…
Korosa: "Aww, darling. You look so heartbroken. Are you really going to miss me that much?"
Jerry: "Did you seriously come all this way just to torment me?"
⸻
LOCATION: RIFT CONTINENT—THE HARBORIA DOCKS.
ONE MONTH PRIOR TO CURRENT EVENTS.
The Pearl Harvest.
One of the First Ones' greatest flagships, infamous for surviving all three Ageless Wars.
An extraordinary feat indeed.
Yet what truly made the vessel priceless in the eyes of the First Ones Kingdom's citizens was not its size, its weaponry, or even the numerous tales surrounding its name.
It was the fact that it was… ordinary.
Gloriously, almost laughably ordinary.
The design?
The material?
The mystical sigils painted across its polished deck, ancient markings designed to cast brilliant protective barriers around entire fleets during naval warfare?
Exactly the same.
Every detail of the Pearl Harvest was nearly identical to the other primary warships belonging to the First Ones.
There were no extravagant golden towers.
No colossal weapons mounted along its hull.
No enchanted sails woven from the feathers of mythical beasts.
Nothing that would immediately distinguish it from the hundreds of other vessels anchored across the kingdom's harbors.
And perhaps that was precisely what made it so beloved.
The Pearl Harvest had endured for nearly five centuries, sailing through entire generations of the Realm of Rage while surviving some of the most gruesome horrors and atrocities that had ever scarred the continent. Countless legendary warriors had perished during the wars it witnessed, yet the old vessel remained—its pale wooden hull repaired again and again, its ancient sigils repainted by generations of sailors who refused to allow such a relic to sink beneath history.
And now, after centuries of bloodshed, the Pearl Harvest rested within the Harboria Docks, quietly preparing to set sail once more.
This voyage had been commissioned by its current owners.
The Windfield family.
Jerry Solas Windfield himself was far too occupied with the overwhelming responsibilities of being the First Captain to devote much time toward caring for the treasured flagship. Naturally, he had entrusted the duties of secondary caretaker to his son, Dwydin.
Whenever his father asked him to accomplish something, the young man treated the request as though it were a sacred command. And when it came to the Pearl Harvest, Dwydin was willing to duel anyone foolish enough to lay a single unauthorized finger upon the priceless vessel.
He was almost as dedicated to it as its primary caretaker.
Almost.
But that person still surpassed him by an inch.
His own loving mother.
The newest of the Seven Elective Dictators.
Head Director of the Promised Silence Brigade.
The Winding Blossom.
Korosa Thryi Windfield.
Korosa: "Well, why not? Making you 'miserable' has simply become a natural habit of mine. Besides, there's no need to pretend you haven't already grown rather fond of my teasing."
Aboard the pale birch-wooden deck, Jerry dragged a worn-out chair from his quarters and positioned it directly in the center of the vessel. He collapsed into it with all the grace of a man who had forgotten what proper posture was, releasing a long, heavy yawn as his shoulders sank against the backrest.
Then—
a sly smile slowly curled across his lips.
Jerry: "Oh? And what makes you think that?"
Korosa: "Isn't it obvious? That adorable little smile of yours. It's quite the giveaway."
Jerry immediately lifted one hand to shield his mouth, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated scoff.
Jerry: "Please. I'm merely smiling because…"
He paused.
His eyes flicked upward.
And there she was.
His wife stood directly over him, wearing that infuriatingly beautiful smile that always seemed capable of effortlessly dismantling whatever composure he had painstakingly built.
Jerry's mouth opened, but not a single word came out.
His fingers fidgeted uselessly against the armrest.
Jerry: "B-Because…"
Korosa leaned closer.
Korosa: "Go on~."
Korosa's majestic rose-pink curls cascaded around her head like a glistening waterfall, their delicate strands catching the sunlight in countless shimmering fragments.
Even when tangled or slightly messy, they somehow remained beyond this world's standards of beauty. Too marvelous to have been born from this realm's eternal savagery.
Her radiant, light-tan skin glowed beneath the brilliant sun above, kissed by its warmth as though the heavens themselves had chosen her alone to bear their sacred golden shine.
