripping from her mount's fangs. Elsa had ordered her to stay back, to wait for the "show" to begin. But for Meili, the wait was torture. Most of all, she was waiting for Him.

Meili (Whispering, a feverish glint in her eyes): "Onii-sama... I promise you'll be proud of me this time."
In her mind, this man was no ordinary human. He was the architect of "Controlled Chaos." She remembered Arc 3, the way he had manipulated the Cult like one moves pawns on a chessboard before throwing them into the fire. To her, it didn't matter that the official reports attributed the fall of the White Whale to the Knights' coalition. Meili knew. She felt that her Onii-sama was the brain behind every bloody miracle. If he had defeated that monster, it was because he was the smartest of them all.
A dark thought crossed her sociopathic child's mind. These "friends" he surrounded himself with... that useless half-elf, that Oni-san with scary but pathetic eyes... they were parasites. They were stealing her Onii-sama's time.
Meili (Clenching her fists, lips trembling): "If I kill everyone... if I destroy this manor and its memories... then Onii-sama will have no one left but us. Elsa and me. His true blood family."
She secretly hoped that her Onii-sama held the key to her own being. That he could free her from the obligation of imitating Elsa, from this perpetual quest for maternal approval from Capella. Trizz saw everything. He had to have a solution for her.
Yet, a prickle of terror chilled her excitement. She knew the calculation power of the Sin Archbishop of Pride. To attack his current "pawns" was to defy his authority. She feared, more than death itself, seeing those crimson eyes turn on her with the contempt he reserved for trash.
Meili (To her mount, voice trembling but resolute): "We will not fail. Even if we have to cheat. If he is ten moves ahead, we'll have to strike so fast he won't have time to move the next pawn..."
She stroked the beast's horn, her emerald eyes staring at the distant lights of the manor with terrifying devotion. The contract was signed. The massacre was about to begin. But in her broken little girl's heart, she sought only one thing a VIP seat in Trizz's symphony.
Suddenly, the earth began to shake. It wasn't the natural rumble of a seismic fault, but a dull, sickening vibration that traveled up her mount's legs to her own spine.
Meili frowned, pulling on her blue braids. She knew this trembling. She understood who could generate such atmospheric pressure, but she didn't grasp the cause. Why? Why now? And above all... why were her Mabeasts, usually so docile under her authority, going mad?
Beneath her, the horse-like abomination let out a shrill cry—not of terror, but of pure rage. The creature bucked, uncontrollable, seeking to attack something Meili could not yet see.
Meili (Screaming, pulling the reins): "Stop it! You stupid beast! You're going to ruin my surprise!"
She wanted to impress her Onii-sama. She wanted everything to be perfect. But nature had other plans.
Suddenly, without the slightest warning, her mount's head disappeared.
There was no gunshot, no visible blade. Just an explosion of dry, instantaneous heat. The acrid smell of charred flesh and burnt rubber filled the little girl's nostrils. The decapitated body collapsed heavily, sending Meili rolling into the forest's carpet of damp, dead leaves.
Stunned, she crawled, spitting out the dirt that filled her mouth. Around her, the forest stirred. The birds had gone silent. The air had become heavy, saturated with a murderous intent so dense it was almost liquid.
Elsa? Where was Elsa? Panicked, she scanned the shadows. No, her sister was near the Manor. She was alone.
Meili: "I have to survive... To die is to be weak. I am not weak!"
She tried to get up, her small hands clutching the humus. But before she could stand, a shadow fell over her. Not a shadow cast by a tree, but a physical mass, fast and silent like a bolt of black lightning.
The impact knocked the breath out of her. A hand, large and pitiless, closed around her throat, pinning her to the ground with the force of a hydraulic vise. Her head hit a root. Her vision blurred.
This wasn't a fight. It was an execution.
Survival instinct, sharpened by years of torture under Capella, took over. Her right hand dived into her sleeve. She felt the reassuring cold of steel. Elsa's gift. A curved, vicious dagger.
Strike. Kill. Live.
With a muffled cry, she brought the blade down on her attacker's arm. The metal sliced through the fabric, sank into the flesh, scraping the bone. Hot blood spurted onto Meili's face.
But the attacker didn't flinch. Not a groan. Not a shudder. As if pain were an obsolete piece of information he had chosen to ignore. On the contrary, the pressure on her windpipe increased.
Oxygen ran out. The world began to turn black and red. In her hypoxic brain, a loop of terror clicked into place, a haunting litany that rhythmically beat with her heart's final pulses.
If I die, I can't free him. If I die, he will see me as trash. If I die, I'm not special. If I die, I don't deserve to walk by his side. If I die, he will despise me. If I die, he won't choose me. If I die, he will forget me. If I die, he will look for another little sister. If I die if I die if I die if I die if I die if I die...
Her hand dropped the dagger. It was useless.
An orange glow began to dance at the periphery of her vision. The forest was catching fire. Nascent flames licked the trunks, casting a harsh light on the scene.
Meili looked up, her eyelids heavy, emerald pupils dilated by asphyxiation. The light from the blaze finally illuminated the face of the one who was killing her.
It wasn't a monster. It was worse.
