The Final Salvation
High above the sky, a white tower pierced toward the sun itself.
Beneath the cloud-veiled spire of the white tower, a congregation of beings had gathered — each over three meters tall, with wings of pristine white feather folded against their backs. Their expressions varied one from another, but the greed shimmering deep within their eyes was identical in every single one.
Among them, a middle-aged figure with a magnificently groomed white beard raised his voice in open delight.
"The Lord God Criella surely favors us, his children of heaven!! Hahaha!"
With his laughter, the wings at his back fluttered up and down, broadcasting his joy. Those standing beside him nodded along, unable to contain their excitement.
"Truly a bizarre creature. They say it is nothing but a mindless beast, yet I have never laid eyes on such a wondrous life-form."
"Indeed, quite so. Had the archangels not been gathered here, it might have proven dangerous."
"...It was so resilient and sturdy that I confess I found myself anxious just watching."
"Haha. Anxious, with the great archangels themselves in attendance? Your humor goes too far."
At the center of their circle lay a collapsed creature in human shape, though not quite two meters tall. Human in form, they said — but its limbs were improperly attached and its features had melted into one another, leaving no doubt that it was anything but human.
"If such life-forms had appeared from the start, we would never have needed to offer the humans of the middle realm as sacrifice."
"A pity, but what could be done? There are no humans left to sacrifice — surely the Lord God pitied us and sent down this gift to use in their place."
"Just so. It is the will of the Lord God."
"A single one of these should extend all of our lifespans by a good ten years, no?"
"Worth looking forward to. Those wretched humans were so frail they fell apart too quickly — dreadful efficiency. The demons were better stock, back when we still had them."
"Exactly. Humans were nothing but noise. Exterminating them outright was the far better choice. And see — that is precisely why such good fortune befalls us now."
"Haha. It seems only good things have been happening of late. We obtained a clue to the 'Stairway of Heaven,' the passage to the higher realm, and now even this gift drops into our laps."
They cast their minds back over recent events.
The Stairway of Heaven — said to be connected to the celestial gate where the Lord God dwelled.
Toward the place presumed to be the passage to the higher realm, the entirety of the Angelic Race had pooled its strength and hurled a divine incantation.
It had evidently achieved something, for the sky had cracked open and a single living being had tumbled down — and that being brimmed with immense power.
Truly... someday... might we not even sacrifice a god itself, and claim eternal life?
No one spoke the thought aloud, yet there was no doubt that all of them were thinking it.
One had only to look at their glistening eyes to be certain.
The Altar of the Angelic Race.
Beneath the white tower, so tall its summit could not be seen, stood the altar.
The altar was a singular holy relic, capable of increasing the power and lifespan of the entire Angelic Race depending on the sacrifice offered. It was thanks to this altar that the angels had ultimately come to reign above every race in the world. Of course, having offered up every race as sacrifice, nothing remained now but mindless beasts — and no more offerings to be had.
And then, under the Lord God's guidance, a new sacrifice had fallen right into their hands. How could they not rejoice?
Though I cannot imagine why, of all things, that last one was the very creature connected to the heavens above.
Their discovery of the clue to the "Stairway of Heaven" was not long past. Had some archangel not happened to go gawk at the prisoner and stumble upon it by sheer luck, none of them would ever have known.
It is because the Lord God watches over us.
They believed it with their whole hearts.
They knew not what awaited in the celestial realm — but so long as they possessed the holy relic that was the Altar of the Angelic Race, nothing could frighten them. Even the higher realm they called Heaven would kneel at their feet!
Be it a god or anything else besides.
It was even possible that the Lord God himself might quail before their rising might.
Atop the white spire.
Within a chamber where holy power of pure white light formed dense, intricate script that crowded every wall.
At its center, a man with wild, matted hair and a body reduced to ruin knelt with both arms suspended above him. Chains wrought of light were bound to his heart and his four limbs, permitting him not the slightest movement. From his back and shoulders sprouted a few sparse feathers, fine and short as down.
A half-blood, born of angel and human. But the angelic blood in his veins ran thin, and he had been exiled to the surface world below as a criminal.
And he was the Last Hero of Humanity — the one who had fought the Angelic Race to the bitter end.
The sole human survivor, he had lost even his sight, and could no longer see the world before him.
Creeeak—
The door opened, and a footstep heavier than any human's roused him from his stupor.
"Human nature is a ceaseless bother. Such a pathetic species — doomed to perish unless it devours this organic filth."
With the voice, a lesser angel serving as his jailer entered the chamber.
Thud—
"Kghk! Gah! Mmph!"
The lesser angel slammed the bowl against his face, forcing the food into his mouth. Thick, sour gruel slid down over his cheeks and dripped away.
It hardly deserved the name of food — a porridge made by tossing a whole beast into a pot and boiling it carelessly. Even that much effort proved too tiresome, so they threw whatever was at hand into one great batch and fed it to him for a month at a stretch.
He struggled to keep the abomination from sliding down his throat, but the lesser angel's holy power made refusal impossible.
Vmmmm—
Gulp— gulp—
"Hurgh...."
"Ha.... Stop struggling. You know full well that even if you wished to die, you cannot."
The script of holy power crowding every inch of the chamber was forcibly prolonging his life, which had long since drained to nothing. Through the faint angelic blood that remained in his veins, holy power was pumped into him against his will — a divine incantation that clutched at his lifeline, laced with power drawn down from the altar.
The angels prattled on about blessings and the like, but to him it was nothing more than a curse — one that forbade him even the mercy of death.
