The Reunion We've Been Waiting For
The Reunion We've Been Waiting For
That day was unlike any other.
The restraints were tighter. The manpower poured into the ritual had swollen far beyond the scale of ordinary days. And the demon's essence—along with the offerings that formed its foundation—carried an atmosphere entirely different from the usual fare.
The first demon of scripture, Baal.
The first demon, born from the process in which the strongest saint, Solomon, shattered a being's soul into seventy-two pieces to subjugate the Demon King, was a fundamentally different existence from all other demons.
And today was the day Canaria would swallow that demon.
If the other demons were mere byproducts of the Demon King,
Baal was the very vessel that had comprised him. That was why Baal served as the final key—the one that would gather the otherwise aimlessly drifting demons and forge them back into the Demon King. And it was why Baal demanded offerings of a level utterly unlike the others, which had been satisfied with mere drops of children's blood.
What the Pope produced were two brown-hued eyeballs. And Canaria felt she knew all too well whose eyes they were. Yet she could only pray they did not belong to anyone she knew.
-The right eyes of the twins you know—these are today's offering.
She had already heard those words from Francesco, who had become her informant. And there were only two people in the Holy Kingdom whom Canaria knew as twins.
Isabella's younger brothers, Ian and Ivan.
Those two eyes of the younger brothers who so resembled her friend had lost their color and become offerings to a demon stained black.
'...Starting with your right eye, I'll rip it out and kill you.'
When fury transcends its limits, it turns cold. Like touching ice and suffering a burn, Canaria's wrath took the shape of a scalding coldness.
"So today is the last day already. How do you feel? You'll get to see the sun after so long—I'd better prepare a blindfold so it doesn't blind you."
The Pope jeered, cracking a humorless joke. And then, as he always did, he forced Canaria's mouth open and shoved the offering inside.
The moment it entered her mouth, she wanted to vomit it back out.
There was no way to describe the sensation of swallowing the eyes of Isabella's younger brothers—her friend. Murky emotions—remorse and revulsion, transgression and horror—boiled up from her core.
But the Pope did not permit that act. He lifted Canaria's chin, the offering already forced inside, and pressed down on her throat, pushing it past her gullet.
And the moment she swallowed, Canaria's reason snapped.
The vessel to contain the contents had been completed.
The existence whose seed had been annihilated by Solomon, the strongest saint, joining hands with the Hero—the Demon King. After countless ages, it descended upon the present world.
In that moment, everyone fell silent.
They clutched the holy relics they had brought, sweating coldly, and merely glared at the Demon King who had descended upon the world. At that moment, the Demon King, who had taken possession of Canaria's body, slowly began to regain consciousness.
When the being finally opened its eyes,
those of lesser rank began to vomit blood. Even those of higher rank could not remain standing. Only the cardinals and above could barely manage to stay on their feet while facing the being directly.
It was a moment that chilled everyone to the marrow.
The restraints prepared in advance activated. Chains bound the Demon King's existence and rank, and the magic circles drawn beforehand neutralized its immense aura, pulling the being that had stood in the sky down to the earth.
Yet the sky is high.
The Tomb of Demons itself began to tremble at the presence of the descended Demon King. Cracks spread across the sculptures symbolizing demons, and the very air gained weight, pressing down upon their flesh.
As the vermin swallowed the blood erupting from their own bodies,
the Demon King quietly opened its mouth.
-...Where is Solomon?
The Demon King, seeking the Saint. Even though the Chain of a Thousand Autumns had diminished its stature, the moment everyone heard the Demon King's voice, blood poured from their ears. Had no measures been taken, all their heads would have burst and killed them in that very instant.
But they had not awakened the Demon King without a plan.
They began to deploy all the layered restraints and, for the worst-case scenario, the holy relics they had brought for the subjugation. But it was the very moment they funneled holy power into them to activate them all—
the Demon King's shadow, which had settled like mist, simply devoured their holy power ravenously.
-You can do nothing to me.
The Demon King sneered down at them.
-The fact that I am immobilized like this is not because you are impressive. It is because the legacies of Solomon and his predecessor have bound me.
Had it not been for the cross that nailed the first Saint and the Chain of Exorcism that Solomon himself forged, nothing could have restrained the Demon King before their eyes. So it arrogantly, openly mocked the priests before it, who had believed they could control it.
-So, bring me the Solomon of this age.
