A Twisted Expression of Love
A Twisted Expression of Love
The ceiling that greeted me when I opened my eyes was different from usual. It wasn't the dark, damp ceiling of that tomb I'd looked up at all year long. It was a ceiling where gold and white blended beautifully.
It was the Saintess's room—the one I'd only ever heard about.
Canaria opened her eyes in an unfamiliar room that belonged to Rosaria. The sensation felt foreign. She pinched her own cheek, half-wondering if she might be dreaming.
It hurt. And at the same time, it felt vivid.
Even so, she couldn't easily accept the reality in front of her.
When a scene you've only ever seen in dreams becomes reality, what human could accept it in a single moment? So Canaria raised herself up with difficulty, hoping desperately that this reality was not a dream. She was on the verge of pulling herself up from the bed she'd been lying in, swaying unsteadily.
The sound of footsteps brushed past her ears. And then the voice she had longed to hear even in her dreams—that voice—began to reach her. Soon the door opened, and when the owner of that voice revealed herself,
"Ro...saria?"
Tears began to stream from the corners of Canaria's eyes. Because the moment she saw that face she'd clung to, recalling it again and again to keep going, her world regained its ecstatic, drenched light once more.
"At last... you're finally awake, Canaria."
Rosaria dashed over in a single stride and embraced her. That softness, that gentleness, that warmth—it had been so long. Both Rosaria and Canaria's eyes grew red-rimmed.
Because they had both lived all that time thinking only of each other.
It was the sight of a void in their hearts being filled after so long. Wanting to hold on to that miracle wrought by each other's hope, they held one another for a long while, sharing the sentiments that had gone unfelt for far too long.
"...I won't let anyone take you from me ever again."
She was terrified, and frightened. The fear had rooted itself in her heart: that if she carelessly let go of this hand now, she would be torn apart again, just like before. So for a very, very long time, they held each other in silence, striving to erase the sense of loss they'd felt back then.
......And when an object falls, it sends ripples across the water when it lands. And the higher the fall, the larger those ripples grow, and the longer they last.
The moment their sense of an eternal loss touched each other, it rebounded, drawing enormous ripples.
A year—that span of time had been far too long for them. And not just any year, but a year filled to the brim with agony and despair. A span of time that had felt longer than all the rest of their lives combined.
And they had filled that emptiness with love. They had endured that accursed time doggedly, sustained by love for one another, and so those enormous ripples eventually began to transform into action.
"...I missed you."
It was Rosaria who kissed her first.
It was so ecstatic that their entire bodies trembled.
"...I missed you too."
And then it was Canaria.
A ticklish sensation rose up from both their lower bellies.
But that alone wasn't enough to quench their thirst. It only heated the atmosphere further; it didn't ease the fundamental hunger.
The twisted love that had grown between them—born from a year of divergence—bound them together stickily. Carrying the unspoken promise that they would never be separated again, they detonated an entire year's worth of love that they'd never been able to express.
At the same time, they began a kiss in which each of them yearned for the other.
It was slick, and it was hot. It was gentle, and a deeply suggestive pink sensation filled their heads. When their lips finally parted, a long, stretched thread of transparency still connected them.
"...I love you, Canaria."
Rosaria confessed her feelings first.
It was a word Canaria had heard often before. But she knew that this time it meant something different. Rosaria—who had changed from a child into a young woman, who was becoming an adult—had confessed to Canaria her love as a lover.
"...And I love you, Rosaria."
It was the same for Canaria. Time had turned them both, before they knew it, from children into girls growing into women, and that sense of loss had bound them—once irreplaceable friends—now as lovers who would promise each other their entire lives.
An affection that was beginning to run wild.
And right now, there was no obstacle present that could stop them.
With their fingers laced together, they began to lay each other down on the bed.
They held each other, pressing their bodies together as closely as possible.
It was terribly soft, and tenderly warm.
And more than anything, it was deeply, deeply suggestive.