Ah... O God.
Do You truly watch these wicked deeds with folded hands?
Despair welled up in the man's unfocused eyes.
His mother, too, had been of the Angelic Race — he could not bring himself to despise the race itself.
He knew his mother's heart, the creed of coexistence and harmony she had proclaimed until her dying breath, and that knowledge made it all the harder.
He could only grieve the sins the angels had committed.
Rather, it was his own powerlessness — his failure to stop their atrocities — that crushed his heart to pieces.
The Angelic Race, called the messengers of God.
For ages, humanity had worshipped them and spared no measure of loyalty. Humanity, which had crushed the demons and slaughtered the alien races who served as the demons' underlings, had been the vanguard and spear of the angels.
It was to stop the wanton slaughter of those races that he had taken up his sword against humanity — and yet there was a reason he had come to be called humanity's hero.
After the alien races fell, the angels began to speak endlessly of a coming day of salvation — and then the angels betrayed humanity and turned their blades upon it.
For the sake of the surviving humans and the handful of alien races who remained, he took up his sword once more.
Life is right simply because it exists.
He who knew the weight of a life better than most raised his blade against the angels.
But the angels, grown fat on the alien races and more than half of humankind, were beyond what one man could oppose.
Lost in a memory steeped in deep regret, he was roused by the lesser angel's voice.
"Oh — do you remember that time? Even your incessant mouth went quiet then, as I recall."
"Repent... Salvation... will not discriminate... between you and me....... "
Hee-hee—
The corners of the lesser angel's mouth split wide, carving out a smile that crawled along the skin.
"...."
At that smile, the man — the Last Hero of Humanity, the half-blood of angel and human — shuddered from head to toe.
This was the one who, under the pretext of interrogation, had dragged his acquaintances before him one by one, tortured them, and put them to death with exquisite cruelty.
-My love, I am all right. In the next world, we shall be together again—
-KYAAAAAAAK!
His wife, who had stood unchangingly at his side both against humanity and against the angels.
-Hold... on. Do not... break.
-GRUUUAAAK!
A beastfolk who had lost her parents to human hands, yet who had believed in his creed of harmony and peace and fought beside him.
-KHHAAAK!
-You are nothing like those wretches! So do not blame yourse—
-Krrk.
Everyone who had shared even the slenderest bond with him had breathed their last before his eyes.
Even now, their screams rang vivid in his ears.
"Be grateful. The only reason we bother to keep you alive, tiresome as it is, is because of the 'Stairway of Heaven.'"
So... that was it, all along.
Just before the angels would have slain him, letters had surfaced before the hero's eyes, and something had reached out and connected to him — and that connection was all that had preserved his life.
The reason he could not give thanks for it was simple: his station was that of a 'captured specimen' and nothing more.
Sealed within the spire, subjected to experiments of unknown purpose, he had never been allowed to die. Could not be allowed to die — because of the curse the angels called a blessing.
He no longer even knew what the thing that had saved him was; the angels' experiments and torments had scraped away every trace of it. He found himself wondering whether he ought to have simply died back then.
It was the regret of his lifetime — the question that even now remained unanswered.
Had he died then, perhaps he would have been spared this sight. He might at least have closed his eyes without ever learning how vile the angels were — angels more demonic than the demons themselves.
Their conduct, which profaned even death itself, filled him with a sorrow beyond words.
"Still, it was thanks to you that we found our clue to the higher realm, so today I shall simply let it pass."
Ordinarily, a forced meal was followed by interrogation laced with torture.
"O... God..... "
He spoke the name of God, but his heart no longer stirred. By now he knew better.
He knew that in this world, there was no such thing as salvation.
From the deepest chamber of his chest, dark and viscous emotions surged up like the fires of a blast furnace.
Salvation?
What could salvation even be?
My life?
I have no need of it.
Everyone but these fallen angels is dead. Where in this world is there a reason left to survive? What could I possibly do, alone in a world with nothing left to protect?
This was no longer a world where one could live in one's right mind.
No. Or rather....
He felt his mind flickering in and out.
The long ordeal of torture and experimentation had already withered him to the bone.
Perhaps, from somewhere deep within, he was genuinely praying for the coming of a being that would tear the wings from their backs and rend them limb from limb.
This wretched world, where nothing remained but angels.
Or else....
Perhaps, without even knowing it himself, he had been wishing for exactly that.
And then something seeped into his sightless vision.
The color of the clouds began to change — changed enough that even his blurred sight could register it.
What... is that...?
It was a grotesque scene beyond all description.
A sphere? No — an explosion?
Was this what it would look like, if the sun itself burst?
A blinding radiance, born at the very pinnacle of the white spire where he knelt, streaked out to the ends of the horizon and swallowed the sky. The blood-red heavens rippled and began to twist.
Ah... ahh...!
At last, cracks spidered across the sky, brimming full with masses of light — and it began.
He closed his eyes and offered up a prayer.
Repent.
Salvation will not discriminate between you and me.
When that day comes, if there is not a single shame upon you, true salvation shall descend.
But if you do not awaken to your own denial and ignorance, then by the truth itself the flame of judgment shall find you — a fire that casts your vileness back upon your own faces.
He did not stop praying.
The angels' terrible death-cries rolled across the world. Terror-mad shrieks and screams of disbelief rang out like a hymn.
The world was breaking apart.
And around that time.
Some colossal presence took notice of the calamity that had befallen the Angelic Race, spat out its fury, and shook the very heavens —
and upon the Interdimensional Integrated Community, an announcement from the Juddak was posted.