The Demon King jeered, bestowing its scorn upon them. Only then did the Pope realize what he had awakened. But it didn't matter. The more cunning a person was, the more layers their plans held. Even if he had brought elite personnel enough to rival a minor crusade, the possibility that they might fail to control this Demon King had already been accounted for.
"...If that is what you wish, I shall let you meet the Saint."
The Pope met scorn with scorn. And barely overcoming the Demon King's pressure, he summoned a being from beyond the firmly shut door of the tomb.
-...So you are the Solomon of this era?
Golden hair, the symbol of the Saint, and silver eyes. Those unfocused silver eyes were struggling to deny the sight before them. A girl wearing the expression of one who had lost the world—Rosaria—approached the Demon King.
"Canaria...?"
She couldn't comprehend the situation. Was the being before her truly Canaria? She thought it couldn't be, but regrettably, Rosaria knew Canaria far too well.
How could she not recognize the face of the one who had helped her endure all this time? How could she mistake the image she had traced hundreds of times, even in her dreams? She couldn't possibly mistake the love she had given a name.
The hair color had changed, but it was the moment she met those golden eyes she had once said she loved.
She sincerely wanted to deny the existence before her. For the Saint's eyes can see the soul—the very essence of a being.
She could not accept that hideous existence devouring Canaria's soul and beginning to encroach upon her body.
-Pleased to meet you. My name is...
It was when the Demon King, looking at Rosaria as though delighted, was about to introduce that accursed name erased from scripture.
"...Get out of that body right now."
Expression vanished from Rosaria's face.
And the moment Rosaria raised her hand, the Saint's divine power began to rampage. Even the Demon King's shadow, which had effortlessly erased the holy power of high-ranking priests, could not erase the divine power of God's reincarnation.
Golden chains, born with Rosaria at their center, cried out with a metallic clang and began surging toward the Demon King before her.
"...It's going to hurt a little, Canaria."
And so, offering an apology to whatever sliver of Canaria's soul still remained within, she began to wield the divine power that punished the Demon King at full force.
In that moment, a tug-of-war between the Saint and the Demon King began. Cracks slowly crept across the walls of the Tomb of Demons, which had previously only trembled, and the space itself soon became an arena.
-Impressive, isn't it? Even bound as I am, I never expected to contend with anyone other than Solomon and that mad dog!
The Demon King jeered, as though delighted.
"Don't make that face with Canaria's face!"
Rosaria raged. Judging that the chains alone would struggle to subdue it, she drew a new Saint's magic circle over the one the priests had laid down and began pressing the being back.
-The vermin are running away... Well, I suppose they can't hear me now.
No one wanted to be a shrimp caught between fighting whales. Those called knights, those who were believers of the Holy Kingdom, even the entity known as the Pope—all were fleeing at full speed from the evil before them.
But the flight of such ants did not enter Rosaria's eyes. She had to somehow save Canaria, whose soul still faintly remained. All her focus was directed at the Demon King before her.
-...Is this child that important to you?
The Demon King did not understand that emotion. After all, Solomon, the strongest saint, and this young Saintess before it now—they both wore the same expression as they begged for someone's return.
-Give Serena back...
Like in the distant past, when Solomon had called out the name of his lover who had become the Demon King, begging.
"I said get out of Canaria...!"
The current Saintess was also weeping and begging in the same way. Wasn't it a strange thing? For one called a Saint to plead with a being called the Demon King.
And the Demon King, who did not understand love, could not fathom why they had not changed even after thousands of years.
-...In that case, shall we make a deal? Then I will return this child's body to her.
It felt the stirring of a body not yet fully dominated.
Like the pull of attracting magnets,
like the force with which this world pulls at existence.
The body's owner's instincts wanted to go to the Saint before it.
The Demon King wanted to understand this feeling it was experiencing for the second time.
That was why it proposed this to the young Saintess before it—to give her the chance it had not given Solomon in the past.
"...As if I would ever make a deal with a Demon King. Stop your tricks and get out of Canaria's body."
Regrettably, Rosaria's eyes had overturned. Even though her body was reaching its limits, screaming and vomiting blood, her reason, consumed by fury, could not even perceive that fact.
-It's really nothing. Because all I want to confirm is which is heavier, that's all. I just want to know which will tip the scales—your conviction or your love.
No matter how great a Saint, subjugating the Demon King alone was impossible from the start. Even Solomon, the strongest saint, had only been able to subjugate the Demon King by joining forces with the Hero—an existence chosen by the world itself.