Disheveled black hair. A face twisted by a rage that exceeded human understanding, a hatred so pure it seemed to consume the air around him. And those eyes... those crimson eyes, once calculating and cold, now burned with a demonic fire, without a single trace of recognition or mercy.
The Onii-sama she idolized wasn't there. Only Judgment remained.
Her mouth opened and closed, searching for air, searching for a word, an explanation, a pardon.
Meili (In an inaudible gurgle): "O... Onii-sama?"
The hand tightened with a sharp snap.
CRAAAAC.
(Time skip...)
The Roswaal Manor was no longer a home; it was a screaming furnace. The air was saturated with an unbearable smell that of burning varnished wood, charred flesh, and above all, the dense, oily stench of the Witch's Miasma.
Subaru, somewhere on the upper floors, was emitting an invisible aura so pestilential it had snapped Meili's mental control. In the corridors, the Mabeasts, released from their leashes, were slaughtering each other or throwing themselves into the flames, adding a bestial cacophony to the ambient chaos.
West Wing
In a corridor where the tapestries were going up in smoke, a heavy impact sound shook the foundations.
Leith, blue-haired with bloodshot eyes, had just pulverized a section of wall with a massive axe made of raw rock.
A feline silhouette dodged the attack with liquid suppleness. Frederica, her gauntlets transformed into giant beast claws and her fangs elongated, landed on a chandelier that wobbled dangerously.
Leith (Screaming in frustration, reforming his shattered axe via El Dona): "Stop hopping around, you damn cat! When are you going to tell me where that 'perfect' little guy is hiding? I have to crush him! I have to see what color the inside of his skull is!"
He projected a pillar of earth that crashed against the ceiling, narrowly missing the maid. Frederica lunged to the ground, her emerald eyes glowing with controlled ferocity.
Frederica (Wiping sweat and soot from her forehead): "And you, when are you finally going to die for good? Trizz-sama loathes rude guests who soil the carpet."
She propelled herself forward, her claws aiming for the colossus's throat, ready to defend the manor at the cost of her life.
East Wing
Further on, the air was so cold that the flames struggled to advance.
Ram, face pale but gaze arrogant, danced between lethal ice spears. Her wand channeled a cutting wind magic, invisible to the naked eye.
Facing her, Lyra, the strawberry-pink-haired assassin, manipulated ice with disconcerting ease. Her face displayed a sickly shyness that contrasted horribly with the brutality of her attacks.
Ram (Narrowly dodging a stalactite aimed at her heart): "For a simple snow doll, you manage... passably. But you remain mediocre to Ram. El Fura!"
A blade of compressed wind swept through the air, shattering Lyra's ice protections. The young girl backed away, invoking a thick wall to absorb the impact.
Lyra (Blushing, a shy smile hiding a calculating mind): "Th-thank you for the compliment... I hope our game doesn't end too quickly. I quite like your color, Nee-san."
Ram (A carnivorous smile stretching her lips): "Don't call me «Nee-san.» Ram promises to keep your frozen head as a trophy to decorate the latrines."
The Heart of the Blaze
In the center of the manor, where the structure threatened to collapse at any second, the combat had moved beyond the stage of violence to that of macabre art.
Lasers of golden light sliced through the darkness, cutting through load-bearing walls like paper.
Elsa Granhiert emerged from a cloud of dust. Her black cloak was gone, revealing her tattered dress and pale skin smeared with blood—both her own and that of her victims. The gaping wounds on her body closed before one's eyes, her vampiric regeneration running at full throttle.
She dodged another blade of light, rebounding off a flaming wall with inhuman grace. Her purple eyes shone with pure ecstasy. She wasn't fighting. She was making love to death.
Elsa (Short of breath, cheeks crimson with adrenaline): "Magnificent... No, incredible, Pride-sama! Look at us! The fire, the blood, the pain... Let us dance for eternity! Together, in life as in death!"
Across from her, Trizz emerged from the rubble. He was unrecognizable.
Blood flowed heavily from a wound on his forehead, blinding his left eye. His breathing was wheezing, a sign that his broken ribs were painfully knitting back together thanks to his Authority. But it was his gaze that was most terrifying. His crimson eyes reflected no fear, no strategy. Just a lucid, absolute hatred.
He held a light sword in his right hand, enveloping it in mana.
Trizz (Spitting a blood clot): "Eternity? You are mistaken. This manor will be your tomb, Bowel Hunter. You dared to attack my pawns. I am going to erase you from history."
Elsa (Pressing a bloody hand to her cheek, shivering): "No... Our tomb, for both of us. A bridal urn of ashes!"
Trizz (Screaming): "EL JIWALD!"
Four rays of concentrated heat erupted from the tip of his sword, converging on Elsa at the speed of light. Without a word, the assassin dove under the attack, her heels clicking on the burning parquet.
She lunged at Trizz, her kukris becoming silver blurs.
Trizz didn't have the technique of a swordsman, but he had the cheat.
"Maximum Pride Authority Buff. El Aka Body Reinforcement."
He parried the blows, not through talent, but through suicidal anticipation and raw speed. Elsa's blades did not seek to decapitate him. They aimed for tendons, non-vital muscles, cheeks.
