Loss, Preparation (5)
Loss, Preparation (5)
Rain made of lightning.
A disaster rarely seen drew screams and lamentation from countless people. It was a catastrophe hard to believe a single monster could produce.
The electrical systems in most buildings had died, but no new light source was needed.
The whole sky was bright. The instant one bolt ended, three more struck without pause. Tens of thousands of bolts covered the heavens, rendering light unnecessary.
Thunder mixed with wailing, painting a vision of hell. And in the middle of it were the magical girls.
- This way! Come this way!
- Anyone injured, come here!
- I’ll protect you!
One led the evacuation, another healed the wounded, and another used her body and magic to shield people from the lightning.
And yet another, knowing it was futile, still resisted the monster.
“The hell is this...”
Orange Altair was among them.
She loosed arrows endlessly, but most were struck by lightning and burned to ash before they could reach the monster. Even the arrows that did connect dealt little damage. The lightning wrapped around his body served as armor that deflected them.
If she took more time to condense her magical power and then fire, she might do some harm. But she couldn’t.
The arrows she fired without pause from her high position served as a fine shield against the bolts descending from the sky, and thanks to that, evacuation became easier.
If she decreased the number of projectiles, she clearly saw the damage that would befall civilians. Between certain cover and an uncertain attack that might not even get through—she had to choose the former.
The madly flickering downpour of lightning exhausted her eyes. She glanced away for a moment to observe how the others were doing. Even so, her hands never stopped.
Most who were trying to land effective hits on the monster weren’t much different from Orange Altair.
“Aaaagh! Why can’t you put any strength into it?! Ganbare~ you trash!!! Why are you even alive if you can’t attack?! Just shine!!! Ah, you’re already dead.”
Looking toward White Dabih, Orange Altair let out a deep sigh. It was a fine opportunity to resolve that she would never end up like that.
Instead of sending all those skeleton soldiers meaninglessly charging into the lightning, she could have diverted a few to the evacuation—the situation would have been much better.
Amid all that, she saw a new light welling up from the lightning’s epicenter. The luminosity was enormous. It easily erased the flashes of lightning and dyed the space its own color.
A familiar pink.
Abruptly, Orange Altair went blank. The hand that had ceaselessly drawn the bowstring stopped for just a moment.
“...Deneb?”
It was a familiar starlight she should no longer be able to see.
**
[ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATION!]
From the belt flowed a vigorous mechanical tone. An astronomical observation intoned by a mascot’s voice.
Jo Ah-yoon saw a star.
A star so bright it seemed blinding. A star brimming with vivid pink light. Yet a small star.
She knew this star, too.
“...Deneb.”
The star she had seen when she became a magical girl. The star that had descended to her like a shooting star as she harbored an earnest wish.
Though its light was small, it was never shabby.
At the sight of that majesty once more, she reached out and stroked it.
“Right, I’d forgotten you too.”
Jo Ah-yoon had no such thing as a dream. Nevertheless, the star had come to grant her wish—not to protect a dream of her own, but to give her the chance to protect someone else’s.
“I’m sorry.”
But as time passed, Jo Ah-yoon gradually forgot her gratitude toward the star. Circumstances overwhelmed her will, exhaustion devoured her goodwill, and frailty erased her courage.
“I won’t forget anymore.”
Deneb.
This star, whose name means tail, was her tail.
An uncomfortable presence she always wanted to remove, and at the same time, a love-hate existence whose disappearance would throw her off balance.
“And I won’t be embarrassed by you anymore.”
[Deneb!]
The name of the first star was called.
“This might be shameless of me, but I have one more thing to say.”
This time, instead of the star coming to Jo Ah-yoon, she sought out and chose it herself.
“You alone aren’t enough.”
She was no longer a passive choice. She herself picked the lights and drew the lines.
[Denebola!]
Leo’s star, Denebola.
[Deneb Kaitos!]
Cetus’s star, Deneb Kaitos.
[Deneb Algedi!]
Capricornus’s star, Deneb Algedi.
[Deneb Dulfim!]