This novel sensation—born from acting after building a relationship that crossed beyond friendship for the first time—was more than enough to dye both their minds pink.
At the same time, they felt a sinful dampness spreading below. Yet they paid no mind to that sinful sensation, and only yearned for the love in front of them.
Because they had loved, they loved, and they would love.
They threw their reason into the rising waves of that sensation.
And so they began to explore each other's bodies.
It was an impious act. An act that went against doctrine. A sight the world would hardly look upon favorably. But none of that mattered to them now. From top to bottom, gently yet greedily, they began to stroke and touch each other.
The atmosphere grew heated to a point where it was almost impossible for it to grow any hotter.
Yet still, they continued to express their love for one another.
And this time as well, it was Rosaria who expressed it first.
Rosaria pressed a surprise kiss to the nape of Canaria's neck. Still unsatisfied, she bit down softly on her beloved's nape and engraved her mark into that spot.
"Hah—!"
Canaria let out a moan at this strange pleasure that mimicked pain. At the same time, those tooth-marks—which only a single person in the entire world could make—were engraved into Canaria's white nape, which had flushed faintly red.
"...Now it's Canaria's turn."
Rosaria tilted her head slightly.
So that Canaria could bring her lips to it more easily, Rosaria lifted up the hair that covered her nape, and gently tugged her clothing aside, clearing away everything that obstructed it herself.
Rosaria showed Canaria her own white nape, which had also flushed faintly red, just like Canaria's.
And then she looked at Canaria with a deeply pitiful expression.
It was the first time she had ever coquettishly pleaded with Canaria, pestering her to act, and the Canaria in front of her was not the sort of person who could refuse such a request from Rosaria.
But the place Canaria went was slightly lower. She aimed for the lovely empty space between Rosaria's collarbone and the top of her chest.
"...You're being awfully mischievous."
As expected, Canaria pressed a tender kiss there as well. And just as Rosaria had left a mark on her, Canaria also left a mark of love that only she could inscribe upon the empty space of Rosaria's body.
"...Hgh—!"
Rosaria and Canaria—each had now drawn identical, unique marks upon the other's body that only one person in the world could engrave.
"...That's a punishment for refusing my request."
Rosaria smiled a risqué smile and gently licked the suggestive mark she'd engraved on Canaria's nape, bestowing the happiest punishment in the world upon her lover's neck.
"...If this is a punishment, I think I could stand one every day, Rosaria."
"Then I'll give you one every day. If that's what Canaria wants."
Rosaria spread her arms wide and looked at Canaria. Understanding what that gesture meant, Canaria immediately moved into Rosaria's embrace, and in order to receive another "punishment," she gently licked the mark she herself had engraved, exactly as Rosaria had done moments before.
"...You've become such a bad girl, Canaria."
Once again, Rosaria imposed a punishment upon Canaria. She laid the sentence of a gentle head-pat upon her. It was a sensation Canaria had always longed for and endlessly recalled, and it had been so very long since she'd last felt it. That longed-for touch trailed down Canaria's back, turning into a tingling sensation that began to fill her head.
"...If it's for Rosaria, I could do far worse things."
"...Then I suppose I'll have no choice but to keep punishing Canaria for all the bad things she does to me."
They were each other's magnet.
An endlessly, infinitely pulling attraction.
They were water that, no matter how it changed form, would eventually become one.
In those silver eyes, only gold was reflected,
And in those gold eyes, only silver was reflected.
Their hearts—which had lost their way so completely that it was impossible to place them even on a scale—had finally found each other's direction, and they now rushed toward it endlessly. Their somewhat heated reunion feast continued upon the bed for a very long while.
*
After a long time had passed, the heated atmosphere somehow settled.
In that space now filled with the scent of each other's breath, Rosaria loosened the collar of her clothing slightly, revealing a red crest engraved over her left breast to Canaria.
"...A Heart's Oath."
Because Canaria had inherited a certain amount of demonic knowledge, she recognized what that crest was even without Rosaria having to explain it to her.