A world forged from nothing but the purest aqua seemed to live within her glimmering sea-blue eyes, endless and serene, adding yet another impossible layer to her ethereal elegance.
The Dictator straightened, giving her beloved two soft pats upon the head before releasing a delightful giggle.
Jerry practically melted into a pile of mush beneath her soothing touch, his entire body trembling as though those two affectionate pats had somehow stripped the mighty First Captain of every ounce of dignity he possessed.
A huge breath of relief escaped him the moment Korosa created the slightest amount of distance between them.
He vigorously shook his head before shooting his wife a deeply frustrated glare, desperately attempting to reconstruct the composed facade that had been so thoroughly shattered by her infectious love.
Jerry: "I told you to stop… doing that! It's… it's embarrassing!"
Korosa: "Embarrassing? What? This?"
She suddenly lunged forward, seizing Jerry by the cheeks before squeezing and stretching them in a variety of ridiculous angles.
Windfield's eyes widened as his face was mercilessly contorted between her fingers, his dignified expression transforming into something far more befitting of a disgruntled child.
Jerry: "Argh—Korosa!"
BLINK.
Korosa raised an eyebrow, staring down at the empty chair where Jerry had been sitting only moments ago.
A soft chuckle escaped her as she tilted her head to the side, eventually finding her husband already standing a whole six feet away from her, his arms folded tightly across his chest. An utterly unamused frown rested upon his face.
Jerry: "Unbelievable. It's been over a century, and you still don't know how to contain yourself?"
Korosa folded her arms with an exaggerated huff, fixing Jerry with a glare overflowing with theatrical defiance.
Korosa: "I shall not be reprimanded for simply trying to show my cruel husband some affection."
———
A couple of hours later, First Ones' knights and cadets were busy loading the Pearl Harvest with supplies, preparing the treasured flagship for Jerry's upcoming expedition.
They would be setting sail in only a few more days, leaving the First Ones Kingdom behind for whatever dangers and treasures awaited them beyond the continent.
Giant crates filled with ripened fruit, raw meat, and fresh vegetables were carefully carried onto the pale birch-wooden deck.
Jerry and Korosa observed from the ground below, staring upward at the Pearl Harvest in silence.
Jerry exhaled heavily before turning toward the next batch of knights. He lazily spun his index finger in a circle, signaling for them to begin loading the weaponry and medical equipment onto the ship.
The soldiers immediately obeyed, disappearing beneath the ship's towering hull as Korosa rubbed her chin thoughtfully, watching them climb aboard before gradually shifting her attention toward Windfield.
Her smile weakened the second she realized brooding, distant look upon his face had returned.
His eyes remained fixed upon the Pearl Harvest, but his mind seemed to have wandered somewhere far beyond the bustling harbor.
Somewhere colder.
His posture was rigid, his shoulders carrying a subtle tension that had nothing to do with the weight of his armor nor the responsibilities of his rank. It was the expression of a man trapped inside a labyrinth of his own troubling thoughts, endlessly circling the same dark corridors without ever finding an exit.
Korosa recognized it immediately.
She reached out, gently placing her hand upon his shoulder and rubbing it with a soft, reassuring warmth.
The First Captain broke from his trance, blinking several times before rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
Korosa: "Darling…"
Jerry: "I'm fine, Korosa. Just… logistics. Preparation plans for the expedition. Nothing you need to worry yourself with."
In an instant, the Dictator's smile tightened.
Her lush lips trembled ever so slightly beneath the strain as she slowly removed her hand from his shoulder, reaching for his ear instead.
Jerry: "ACK! Korosa! What are you—?!"
She gave it a sharp tug, yanking Jerry downward until the First Captain was forced to meet her at eye level.
Korosa: "I thought we established that you wouldn't be deciding what I should and shouldn't concern myself with after we made our vows, dear husband. Or have you forgotten already?"
Jerry clicked his tongue, grumbling beneath his breath before immediately stiffening beneath the unyielding glare of his wife. He sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day, swallowing his pride as he finally faced Korosa with a stubborn yet thoroughly chastened expression.
Jerry: "Sorry…"
Korosa's stern expression tempered at once. Her fingertips loosened before completely releasing their grip on Jerry's ear.
Korosa: "Hmph. That's much better. Now why don't you tell me what's been eating at you lately, hmm?"
