For Whom the Bell Tolls (2)
A single firework bursts in the sky, emitting a white light that shines lonely and isolated.
“Captain. What’s that signal?”
Dark Lord’s expression hardens rigidly.
“We don’t use fireworks like that.”
At the same moment, shouts erupt from the sentries beyond the stockade.
“We’re under attack! The enemy’s charging in!”
No sooner do they hear the sentries’ cries than Dark Lord draws his red sickle and kicks down the door.
Boom!
A bolt of lightning crashes right beside them. Cannonballs are exploding everywhere.
“What the hell’s going on?!”
“It’s the vigilantes! They’ve found our position!”
Dark Lord grinds his teeth at his subordinate’s report.
“How the fuck...?”
Right then, the final stockade collapses. And behind it, countless vigilantes surge forward like a white wave.
A man at the forefront strides right up to Dark Lord.
“Greetings, heretic leader. Remember me?”
“You bastard...!”
Dark Lord glares fiercely with his one good eye. How could he forget that face!
Harden! The vigilante captain and Singmulgur’s real power broker! Why the hell is he here!?
Seeing the Dark Lord’s twisted face, Harden lets out a refreshingly exhilarating and joyful laugh, savoring the pure satisfaction of the moment.
He sweeps his gaze over the razed hideout interior. The vigilantes mercilessly slash and stab the rebels with their white swords and spears.
“Don’t fuck around!”
Dark Lord swings his red sickle like lightning, batting away the charging spears. He yanks the nearest spearman by the throat and slices it clean with his blade.
“Gahk!”
The spearman collapses in a heap, a long gash across his neck.
And at that instant—
Flash!
A brilliant beam of light shoots from the vigilantes’ rear, enveloping the spearman.
“Hah! I’m alive!”
The man who should’ve been dead springs back up. The wound on his neck heals in seconds.
“Heh heh heh. A scratch like that’s nothing.”
Harden’s still grinning ear to ear. Dragged forward behind him is Diablo, her eyes blindfolded.
“Goddamn it! You’ve got her with you!? Not a real saintess—just a damn heal bot.”
Dark Lord grinds his teeth and falls back. His rebels are already taking massive casualties. No matter how much damage they inflict on the vigilantes, the saintess’s power just heals them right up. There’s no way to fight back.
Saintess Diablo selectively heals only the vigilantes.
Staring at the bleeding rebels, Diablo cries out,
“Heal them too!”
“Can’t do that, Saintess. If you want to minimize casualties, prioritize our vigilantes. Aren’t they the ones fighting body and soul for you?”
Harden strokes Diablo’s head with a sleazy grin. Then he bellows toward the valley below.
“Full charge! This is a holy war! The gods demand this battle!”
Empowered by Harden’s shout, the soldiers charge with spears and swords at the ready. It’s a majestic sight, like a white wave crashing in.
“Kuaaaagh!”
Even now, the vigilantes’ blades ruthlessly cut down the rebels. Buffed by divine power, their physical strength overwhelms the enemy. Even grievous wounds that should kill are patched up by retreating to the saintess and charging back in. There’s no beating that.
Dark Lord grinds his teeth.
“How’d you find our hideout?”
“Just followed a rebel POW who fled this way.”
Harden smirks and draws his sword to block Dark Lord’s charge.
Clang!
Sparks fly everywhere. Dark Lord parries Harden’s blade with incredible strength, but only for a moment—he’s forced back.
Harden’s power has long surpassed human limits. No way to withstand it.
Thud!
Harden sends Dark Lord flying, then pauses. An arrow’s lodged in his arm. Pain he hasn’t felt in ages!
Harden turns to Saintess Diablo.
“Saintess. Mind healing this for me?”
“......”
Diablo glares at him, lips pressed tight in defiance. She won’t heal him, no matter what.
“Guess no choice.”
Harden shrugs and grabs a nearby rebel soldier by the scruff.
Stab!
His sword pierces the rebel’s lung.
“Kyaaaagh!”
Diablo screams, but Harden ignores her, driving the blade deeper.
“Heal him, or he dies.”
“......”
“What’ll it be?”
Harden grins. Diablo extends her trembling hand. Brilliant holy magic erupts, enveloping both Harden and the rebel.
Harden’s arm heals perfectly. So does the rebel’s body.
Thump—clunk!
Harden grins wider and lops off the rebel’s head. He kicks it flying across the battlefield.
“Just keep healing like that.”
Harden turns away with a smile. Diablo trembles, looking around.
“God! Be with me!”
“God! Have you forsaken me!?”