-Kneel before me now, and beg me wretchedly, with tears, to return this child's body to you. Then I will return the body of this child you love to its original owner.
The Demon King knew.
Just how venomous human pride could be.
It had felt it keenly during its life as a demon.
For the sake of pride, humans would drive themselves to ruin—betraying the parents who gave birth to them, the nation that raised them, their beloved lovers, precious friends, and even their own futures. Because humans were foolish creatures who would drive themselves to destruction for something as petty as pride.
-This is a contract. So you don't have to worry about me not keeping it. Feel free to kneel.
Thus, to toy with the Saint before it, the Demon King laid out this contract. After all, the Demon King's hobby was watching the despair of someone cutting down their own last hope by their own choice.
It thought this Saint before it would make the same foolish mistake. And it was about to gleefully watch her expression crumble, slowly kill her, and then swallow this world whole.
"...Please."
The Demon King's expectation had missed its mark.
Rosaria withdrew her divine power and, without hesitation, knelt before the Demon King. Then, weeping wretchedly, forgetting her dignity as the Saint, she pleaded with the Demon King like a child.
"Please... please, give Canaria back."
No matter how agonizing life had been, Rosaria had thought only of Canaria. She had sworn to herself that she could do anything for her, so something like kneeling was nothing. Even weeping and begging was something she could do again and again for Canaria.
Rosaria was prepared to lick the feet of her enemy. She was prepared to gouge out her own eyes, and perhaps she had spent this past year prepared even for death in order to get Canaria back.
So kneeling before a Demon King and pleading—that was something she could do for years.
Regrettably, because the Demon King did not know the weight of the love between Canaria and Rosaria, it had made such a foolish judgment.
"...I have knelt as you desired. I have begged wretchedly, shedding tears. If even this is insufficient, I will bow my head and strike it against the ground."
A thud resounded through the space. The one called the Saint bowed her head before the Demon King and pleaded. And when she raised her head, the Demon King realized it had made a mistaken deal.
"...Please give Canaria back."
Those were familiar eyes.
The Saint before it wore the ecstatic yet hollow eyes of someone who had lost everything and had just been granted a chance to reclaim it. On Rosaria's face, weeping with unfocused eyes, there was no longer any room for something like pride.
This was merely a girl who had lost her world, bowing her head to get her world back once more.
-...Well, you don't have much time left anyway.
The Demon King cleanly acknowledged its misjudgment. For demons are beings that bear no ill consequences from contracts they have proposed with their own mouths. Their progenitor, the Demon King, accepted its mistake with an almost disappointingly clean grace and carried out the contract.
But it would have been a shame to leave it at that. Even if they didn't have much time left anyway, retreating so easily was not the Demon King's taste.
-...Pietà.
It turned that word, meaning sorrow, into a trigger.
-...When that moment comes, I'll return then, Solomon.
The Demon King had read a fragment of Rosaria's fate.
-So, enjoy that fleeting happiness you can never hold onto—however briefly.
The being mocked Rosaria's future, kept the promise it had uttered, and stepped beyond consciousness. Swallowing the words that they would meet again soon.
"...Canaria."
At the same time, Rosaria's eyes saw Canaria's soul returning. She barely raised her body, which had become a rag from the excessive use of divine power, and began stumbling toward the love she was meeting after so long.
"...I'm sorry I'm late."
With the last of her divine power, scraped from the very bottom, she released all the restraints binding Canaria. After so long, Canaria descended from the cross and knelt upon the ground. In that moment, her body—wrists bearing deep marks, unconscious and caked in clotted blood—finally found rest.
"...You can resent me."
Rosaria held Canaria for the first time in a long time. It was the moment she finally achieved the scene she had pictured even in her dreams. In those lightless eyes, a glimmer bearing countless emotions began to flicker.
The process had been far too long. It had been painful, and she was sorry. It had been a cruel time, a parting she never wished to endure again. So, she swore to herself that this time she would never be apart from her again.
"...Still."
Through that long process of hardship, Rosaria had broken. Even she herself knew how much she had changed from who she once was. So Rosaria did not want to show Canaria the face she was making now.
The face of a vulgar madwoman,
twisted by love and obsession.
At the same time, tears of happiness flowed from Rosaria's eyes. And her relieved face twisted into a warped smile.
A heart covered in wounds, dominated by possessiveness, finally coveted the world it had gotten back.
"...Please don't ever leave my side again."
...That was Rosaria's first kiss with Canaria—one that the current Canaria would not remember.