Jerry paused.
His gaze slowly descended toward his bare palms, each one marked by dozens of battle scars.
These were the hands that had endured ruthless massacres, touched the flesh of those forgotten by this realm, and clutched the beating hearts of his mortal enemies.
Hands that had saved lives, ended lives, and remained forever stained by unsettling memories Jerry wished he could simply wash clean and… forget.
Jerry stared at them.
The voices of the harbor seemed to grow distant.
The hurried footsteps.
The hefty crates.
The shouting knights.
Even the peaceful wind brushing against Korosa's magnificent hair.
Everything started to—!
HELL.
Jerry staggered backward as the world he once knew… completely disappeared.
He found himself standing within a realm made entirely from pitch-black bones, consumed by massive, booming flames that stretched toward a sky he could not perceive.
Brittle skulls shattered beneath his bloodied, leather boots with his every step, their sunken eye sockets staring upward from the crooked terrain.
Remnants of leftover brain matter were crushed beneath his weight with wet, nauseating squelches. The air reeked of death, and the unbearable heat radiating from the nearby infernos slowly began to smoother his lungs.
Jerry doubled over, clutching his stomach as his body violently rejected the hellish purgatory surrounding him.
Huge torrents of blood and saliva burst from his mouth, splattering across the blackened ground as his knees collapsed. Another convulsion tore through his abdomen, sending more vile fluid surging up his throat and spilling from his lips until a foul pool gathered beneath him.
Jerry's vision blurred.
He hopelessly attempted to stand, but his limbs refused to listen. His joints buckled before his body gave out completely, crumpling against the ground as his face splashed into the filthy puddle beneath him.
It was happening…
Again.
The nightmares.
Those godforsaken visions that had haunted him since the day he had been publicly rewarded with the title of First Captain.
The boundless plagues of his mind.
Windfield's ears began to bleed.
An awful, piercing white noise erupted through his skull, drowning out every other sound as though some invisible force were driving a thousand razor-sharp needles directly through his brain.
Jerry's hands clawed against the ground, his fingers frantically searching for something—anything—that might allow him to escape this place.
But there was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
A raw, breathless scream tore free from his hoarse throat as he writhed across the uneven surface, his body twisting through blood, grime, and ruptured bone.
Windfield's fingers dug even further into the earth, causing his nails to shatter against the jagged rock with dreadful, grotesque cracks. Scarlet liquid poured endlessly from his split fingertips.
Jerry: "Stop… please… make it stop…!"
He couldn't take this anymore.
This…
PAIN.
This everlasting torture was the kind of torment only some wicked spawn born from the rotting pits of Hell itself would dare inflict upon another living soul.
Was this his reward?
His twisted trophy?
For saving the many innocents of his own depraved empire?
For protecting those foolish royals who had wasted no time abandoning their sworn oaths to the people they were supposed to defend?
Was this what waited at the end of every sacrifice? An entire realm of excruciating agony where hope remained forever lost?
Is that what the likes of Jerry Windfield deserved?
Was this his eternal prize?
THIS—
Korosa: "Jerry?! Jerry! Are you alright?!"
SNAP.
Jerry violently jolted forward.
The nightmare vanished so abruptly that his lungs seemed to forget how to breathe. He stumbled several steps forward before nearly collapsing into Korosa's arms, his chest heaving through short, ragged gasps as one hand immediately clutched his churning stomach.
He fell onto one knee, fighting to remain conscious as the last fragments of the vision flickered behind his hazy eyes.
Korosa immediately dropped down in front of him, wrapping arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a tight, caring embrace as one hand gently rubbed his back in slow, calming circles.
Korosa: "Breathe, love. Breathe."
She pressed her cheek against his, staying close enough for him to hear every word as though her voice alone could anchor him to reality. Her fingertips continued their tender motion across his back, patiently soothing the muscles that remained locked with terror.
He was back.
And so was she.
So was… everything.
First Ones' Cadet: "Captain! The Harvest is ready! Everything's been prepped!"
Jerry drew in a deep, steady breath, placing both hands upon his beloved's shoulders as his bright scarlet cloak coursed through the cooling breeze.
