Chapter Text
The loothouse stank of dust, mold, and old wood that had soaked up years of grime. Subaru stood behind the counter, crouched down low like a terrified cashier who’d just realized the customer walking in was carrying a knife. Except this wasn’t some ordinary thug—this was Elsa Granhiert, the Bowel Hunter. Her sick grin gleamed sharp in the dim lantern light as she fought like a dancer of blades. And every time Puck froze her with ice, she only laughed, her body breaking free of the frost with that unnerving joy that made Subaru’s stomach churn.
He hugged himself tighter against the counter, eyes darting left and right, trying to find any space, any way out. His chest heaved as sweat slicked his forehead.
“I don’t wanna die again… dammit, not like this…” he muttered under his breath, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted iron.
Elsa’s laugh rang again, shrill and almost musical. “Ahh, how wonderful. Fear. It makes everything taste so much richer.”
Puck floated above, puffing out cold mist like a furry executioner. “You’re quite troublesome, woman,” the little spirit said, voice chilled like the air around him. Shards of ice burst forward, slashing across Elsa’s path.
She slipped through them as if the floor itself was helping her dance, blades flashing. “Troublesome? Oh, you wound me.”
Subaru felt the thudding of his heart in his throat. His hands trembled against the countertop. Emilia turned for a second, silver hair sweeping with her motion. Her amethyst eyes, wide and urgent, caught him.
“Subaru, dodge!” she screamed.
“Huh—?”
Slash!
The sound was wet, wrong, like someone tearing open a sack of meat. A cold sensation spread across his torso. He looked down in disbelief, pupils shrinking, and saw Elsa’s grin first—her lips curling as though she’d just won a bet—before his eyes dragged lower. His own intestines peeked through the cut.
“Ah… shit,” Subaru breathed, the world tilting as his knees buckled. He fell back against the counter, then slid down to the floor, leaving a bright trail of red behind. “I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”
Emilia’s face drained of color, hand clamped over her mouth as her knees shook. She looked like she might vomit right there, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Subaru!”
“Big Bro!” Felt’s voice cracked. Her tiny frame stood rigid near the stairs, eyes darting everywhere like she wanted to run but couldn’t. “Damn it, damn it—”
Old Man Rom roared, lifting his massive club and swinging with the fury of a protective beast. The air shook as the weapon cut through space toward Elsa’s ribs.
She only smirked, slid her blade under, and with a flick, sent the club flying like it weighed nothing. The sound of wood shattering echoed as it crashed against the far wall.
Subaru’s vision swam. The world was turning hazy, like someone had pulled a veil of smoke over everything. He clutched at the wound, but his fingers were slick and useless, blood spilling faster than he could stop it.
Pathetic. That was all he was. Pathetic.
“I died… twice already,” he thought, his lips barely moving. “And now again… what the hell am I doing? What am I even worth here? I’m weak… so damn weak…”
He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. Instead, his body just trembled as more blood poured out. ‘How many more loops? Will there even be another one? Do I… do I just give up in the next loop? Run away?’ His voice in his mind was bitter, dripping with self-loathing. ‘Wouldn’t that be… cowardly?’
Elsa crouched down beside him, blade still dripping. Her eyes were lit with amusement, almost like she was complimenting a rare wine. “Your bowels…” she whispered, tilting her head as though observing art. “They aren’t particularly unique. But… still good enough.”
Her words cut worse than her blade.
“Really?!” Subaru’s thoughts screamed, fury mixing with despair. “You just g-gutted me, and that’s what you have to s-s-say? What k-kind of psy-psychotic Yelp review is t-that?!”
She was a sadist. No, worse—she was a complete psychopath, living for moments like this. Subaru’s world was numbers, games, snacks, normal things. He couldn’t even wrap his head around the abyss where her soul had to be.
“You’re a good meat shield, boy,” Puck’s voice rang coldly, ice crashing around Elsa again, forcing her away from Subaru’s collapsing body.
That one hurt in its own way. Subaru almost wanted to laugh if his lungs weren’t filling with copper-tasting blood. ‘Meat shield? Seriously? That’s all I am to you, furball? You look so damn cute but you’re colder than your ice.’