Elsa (Still striking, laughing out loud): "Yes! More! Show me your insides, my love! Show me your color!"
Every strike from Elsa was a deadly caress, an invitation to share her madness. Every parry from Trizz was a summary execution attempt. In the midst of the flames, the Archbishop and the Assassin swirled, bound by a blood pact that only the death of one could break.
The manor groaned, its wooden vertebrae cracking under the assault of the flames. Trizz, his face masked by blood and soot, raised a trembling hand.
Trizz: "SHAMAK!"

A cloud of absolute darkness burst from his palm, devouring the light of the fires. It wasn't a simple smoke screen, but a sensory distortion designed to isolate Elsa. Trizz dived into the dining room, a chamber turned into a trap of toxic gases and flaming curtains.
He knew Elsa wouldn't back down. To her, this fog was merely a bridal veil. She entered the room like a black arrow, guided not by sight, but by that predatory instinct that bound her to her prey.
Elsa (Clinking her blades with demented excitement): "An invitation to dine in the middle of a fire?! What would be the menu of the day, Pride-sama? You?"
She leaped. Trizz attempted a lateral dodge, but the floor, slick with blood and debris, betrayed his footing. He collapsed, his skull striking the floorboards violently. The hemorrhage from his forehead worsened, flooding his vision with a pulsing red. The pain was an anvil crushing his thoughts, but in a final reflex of survival, he overturned a broken flowerpot to release fresh earth.
Elsa, like a giant locust, projected herself into the air, her kukris pointed toward Trizz's belly to finally harvest his entrails.
Trizz (An arrogant and suicidal smile on his lips): "EL DONA!"
Instead of a simple wall, Trizz used the earth to compress his "Little Booms." Before the stone could solidify, he released the explosive crystals inspired by Guts' arsenal. The explosion was apocalyptic. The shockwave tore through the manor's structure, ejecting Trizz through the flaming door.
He fell heavily into the corridor, his back lacerated and burnt. But before him, the spectacle was complete. The dining room no longer existed. In its place, a gaping hole opened onto the lower floors.
Eyeballs rolled across the blackened wood before falling into the abyss. The walls, once lined with silk, were now decorated with shreds of smoking flesh. Elsa's heart, ripped out by the blast, still beat feebly in a corner before being consumed by the flames. Liver, pancreas, dislocated limbs... The Bowel Hunter had finally found what she was looking for: she had become her own bloody feast. This time, death had the last word.
Beatrice was alive in her library, Subaru had evacuated Petra outside and... in the vicinity, Otto was there outside the manor; he was a real nuisance, but a useful one. Elsa dead, Meili dead, only Lyra and Leith remained to fulfill his vengeance.
EAST WING
The East Wing corridor had become a crystalline minefield. Ice spikes, sharp as scalpels, saturated the air, forcing Ram into a macabre dance. Lyra, the strawberry-pink-haired assassin, observed her with a mix of shyness and cold calculation. To Lyra, Ram was merely a specimen if she survived, she would join Capella's ranks; if not, she didn't deserve to exist.
Lyra: "EL FURA!"
A horizontal wind blade swept through the air at knee level. Ram, predicting the trajectory even before the spell was formulated, leaped. The edge only grazed her thigh, leaving a trail of blood on her maid's uniform, but Ram did not flinch. She knew her weak point her mana reserves. Without her horn, she had to strike once, but strike true.
Ram: "EL FURA!"
Ram's counter was surgical. She didn't aim for the body, but for Lyra's hair and cheek, forcing the latter to erect an energy-costly ice wall. It was a war of attrition. Every one of Lyra's spells was a perfect mathematical equation, but every one of Ram's parries was a provocation designed to drain the assassin's magical reservoir.
Out of breath, forehead pearled with sweat, Ram felt her mana nearing the critical threshold. A prickle of annoyance—and a rare humility—crossed her mind if that idiot Trizz were here, the fight would already be over. But he was dealing with the main monster.
Lyra (Cheeks red, in an almost affectionate tone): "G-give up... I promise to keep you alive. You will be a magnificent war trophy, just like your «pillar»."
Ram leaned against the wall, catching her breath after a series of exhausting zigzags.
Ram (With a smirk): "Ram would rather die than join your team of bumbling fools, snow doll. Your arrogance will be your downfall. «Frizz» is not the type to be defeated."
Lyra paused, her shy gaze suddenly consumed by curiosity. For a professional killer, Trizz's profile was an anomaly. No past, no desire for glory, but an efficiency that had brought down the White Whale in the shadows.
Lyra: "This «frizz»... who exactly is he? Why does he reject glory? Why does he waste so much energy protecting you? What is his secret?"
Ram: "So many questions... Do you wish to marry him? For all your efforts are in vain. He already has someone in his heart."
The effect was instantaneous. Lyra, destabilized by this blunt and personal response, stammered, her cheeks turning crimson. In this world of blood, the mention of a sincere feeling was a flaw in her ice armor.
This was the opening Ram was waiting for. Trizz had entrusted her with Nini, his Shadow Quasi-Spirit (Yin). With a snap of her fingers, a thick black fog erupted from the floor, plunging Lyra into total sensory blindness.