He carefully eased Korosa's arms away before taking hold of her hand and helping them both back onto their feet. Korosa intertwined her fingers with his, brushing a few stray curls from her face before peering upward at Windfield.
Her eyes were no longer filled with playful mischief. Deep concern and unease had now taken their place within them.
Korosa: "You don't have to leave. Not so soon, at least. Not when you're like this…"
A brief silence answered her.
Jerry's expression slowly faded as he shifted his gaze toward the clouds above, allowing himself to look inward once again as his thoughts drifted toward the uncertain road ahead.
…
Maybe he…
No.
He couldn't.
He wouldn't.
Not in a million years would Jerry ever consider allowing the blood-soaked hands of fate decide what would happened next in his tale—or in the stories of those he loved.
Never.
Jerry: "No. I have to… I must go."
Korosa sighed softly, giving his hand one final, firm squeeze before reluctantly letting go.
She took a couple of steps backward, her exquisite light-teal gown fluttering gracefully behind her as the wind caught its flowing fabric.
Turning upon her heel, she walked toward the side of the Pearl Harvest, her long sleeves trailing behind her like heavenly, sweeping wings. When she reached the ancient vessel, she lightly placed her palm against its weathered lumber, tracing the fine edges of its aged planks.
Korosa: "You're searching for something."
Jerry: "Huh?"
A small, endearing smile spread across her supple lips.
Korosa: "Answers. Results. Anything that can aid you in your quest to resolve your query. The question that curses the minds of all who were born of this world."
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly behind her glinting silver spectacles.
Korosa: "Why?"
Jerry's breath caught.
For several long seconds, he simply stared at her, his lips parted as though the question had reached somewhere inside him that even he had been reluctant to touch… until now. Eventually, he released a low, thoughtful exhale.
Korosa glanced toward him over her shoulder, her gaze settling fondly upon his face and becoming immersed within the sparkling starlight of his pupils.
Korosa: "And… I fear that I won't be there by your side when you realize the answer to that question is far more complex than you might imagine."
She lifted her other hand, pressing both palms against the Pearl Harvest's structure.
Korosa: "This ship… has the essence of my very being poured into it. My blood, sweat, and tears have long seeped through the cracks of its planks, my rawest emotions laid bare within."
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the hallowed timber.
Korosa: "I once gave this ship everything I ever had… and anything I could ever possess. In a way, I am eternally connected to the Harvest. Two destinies entwined in a beautiful, precious web of fate."
Her hands slowly slid downward, her fingers tracing the toughened wood one final time before falling back to her sides. She crouched down, placing her palms upon her kneecaps as the breeze continued to sweep through her rose-pink curls.
Korosa: "We have a celestial bond, Jerry."
She paused.
Korosa: "A connection. Therefore, when you're out there, sailing through the wild currents and storming waters, just know… I'm right there. Forever by your side at the helm.
Right there…"
Jerry's entire body trembled.
He immediately threw up his arms, frantically rubbing at his eyes with his wrists before anyone could notice water collecting at his lids.
Korosa looked back over her shoulder, her expression gradually breaking into a wide, knowing grin at the sight of her husband trying—and failing to hide his emotional breakdown.
Jerry: "Damn it, Korosa. Could've just wished me well or something…!"
Korosa rose back to her feet, straightening her lovely dress before adjusting her glasses with a single finger. Her smile remained as bright as a shooting star.
Korosa: "I trust you, darling. Protect our bond. Protect our connection."
Windfield gave a slow, steady nod, still doing everything within his power to keep the tears from escaping his eyes and streaming down his cheeks. For all his strength, all his authority, and all the countless battles he had survived, there were still certain weapons against which even the First Captain possessed no defense.
His wife's love was definitely one of them.
Without a doubt.
…
Korosa: "Hmm? That's strange."
Korosa placed her hands upon her hips with a tiny pout, her nose perking upward as she began sniffing the surrounding air. Jerry's brow arched in mild confusion as he watched his spouse struggle to identify whatever strange scent had suddenly captured her attention.
Korosa: "You don't smell that, dear?"
Jerry tilted his head before slowly shaking it, folding his arms across his chest.
Jerry: "Smell what exactly?"
FLAMES.