He blinked sluggishly. His eyes followed Emilia as she dashed forward, casting spells, frost swirling with her every step. She didn’t waste a single moment, her body trembling but her will strong. She didn’t know him—not really, not in this loop—but seeing him like this still hurt her. He could see it in her eyes.
“Why… does it hurt her?” Subaru wondered as black began to creep in at the corners of his vision. “She doesn’t know me, not here. So why… why do I still want to protect her? Why do I…”
His body trembled violently as he coughed, red bubbling from his lips.
“Is this it?” he thought, the world dimming. “Is this my fate? Just to keep dying, useless, weak, a prop for other people’s stories? Is that all I’ll ever be?”
His breath rattled, shallow, like the air itself was slipping away from him.
“I wish… I wish I was strong enough,” his fading mind whispered, “to establish true Justice.”
Strange. Somewhere in the haze of agony, in the ringing in his ears, a melody began to play. A haunting, eerie song. The theme song of “Magical Girl Madoka,” faint and surreal, thrummed in his head.
“What the hell…” Subaru’s thoughts were sluggish, stretching. “Why’s that… of all things…?”
The music grew softer, more distant, as his vision darkened. The loothouse, the blood, the chaos—it all faded away into a vast, swallowing black.
And then there was nothing.
—★—
Emilia knelt on the blood-stained floor, her hands trembling against her chest. The image of Subaru collapsing, his face pale and his body shaking as his life slipped away, burned itself into her mind. She wanted to reach out, to heal, to stop the bleeding—but she had been too slow. Too weak.
Her throat was dry, words trapped there like shards of glass. “I couldn’t save him…” she whispered, almost to herself. Her violet eyes glossed with unshed tears. “I let him die right in front of me.”
Puck drifted closer, hovering by her shoulder, his tiny form radiating frost. “Lia, it wasn’t your fault,” he said softly, though his voice held a bite of steel. “That woman was too dangerous. Even I—”
He cut himself short, glaring at the dark-haired butcher who stood with her bloody smile, basking in the carnage.
Puck’s little paws spread. His fur flared with icy energy, and the temperature plummeted instantly. The wooden walls of the loot house groaned, frost crawling along their surfaces. The ground beneath Elsa shimmered white.
“Now sleep forever,” Puck said, his voice cold enough to freeze bone.
A torrent of blizzards surged out, engulfing Elsa whole. Her body stiffened mid-laugh, her gleeful expression preserved in crystal-clear ice. In seconds, she was entombed inside a statue of frozen death, every detail captured—the smirk, the sharp blade raised, the glint in her eye.
The silence afterward was thick, broken only by Felt’s shaky whisper. “I-is it over?” Her voice cracked. She was trying to sound tough, but her small frame trembled visibly.
Puck floated lower, eyes narrowed. “Regenerative abilities or not, no way she’s breaking free of this. She won’t be escaping. Not from me.” His tone left no room for argument.
Emilia, still pale, forced herself upright, brushing tears from her cheeks. “Felt. Please… give me the insignia back.” Her voice was calm but fragile, cracking with guilt.
“Tch,” Felt clicked her tongue, avoiding eye contact. She shoved her hand into her pocket, rummaging for the stolen trinket. “Fine, fine. I don’t even care about this stupid thing anymore—”
Crack.
The sound echoed sharp and chilling. Everyone froze.
Their heads snapped toward the statue.
Crack…
A jagged fissure spread across the frozen figure’s chest. Splinters of ice broke away and fell to the ground with a clatter.
Puck’s fur bristled, his body glowing with a renewed storm of mana. His little paws lifted higher, claws extended, icy mist coiling violently around him. “Lia! Get back!” he shouted, voice hard.
CRACK!
The statue exploded outward in a spray of glittering shards. From the ruin, a black blur leapt forth. Elsa.
Her skin was shredded, hanging in ribbons, bones visible through cracks of half-healed flesh. But even as the group stared in horror, her body knit itself back together—fast, relentless, unstoppable.