The Heart's Oath—first engraved by the First Saint upon his first disciple, and then by the mightiest Saint, Solomon, upon his irreplaceable friend the Hero, Cain Seikrid.
That vow of entrusting each other's lives to the other was engraved upon Rosaria's chest. It was a cruel compact, for even a Saint so far removed from death would find their life extinguished by that Stigma carrying absolute death.
"...So regrettably, my life is effectively being held as collateral."
It was no different from Rosaria walking around with her heart exposed. And this, naturally, was a curse the Pope had inscribed upon her—binding Rosaria with the surest shackle of all: her life.
"...What a cowardly wretch."
Right to the very end, he'd done something thoroughly despicable. She was a being he could kill if he merely set his mind to it, yet because that son of a bitch had connected his own heart to Rosaria's, killing the Pope was no different from killing Rosaria herself.
Even Canaria was bound by that restriction.
"...But it isn't as though there's no way to undo it."
There were two ways to release the Stigma.
The first was the target's natural death. Within scripture, a natural death was considered a summons from the Chief God, leading the soul whose time had come to heaven. Accordingly, divine power did not regard natural death as the same concept as simply dying.
But that was effectively impossible.
To put it bluntly, a Pope on the verge of death might decide to take Rosaria as his companion to the afterlife and plunge a blade into his own chest.
"...Stripping him of his qualification."
And the second was for him to become a heretic who had cast aside the doctrines of scripture.
After all, this wasn't a power designed to let a heretic hold your heart as collateral—it was a power built upon a foundation of "faith" strong enough to connect one heart to another.
Once they officially expelled the Pope, branding him a heretic, this oath would lose its power and free Rosaria.
"It will be difficult, but there's no other way besides the second option."
The problem, however, was the current state of the Holy Kingdom.
No matter that Rosaria was a Saint, this rotten Holy Kingdom had already fallen entirely into the Pope's hands. Rendering the punishment of expulsion—which required the approval of a majority of the Cardinals—was practically impossible.
"...Would it be impossible for me to alter their perceptions?"
Canaria spoke of using the Demon King's divine power.
"...Most likely, he's already anticipated that as well."
The Demon King's divine power was the ability to turn unreasonable demands into reality.
So to grant the qualifications of a king to someone who had none, or to force a victory in an unwinnable war—that was the power of the Demon King, the king of demons.
Canaria intended to use her power to forcibly overturn their perceptions and then make the Pope a heretic, erasing all these curses.
"They already go around wearing holy relics twenty-four hours a day."
Sadly, however, the Pope was as thorough as he was cowardly. Fearing the Demon King's power would be used, he had strictly commanded that holy relics capable of shielding against its influence be worn at all times—twenty-four hours a day—by anyone of Cardinal rank or higher.
The Pope kept striking from behind.
"But that's no guarantee it's impossible."
Yet Rosaria and the Pope's battle of wits had been underway for a long time. Ever since the day she'd lost Canaria, Rosaria had been endlessly scheming alongside Erika, matching wits with the Pope.
"One by one, we'll simply have to swallow them whole."
She prioritized a strategy of eating away.
No matter how heavily restricted Canaria was, no matter how tightly she was leashed—she was still the Demon King. Forcing a single Cardinal to remove their holy relic and altering their perceptions would not be beyond her.
Of course, it was a strategy that required careful exploitation of gaps, but...
Rosaria knew Canaria.
She was perfect in every field.
And when it came to anything involving Rosaria, she was utterly thorough. So Rosaria believed, without a shadow of a doubt, that she would absolutely succeed.
"From now on, I'll need to focus on building up my own faction..."
The pieces Rosaria held were three.
The former Cardinal, Francesco, was the rook.
Erika, the Saint from before her, was the bishop.
And now, Canaria, who had become a Demon King—she was the queen.
Yet she didn't believe that was all.
Because there would be a great many pawns she hadn't yet accounted for. Erika alone, after all, had built up her own faction over those long years. There were many blades still hidden behind the black curtain, so constructing the board would be no problem at all.
