The Second Meeting in Mephauric (Part 1)
Rooooarrrrr
"Wh... what is this?"
"Grrrrrghhh...!"
The orange elixirs drained vitality from near their hearts, seizing control of their bodies.
Their vision blurred, and their flesh began to rot from inherent contradictions.
This was as far as they could hold out.
The others couldn't contain their wills, desires, obsessions, and rage any longer.
It all erupted wildly, as they sought to prove their superiority.
In truth, if someone were truly overwhelmingly strong from the start, they could simply treat everyone else like insects—or at best, well-surviving pets—keeping threats contained.
But those who desperately wanted to believe they were supremely superior beings deserving of respect, yet lacked the power to confirm it, only grew more unstable and violent.
Proclaiming themselves gods while endlessly needing to prove their divinity turned them into monsters obsessed with dominating, crushing, oppressing, and comparing others to affirm their godhood.
Even worship and praise could never satisfy them.
They couldn't be sure it proved their perfection.
As this ugliness poured out—condemning strong power as the root of all evil while unilaterally praising themselves as absolute good to the bitter end—their essence was extracted.
Their emotions and consciousness severed entirely.
Already shattered by shell shock, confronting their true nature triggered PTSD.
Exhaustion forced their bodies into rigid stone, minds endlessly spinning in futile rest.
Beyond them shimmered the Archangel: skin snow-white, green eyes, earth-toned long undercut hair, clad in a dark silver double-breasted tailored blazer jacket over a copper necktie and H-line suit skirt.
"Grrrrrghhh..."
"Heh... so you've been waiting for us to weaken like this..."
"You're nothing but destroyers. No more words. Vanish."
Ziiiiing
Booom
The orange elixirs exploded, hurling us into the subdimension.
Shwoooosh
Rooooar
Even hurtling through the subdimension, we could curse her.
"But don't forget—gloom and darkness will shroud everything... That veil people use to hide what they always face will never fade! Humanity can never escape the abyss; it will only survive on its negative power!"
"No matter how well you do, it's just the faces people show you! You're so much stronger, you can't even see their ugliness if you wanted to! Isn't that right? Do you want to forcibly drag out every facet and force yourself to see it? Or respect their freedom and say it's fine if they don't show you?"
"Humans love pinning the root of all evil! The harder you try to show only perfect good and rightness, the more vividly they'll imagine the perfect opposite—evil and wrong! I'm so looking forward to the atrocities humanity will commit in your name!!! Ahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!"
Jeracle side—5 minutes later
'This aura... the Archangel of Charity. Looks like a big fight just went down nearby.'
Michelle sensed only a vague feeling, but I could grasp the specifics easily.
"What... is this?"
"Let's check it out. Requesting more support now would just create gaps that endanger innocent civilians. We handle it here."
"Of course. Let's hurry."
Rushing to the scene, the Archangel of Charity stood amid the debris, adorned in powdered remnants of shattered orange elixirs.
She moved among the despairing, suffering fallen, gently stroking them with the dust to heal.
More precisely, reconstructing those blown to pieces.
"Excuse me... are you..."
Whoosh
"What's wrong...? Oh, Minister?"
I ignored her, coldly assessing the situation.
But Michelle eyed her warily, curious about someone using such power so freely (for good deeds, but still).
"Are you... an Archangel too...?"
"Uh... yes?"
"How did that happen...?"
"Well... by chance..."
But no time for chit-chat.
"This is bad. Mephauric's on the verge of collapse."
Rumblerumblerumble
The Archangel of Charity patched rifts using the orange elixir dust and imagined non-material energy from the people.
But the incoming radiation storm pushed it past the tipping point.
I discreetly deployed telekinesis to halt the collapse.
Something interfered.
'This? The victims' emotions and consciousness from the orange elixirs are seeping in, trying to interfere from another non-material realm. Some kind of linkage.'
Astounding.
Turning humanity's ambiguity—the stinginess opposing charity—into a concept where they refused healing out of pride.
Even Michelle seemed content just seeing her innate acts and emotions manifest physically.
But this one weaponized the very imagination of rejecting blessings.
Shwooo
Step
"I blocked the alien energy forcing this planet's repair, Minister. How's my charity?"
"Impressive. No reason to reprimand if you're not disrupting what you're already doing well."
"Humans are inherently stingy by default. Thus, the urge to be stingy—and justify it—is even greater. That will seal and sustain these rifts."
"I see. What's your name?"
"Enamel Listopia. Recently, a fragment embedded in my heart and absorbed. It endlessly purified surroundings, infusing vitality. Like dignity itself with a soul. Such charity devolves into stinginess—or coercing others to cling and collaborate, claiming cleverness while threatening a world they deem singular and supreme, all wrapped as conscience. Protectors are unreliable. They chant endless salvation in one voice while justifying every atrocity."
No one could miss that this referred to machine-like experts idolizing tyranny, bullying, and ostracism as efficiency and social virtue among ordinary citizens—and vengeful hippies turned hedonistic terrorists pursuing pleasure over another dictatorship.
"A soul, eh? So you knew exactly how stinginess could rampage oppositely? Normals only use mentality, reason, emotion for psionics—otherwise, they're egoless husks driven by arrogance. Ah, this is Michelle Merin. She has similar powers too. No need to explain; her personality says it. It reacts to emotions and consciousness, releasing energy raw. So, a proposal: fancy basing around Mephauric camp? Not empty words—I can supply needed energy if wanted."
"Pass. No need to owe you, or pity you into charity. Pitiful tales earning angelic grace? Those wretches invoke guilt-by-association and rampage, stripping their last humanity smugly."
"Fair enough. Where to next?"
"One thing: I won't work for Mephauric. Even with you here, it's a demon realm of irredeemable humans clinging to faint humanity via pity and sympathy for you. Worth protecting no matter what. But I'll work for myself. And... Michelle Merin."
"Yes? What can I help with?"
"How long have you worked with the Minister?"
"No, not working together. Citizens gathered in the square for New Year's; with US and UN troops pulled for protection, I just joined him on patrol. I run a bakery, Łaskawe Niebo, under Waskiba Nievo."
"Business good? Competing with US/UN rations?"
"Neither. Former's fine—Minister's a regular. Latter: he buys sometimes, mixes into rations, spreads fame. Not household name yet."
"Besides, no intent to maintain this extreme communist regime where rations double as pretext for massacres via sabotage charges if work slacks. Plan's to gradually shift to capitalism centered on Michelle Merin and settle."
"Well, then. Maybe I can contribute somehow."
"I just don't want to face you as enemy by misunderstanding or mistake on the battlefield. No issues now, but this guarantee eliminates even that risk."
"I've run solo fine so far. If we work together, I'll grant full autonomy as desired. Thoughts?"
"Hmmm................................Fine. Let's."
"Good choice. Doesn't mean no more thinking ahead, though—don't forget that."
"Naturally. I've seen plenty claiming intellect while unquestioningly obeying orders. Yet doubting others' charity as traps? Not a clue."
"Agreed. Work together for now. I guarantee they'll hit here massively again. Your help's essential."
Thus, smoothly allying with the Archangel of Charity, I felt future plans smoothing out.
Even reforming Mephauric overall to let people thrive actively seemed feasible now.