Ram (Concentrating her last stock of mana): "EL FURA!"
Concealed by Nini's cloud, Ram's wind blade was not a mere gust, but a devastating cleaver. Lyra did not have time to rebuild her barrier. The spell tore through her kidneys and sliced her abdomen open to the stomach.
Silence returned, disturbed only by the dull sound of the assassin's entrails spreading across the floor. Lyra collapsed, her shy smile frozen in a mask of blood. She joined Elsa in oblivion.
Ram (Wiping her forehead, victorious): "...one less competitor for Rem."
Acidic smoke scraped Ram's throat. Every breath was a burn, oxygen being devoured by the fire transforming the manor into a skeleton of embers. Her mental calculations were running at full throttle Rem and Petra were safe thanks to Subaru. Trizz, the "Genius of Chaos," was engaged in a macabre dance with Elsa. Ram knew that intervening there would be suicide; she had neither the raw strength nor the speed to exist in that duel of monsters.
Her priority was Frederica. She dashed toward the West Wing, praying not to cross paths with Elsa and Trizz. Being caught between the lasers of light from one and the kukris of the other would be like entering a meat grinder.
When she emerged into the great corridor, the sight was one of unprecedented violence. Frederica was struggling against Leith, a man capable of duplicating himself. The beast-maid was marked by deep lacerations on her shoulders and a worrying abdominal hemorrhage. Yet, she remained standing, shrouded in a terrifying aura.
What Ram did not know was that this buff was a direct extension of the Authority of Pride. Trizz did not merely boost his allies; he acted as a metaphysical lightning rod, absorbing 65% of the vital resources required, leaving himself with the burden so that Frederica could exceed her biological limits.
As Ram prepared to cast a support spell, a searing pain, cold and absolute, pierced her stomach. She was thrown to the ground, face-first against the burning floorboards. She looked down: an ice spike, blue and translucent, had run through her flank.
The sound of light footsteps echoed behind her. Lyra approached, her head tilted to the side, looking almost apologetic.
Lyra (In a soft, monotone voice): "I apologize, Nee-san... You should have remembered that I am part of Elsa's organization. That means I can regenerate, even if my flesh is slower to knit back together than Elsa's."
The assassin approached, ignoring Frederica who was screaming in rage while being pinned to the ground by Leith's clones.
Lyra: "Acting is my specialty. You should have checked if my heart was still beating instead of succumbing to your arrogance. Thank you for the lesson, Nee-san. I won't make that mistake again."
Ram (Face twisted with pure hatred, spitting blood): "You... filthy slut!"
Lyra stopped right in front of her. Her cheeks flushed with a sickly shyness, contrasting with the total void in her eyes. She raised her right palm, pointing it directly at Ram's forehead. Ice mana began to condense, creating absolute zero just centimeters from the maid's skin.
Lyra (Whispering, blushing): "Rest in peace, Nee-san. Your color was truly magnificent."
The suffocating heat of the fire was suddenly swept away by a glacial shockwave. Leith and Frederica froze mid-motion, their weapons suspended in the soot-saturated air, eyes fixed on the scene of horror that had unfolded in a fraction of a second.
Ram, pinned to the ground by the ice spike, felt a warm, thick rain fall upon her face. Before her, Lyra was nothing more than a symphony of desecrated flesh. The assassin hadn't even had time to scream. Her body, sliced vertically with surgical precision and inhuman raw force, split into two distinct halves.
A fetid steam rose from the still-smoking organs sliding across the burning parquet. The heart, ejected by the pressure of the blow, jumped erratically like a fish out of water, spraying Ram with scarlet jets. Intestins spilled onto the floor like viscous spaghetti, mixed with the excrement released by the sectioning of the bowels. The liver, sliced clean, released an organic mist revealing the internal cellular structure, while the pancreas and reproductive organs hung lamentably in the void.
Lyra's eyes, ejected from their sockets, rolled across the charred wood like bloodied glass marbles. Her severed tongue floated in a mixture of saliva and blood, exhaling a nauseating odor of immediate death. Her long strawberry-pink hair, once silky, was now just sparse tufts stuck to scattered fragments of cranial bone.
The man standing in the middle of this charnel house did not flinch. The blood covering his face was already beginning to dry under the heat of the flames, drawing a demonic mask upon him. In his right hand, his sword still vibrated from the impact, bits of gray brain matter and pink hair remaining stuck to the blade.
It was Trizz.
His gaze, filled with a cold hatred and devoid of the slightest shred of empathy, locked onto Leith like a predator staring at a common pest. He ignored Ram, he ignored Frederica, he ignored the carnage at his feet. For him, the world had been reduced to a list of names to cross off.
After locating Lyra through his tracking instinct, he had pulverized four floors above them with a devastating volley of El Jiwald. In mid-air, he had saturated his body and blade with El Aka, transforming his fall into a projectile of death. The impact had not been a simple sword strike, but a metaphysical execution, a critical hit delivered with such concentrated rage that it had atomized all physical resistance.
Trizz (In a voice from beyond the grave, spitting a string of blood): "And that's three..."
There was now only one name left on his blacklist present in this wing: Leith.