———
CURRENT LOCATION: DIEX PENINSULA'S DOCKS.
FIRST ONES' FLEET RESTING POINT—PRESENT TIME.
Director Eir: "Dear… gods…"
???: "Taste the wrath of your sins, you WRETCHED DEMONS! This is what you DESERVE! DIVINE RETRIBUTION!"
The First Captain of the First Ones' Kingdom.
One of the Five Champions of the Celestial Butterfly.
The renowned Chief of Honor.
Jerry Windfield…
Stood frozen in deafening silence as a chorus of shrieking flames mercilessly devoured the ravaged corpse of the Pearl Harvest.
His grayish-blue eyes remained fixed upon the vessel's burning, collapsing lumber, watching as the main and fore sails caught fire soon after. His scarlet cloak whipped violently within the vicious winds while his messy curls lashed against the fiery air, yet the First Captain himself remained unnaturally still.
His expression…
was indescribable.
Completely unreadable to the naked eye.
It would have taken the foresight of an otherworldly being to decipher the whirlwind of emotions currently spiraling within Windfield's turbulent mind. That's when a blood-curdling scream suddenly tore through the inferno, breaking his focus as his stolid gaze shifted toward his left.
Ah, yes…
The rest of the fleet had been consumed by the flames as well.
Numerous First Ones' Knights struggled to carry their wounded and injured comrades away from the burning ships, some collapsing the instant their boots struck the docks' decking boards.
Others stumbled through clouds of smoke and ash, their armor charred black and their weapons abandoned wherever their hands had finally lost the strength to carry them.
A few feet from the Captain, a lieutenant let out another inhuman screech of pain. Four nurses crowded around the young woman, frantically debating how to treat her scorched leg as blackened chunks of flesh sloughed from the ruined limb, sending fresh waves of agony through her shattered nerves.
To the Captain's right, Director Eir had dropped to her knees, gazing helplessly toward sky now swallowed by colossal clouds of pitch-black smoke.
She had torn away her own cape earlier, attempting to use the fabric to beat the raging blazes—a desperate effort even she knew was futile.
Jerry steered his flat, unblinking stare toward her.
For a single, locked moment, their eyes made direct contact.
And within Eir's gaze, Jerry saw nothing more than a raw, distorted mixture of exhaustion and despair.
BOOM!
Wood splintered.
The Pearl Harvest ruptured from within as Dictator Hera suddenly burst through its burning structure. She surged upward through the air, landing upon the grassy shoreline with a heavy, breathless thud. Cradled fiercely against her chest was none other than Dictator Kaiser.
She held his limp, unresponsive body in a grip that was tenderly protective, yet entirely unbreakable.
Luckily enough, the fire engulfing the flagship whole had yet to reach the infirmary on the lowest deck, leaving Kaiser unscathed and giving Hera enough time to reach him before the flames consumed the bottommost chambers.
Directly beside the two Dictators stood an entire crowd of Senson townsfolk who had decided to follow them after witnessing the initial explosion.
Their instinctive curiosity had lured them to the catastrophic spectacle of the First Ones' fleet meeting its tragic demise.
Some stared in shock.
Others recoiled in horror.
But several openly celebrated the destruction, raising their voices in wild cheers as the Devil's armada burned before their eyes.
Among the crowd stood August and Lorana, whose reactions to the catastrophe couldn't have been more different.
August had a look of pure dread painted across her face, her eyes wide as she watched the flames devour ship after ship.
Her grandmother, meanwhile… wore a wide, toothy grin, completely engrossed by the devilish trenches of flame that had escaped from the bleeding maw of Hell.
And back upon the docks, standing triumphantly before one of the blazing vessels, were the culprits.
Two men.
Two brothers…
from Senson Town.
The Cross Twins.
Buckley and Arnest.
Buckley: "Hear us, my fellow brothers and sisters!"
He raised the torch that had started it all high above his head, its dying flame flickering wildly against the blood-choked sky, while his younger brother slammed the butt of his pitchfork against the wooden deck with a hollow thunk!
Arnest: "Justice has finally been delivered! We, the humble stewards of the Balance and faithful servants of our Lord of Prosperity, have arrived to unleash our holy fury upon these vile fiends!"