“Ahhh, how exhilarating!” Elsa laughed, the sound unhinged as she swung her blade with glee toward Emilia.
Emilia gasped, hands rising instinctively. Frost burst from her fingertips, forming a barrier of gleaming ice.
Shink!
The blade sliced through it like paper. Emilia stumbled back, heart hammering, eyes wide with terror.
Puck unleashed another barrage, icicles hurtling like arrows. Elsa twisted, flipped effortlessly in the air, her cloak spinning around her. Her blade flashed once, twice, deflecting some of the shards while she dodged the rest.
With a sudden flick of her wrist, she hurled her knife at Puck, the blade whistling through the frigid air.
Puck zipped aside effortlessly, his tiny form blurring past it. “You’ll need more than that,” he sneered.
But when he turned back, she was already there.
Her grin, wide and manic, stretched as her arm arced down. The knife gleamed with intent to gut him.
“Puck—eh?!” Emilia screamed, but her voice strangled in her throat.
The air shifted. Thickened.
A pressure fell over the room, suffocating, heavy enough to crush lungs. It was like the presence of thousands of MaBeasts had flooded into the loothouse at once. The air stilled, unmoving, oppressive.
Emilia staggered under the weight, her knees nearly giving. Felt gagged, her small body folding as bile spilled from her lips onto the floor. She coughed and wheezed, trembling violently.
“Felt!” Rom barked, his massive hand reaching to pat her back. But even his massive frame trembled, his eyes wide with something that could only be called fear.
Elsa froze. Her blade lowered slightly. The mad grin slipped from her face.
Puck, too, narrowed his eyes, icy mist swirling tighter around him as he turned toward the sound of footsteps.
The fog of cold mist hung heavy in the aftermath of the fight. Through it, two glowing golden-orange orbs pierced the air like lanterns in the dark.
The footsteps echoed soft but deliberate.
“Who…” Elsa’s voice was low, uncertain. “Who goes there?”
A melodic voice answered, calm yet disturbingly sweet. “Spleen.”
Another step.
“Liver.”
Another.
“Kidney.”
Elsa’s eyes narrowed, though her grip on the blade trembled almost imperceptibly.
“Lungs.”
The suffocating pressure deepened with each word, like the organs themselves were being stripped from the listeners one by one.
“Heart.”
A dark silhouette emerged slowly from the mist.
“Intestines.”
The voice giggled faintly, musical yet chilling, like a bell toll at a funeral.
“Stomach.”
And then, she stepped out.
She was young—looked no older than fifteen. But her aura was wrong. Twisted. She wore a single-piece black dress with a short, ruffled skirt edged in orange. Beneath it, a white layer peeked out, tracing the hem and the cuffs of her long sleeves, almost girlish. Black gloves hugged her arms, and her boots—black ankle boots with heels shaped like blades—clicked against the wooden floor with every step.
A large black bow was tied in her long, flowing black hair. Her eyes gleamed golden-orange, sharp and radiant like predatory lanterns. Her smile was cheerful, almost innocent, but the weight behind it churned stomachs.
She was pretty in a strange, unsettling way. Delicate features, smooth skin—she could have been anyone’s younger sister, some adorable girl with twintails. But something about her presence said otherwise. Felt, who was barely taller than Emilia’s shoulders, realized with a start that this girl was taller than her. Just slightly, but enough to feel imposing.
The girl tilted her head, that radiant smile never faltering. “Which one shall I take out?” she asked brightly, her tone so playful it scraped against the tension in the room like a knife.
—★—
The slum dwellers were simply minding their own business. The fight in the loothouse was not unknown to them. Whatever was happening there was not something anybody wanted to get involved with.
Which is precisely why everybody moved away from the place, doing their mundane things such as drinking or playing cards.
However…
It happened in an instant.
One second they were playing cards, drinking or counting coins, the next second, they couldn’t breathe. Miasma so vile that twilight turned to night. Some collapsed while some fainted promptly.
They didn't need to look to see…
That something dark, from the abyss had stepped into the loothouse.