The silence that followed Lyra's death was heavier than the roar of the flames. Trizz, whose body was now a mere architecture of open wounds, abruptly canceled his buffs. The crimson aura surrounding Frederica vanished and transferred to Ram, stabilizing her hemorrhage. It was a clear message: Ram now belonged to his will, bound by blood and a life debt.
Trizz wiped away the blood burning his left eye, staring at Leith with terrifying serenity.
Trizz (In a hoarse, almost mechanical voice): "Hey, Frederica... how many times have you killed this freak of nature? I'm almost recovered."
Frederica, though terrified by the aura of death emanating from her superior, bowed slightly, claws still extended.
Frederica: "Four times, Trizz-sama. Every time he died, he did not reappear in the same place. He seemed to be looking for you, then tried to flee as soon as I regained the advantage."

Trizz (A cruel glint in his eyes): "Four times... and not in the same place? What a clever little guy. So, Leith, is this your last life, or must I carve you up a bit more to see the bottom of the bag?"
Leith backed away. The stone axe in his hands trembled. The man in front of him was not the "Hero" Capella had mocked. He was a monster who ignored his own agony, a specter who managed suffering like a currency of exchange.
Leith (Screaming in rage and fear): "You monster! What did you do to Elsa?! And Meili?! The 'benevolent hero'... you're just a filthy bastard!"
Trizz (Gaze empty): "Elsa? Dead, dismembered. Meili? Devoured by her own Mabeasts. Lyra? You're stepping on her liver. Jealousy and hatred only served to seal your own fate."
Trizz was deliberately lying about Meili. In this loop, he was no longer a leader, but an executioner. He wanted to break Leith's will before breaking his body. The assassin, realizing his companions had been annihilated with such brutality, felt his jealousy turn into a polar cold. He was facing something far worse than the monsters of his organization.
Trizz: "Let's waste no more time. EL JIWALD!"
Trizz activated a simple AKA. He didn't need his maximum speed for what he was about to do. He lunged, a comet of blood amidst the rubble. Leith, surprised by this direct charge, tried to parry with his rock axe. Metal and stone collided in an explosion of sparks.
But Trizz was only the anvil. The hammer was coming from behind. Frederica, freed from the burden of protecting Ram and carried by Trizz's Yang quasi-spirit, leaped with a power equaling 75% of her brother Garfiel's.
The corridor was now nothing but a heap of rubble and smoke. Frederica, transformed into a fury of fur and claws, smashed the wall behind Leith with a monumental paw strike. Dust rose, saturating the already unbreathable air, while Trizz launched a precise El Dona to fracture the assassin's stone axe.
Leith, cornered, attempted a desperate maneuver.
Leith: "EL DONA!"
Ten rock spikes erupted from the floor. Trizz, exhausted, tried to zigzag, but his reflexes betrayed him. A stone point pierced his shoulder. He grimaced but did not slow down. Frederica, meanwhile, pulverized the obstacles in her path, becoming the anvil upon which Trizz would break his victim.
Trizz ripped the spike from his shoulder with a muffled cry—a suicidal gesture that caused a flood of blood to spurt—and pointed his index finger at Leith.
Trizz: "JIWALD!"
Instead of the usual ray, an explosion of blinding Yang light saturated the room, burning Leith's retinas and forcing Frederica to close her eyes. Using his final 30% of mana, Trizz immediately followed up with a forbidden variant of shadow magic.
Trizz: "EL SHAMAK!"
A fog of ebony coiled around Leith. This was no ordinary Shamak; this "soul-breaking" version isolated the victim's consciousness from their nervous system. Leith froze, gaze empty, trapped in a sensory void.
Trizz (Screaming with all his strength, spitting blood): "Frederica! Now!"
The beast-maid threw herself onto the immobile assassin. Her claws closed around Leith's skull. The impact was so brutal that the head was ripped from the torso and projected against the wall like a shattered coconut. The gray brain matter slid slowly down the rubble, joining the ashes.
Frederica, dress in tatters and breath short, looked at Trizz. To her, this man was a terrifying enigma a hero with the methods of a butcher, a strategist capable of eradicating an elite squad of assassins at the cost of his own flesh.
Suddenly, an explosion rang out at the other end of the manor. Frederica went on guard, fearing a new enemy. Trizz, staggering, let a copper coin drop, which clinked on the floor.
Trizz (Voice dying, a macabre smile on his lips): "And that's four... Leith is definitively dead. Frederica... your family is safe."
Leith's last "life" had just materialized at the threshold of the exit door, where Trizz, with demonic foresight, had hidden a fire crystal. The explosion Frederica had just heard was the final point of the assassin's existence.
Frederica (Terrified by Trizz's condition): "Thank you... Trizz-sama. But you... your hemorrhage..."
Trizz (Trembling, swallowing the blood rising in his throat): "I'm fine, Frederica... Take care of Ram... I can manage alone."
Pride, stronger than pain, forced him into self-sufficiency. He refused to show vulnerability, even as his legs threatened to give way. He had defeated Capella's four monsters. Not by strength, but by a hatred sharper than any blade.