Within seconds, the two men were surrounded by a ring of enraged knights.
Polished swords ripped free from leather sheaths in a chorus of metallic shrieks, every blade pointing directly toward the Cross Twins as murderous glares settled upon them.
Arnest stumbled backward, suddenly realizing how quickly their supposed triumph had turned against them.
Buckley, on the other hand, merely laughed, his disfigured lips twisting into a smug sneer.
Buckley: "Hah! Look at these foolish beasts! You think killing us will save you? Please. The deed has already been done! We have honorably punished you and your disgusting leader for his sinful acts!"
First Ones' Colonel Rike Forger stepped forward, placing himself between his men and the brothers. He wore a strict expression, his eyes burning with barely contained fury as he drew his Blessed Tool—a long spear molded from the strongest iron ever mined upon the Rift Continent.
Rike: "Honor? Don't tell me you actually believe what you've done here is considered 'honorable' in the eyes of the Celestial Butterfly."
Arnest scoffed, raising his pitchfork defensively.
Arnest: "Silence, you foul-mouthed c-creature! Your nonsensical logic means nothing to us followers of the truth!"
Rike released a low, guttural growl. His teeth clenched until his jaw ached, his knuckles whitening around the shaft of his spear.
Then, without another word, he raised the Blessed Tool far above his head, preparing to cut both brothers down with a single, decisive blow.
Flick.
The colonel stopped. Slowly, Rike turned his head. Only a short distance away, the First Captain remained impossibly still.
His eyes…
Locked onto the flaming ruins of the Pearl Harvest.
His face…
Emptier than ever before.
His hands…
His HANDS.
Rike's breath strangled at birth. Thick beads of sweat poured down his pale face as he stared at Jerry Windfield's fingers.
They were moving.
Not deliberately.
Not with purpose.
They simply… jerked.
Each bony digit spasmed with wild, erratic movements, curling around itself as though some unseen force had seized control of them. The sight was unbelievably unnatural—hideous enough to make Rike's stomach churn.
Then, with a sudden snap, Jerry's hands contorted themselves into tight, shaking fists.
His knuckles split. Tiny droplets of crimson slipped between his fingers, striking the boards beneath him one after another until a small, dark stain formed at his feet.
That was all Colonel Rike needed to see.
All he needed to understand what was coming.
He immediately lowered his Blessed Tool and took several steps backward, raising one arm as he ushered his confused knights away from the twins
Buckley: "Cowards! That's what you bastards truly are! Cowards hiding underneath the skin of monsters!"
…
Then it happened.
Jerry…
Moved.
The prestigious Chief of Honor wiped his lower lip with the back of his hand, smearing the blood across his skin before beginning a slow, almost leisurely stroll toward Arnest Cross and Buckley Cross.
The legendary First Captain marched forward without a word, his boots pressing into the muddy, dust-covered boards and leaving a trail of dark footprints behind him.
The celebrated Savior of the First Ones seemed to swell with monstrous stature at every stride, his towering silhouette getting gradually swallowed by the suffocating smoke that bled from his dying fleet.
Arnest's pupils dilated, understanding and terror striking him like a bolt of savage, unrestrained lightning.
Eir turned her head, one of her brows rising as she followed Jerry's rigid figure with growing discomfort.
Hera shifted her gaze toward Windfield, her vermillion eyes narrowing as something deep within her recognized the change taking place before them.
There was something wavering in those lifeless irises of his.
Something… unstable.
August stood frozen, breath trapped inside her lungs.
And Buckley?
He just laughed again, a wicked, loathsome grin stretching across his scarred lips.
STEP.
A faint creak escaped the lumber beneath Jerry's boot as he finally came to a halt. He loomed over the Cross Twins like a colossal barbarian dragged from some forgotten age of immortal bloodshed, his shadow swallowing both brothers whole.
Buckley puffed out his cheeks, gathering a thick wad of saliva inside his mouth before spitting it directly into Jerry's face.
A declaration of his fearlessness.
Or so he thought.
In reality, it was nothing more than the final seal placed upon his death sentence.
Buckley: "Here he is! The devil himself, in the goddamn flesh."