—★—
Julius believed himself to be a proud Knight who never displayed fear in front of his juniors. It would be bad for his image and their growth as a whole.
A perfect Knight.
Who had collapsed on his knees on the street because his spirits were trembling in fear and making him highly uncomfortable…since a miasma…
He looked around to see that he wasn't the only one. Civilians, soldiers alike had the same condition. Or worse.
What is this presence…
—★—
Reinhard was not sure how to spend his day off. Maybe he should try the Karagiri dish the local inn is serving? Or visit that store which sold rare grimoires? Perhaps he should visit his ancestral home since father and grandfather weren’t home, he could pay visit to—
He blinked as he felt it. A miasma so dark that people around him collapsed immediately. The birds above them fell on the ground mid-flight and…
The spirits in the area were trembling in fear, his divine protections flickering because…
Something had awakened.
He looked at the slums, eyes narrowed.
Something strong enough to make Reid hum.
—★—
Emilia swallowed hard, her throat bone-dry. “Who… are you?”
The girl blinked innocently, tapping her chin with her gloved finger as though pondering a riddle. “My name… it’s undecided, actually.”
She smiled softly.
“But remember this much—” Her eyes flared brighter, her smile splitting wider, showing too many teeth for comfort. “I’m a very good person. A magical girl! Vanguard of Justice!”
Her head tilted back toward Elsa, that cheerfulness never wavering even as the pressure in the air grew heavier, darker, suffocating.
“Now…” she sang, voice melodic but dripping with menace, “which organ were you giving me, again?”
Elsa narrowed her eyes at the newcomer, her voice low and mocking, but tinged with curiosity. “What are you supposed to be? Some wannabe hero playing dress-up?”
The black-haired girl’s golden eyes narrowed. The cheerful mask slipped just a fraction, lips tightening as though she had been slapped. “Wannabe… hero?” Her voice dropped to a chilling whisper, laced with venom. “You should know your place. You’re in no position to question me.”
Puck floated closer to Emilia, his little body trembling in a way Emilia had never seen before. His fur bristled as his tail lashed the air like a whip. His voice was tense, sharp, trembling in suspicion. “Are you… a witch?”
The girl’s head turned slowly, very slowly, until her gaze locked onto him.
Emilia felt her throat seize up instantly. Her heart seemed to stop in her chest. Puck froze in place as if bound by invisible chains. Looking into her eyes was like staring into an endless abyss, a bottomless hole where light and hope could not exist. It wasn’t just fear—it was annihilation, staring back.
“I’m a good person,” she said coldly, lips twitching into a crooked smile. “A very good one.”
Elsa didn’t wait. The Bowel Hunter bolted forward, faster than human eyes could properly follow. Her blade glinted silver as she swung for the girl’s throat, intent to carve it open in a single blow.
But the girl simply raised her arm and caught Elsa mid-motion.
The sound of metal scraping against flesh was muffled, her gloved hand clamped firmly around Elsa’s wrist. Her expression didn’t even shift. She only tilted her head slightly, hair spilling forward like ink.
“How dare you do a sneak attack me?” she said flatly, almost mockingly, her words fractured but dripping with contempt.
Before Elsa could wrench free, the girl twisted. With brute force that seemed impossible for her slight frame, she yanked—
Rip.
Both of Elsa’s arms tore free at the shoulders, severed cleanly. Tendons snapped, blood vessels ruptured, and warm arterial blood sprayed in a fan across the walls and floor. For a moment, Elsa staggered back, staring down at the stumps spurting crimson.
Then—she smiled. A weak, sickly grin, but one of admiration. She leaped backward, retreating, her torso shuddering as blood soaked her dress.
The girl held the severed arms aloft like trophies. And then, grinning, she began breaking them apart.
Crunch.
The radius snapped, jagged bone jutting from torn muscle.
Crunch.
The ulna splintered, shards tearing through Elsa’s shredded flesh.
The girl clapped the two broken pieces together like toys, laughing softly as marrow oozed onto her gloves. “Nice, nice.”
