"Good. Very good. And because it's very good, it is therefore very good."
"Ah~ little miss who killed our pet—we've waited so long for this exquisite treat. We simply cannot wait to devour you."
He was shorter than his brother Lye—but unlike Lye, his brown hair was actually tied into a braid at the back of his head. His clothes were poor quality but at least not in tatters. His primary weapons were the sharp finger-claws fitted over each digit.
"We are Roy Alphard—Sin Archbishop of the Witch Cult, [Bizarre Eating]."
Announced with a smug, asking-for-a-punch sort of tone, those eight-shaped eyebrows framing eyes that fixed hungrily on Yimi. "Before anything else—may we ask the name of the little miss who killed our pet?"
"My name is Yimi." Yimi sniffed the air, watching him with curious eyes.
Something about the scent was familiar. Very much like the big fish she had encountered when she first arrived in this world.
"Your pet... is the big fish?"
"No need to waste words on this type." Beatrice pulled Yimi behind her. "El Minya—"
The incantation left her lips. What looked like ordinary purple arrows carried a far more dangerous property—anything they struck would have its time frozen, then crystallize and begin to fracture. But even the most powerful magic was useless if it couldn't land, and this creature moved like a monkey.
"What a wonderful name~ Not bad, not bad at all, not bad, right?"
Obtaining a target's name was one of two conditions needed to activate the Authority of Gluttony. And as [Gluttony], what they could devour fell into two categories: [Name] and [Memory].
The latter needed no explanation. The former was less about consuming a 'name' and more about consuming an 'existence'—similar to the White Whale's Fog of Elimination. Even a person who survived would simply cease to be remembered by anyone in the world. Someone stripped of both was left as nothing more than a breathing shell that no one could recall.
Beyond that.
"Lunar Eclipse—"
The Archbishops of Gluttony also possessed the ability to reconstruct—in physical form—the techniques stored within the memories they consumed, and combine them freely.
Right before Beatrice's eyes, the defensive magic she had deployed was bypassed entirely. Not through brute force—through a technique that simply ignored Mana-based defenses.
Just as Beatrice's brow furrowed, a crimson spear swept from behind her, past her shoulder. It carried a razor-sharp edge of magical power—punched clean through Roy's palm, sheared off his entire hand at the wrist, grazed past his ear as an afterthought, and delivered what could only be called an invaluable renovation to the corridor wall of Roswaal Manor.
"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts—but contact was made. What a shame, little miss. Chew, gnaw, crunch—I believe you just said your name was... Yimi?"
He wasn't awed by the enormous power behind that throw. In the same instant the attack landed, he had already used his remaining hand to touch Yimi's arm. Touch was the second condition for activating his Authority.
Name spoken. Hand extended. He licked his palm.
Beatrice's face scrunched up slightly. "You disgusting insect—in Betty's entire existence, she has never met anyone more revolting than you."
But there was no need for her to act. The moment Roy completed that motion, those ridiculous eight-shaped brows twitched in a single convulsion.
"Urgh—!"
A powerful wave of nausea hit his stomach. He almost retched up his own bile.
This wasn't an unfamiliar reaction. Eating a false name always produced it.
Vile. Scum. Disgusting.
"Urgh—!"
"You wanted to eat me?" Yimi had read Roy's intent with perfect clarity. She was acutely sensitive to anything involving eating.
"『Famine!』"
Not a moment was wasted. From the burlap-draped form of a dark knight, withered skeletal fingers closed around Roy's throat and hoisted his slight body into the air. Golden eyes regarded his frantic kicking with absolute indifference.
"What? What is this? What is that? What on earth is this now?"
Roy couldn't comprehend it—not the phenomenon itself, which was built from nothing resembling Mana, but the profound and targeted malice directed almost exclusively at him, and the shuddering premonition the Authority itself was sending at full volume.
One hand gripping Roy's throat. In the other, the Scales rattled with a soft clack-clack.
Roy's retching was cut off by the pressure at his windpipe. He rasped out broken sounds, his remaining hand clawing desperately at Famine's arm. His Authority of Gluttony moved as if magnetized sideways against a wall—he couldn't even resort to the costly Solar Eclipse.
He hadn't consumed the other party's memories. Yet something was seeping into his consciousness anyway, as though mocking the sacrilege he had just attempted.
He understood it completely. That was hunger. Whatever devours other living things to sustain itself can, in turn, become something else's meal.
Roy stared up at Yimi through bloodshot eyes and pressed out a name: "Daphne...?"
"Hey!" Beatrice looked toward the little cat, uncomprehending.
Those three syllables were the name of the deceased Witch of Gluttony.
They were called Sin Archbishops of the Witch Cult—but the direct connection between them and those Witches, dead four hundred years, amounted to nothing more than inheriting the Witch Factor. Even accounting for differences in affinity, the reaction shouldn't have been this extreme.
He would never get to verify his theory. In the moment Beatrice couldn't understand, Yimi's eyes slowly deepened with gold.
A single thought was all Famine needed to open a wound that devoured flesh and blood—but beyond [direct harm] and [forcing the target to bleed], there existed a third, far more difficult activation condition.
"Flesh or Life?"
The clear, childlike voice spoke words this world had no way of understanding.
Soul Pocus—the power of the Soul-Soul Fruit, the precursor to Yimi's Third Magic. The condition: a spark of fear from the target. Even the faintest, most fleeting flicker of it. Even one that lasted only an instant. Roy had shown it. That was enough.
Clack-clack—the Scales fell silent.
"Y—y-you—you're—?!" His words came apart as they left his mouth.
—eating me—?!
Legs locked rigid. Hair gone white in an instant. Roy—long since emptied of any life—dropped to the floor as the Stand dissipated.
Yimi worked her jaw slightly, as though chewing something.
She reached out and patted a slightly-frowning Beatrice on the arm. "What's wrong...?"
"You actually—" Beatrice started to say something, then shook her head lightly. "Betty is simply lamenting that she didn't get a chance to show off. Hmph. She was going to let you witness what a Great Spirit is truly capable of—well, it's not too late for that, is it?"
She turned her gaze toward the hole Yimi's spear had punched clean through the courtyard wall. Through the gap, several red-eyed Witchbeasts were slowly pushing their way in.