Declaration of War
"Fusion."
At that soft utterance, the brilliant radiance flooding the surroundings funneled straight into Jun. As though he were drinking the light into his very flesh, his hair—black as a midnight sky—bled pure white, and the short ponytail that had barely brushed his nape lengthened until it spilled all the way down to his hips. The blue lightning that had crackled in his pupils transformed into golden holy thunder, the sacred lightning ruled by the gods themselves.
Whoosh!
Hwaaang! My clothes!
A single nun’s habit burst from the Stigma. Instantly it was swallowed by light, splintered into countless pieces, and reformed as pure-white armor engraved with archaic holy patterns.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
The holy armor locked into place piece by piece. The throbbing agony vanished completely; boundless vitality surged through every limb.
Whoosh!
This too?
Next came the massive hammer. Just as before, light engulfed it and reshaped it into a holy sword that settled into the hand not already gripping Firmus.
Shuuu—
M-me too? W-wait! I’m naked right now! Naked! Hyaaat!
Whoosh!
Fortunately, Fortuna was spared the catastrophe of putting on a nude show in front of everyone. She appeared as a body of pure light, announced her presence for a single heartbeat, and was immediately absorbed into Jun.
Swaaaa—
Light raced through his veins and was drunk down in an instant. The sensation was similar to the physical remodeling he had undergone before, yet on an entirely different plane. Jun understood instinctively: his physical performance had soared beyond recognition. He had half-shed the species called human.
An overwhelming sense of omnipotence flooded him—only to be crushed a moment later by a pressure that seemed to grind his very soul.
Did something go wrong?
No, Jun. That’s normal.
Right now Jun and Fortuna were fused not only in body but in soul. Balance-patching had lowered her physical power enough that the merger itself was manageable, yet the rank of her soul remained undiminished; of course Jun’s soul would feel crushed beneath that lofty stature.
In fact—
The fact that it’s only a crushing sensation is already strange and amazing.
They had simply named it “Fusion” because Fortuna was currently walking the mortal world, but the new power engraved into the Stigma was essentially Divine Possession. Fortuna ranked third among all angels—an archangel. To host her and feel nothing worse than pressure? Even saints and saintesses could not manage that.
One might argue the balance patch removed most of the physical burden, yet saints and saintesses enjoyed the same protection; they were vessels prepared for just such an emergency, and the strain on their bodies during possession was likewise almost nonexistent. What they could not endure was the soul. A god’s soul was simply too vast and heavy for a human spirit to bear.
Then how am I holding on?
Endless willpower from your superpower’s nature, a soul tempered by elixirs, and the familiarity of the soul-thread between us… probably all of that.
Maybe. But I think it’s about time we started fighting…
You take the lead, Jun. In return, make sure you thoroughly thrash the bastards who dared treat your wife like war spoils. Got it?
Jun answered that he would, without fail.
As if on cue, the light bathing him faded. When the last of the glare vanished he slowly opened the eyes he had kept shut against the brilliance. Beautiful golden irises that cradled holy thunder looked out upon the world.
The first to receive that glory were, of course, the three assassins who had been closing in to kill him. They stood slack-jawed, too overwhelmed even to think. Jun simply stepped forward—and in the next instant he was standing right under their noses, as though he had always been there.
"!!!""Huh?""Heh?"
Three different reactions rose at once—
Slash!
—and black-and-white sword-light swept past their necks.
Thud. Thud. Roll…
Two heads wearing expressions of pure incomprehension dropped to the ground. Jun regarded them with indifferent eyes and spoke.
"Kyahaha. You dodged. For real? You’re the absolute best, you know that?"
"…Fuck, don’t copy me with those eyes. At least sneer or something."
"This way feels more annoying."
"Khuhuh. You son of a bitch."
Spitting the curse, the muscle-bound man shoved himself upright. An instant before Jun’s blades had moved he had sensed something and flung himself into a desperate roll; that alone had saved his life.
"What the hell is this, seriously? A sudden power-up? You the protagonist of some story or what?"
Slash!
"At least drop your guard for a second, fuck."
Jun answered with another swing. The man standing right in front of him had just kindly demonstrated what happened when you got careless; how could he possibly lower his guard? He almost felt like applauding the fellow’s self-sacrificing spirit. Sadly both of Jun’s hands were occupied by black and white swords, so applause was impossible. He decided to gift the man a sword-thrust instead.