Rom’s face twisted, the color draining from it. He had seen war. He had seen battlefields. But this—this was something else. Felt gagged, one hand clamped over her mouth as bile forced itself up her throat. Emilia bent double, covering her lips as nausea burned up her chest.
Puck only stared, silent.
Elsa’s flesh squirmed. Muscle fibers wove themselves anew, pink tendons knitting like threads, arteries connecting with wet slaps. In moments, her arms regrew. She flexed her new fingers and raised her blades again, her smirk sharp. “You’re like me.”
The girl’s golden eyes widened in mock offense. “Huh? I’m not like you!” She jabbed a gloved finger directly at Elsa’s chest, nails pressing into her sternum. “I’ll let you know that I’m a very cute girl. Not ugly like you!” Her tone rose into a childish squeal. “That’s some serious abomination right there! Mine are better—C cups are the best! C cup supremacy!”
The sheer absurdity of her words clashed against the horror of the moment, and yet no one laughed.
Elsa had already bolted, darting for the door. Her steps were desperate, frantic.
But before she could reach the exit, something slammed her. A black blur intercepted her path. The girl’s arm swept, sending Elsa crashing sideways into the wall with bone-shattering force. The wooden boards cracked, plaster crumbling as she coughed blood into her own lap.
“Who gave you the permission to leave?” The girl stood there flatly, arms crossed, her tone empty of all inflection.
Elsa spat blood onto the floor, her lips curling faintly upward even as crimson trailed from the corners of her mouth. “Are you going to kill me?”
The girl tilted her head, eyes alight, and smiled sweetly. “I’m the good girl! I don’t kill people…”
Her grin widened unnaturally, stretching too far.
“…I slaughter them.”
She lunged.
Her hand speared through Elsa’s ribcage with a wet crunch, bones cracking and snapping like twigs underfoot. A cascade of blood burst outward as she ripped half the ribcage away, splinters of bone dangling.
Elsa shrieked, staggering, but her voice cut off when the girl reached in again, gripping the slick, pulsating esophagus. With one brutal tug, she tore it free, severed at the base. A string of tissue snapped with a grotesque twang.
Blood fountained across the loothouse walls. Emilia fell to her knees, retching, her stomach completely emptied as bile and tears mixed at the corner of her lips.
The girl wasn’t done. She plunged her other hand into Elsa’s thoracic cavity, clawing through shredded flesh and still-beating veins. Her fingers wrapped around spongy tissue, squeezing until the alveoli collapsed. She tore Elsa’s right lung free, ripping the organ from its roots with another nauseating squelch.
Blood and froth sprayed, the lung deflating in her palm like a balloon. She crushed it, the tissue bursting into pulp.
Yet Elsa’s body was already knitting again. The wound sealed, a new lung formed, her esophagus regrew from shredded trachea.
“I’m immortal,” Elsa gasped between shudders of pain and laughter, her grin barely holding. "I cannot die, haha."
The girl tilted her head back, golden eyes blazing. “People die if they are killed.”
Her nonsensical proclamation echoed through the gore-stained room.
Nobody questioned it. Nobody dared.
Her boot slammed forward, the sharp bladed heel piercing Elsa’s skull with a wet, brittle crack. Gray matter burst from the fracture, a spray of brain tissue and cerebrospinal fluid splattering against the floor. Elsa collapsed, twitching—but the healing still began anew.
Rom’s jaw slackened, his knuckles white around his fists. Felt sobbed openly now, shaking uncontrollably, her bravado shattered. Emilia curled in on herself, trembling, tears streaking her pale face. Puck, for once, had no words. His fur flattened against his tiny body, his icy aura flickering weakly.
Finally, after what felt like hours of brutal carnage, Elsa’s regeneration faltered. Her twitching slowed. Her body stopped repairing.
The girl stood, her dress drenched in blood and viscera, her gloves slick and dripping. She walked with a casual sway toward the others, each click of her heels like a blade striking stone.
“That was refreshing,” she said cheerfully, her voice humming like a child after play. She tapped her chin with a bloodied finger, smearing gore across her cheek. “Hmm… I need a good dramatic intro. Any suggestions?”