Delphinus’s star, Deneb Dulfim.
Four additional stars bearing the name of tail were selected.
She had deliberately chosen the names of tails she had always wanted to erase.
A constellation isn’t something that originally existed; it’s a brand on the sky drawn by people connecting star to star.
If so, then connecting distant stars and giving them a name is also something people can do.
Jo Ah-yoon connected her possibilities with tails.
“I don’t need to be the body. A tail is enough.”
She doesn’t need attention. She doesn’t need the spotlight. She doesn’t need to shine with any tremendous sense of mission or justice. Other people can be those main characters. What she wants isn’t the protagonist—it’s a world where those protagonists can shine.
“If I can just connect them, that’s enough.”
That’s why she is a tail.
Not a sentence, but a period.
A comma connecting one sentence to the next.
That much is enough.
If she can become the stability for someone who races on without rest—even at the end of the line—that’s enough.
The possibility she had observed took shape here and actualized.
Five different stars connected and completed one existing constellation.
[CASSIOPEIA!]
Cassiopeia.
It became a bridge reaching all the way to the North Star. A W-shaped constellation, like a bird flapping its wings.
Paradoxically, the constellation drawn to connect shining beings took the shape of a queen who had once ascended to the heavens.
Five strands of pink light wrapped once around Jo Ah-yoon’s body. She placed her hands on the belt, which unfolded into an M-shape. She pressed the right wing firmly. When she let go, the folded wing recovered its original shape slowly, with elasticity.
The mechanical voice leaked out again.
[CONSTELLATION OBSERVATION!]
She saw a constellation.
Having seen it, all that remained was to approach it.
And to clothe her body in that radiance.
[Are You Ready?]
Her belt—her mascot—asked her once again.
Are you ready?
Are you ready to throw away your happiness? Are you ready to throw away your safety and peace?
Are you ready to challenge an endless road of hardship?
Are you ready to lose the tranquility you might have had?
“Why ask again now?”
She simply repeated the answer she had given just before.
Jo Ah-yoon doesn’t have the courage to dream.
“I’ve been ready for a long time.”
But she has the courage to protect dreams.
She has been a magical girl for a long time now.
A Guardian.
BOOM! A fierce light shot up to the ends of the sky.
A single sacred stream of light, like a celestial maiden descending, flowed down, and from within it walked someone clad in pink armor adorned with white feathers and white wings.
Soon the beam subsided, gathering at her chest. An ornament in the shape of the Cassiopeia constellation formed and adorned her.
“I’d better hand over what you’re owed.”
Even Aquila could not ignore that light. He shifted the gaze that had been fixed on the insolent wretch who had cut his neck downward.
“Ho-oh.”
Even in his rage, he couldn’t suppress his admiration. Her outward form was unquestionably that of a monster, yet what he felt was the power of a magical girl—and furthermore, that magical girl’s power existed in multiples.
A presence as if five magical girls had been gathered into one. Aquila smirked.
“Even an ant makes you flinch underfoot. I see you have the skill to protect yourself in a situation like this.”
Aquila laughed arrogantly and moved his hand again. Tens of thousands of bolts moved at his command. It was as if an organic colony made of lightning was shifting.
“Wait just a moment. I shall punish this creature, then I will claim you.”
Countless bolts merged into a single stream and became a thick pillar of lightning.
“Sleep for a little while.”
CRACK! A bolt as large as a house descended to the earth. Its target was her.
“You? Claim me? Bullshit.”
But the bolt never touched the ground. It was elegantly torn in two. A flippant sneer sounded from within the splitting lightning.
“A thing like you can’t afford me.”
Flick. She lightly dusted off her hands. From her fingertips spilled shuriken shaped like butterflies. Aquila dodged the shuriken with a slight tilt of his head.
But at that moment, the butterfly and her positions swapped.
In an instant she was airborne, and she shouted down at Aquila.
“Listen up!”
Her extended leg came crashing down toward Aquila.
“The only thing you bastards get is death, you fucks!!!”
Before Aquila could even react, her kick slammed into his head. CRACK! With a crisp impact sound, the lightning body and head were separated. His head went flying through the sky once again.
