The Approaching Apocalypse

True to a gallery gathered from Demon Continent stock — people who had made the law of the jungle and the supremacy of the strong their entire creed — its defining trait was an aggression so fierce that the galleries of other continents could not even be compared to it.

Rage, sorrow, lament, jealousy, and delight all churned together into a single chaos, and still the gallery regulars refused to yield. Today, as every day, they rolled out fresh bait.

A week later, Laplace — who had remained on the Demon Continent all that while, communing with the Demon God — returned to the South American Continent. Naturally, Ushia, who had occupied the post of Laplace's underling, or rather hanger-on, followed Laplace back to South America as well.

"It's been fun! See you at the Academy later!"

"Yeah! See you then!!"

Perhaps it was because, while Laplace had come to meet the Demon God, Ushia had come to meet me and Makina — but in the span of a single week, Mikana seemed to have grown quite close to Ushia.

Laplace and Ushia had come to see us one last time. We exchanged our final goodbyes, and I watched Laplace's back as they turned without another word and set off toward the airport.

Not even going to ask the Demon God to open a gate?

Right beside them stood a being with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the power to travel freely not only between continent and continent, but even between the floors of the Tower — and still Laplace coolly turned away. Considering Laplace's Authority and the Demon God's temperament, it felt as though they hadn't even bothered to try, knowing full well the request would never be granted.

But what on earth was that line?

The single remark Laplace had left while looking at me, just before departing, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still lingered vivid in my mind.

So long as I don't let my guard down — in other words, so long as I don't grow arrogant — they'll bring me down with ease? Is that really something you say to the incarnation of Pride?

"Oh. Got a call."

With every turn of the cogwheels of time — cogwheels that had never once stopped — the start of term drew steadily nearer. And in that same span, the fuel of the mana power plants was burning through at a rapid pace.

A woman in a pure white lab coat, translucent goggles over her eyes, approached and spoke to a man.

"Director. If we don't recharge the mana stones, the generator will stop before long."

The man the female researcher had addressed as Director nodded, a sheaf of documents in one hand, regarding the whole of the situation from a remove with a detached calm.

"I know. At this rate the mana power plant will soon cease to operate, and every light that has brilliantly illuminated the Demon Continent even through the night will gutter out."

Reflected in the female researcher's eyes was the Director, doing nothing but gaze upon the mana power plant as it poured forth light, a self-mocking air about him. Was it anger — that a man who held the title of director of a research institute could wear such a self-deriding attitude, even standing before a catastrophic disaster that might well bring the Demon Continent to ruin?

She kept pressing solutions upon the Director, who was letting the time slip idly by.

"We have to send incarnations to hunt magical beasts and bring them back, this very moment!"

Send incarnations up to the higher floors, have them hunt the magical beasts, extract the mana stones, and return. The crudest method, and at once the orthodox one — and the most certain. Within the rules of this Tower to begin with, against magical beasts that an ordinary human could not even attempt to stand against, the means available to humanity were never that many.

"No. There's no need to go out of our way to send incarnations. It isn't a scale that dispatching a few of them would solve, in any case."

"Then what in the world are you planning to do?! Are we all just going to light campfires together in a city where the mana's gone out?!"

At the female researcher's relentless urging, he at last drew out his phone along with a cigarette, his expression gone dark.

"Let me smoke just one. You can wait, can't you?"

At the bitter look on the Director's face — an expression she had not once seen in all the time they had worked together — the female researcher nodded before she knew it.

The Director lowered his head, a cigarette held between his lips. He offered neither word nor gesture, and yet she brought her hand to the cigarette, and from her middle finger, extended alone and perfectly straight, a small spark breathed forth.

"Thank you."

Murky smoke spills from the Director's mouth and, for a brief moment, stains the crimson sky black. The Demon God — the very one who dyed that sky red — where are they now, and what are they doing? What occupies them so completely that they keep their silence even through a crisis in the Demon Continent they claimed as their own jurisdiction? If this is how it is to be, why descend at all from that high heavenly world onto the land of insignificant mortals?

The cigarette, consuming its last ember, burned out. The Director indifferently ground the remaining butt out between his fingers and looked down at the phone in his hand.

What showed on the Director's phone was someone's number.

The name saved to it—

"I will contact Lord Incarnation myself. All staff are to conduct themselves as usual."