Whirr!
At his will the six cores inside him simultaneously ramped up their suction. The mana they drank was converted into aura by the two Aura Cores and flooded every fiber of his body, reinforcing him another full tier.
The muscle man’s fist was already in his face—
Crunch!
—and Jun casually swatted it aside with Firmus’s pommel. Shockingly easy. While the man gaped in disbelief, the holy sword severed his left arm.
Thud!
"Guaaagh!"
The severed arm rolled across the dirt. Dark currents leaked from the stump, trying to reattach it, but the holy thunder lingering on the cut burned the currents to ash.
"Damn it! Goddamn it! Now this—aaagh!"
Thud!
"Would you shut up already!"
The moment the man tried to bring his right hand to his mouth, Firmus flashed and took that arm as well. Something tumbled from the fallen hand: a scrap of torn cloth and two dark-crimson pills. Jun glanced at the headless corpses. Both had their rear trouser pockets ripped open.
"Fast hands."
"Khuhuh. My pickpocketing’s pretty damn good, yeah."
Even with both arms gone the muscle man never lost his grin. That much, at least, was admirable. Jun still had no intention of sparing him.
Slash!
Sword-light flared; the muscle man’s head floated into the air. The fading light in his eyes seemed to curse Jun for denying him even a final word.
Jun.
I know.
The muscle man was dead. Yet it was not over. Even after the head fell, the cores inside the body spun with furious speed. Jun raised both holy sword and Firmus—
—but black mana erupted from the corpse first and shoved him back.
"Come on, let’s just finish this already."
Jun complained even as he poured Divine Power from every pore. The black mana did not vanish. It flinched, yet stubbornly and greedily swallowed the assassins’ heads, bodies, and the dark-crimson pills.
Crunch! Crunch! Squish! Squish!
From within the black mana came the wet sounds of bone and flesh knitting together. Then, accompanied by the howls of hounds, three pairs of crimson eyes locked onto Jun.
A crawling sense of foreboding made him swing both blades at the mana. Only the hiss of burning answered; the mana would not part. Fortuna’s holy arts fared no better.
Khuhuh. A mocking laugh seemed to whisper: You can’t. It’s impossible.
"…Sorry, but…"
Jun sheathed Firmus, gripped the holy sword in both hands, and closed his eyes. He pictured himself cleaving the entire black current in a single stroke.
Whiiirrr!!!
The six cores answered his desperate wish. Yet they fell just a fraction short—
Honey, hang in there!
—and his wife filled that tiny gap with rock-solid certainty. A small halo blossomed above his head.
"There is no such thing as impossible for me."
Jun Original — Lightning Cleaver
As though parting lightning itself, his single stroke severed the black mana clean through.
"Guaaagh!"
In a sealed chamber drowned in eerie darkness, a man’s scream tore through the air.
—My Lord! Are you all right, My Lord!
From the communication crystal on a corner table came an anxious inquiry. The man ground his teeth and seized the crystal in a white-knuckled grip.
"Shut up! My head is ringing!"
—I-I’m sorry.
Having silenced the goat-kin on the other end, the man collapsed onto a nearby sofa.
"How is that even possible…"
He groped for an answer that would never come while roughly tearing off his blood-soaked upper garments. A long sword-wound now marked his bare torso.
"How in the world did a mere mortal cut through His power?"
It felt as though one of those detestable beings had personally descended, yet even that should never have been enough to stop Cerberus’s summoning. He had used not only high-quality sacrifices and pills condensed with His power, but a portion of his own strength as well. The summoning of Cerberus had been inevitable—destiny itself.
"…Wait."
There was exactly one existence capable of such a feat: the one who had rewritten the future with absurd power.
"The Massacre Demon."
The mere thought of that being he never wished to recall set his entire body trembling. Out of habit he touched the scar still left on his temple.
"Why now? Why suddenly interfere with the mortal world? Does she still have lingering attachment to this place?"
No. If any attachment remained, he would already have died by her hand long ago.
Then why…?
He could not know. One thing alone was certain: the sinner branded with the mark of that detestable existence—the very target of this operation—could wield her power.
"Dangerous. That one is truly dangerous."
With eyes glittering in terror, the man picked up the communication crystal once more.