“How dare you...!”
Aquila tried to re-form his body of lightning. But just before the bolts could move, a shadow fell over his head.
A black-eyed monster whose whole body was composed of white lightning. Watcher. He raised a brutal, massive axe high.
Then brought it straight down.
KABOOM! Thunder broke, and Aquila’s head crashed to the ground without the slightest delay.
“D-dare you...!”
“And you are?”
At some point she had already come to the ground. She kicked Aquila’s grounded head as if it were a soccer ball.
Watcher, plummeting from above with gravitational acceleration, aimed at that head and swung his axe.
A slash meant to cleave in two. But Aquila’s head did not split. In the end, Watcher decided to drive it into the earth with the axe still embedded in it.
CRAAAASH! A deafening sound like a giant tree being split apart rang out, and Aquila’s head was buried deep in the ground.
Still Aquila did not die. Watcher swung his axe once more. Aquila was faster. He erupted with lightning in all directions. The bolts, shaped like a golden crown, melted and burned the surroundings as easily as melting chocolate.
“Can’t let you do that.”
Just before the lightning touched Watcher’s body, she threw two butterfly-shaped shuriken. In two directions at once. One toward Watcher, one toward the open sky beyond the lightning’s reach.
The moment a butterfly touched Watcher, he was instantly transported into the empty air.
A teleportation ability that connects one end to another like a bridge. A power that had once been hers now rested in her hands once again.
“You insignificant worms dare...!”
“Goddamn, you’re sturdy.”
Aquila raged, tearing apart with fury. No one here was cowed by that anger.
One grasped butterfly shuriken, the other raised an axe.
Elegant wing ornaments fluttered behind her back, and behind Watcher’s back, lightning in a cloak-like form surged without pause.
There were no words between them. Watcher focused only on his target, lacking the time to properly examine her. And he had no particular reason to eliminate someone who was helping him deal with the enemy. So Watcher ignored her. Watcher held no emotion toward her. No worry, no gratitude, no sorrow. Right now, he had lost everything.
She examined Watcher. Given his lightning reserves, maintaining his strength for roughly thirty more seconds seemed to be his limit.
“Plenty of time.”
Behind a helmet that revealed no expression, her face was unquestionably smiling. She pointed a finger at Watcher.
“Let’s finish that bastard first, then see what’s what.”
A butterfly flew. The butterfly that passed behind Aquila’s head had, before anyone knew it, swapped places with Jo Ah-yoon. To that arrogant head, she spoke her final words.
“Ready to dance with the stars?”
“What are you talking about—”
At the same time, she threw butterflies. One butterfly shot up into the sky, and the other touched Aquila’s head.
And so, Aquila’s head was transported into the sky. A single butterfly wasn’t the end. Tens of thousands of butterflies embroidered the space around him.
“N-no....”
Already guessing her ability, Aquila muttered in unease. He tried to erupt lightning to scatter the butterflies, but the light merely passed through. It couldn’t push the butterflies away.
One butterfly vanished, and she appeared to strike Aquila’s head. Then another vanished, and Watcher appeared to cleave his head.
Tens of thousands of butterflies still remained.
In the 7.11 seconds before Aquila’s head fell back to the ground, tens of thousands of butterflies vanished, and tens of thousands of kicks and slashes repeated.
Butterfly Kick.
To the point where one couldn’t tell what was butterfly and what was attack—impermanent and fleeting—tens of thousands of trajectories adorned the sky. A few seconds of pink and white lines being drawn.
In those few seconds, Aquila experienced the torment of the Hell of Uninterrupted Suffering. No matter how sturdy his head was, it couldn’t remain intact through this endless agony.
Just before his head touched the ground, it was ground to dust and scattered.
“Guess you weren’t... ready after all.”
Watching the pathetic end of the arrogant monster, Jo Ah-yoon muttered.
The sky had cleared before she knew it.
One last bolt thrown into the dry sky.
“...You too?”
Looking at Watcher—at Han Jae-jung—she murmured sadly.