The girl—still dripping with Elsa’s blood, her gloves sticky with the dark red mess—tapped her chin thoughtfully. She paced back and forth, the wooden floorboards groaning under her boots. Every step she took smeared bits of gore and viscera across the planks, leaving a grotesque trail behind her.
“Hmm… intros are important, you know,” she said brightly, her tone like a schoolgirl rehearsing lines for a play. “You can’t just… show up without flair. You need something dramatic, unforgettable, iconic.” She spun on her heel, hair fanning out.
She threw her arms wide. “Behold! The Magical Girl of Justice… nah, too bland. Ugh.”
Another turn, her hands raised. “Have no fear, Magical Girl is here! …yuck, no. That’s corny.”
She paced faster, muttering in fragments, trying out different voices. “Magical Girl Justice, purveyor of doom! Nah, sounds tacky. Justice incarnate! Boooring. Heh, how about… I’ll gut you with kindness? Eh, too Elsa.” She chuckled, amused at her own jokes, smearing a bit of Elsa’s blood across her cheek as she scratched her head.
Her golden-orange eyes flicked to Emilia, who sat frozen on the floor, pale and trembling. “Hey, silver-hair, you got any suggestions? You look smart. Or maybe just fragile.”
Emilia’s lips parted, but no words came out. She wanted to say something, anything, but her stomach lurched again and bile burned her throat. Speechless, she could only shake her head faintly.
The girl pouted exaggeratedly. “No creativity, huh? That’s fine, I’ll handle it. Gotta take responsibility for my own brand.” She began pacing again, boots clicking like a clock.
Then she stopped. Her eyes lit up, pupils narrowing like a cat that had spotted prey. She raised one finger into the air.
“Hmmm… huh! How about this—” she said, voice rising, echoing like a proclamation. Her gloved hand lifted slowly, as if pulling something from the void itself.
“When the abyss swallows all light and the stench of decay saturates the air… when blood replaces water…”
The air warped. Shadows bled into her palm, condensing into something sharp.
“…I am here.”
A blur of black and red began to solidify in her hand, long and heavy, dripping with a hellish aura.
Elsa, impossibly still alive, lunged from the shadows. Her body was mangled, her skin shredded, yet her grin was unbroken. She swung her blade with every ounce of strength she had left, aiming to carve the girl open.
WHOOSH!
But the newcomer’s voice thundered at the same instant, cutting the air like a bell of judgment.
“Behold, for I am Magical Girl Crescent. My power is your despair!”
The blade never reached her. Elsa’s body halted, her expression locked in shock. For a heartbeat, her head was still attached—then the girl’s scythe finished materializing, cleaving through her neck in one smooth, merciless arc.
Elsa’s headless body teetered, spurting arterial blood in jets from the carotid and jugular, painting the walls in streaks of crimson. For two long seconds it remained upright, twitching violently, before collapsing with a heavy thud.
In Crescent’s hand was a scythe unlike anything the room had ever seen. Its staff was long, black as coal, capped with a blood-red tip sharp enough to pierce bone. The blade itself was curved and jagged, glowing with an infernal, fiery pattern that looked alive, as though it burned with trapped souls. At the hilt, a massive black star jutted like a crown of thorns.
And in her other hand—dangling by the hair—was Elsa’s severed head, eyes wide in eternal surprise.
Crescent examined it, then tossed it aside like garbage. The head rolled across the floor, leaving a crimson trail, and came to rest at Rom’s feet. He recoiled, sweat pouring down his temples.
“That. Was. So. Cool!” Crescent squealed, spinning in place as her scythe glowed, humming with power. She swung it in a flourish, striking dramatic poses as blood sprayed from the blade’s jagged edge. “That loser could never pull this off! I’m so much better than him!”
She jabbed the glowing scythe toward Emilia, her grin wide. “What do you think?”
Emilia’s hands shook as she tried to wipe bile from her lips. Her throat tightened, but she forced out a weak whisper. “…it’s… nice?”
“Right? You get it!” Crescent clapped her hands, nearly dropping the scythe. Her eyes turned to Puck. The little spirit hovered cold and silent, his fur standing stiff, his expression unreadable.
