For Whom the Bell Tolls (3)
He is a boy with pink hair. He stands alone, tall and proud, as rain pours down in sheets.
"They say people mature when they're in pain."
Cliche glances to both sides as he speaks. To Diablo, and to Tiriel.
"Sometimes, you gotta let 'em hurt just the right amount."
Hearing that, Diablo and Tiriel both look up at Cliche in unison.
"……."
Cliche frowns, peering down into the valley. No one's dead yet. But everyone down there is already gone. Their eyes, filled with madness and hatred, are no different from those of corpses.
Cliche clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
"Guess these guys need to hurt for real."
At the same time, he helps Diablo to her feet.
"Shut your mouth! What do you know, you little shit?!"
Hadent swings his sword at Cliche.
Clang!
Blocking Hadent's blade is a single kukri knife. Hotse steps in front of him.
"Adults... fightin'..., kids... go... away~~"
"Kuh! You damn bitch?!"
Hadent's eyes roll back.
"Grahhh!"
Suddenly, his muscles bulge taut across his entire body.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Crash!
As he swings his sword, the terrain around them shifts. Rocks rip free, logs snap.
"Heh, hey, how many buffs did you stack on this guy?"
"W-well... whatever he asked for..."
When Diablo asks, Tiriel trembles and bows her head.
"Ugh... human... pest... annoyin'~~"
Hotse scowls at Hadent's sword pushing her back.
"Ho ho ho. No helping it. Let me assist you, old-timer—big mouth, no skill."
"Beep! Real fact, undeniable."
Unicef and AlphaGo join the fray.
Boom!
Blazing flames and laser beams erupt, slamming into Hadent's sword.
"Useless! You trash!"
Hadent roars and swings wildly. Once an ordinary human, now superhuman from countless buffs. But.
Crack... creak...
His body starts breaking down. Flesh can't keep up with the overamplified power.
Yet Hadent rages on.
"Eek! Monster!"
Even the vigilantes fear his form.
"Get lost!"
Hadent shoves aside Hotse, Unicef, and AlphaGo blocking him, breaking through.
There stands Cliche.
"You bastard! Hand over the saintess!"
Hadent's sword shatters. But his obsession ignites into blazing aura, carried on the tattered blade as he swings.
A slash powerful enough to split the gorge hurtles forward.
But.
"Don't be a pain."
Cliche dismisses the attack with a word.
Splat!
He swings his fist. Hadent's sword explodes into fragments, and a fist-sized hole punches through his white armor.
"Huh?"
Hadent doubts his eyes. Frozen mid-air, the heavy shockwave from Cliche's fist shreds his armor, crushes his body, and blasts backward.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Crash!!
The terrain warps again. Hadent crashes through logs and rocks, tumbling away. His sword, armor—everything shatters, scattering into the air.
"……."
The vigilantes and rebels alike lose all will to fight at the astonishing sight. They just stare blankly up at Cliche on the cliff.
"……."
Diablo and Tiriel gape up at him too.
To them, Cliche says one thing.
"What they really need isn't peace for the body. It's peace for the heart."
At the same time, he extends both hands forward.
Rumble... Crackle-crackle-crack!
Flames hot enough to incinerate the world. Ice cold enough to freeze it all.
Fire and ice fill the valley. The sky freezes and burns in grotesque cycles.
"Ah, aah..."
"It's all wrong... how do you beat that?"
"......We're all gonna die."
"Like the end of the world."
Vigilantes and rebels alike lose heart, dropping to their knees.
The fury of nature itself—untouchable by humans. They resign themselves before it.
Anything caught in that flow is surely doomed.
But.
Cliche's hands, aimed at the rebels and vigilantes respectively, converge in one spot.
Flash!
The fire blazing in his right hand meets the ice freezing in his left.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Crash!
A terrifying red-and-white shockwave engulfs the blood-soaked valley.
"Ugh... uwaaaah!!"
Everyone in the valley screams.
A deafening roar brings... a pink storm!
'......Huh?'
In that instant, all eyes widen.
What is this cozy, warm feeling?
A gentle breeze wraps the entire valley. Comfort beyond even drug highs. Like returning to mother's womb.
Their bodies, unscathed, seemed perfect already... but no.
Their rotten minds begin to heal. Brains soaked in drugs clear up. Warmth from poor, sick days sprouts anew in their hearts.
Days loving family, cherishing neighbors. Days sharing little but feeling rich.
"Aaah... fighting's so futile."
"Gasp!? Why am I holding this scary hunk of metal?!"