Same skin, same hair, same nationality. Why do they invoke God to slaughter each other? Why does God bless some and abandon others?
The valley soaks in blood, driving people madder still. Diablo squeezes her eyes shut, refusing to heal.
At her feet, dazed faces gasp their last.
“Saintess...? Why? Why won’t you heal us?”
A man with both arms severed kneels before her, wailing. Diablo hastily heals him—both arms regrow in an instant.
“Thank you! I’ll use these to take more heretic heads!”
The man grabs his sword with glee and charges back in. He claims over twenty rebel necks before losing a leg.
The rain pours harder. The valley sloshes with blood. Screams and curses erupt everywhere. Guts and flesh chunks float in the runoff. Rocks and roots are dyed dark red.
“Ah... Aaaah...”
Diablo reaches for the dying, only to be blocked again and again.
“Demon... bitch...”
The dying curse her to the last. Eyes bulging in blood pools stare at Diablo, unclosing even in death.
Right then!
Flash!
A sun-bright white light explodes! It surges from the rebels’ side, opposite the vigilantes.
“Wha—!?”
“No way! My body!”
The fallen rebels start rising one by one.
“What!?”
Harden’s eyes bulge. He whips around. Diablo’s still surrounded by vigilantes at the rear.
“Heh heh. What a mess...”
Parting the rebels strides another figure! It’s Diablo!
A second Diablo on the rebel side! She narrows her eyes and shifts her gaze to the vigilante Diablo.
“Heh heh. How’s this, Tiriel? This your idea of jus.tice?”
“......”
“I left the temple ‘cause I couldn’t stand the sight of you. What about you?”
“......”
The girl Diablo calls Tiriel is her spitting-image twin sister!
“W-We have a saintess too!”
“The saintess’s sister is back!”
The rebels cheer. Now both sides have zero deaths! The twins’ immense holy power shines, reviving even the dead.
But.
“Cough!”
Diablo staggers, clutching a withered tree like a crutch. She vomits blood. Reviving everyone who should’ve stayed dead has drained her holy power massively.
“I... I’ll save... at least one more.”
Still, Diablo keeps healing. A son with a split gut, a father with a shattered skull. Fathers, lovers, sons—all dying.
Diablo grits her teeth and heals them one by one. Like old times.
But.
“Hahaha! Good! Kill ‘em! I’ll kill ‘em again and again!”
The more they heal, the wilder Harden rages. He hacks off rebel limbs in a frenzy.
“Stop that mad bastard!”
Dark Lord blocks him with his red sickle.
“Waaaah! Glory to God!”
“People first!”
Mad cries echo from both sides.
“Ah... Aaaah...”
In the end, Tiriel collapses in tears. The more she heals, the more pain and hatred amplify. No more miracles from her swollen white hands.
“Heh heh, that’s it, huh...”
Diablo too spews blood and slumps. Her holy power exhausted.
No more heals—both sides panic.
“Wh-What? God? Why forsake us!?”
Pleas turn to something uglier.
“It hurts! Heal me! Save me!”
“Demon! What’re you doing!?”
“Who made us like this? You bastards!?”
Blood stench fills the valley. Rain can’t wash the crimson world. The white lights from Diablo and Tiriel have nearly faded.
In this valley of resentment, hatred, stubbornness, arrogance, black and white—miracles seem impossible now.
......
Right then.
“Ah, this is getting annoying.”
A voice thick with boredom. It sounds languid, yet oddly warm. It wraps around Diablo’s rain-soaked, shivering body.
“......?”
Diablo, eyes glazed and teeth chattering, feels the tremors ease a bit.
“What!?”
Harden, clashing with Dark Lord, yanks back his sword and retreats.
There stands a color out of place in the carnage: pretty pink hair on a boy. He’s appeared like a shadow behind Diablo’s small frame.
Cliche.
“A good guy slips up once and gets bitched at, but a bad guy does good once and gets praised. That’s the world.”
“What nonsense is that?! Who the hell are you!?”
Harden snaps like icicles. But Cliche looks like he couldn’t care less whose dog is barking.
“Does a saintess have to perfectly save everyone every time?”
Cliche turns to Dark Lord this time.
“And if she slips up, she gets hated?”
“......”
Even now, Dark Lord bites his lip, glaring only at Diablo.
Cliche dips his finger in the blood gushing down the valley and turns to her.
“You... if you’re gonna keep healing others, might as well live as a demon. Easier on the heart.”
A pink smile blooms.
Diablo doesn’t quite get what he means. But that smile feels so warm. Not too red like blood on a blade, not too white like holy power trapped in concrete—just the right pink.
And awfully cute, too.