The manor was in its death throes, its foundations cracking like bones under the bite of the flames. Ram, her voice muffled by blood and soot, let out a sardonic breath.
Ram (Weak whisper): "You stupid frizz... If you die here..., how do you plan to keep your promise to Rem and me?..."
Frederica, royally ignoring her superior's orders, hoisted Trizz up like a sack of potatoes. She refused to let this "incorrigible strategist" perish out of pure pride, over wounds that would have felled any other man.
Trizz (Struggling feebly on Frederica's shoulder): "Frederica... I told you to leave me... I can walk."
Frederica (Grasping Ram like a bride, her gaze determined): "No, Trizz-sama! You will not die stupidly here out of pride! Everyone is waiting for you outside. Imagine little Petra's face if she learned that the hero of her village let himself be consumed by flames because he was too proud to accept help!"
The name Petra acted as a sedative. Trizz stopped struggling. She was right. His Pride was useless if it led him into nothingness before he had secured the future of those he "possessed." With a perforated shoulder closing with agonizing slowness and a cranial fracture blurring his vision, he wouldn't get far alone.
Arriving near an intersection spared by the bulk of the blaze, Trizz pressed against Frederica's back.
Trizz: "Let me down here... I have to go get Beatrice. That loli is far too stubborn to come out on her own."
Frederica hesitated. She had almost forgotten the little librarian. As Beatrice's apprentice—information she had gathered from Petra—Trizz was indeed the only one capable of forcing the door to the Forbidden Library.
Frederica (Sweat on her brow, voice trembling with worry): "Understood, Trizz-sama... But don't get yourself killed! Don't forget what you promised Petra!"
She dashed toward the exit with Ram, leaving Trizz behind. The fake Archbishop, staggering, used the walls to keep from collapsing. His burned hands searched for the "right" door. He opened a first door: the toilets. He opened a second: a broom closet. His will wavered, but his mind remained locked on his target.
Finally, he reached a door with a scalding iron handle. He gripped it without flinching, the smell of his own seared flesh failing to stop him. By the sheer force of his obsession, he turned the latch.
Echidna (Internal, in a honeyed and cruel tone): "The devoted little apprentice crawling through his own blood for his mistress... It's so touching, isn't it? Your manuscript is finally becoming interesting, frizz."
Trizz ignored the sadistic Witch screaming in his skull. She had remained in a sulky mood throughout Day 4 and the massacre, which was blatant proof to him that Echidna's knowledge was superficial compared to his own strategic brain. He opened yet another door, the burning metal wrenching a groan from him.
Echidna (Internal): "I am not useless, understood?! Just... demanding!"
He kept the ultimate insult in reserve, the weapon capable of silencing the Witch of Greed for good. With his cranial hemorrhage, an extra voice in his head risked making his brain short-circuit, but he felt no affection for her.
Trizz (Opening a door, vision drowned in red): "Echidna... you are nothing but a dead archive. Leave me. I hate you as much as my enemies. Your obsession with knowledge consumed you, unlike my Pride, which made me grow. Don't play the sulky girl card and go away. You are useless."
The shock was instantaneous in his mind. If Roswaal had heard those words, he would have banished him to another dimension, but Trizz was not his disciple. He hated this woman, her thousands of deaths sacrificed on the altar of sterile curiosity. She was just one more antagonist on his list.
Suddenly, sparks and the crackling of the blaze froze Trizz in his search. A silhouette emerged from the curtain of smoke. A woman with torn clothes, almost naked beneath shreds of black fabric, her skin smeared with soot and blood. Her purple eyes, bloodshot with demented ecstasy, did not leave Trizz.
Trizz stepped back, not out of fear, but out of pure disgust at the illogic. Was the world still toying with him? Had he not shed enough of his own blood?
Elsa (Approaching with a perverted smile): "Pride-sama... that dance was magnificent! But I promised you I would make this place a tomb for both of us!"

Trizz (Rubbing his eyes, voice broken): "It's an illusion... You're dead. I saw you... The dismembered body... You shouldn't be alive..."
She clattered her kukris together, radiating a murderous intent that saturated the air. She craved him. She had to see his entrails, feel the smell and heat of such a genius.
Elsa (Closing the distance, step by step): "I thought I wouldn't survive that attack... but my love for you, Pride-sama, is much stronger than death!"
Trizz then noticed the gaping wound on her left leg. It was no longer closing. Her regeneration was exhausted. She was nothing more than a corpse on borrowed time, carried by adrenaline and madness. Slowly drawing his light sword from his belt, he understood he had to kill her a second time, even more definitively. If the world refused his victory, he would force reality to bend.
Elsa (Resuming her combat stance): "Let us begin... Let our dance be written in legends!"
She lunged at him, aiming for the abdomen. Trizz lowered his blade to block the curved steel. Her attacks were weakened, but remained powerful enough to disembowel him. With a half-healed shoulder and flickering vision, he struggled not to lose his balance.
He forced himself against her, using his shoulder to strike her ribs. Elsa spat bloody saliva but kept her perverse smile anchored to her very soul. He had only 15% of his mana left. If he fell below the 5% mark, he would die of exhaustion before she even touched him.
Elsa (Jumping against the burning walls of the corridor): "So magnificent... Even on the brink of agony... you never give up!"