The battle of wits between the Pope and Rosaria—with the fate of the Holy Kingdom hanging in the balance—began in that moment.
*
Three days after Canaria awoke, everything proceeded at a furious pace. The news that the Saint had succeeded in subduing the Demon King was all but tantamount to the Holy Kingdom having acquired enormous power.
With the Pope's formal permission, the investiture ceremony to appoint Rosaria as a Saint began.
And humiliatingly, Canaria was treated like some painstakingly tamed sacred beast, paraded out merely to serve as licorice—a prop to elevate Rosaria, who was about to become the new Saint, on that stage.
Canaria was dragged along like a prisoner, shackles clamped around her wrists and ankles. And before her walked Rosaria. Dressed in holy vestments, carrying the sacred staff, she made her way toward the dais where all the priests of the Holy Kingdom had gathered.
It was winter, and a blizzard was whipping through. A day when the snow fell so thickly it covered the ridges white.
The Holy Kingdom's new Saint revealed herself upon the dais. People called her the mightiest Saint since Solomon of old. A newly begun legend of the Holy Kingdom, who had single-handedly subdued a Demon King.
The Saintess, glittering with a brilliant byname, stood before them.
"As a new Saint, I swear to everyone gathered here."
But the people simply didn't know. They didn't know that the Holy Kingdom treated its Saint like a puppet. Even so, Rosaria had to boldly etch her own existence into their eyes.
She raised the sacred staff and proclaimed to them:
"Under this banner, I will see that the Chief God's blessings dwell."
And in that moment, Canaria's ears heard another story.
-Canaria, can you see the people there?
Rosaria whispered via divine power, so that only Canaria could hear.
"I will become the prayers of the lowly, and be their hope."
-...Regrettably, every single one of them is our enemy.
"I will become a lamp guiding those who have lost their way."
-...But the ones who cannot be here, those are the people we used to be. And they are the people we imagined we would become, back in those days.
"I will become a mace that punishes evil."
-Greedy though it may be, I want to protect them. I don't want to let these sparks fly toward those who know nothing.
"I will become a shield to safeguard the righteous."
-And as we promised back then, I want to live together in paradise—the three of us: me, Canaria, and Isabella.
"I will open my ears to hear the voices of the oppressed."
-...Though of course, there's still a mountain of work to be done before that can happen.
"I will open my eyes, so that no one must suffer misfortune."
-Because we have to eliminate not just the enemies inside the Holy Kingdom, but the enemies outside as well, before the paradise we dream of can be complete.
"I swear that all of this is a promise without a single falsehood."
-...So, until that moment comes, will you indulge my selfishness?
The oath that would be recorded as a glorious one resounded through the sky. Soon after, Canaria—having been turned into a piñata for Rosaria's sake—moved her steps toward the dais, the iron clanking as she went.
And then, likewise, she used her divine power so that only Rosaria could hear.
-......For my entire life, I will remain at Rosaria's side. So whatever choice Rosaria makes, I will follow it, so don't you worry. Even if the world denounces you as wrong, I alone will affirm you. I stake everything I have on this. I swear it.
Soon after, Rosaria released the restraints that bound Canaria. At the same moment, Canaria offered her a salute and opened her mouth.
"...The shadow of the Holy Kingdom presents itself to the Saintess."
For the first time in thousands of years since Solomon, a Demon King had knelt.
-I love you, Rosaria.
The meaning held within that gesture was impossibly vast.
At the same time, everyone on the dais saluted the new Saint, and the sky resounded with a nauseating roar of cheers and applause. It could only be described as foul, hypocritical congratulation—enough to make you want to cover your ears.
Yet Rosaria, without a single shift in expression, proclaimed:
"...May infinite glory rest upon the Holy Kingdom."
It was her first step, taken after formally becoming the Saintess.
......And in times to come, that day would be remembered by only Canaria, in all the world, as the anniversary of Rosaria's death.