Crescent pouted. “Tough crowd.” She swung her gaze to Rom, who tried to keep his composure, and then finally landed on Felt.
Her smile sharpened. “Insignia?”
Felt froze, eyes darting. Her heart hammered, sweat dripping down her forehead. Trembling, she dug into her pocket, fumbling until her fingers found the glowing jewel. She yanked it free, holding it out to Emilia with shaking hands.
SWING!
A red blur slashed the air. The scythe’s edge whistled past Felt’s wrist, so close the hairs on her skin stood on end.
Everyone’s eyes widened in shock.
Before the scythe could sever bone, before Felt’s hand could be ripped away, another blur cut through the room.
WHOOSH!
The door exploded inward, splintering off its hinges. A brilliant white light surged in, so pure and radiant it erased the suffocating miasma in an instant.
CLASH!
Crescent’s scythe met steel. The impact shook the entire loothouse, sending cracks racing up the walls.
She blinked, glowing eyes narrowing, as she found herself face-to-face with a man. He was young, red-haired, his blue eyes burning with calm resolve. His white robes gleamed in the light, and the massive sword in his hands pressed firmly against her scythe.
“Huh?” Crescent tilted her head. “Who the fuck are you? The goddamn protagonist? Wait—wait, no, I’m the protagonist here! You're Reinhard... Oh my god, you’re the male lead! Gahhh!”
“Reinhard!” Emilia’s voice broke, relief flooding her tone. Her hands clasped together, tears welling in her eyes. “You came…”
The Sword Saint’s expression remained steady, though his muscles were taut as steel against Crescent’s strength. “Why are you attacking?”
Crescent puffed her cheeks like a sulking child. “She stole something. I’m punishing her! Justice!” She nodded sagely.
“That’s too much.”
“If I cut off her hand, she won’t steal anymore. It’s efficient.”
Reinhard’s brow furrowed, his calm cracking. “That’s not justice. That’s cruelty.”
“Nooo,” Crescent sang back, “it’s justice. Cruelty is when you don’t give them a chance. I’m giving her a lesson! See? Nice.”
Reinhard glanced to Felt, who still held the insignia, its glow radiating like a heartbeat. He inhaled deeply, then spoke with the weight of centuries. “I will take responsibility for her.”
Crescent paused, tilting her head curiously. “Really?”
“Yes.” His eyes glimmered. “I swear on my title.”
Crescent tapped her chin again. “Alright then.” She lowered her scythe slightly, then drew herself up with dramatic flourish.
“Ahem.” She raised her voice once more, hand to her chest. “When the abyss swallows all light and the stench of decay saturates the air, when blood replaces water, I am here—” She spun, her scythe glowing. “Behold, for I am Magical Girl Crescent. My power is your despair!”
Her body erupted into a shower of glowing golden and red petals. They swirled like fireflies before fading into nothing.
Everyone in the loothouse let out a collective breath of relief.
Reinhard sheathed his sword—Reid, the blade itself humming faintly with approval. It had deemed her worthy enough to draw its attention.
“Who was she?” Reinhard muttered, eyes narrowing as he glanced at Elsa’s corpse. The body was headless, the ribcage torn open like a butchered animal. Gray matter, viscera, clotted blood, all splattered across the floorboards. It was a vision of horror.
Emilia, trembling, rose to her feet. “She’s finally gone?”
“Yeah,” Puck said, voice low, though his tail twitched anxiously.
Emilia’s eyes fell on the bloody floor, her heart seizing. “Elsa… she’s dead, but… she killed Subaru—”
Her breath caught. She bolted behind the counter, her boots splashing in congealed blood. Her heart hammered as she bent low, dread twisting her gut.
She expected his cold body, gutted, entrails spilling.
But Subaru was there, lying motionless… chest rising and falling. His abdomen, once torn open, was intact. No wound remained.
He was alive.
Emilia’s hands flew to her mouth, tears rushing down her cheeks. Her stomach still churned from the gore, but her heart leapt in disbelief and fragile hope.