She unleashed strikes from left to right without pause. Trizz parried every blow by pure reflex, but the kukris left superficial gashes on his skin, each wound savored by the assassin with a sadism laced with love.
Outside, the fresh night air was a distant memory. The manor courtyard was swept by unbearable waves of heat. It was no longer a noble residence burning before them, but the gates of Hell that had opened to vomit an uncontrollable blaze.
Otto Suwen, face blackened by soot and eyes wide with dread, slowly removed his merchant's hat. His fingers gripped the edge of the fabric, betraying his anguish.
Otto (Voice trembling, gaze lost in the flames): "You know as well as I do... Defeating four elite assassins is a miracle. But staying inside, so gravely injured, while the structure collapses..."
Subaru, sitting on the ground beside Rem's comatose body, stood up abruptly. He refused to hear what the merchant was implying.
Subaru (Clenching his fists, a nervous smile on his lips): "Don't worry, Otto! This is frizz we're talking about. That guy is far too arrogant to die stupidly in a fire. He has his Quasi-Spirits, right? He must have a trick up his sleeve to resist the fire."
He was trying to reassure himself, desperately clinging to what he knew of the Authority of Pride. Trizz couldn't die. Not him.
Frederica, supporting a half-conscious Ram, stepped forward. Her hands shook uncontrollably. She knew she had to break this hope, cruel as it might seem. She lowered her eyes, unable to meet Subaru's hopeful gaze.
Frederica (In a broken voice): "Subaru-sama... Trizz-sama can no longer use magic. He... He emptied the entirety of his reserves to strike down the assassins and to transfer his life force to us during the fight. Right now, he is empty."

She paused, a tear tracing a clear path down her ash-covered cheek.
Frederica: "In my opinion... I don't believe he can make it out of this chaos alive."
Subaru's face fell. Reality hit him like a punch.
Subaru (Backing away, terror twisting his features): "What? And... and you left him there?! Alone?! Without helping him look for Beatrice?! We have to go back! Right now!"

He made a move to dash toward the blaze, but Otto intervened quickly, spreading his arms to block his path.
Otto (Firm, though tears were in his eyes): "Natsuki-san, no! Look! It's over! Even if he came out now, his lungs are scorched, his body is at its limit... It's suicide to go back in!"
Behind Frederica's torn dress, a small red head peeked out. Petra, her face flooded with tears, gripped the maid's fabric like a lifeline.
Petra (Voice muffled by sobs): "Otto-san... is Trizz-sama going to die? Is there... really nothing we can do?"

Otto closed his eyes, unable to formulate an answer that wouldn't further break the child's heart. The merchant's silence was answer enough. Subaru, paralyzed by despair, realized that if Trizz died here, unlike himself, there would be no turning back.
Otto (Whispering, heart heavy): "Come to your senses, Natsuki-san... It's already too late to save him."
The corridor was now nothing but a furnace. Trizz was standing, but barely. His body was a map of pain, striped from head to toe by the surgical gashes of Elsa's kukris. Blood did not spurt; it flowed fluidly, constantly, mixing with sweat to glaze his skin under the firelight.
For Elsa, this was not a slaughter. It was art. She had deliberately tortured him, sculpting his flesh to make him "magnificent" for their eternal dance.
Trizz (Gripping the hilt of his sword, knuckles white): "I hate you... Bowel Hunter..."
Elsa (Smiling, eyes shining with demented adoration): "And I love you! Pride-sama... let us stay here. Let us dance in the flames like two lovers fleeing their fate!"
Trizz closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't want to use this technique. It was the ultimate resort, the final stand that would consume what remained of his life. But if he died now, without finishing her, he would have failed to avenge Beatrice. The manor groaned, threatening to become a tomb for them all.
He pointed his sword at her.
Elsa: "Our last kiss? I will never forget you, Pride-sama! Even after death!"
Suddenly, Trizz's silhouette was enveloped in a blinding light. Golden particles, like sparks of purifying fire, escaped from his pores. It was an incomplete "UL AKA." A quasi-divine power that burned his vital fuel for a fraction of a second of absolute supremacy.
Elsa (Cheeks crimson, shivering): "Finally... You show me the true power of your Sin? It's... divine."
The two opponents braced themselves. One held her black kukris, the other a sword shrouded in light. Time seemed to suspend itself.
Elsa: "Elsa Granhiert, Bowel Hunter. I will love you for eternity."
Trizz (Gaze void of all humanity): "Sin Archbishop of the Witch Cult, representing Pride. In the form of determination... go find your comrades in the depths of Hell."
They leaped.
There was no sound. Just a flash of light that tore through the shadows and closed the distance in the blink of an eye.
Trizz reappeared on the other side of the corridor. He landed smoothly, intact. He scanned himself quickly: no immediate pain, no missing limbs. He turned around slowly.
The scene behind him was a canvas of pure horror, but he observed it with glacial indifference.
Elsa was sliced clean at the waist. Her torso had separated from her legs, crashing heavily onto the floorboards. Her entrails unspooled behind her like ribbons of poison, and her long hair soaked in a growing pool of blood. Yet, she was alive. Worse, she was smiling. She dug her hands into the scorched wood, crawling toward him, dragging what remained of her body with an obsession that defied biology. It was a disease.