Arnest: "Buck…"
Buckley: "What's the matter? Gonna cry? Good! Shed your bloody tears. We've all been waiting…"
Arnest: "B-Buck…!"
Buckley: "To see how truly PATHETIC you are!"
Arnest: "BUCK! I-I can't do this anymore! I'm outta here!"
Arnest spun around and sprinted down the decking path.
He constantly glanced over his shoulder, the tiniest speck of relief filling his eyes as more and more distance opened between him and—
CLAP!
The beast vanished into thin air, reappearing directly in front of him.
Arnest barely had time to gasp before a massive hand reached forward and seized a thick handful of his dark-orange hair.
The twin tore his throat open with a miserable scream as Jerry yanked him backward with a bone-jarring surge of force. Arnest clawed like a captured animal at Jerry's wrist, his fingernails tearing uselessly against the Captain's skin as he kicked and thrashed in unadulterated terror.
Jerry didn't so much as flinch. Instead, he simply lifted his leg and drove his boot straight down into Arnest's shoulder, shattering his clavicle with a vicious crunch.
Arnest: "AGHH! P-Please! PLEASE! MERCY! MERCY!"
Jerry twisted his wrist, pressing his boot down even further against the twin's fractured collarbone. Then, with one unrelenting, ruthless wrench, he ripped Arnest's entire head from his neck, sending chunky rivers of blood rushing out of the jagged stump.
The warm crimson substance splattered heavily over Windfield's face. It slowly began seep into his eyes, veiling his perception of the world in a blurry, pale-red tint while leaving behind a sharp, metallic sting.
Buckley: "BROTHER—!"
Dark blood suddenly burst free from Buckley's nose and mouth. Disbelief flooded his eyes as they darted downward, finding Jerry's fist already buried deep within his abdomen.
The Captain tossed Arnest's head down by his brother's feet, ran a hand through his light-azure hair, and instantly leveled Buck with a skull-rattling backhand.
The fool's jaw twisted sideways the second the strike connected, launching filthy yellow teeth into the air as his gums violently split open.
Buckley: "Agghk! ARGGUH!"
Jerry slowly drew his arm back before plunging it deep into Buckley's chest, completely tearing through his ribcage before seizing the exposed length of his spine.
Twist.
Jerry wrenched the spine entirely out of the bloody cavity, idly spinning the bone in his hand as Buckley toppled backward.
In a matter of two minutes…
Buckley Cross and Arnest Cross were slaughtered.
Everything went dead quiet.
Not a word was spoken.
Not a whisper had escaped.
Silence alone was more than enough for the gruesome display the survivors of Senson Town had just witnessed.
They were speechless.
Utterly speechless.
The Knights.
The Cadets.
The Colonels.
The Generals.
The Directors.
The Dictator.
No one knew what to say.
No one knew how to react.
No one even knew what they were supposed to think.
This…
This was monst—
Jerry: "Heh…"
Every head turned.
The ears of several soldiers instinctively perked.
Jerry: "Eheh… heh…"
Hera carefully lowered Kaiser to rest onto the ground, her eyes widening as she silently stared over at the First Captain.
Jerry: "Eheheh… AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"
The Devil… Laughed.
Jerry doubled over, locking his arms around his stomach as he reeled forward, deranged laughter ripping through his throat. He wheezed heavily, choking on ragged breaths and losing his footing as he lurched toward the burning wreckage of the Pearl Harvest.
He struck the ship's hull with an open palm, his fingers tearing straight through the hot planks and splitting the searing wood apart.
Then he climbed.
He dragged himself higher and higher, his hands splintering the frail timber of the vessel with crushing power.
Reaching the Harvest's bowsprit, he continued to cackle maniacally as he settled down onto the wood, casually crossing his legs. That hideous, fiendish grin stretching across his face sent a wave of terror straight down the spines of everyone near.
The hearts of all were pierced by the grueling sight, forcibly engraved within their ruined minds.
Not one was spared the horror of seeing such a ravenous creature tremble with such frantic, unrestrained glee.
Not a single soul.
Jerry: "Monsters…?"
He lifted one hand, his fingers settling upon the pointed edge of his black glasses before slowly peeling them from his face.