All touched by the pink storm drop swords and spears.
They face each other and sob.
"Aaaah! What have I done to my kin?! I'm so sorry!"
"Hit me! As much as I hurt you! Waaah!"
Vigilantes and rebels embrace, weeping like old times. Before power-mongers' schemes dragged them into war, they were simple farmers and woodcutters wishing only for their own—or loved ones'—pain to ease.
Clang! Clatter!
Blades hit stone. The downpour stops; pink light peeks through parting clouds.
The sun rises.
"......Is this a god?!"
Darklord mutters, prostrated, gazing up at Cliche.
But Cliche shakes his head.
"I'm no god."
"......Then what? You cleansed hearts rotten with hatred in an instant... what are you...?"
Cliche says nothing, stepping down from the rock. He taps Darklord's kneeling shoulder.
"I'm Cliche. A pink dragon."
Darklord's eyes tremble.
Pink. Was it ever so sacred, so noble?
Dragon? Huh?
Right then—
"Grahhh!"
A horrific scream from behind. No time for Cliche to turn.
Hadent drags his crumbling body from a gorge hole.
"Don't be fooled! His words are just a dirge! A demon's wailing cry that bewitches!"
He bellows like coughing up lungs, swinging his broken sword with all his might.
Straight at Cliche!
Hotse yells urgently.
"This is bad...! Cliche's... spent! All his power... went into... dissolving the armies'... hatred... so even that... low-level... attack... he can't block...! Meaning... he's in danger!"
"Less talking, more blocking!"
"Ho ho ho. Commentary time means attacks slow down anyway."
"Beep! But once my line ends, real danger."
"Then... keep... lines... slow~~... someone... close... will block..."
As Hotse, Roin, Unicef, and AlphaGo bicker—
"Die, you scum!"
Hadent's sword flies at Cliche.
That instant.
Two figures block his path.
"To prevent this world's destruction."
One is Diablo.
"To protect this world's peace."
The other, Tiriel.
Repeating the rebels' lines, Hadent's eyes roll once more.
"You can't even use your powers on yourselves—outta the way!"
Hadent swings at Diablo and Tiriel.
But.
The sisters act first.
Flash!
They buff each other in turn. The result?
Splat!
Empowered fists converge, slamming Hadent's jaw, spinning him.
"……."
Hadent pauses, neck twisted.
Thud.
He collapses.
Plink... plink...
Corn kernels from his popped jaw hit the ground, replacing fading rain.
At the same time—
"Woooah!"
"Long live the saintess!"
From the cliff base blooming with wildflowers, people returned to their pure selves raise hands in cheers.
The world fills with love, pink energy.
One spring day.
* * *
"No idea where you've been wandering, but you've got quite the smug face now?"
Tiriel, Diablo's twin, rubs under her nose with a finger.
Diablo, standing before her, looks sheepish, glancing away.
"Not coming back?"
"Heh. No bird returns... to... its... cage."
Tiriel sighs deeply, shaking her head.
"Sigh. Where'd you pick up that attitude?"
Tiriel and Diablo shake hands.
Twin sisters. Inseparable friends and family, raised together in remote mountain hills.
"Glad you found good friends."
"Heh! We're... life... long... pals now."
Diablo drops a cool line and turns sharply.
Tiriel waves from afar.
Diablo strides out of the temple. Cliche, leaning on the wall nearby, follows.
"You sure you're okay not staying?"
"Yeah. Don't worry."
"It's your sister you haven't seen in ages. Bet you have tons to say."
"Heh! Just a boring face. She came only to mock me."
"Wanna say one thing?"
"......What."
"Wipe your tears."
Cliche says coolly, eyes on the fading sunset.
Then—
Suddenly—
Tears burst from Diablo's eyes.
"……."
Cliche quietly strokes her head.
"So... sweet~~"
"Ho ho ho. Heartwarming."
"Beep! Boyfriend cosplay, gross."
"Why hate?! It's touching!"
Hotse, Unicef, AlphaGo, and Roin chatter behind.
And so.
A new member joins the party.
* * *
The sun sets.
Cliche, Diablo, and their merry friends walk away, casting long shadows.
"……."
Tiriel watches with a faint smile.
Someone stands beside her.
"……."
Darklord.
"You okay letting her go? She suffered as much as you."
"She'll be happiest with them."
"......I see."
Darklord nods at Tiriel's words.
Together, they silently gaze at the horizon sun.
Sunset.
Why does the red we've always seen look so deeply pink today?