Trizz felt a cold hatred rise within him. Did he hate himself for using this monster for his plans, or did he hate fate for imposing this upon him?
Suddenly, he vomited a spray of black blood.
The magic dissipated brutally. His heart contracted violently, as if crushed by an invisible hand. Unbearable pain exploded in his chest, forcing him back. His vision turned gray, then black intermittently.
Trembling. Nausea. Polar cold and infernal heat. Hysterical joy and pure hatred. His mind was fracturing—these were the negative effects of the buff; he would die soon.
But... He looked down at his right hand. His sword snapped clean, the metal falling with a pathetic clink. Then, he looked at his abdomen.
His black robe split silently.
The sensation was that of boiling oil poured directly onto his stomach. His own entrails, opened by the imperceptible speed of Elsa's kukris at the moment of impact, sought to escape.
He staggered. His crimson gaze weakened, veiled by the death coming to claim its due.
Dying of exhaustion? That was acceptable. It was the price of Pride.
But dying at the hands of this psychopathic madwoman? Dying by giving her satisfaction?
No. It was an affront his Pride refused to accept. He pressed his hand against his gaping wound, holding his life inside by the sheer force of his will. He had to reach the library.
Elsa was now just a torso dragging a visceral train, but she moved forward still, leaving a trail of excrement and black blood on Trizz's already ruined robe. She hoisted herself onto him, pressing her generous chest against the Archbishop's open torso, her soot-stained face pressed against his.
Elsa (Voice weak, gorged with agonizing ecstasy): "Come... let's dance on the other side... I'll wait for you, Pride-sama... I promise."

Without waiting for an answer, she crushed her lips against Trizz's. It wasn't a goodbye kiss, but a violation. Her cold, raspy tongue sought his in a perverse embrace. Suddenly, a violent spasm shook her. She vomited a stream of thick, clotted blood directly into Trizz's throat.
Even in death, she refused to go alone. She was drowning him, soiling his soul and his last breath with her corrupted essence. Trizz's eyes rolled back, asphyxiation overcoming him, as Elsa's dead weight collapsed upon him.
BOOM.
A shockwave of Yin magic violently threw Elsa's corpse against the opposite wall, where it crashed with the sound of wet meat.
Before Trizz, a little girl with curly hair and a frilly dress appeared. Her large blue eyes were drowned in tears. Beatrice placed her small, trembling hands on the open abdomen of her "apprentice," vainly trying to push the entrails back inside.
Beatrice (Panicked, voice broken): "Idiot! Idiot! Stupid apprentice, why did you have to stay here?! Betty must hold her contract, I suppose! Betty must disappear with the library, but you... You shouldn't be doing this!"
Trizz did not answer. He was choking, gurgling Elsa's blood which filled his lungs. With infinite slowness, he raised a bloodied hand to brush the cheek of the Artificial Spirit.
Beatrice (Staring into his fading crimson eyes): "Why are you doing this for Betty?! You... You are not Him! You are not the One she is waiting for! So why break yourself so much for me?! Why, Trizz?!"

Hurried footsteps echoed in the flaming corridor. Subaru emerged from the smoke, short of breath, after searching the ground floor while screaming.
He froze. Bile rose to his lips at the sight of Elsa's severed body, but he swallowed his nausea upon seeing Trizz. He threw himself to his knees in the pool of blood, beside Beatrice.
His friend's condition was beyond critical. It was a butchery.
Subaru (Grabbing Trizz's ice-cold hand, eyes wide with denial): "Man... You're far too proud to accept such a miserable death! Come on! Get it together, damn it!"
Beatrice (Weak whisper, continuing to inject mana uselessly): "Don't die... Please... Don't leave Betty behind! I suppose!"
Subaru squeezed Trizz's hand, searching for a pulse, a reaction, anything.
"We're going to get you out of here! Frizz! We survived the Whale, we survived Petelgeuse, you're not going to croak here!"
They refused reality. The manor groaned around them, ceiling beams beginning to give way, but their world had shrunk to this broken body. They were trapped, their fate sealed by the imminent collapse.
Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the flames behind Subaru.
It was no longer a man. It was a revenant forged by explosion and hatred. Leith's face had melted, the flesh running like wax over his jawbone. His right eye had burst, leaving only an empty, black socket. One of his arms was ripped off, the stump cauterized by fire. He limped, his burned-to-the-bone feet clicking on the floorboards, dragging a chipped stone axe in his left hand.
He had survived the door trap. Capella's resurrection had brought him back, but not entirely.
Leith (A guttural, inhuman howl): "DIE, PRIDE!"
Subaru heard the cry. He began to turn, incomprehension written on his face. He saw the shapeless mass raise the axe.
His eyes widened in shock. He didn't have time to scream. He didn't have time to protect Trizz. He didn't have time to be afraid.
CRACK.
The stone axe came down with the heaviness of a final judgment. It didn't hit Trizz. It split Natsuki Subaru's skull, sending him crashing, inert, onto the agonizing body of the one he had wanted to save.