The lenses caught the sickly glow of the fiery docks for one final instant, reflecting the devastated world back at him, before his hand closed tightly around them.
Jerry: "Please. You wretched bastards don't know a goddamn THING about monsters!"
His fist convulsed.
The spectacles shattered inside his palm with a brittle crunch, shards of glass and fractured obsidian grinding against one another as their jagged edges burrowed into his flesh.
Fresh, hot blood trickled between his fingers and slipped from his knuckles in scarlet droplets, falling into the steaming waters beneath the vessel, yet Jerry merely tightened his grip further.
Jerry: "You think you've suffered? You think you know true pain?! True MISERY?!
Look at yourselves! You're nothing but a pack of clueless rats scraping through the darkness, following in the tracks of a FUCKING CLOWN!"
He hurled both his arms into the air, his unhinged howls of laughter growing louder, harsher, almost delirious in their intensity.
Jerry: "Pfft! Oh, glorious Tellewin! Fearless King Tellewin! Great Lord of eternal Prosperity! GOD-KING!?"
A sickening maroon light poured through the clouds, bathing his manic face in the color of freshly spilled blood while the blazes behind him roared like the open, drooling jaws of Hell itself.
Jerry: "Oh, please, your Majesty! Save our feeble, pitiful souls from the bloodthirsty purge that is Jerry Windfield!"
Lorana collapsed into August's arms, hyperventilating, burying her face away from the blinding, predatory heat of Jerry's malevolent gaze.
Jerry: "TELL ME, WHERE IS YOUR GOD-KING NOW?!"
The bearer of shadows pushed himself onto his feet, rising slowly like a broken, ominous shadow. Behind him, the enormous pit of voracious flames screamed, vomiting fresh ash and smoke into the heavens, mirroring the pure chaos boiling within his bloodshot eyes.
Jerry: "You've lost yourselves to the worship of the divine. Everything about you people has been forgotten! All that remains are the faces of mindless, hollow husks who will blindly cling onto anything that'll throw them a mere crumb!"
His grin disappeared.
His laughter ceased as though someone had severed it with a blade. His face scrunched up as the muscles along his jaw tightened, veins throbbing violently against his neck while his expression resolved into a deep, loathing scowl.
Jerry: "And now, your worthlessness and your need for pointless vengeance has destroyed… something incredibly dear to me."
His gaze shifted toward the blazing ruins behind him, softening for a moment before gradually returning to his unwilling audience.
Jerry: "I think… that deserves a penalty.
A correction.
Discipline, yes?"
…
Jerry: "Listen to this, people of Senson. And to all of my beloved comrades… and precious friends.
Listen. Closely."
…
Jerry: "I will brand the very idea of ceaseless agony into the meat of your minds."
Tears.
Fresh tears.
Jerry: "I will to carve an unfathomable—an UNTHINKABLE wave of torment through every single muscle and screaming fiber of your cursed flesh."
They began to stream.
Jerry: "Every day.
Every night.
Every sickening HOUR.
Every agonizing MINUTE!
Every MISERABLE SECOND!"
Forging glistening, moist canals down ashen skin alike.
Jerry: "I'll be there.
Watching.
Making sure the very air doesn't dare grant you even the tiniest shred of mercy. Not until the foul stench of my malice floods your tortured lungs and mercilessly rips the breath right out of your chests!"
They ran eternally, spilling shimmering droplet after droplet.
Jerry Windfield: "If you EVER cross my path again, if you dare tear away the final, bleeding pieces of sanity I have left to LATCH ONTO…!
I don't care how many of your generations rot and rise.
I don't care how withered and old I become.
Let the years, the decades, the centuries grind us to dust.
BECAUSE I WILL NEVER LET YOU FREE FROM MY RAVAGED, FUCKING CLUTCHES! DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU BRAINLESS SCOUNDRELS!?"
Once the last, final tear fell from the eyes of a shuddering child…
Before it finally arrived.
A unified, primal wail erupted from every soul stricken by bottomless terror—a discordant cacophony of frenzied madness that sounded less like mortal grief and more like the screeching of the damned.
It echoed endlessly across region, shaking the very foundations of entire Diex Peninsula.
…
A monster…
They say…
Jerry: "I'll be right… there."