Subaru mist-stepped into the vast greenland, her thoughts a tangled mess of frustration, anxiety, and absolute disbelief at the sheer stupidity of the situation she had found herself in.
The Witch Cult was going through with the attack.
Her attempt to shut it down had only made them more eager.
Now, they were preparing to throw themselves at Reinhard like a bunch of RPG bosses programmed to die, and she was supposed to hunt down and devour a Half-Elf she had never even met.
What the hell was she supposed to do with that?
She needed a plan.
Something. Anything.
So she did what she had been avoiding for a long time.
She called for an emergency meeting with the Witches.
Echidna appeared first, as smug as ever, arms crossed, already analyzing her like she was some fascinating new experiment.
"My, my. An emergency? From you?" She smiled, tilting her head like a cat that just cornered a mouse. "How unusual. This should be interesting."
"Just call the others."
Echidna sighed dramatically, as if she were being deeply inconvenienced by this, but with a snap of her fingers, the others began appearing.
Typhon sat on the table, swinging her legs like a bored schoolgirl.
Minerva had her arms crossed, already scowling before the conversation even started.
Sekhmet looked half-asleep, her head resting against her hand, her expression screaming, do not involve me in this.
Daphne rocked in her coffin, her lazy grin still disturbingly predatory.
Carmilla sat silently, fidgeting, her eyes darting between the others.
And now, Subaru was standing in a room full of monsters, hoping—praying—that at least one of them had a single useful idea.
She inhaled sharply, straightened her posture, and got to the point. "I need a plan. The Witch Cult is going through with their attack. I tried to stop them, and somehow that made them even more excited. Now they're ready to throw themselves at Reinhard like he's the final boss, and I'm supposed to go devour some girl I've never even met before. I need a way out of this. Any suggestions?"
Silence.
Then—
Absolute nonsense.
"Just eat everyone before they cause too much damage!" Typhon suggested cheerfully, grinning like she just solved the world's greatest problem.
"Punch them!" Minerva snapped, slamming her fist into her palm so hard the sound cracked through the air. "If you break their arms and legs, they can't attack, I suppose!"
"Mmm. Sounds exhausting, mhm." Sekhmet yawned, stretching slightly. "Too much work. Just sit there and let things play out, mhm."
"Ooooh, or maybe just eat half of the Half-Elf, y'know~?" Daphne giggled, her head tilting unnaturally. "Maybe that'll only half-drive you insane~?"
Subaru stared at them.
Her eye twitched.
Her fists clenched.
"Are any of you actually listening to me?"
Carmilla hesitated before raising a trembling hand.
"U-Um… m-maybe… y-you could just… t-talk to them…?"
Subaru took a deep breath.
"Talk to them."
Carmilla nodded shyly.
"Talk to the people who have been worshipping me like a god for centuries."
Another nod.
"The people who literally kill each other just to get my attention."
Nod.
Subaru turned to Echidna.
"This is the group I came to for advice."
Echidna grinned, looking positively delighted. "Well, that's what happens when you put all the most dangerous people in history in one place and expect them to be useful."
Subaru rubbed her temples, deeply regretting her life choices.
"Alright, fine. If none of you have an actual plan, I'll figure it out myself—"
"Not so fast."
Echidna lifted a hand, stopping her, her expression shifting from amusement to something far more cunning.
Her smile turned sly, knowing, dangerous.
"You need help. I can help."
Subaru stiffened.
Oh.
Oh, she did not like where this was going.
"A contract," Echidna said smoothly, gesturing with one elegant hand. "Simple, efficient. I provide you with my knowledge, my strategies, my guidance—"
"And what do you get?"
Echidna's smile widened, slow, calculated.
"Everything."
Subaru immediately took a step back.
"No."
"Oh, come now. You didn't even hear the details."
"I don't need to."
"You're not even curious?"
"No."
"Not even a little?"
"Echidna, I don't need a contract to know you're full of shit."
Echidna pouted.
"So rude."
Subaru crossed her arms.
"Let me guess: I sign, and suddenly I owe you every decision I make for the rest of my life?"
"Not every decision."
"Oh, just ninety-nine percent of them?"
"Eighty-five."
"Still a no."
Echidna sighed dramatically, as if she was the victim in all of this.
"Well, don't say I didn't try to help."
Subaru exhaled through her nose, willing herself to stay calm. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
This was useless.
These people were useless.
If she wanted to get out of this mess, she'd have to do it herself.
She turned away, mist curling around her feet, mind racing with possibilities.
If the Witches were all insane and the Cult was unstoppable, then she'd have to find another way.
Because she wasn't going to play along with this script.
She was going to write her own ending.
Ē~Ē
The Witch Cult army marched.
The ground beneath them withered and crumbled, turning into something lifeless, rotten, cursed. Trees blackened and collapsed into ash as they passed. The sky, once a deep blue, was now a suffocating swirl of grays and blacks, the sun nothing more than a dull glow behind thick, unnatural clouds. The world itself seemed to shrink away from their presence, as if nature itself was trying to escape.
At the front of it all, Subaru floated.
She was weightless, her body draped in flowing black robes, her face half-hidden beneath a dark veil that trailed behind her like an extension of the abyss she carried within her. She didn't walk. She didn't need to.
And behind her—
A great, hulking shadow moved through the sky.
The White Whale.
Its massive body soared overhead, its pale flesh glistening eerily in the dying light, a golden halo above its head making it seem almost holy—if holy things could ever look so grotesque.
On the ground, countless, countless rabbits swarmed like a tide of living death. The Great Rabbit, their small, fluffy bodies deceptively harmless-looking—until they weren't. Thousands of them, moving in perfect unison, awaiting the moment they would be let loose.
And Subaru?
She was controlling them.
Because Pandora had told her she could.
Because she had to act like she already knew this, like she was perfectly in control, like she was the one commanding all of this doom. If she hesitated, if she so much as questioned it, it would be suspicious.
And she couldn't afford to break her facade.
Even as her fingers twitched at the thought of what these things could do.
Even as her stomach curled at the realization that to everyone watching, she was truly the Final Boss.
Her father would have been proud of this. Her presence. The way she carried herself, the sheer weight of her presence. She looked the part. He would have clapped her on the back, laughing about how she could be a villain in a movie.
Her mother, though…
Her mother probably would have shed a tear or two.
Would've looked at her, standing there at the front of an army, veiled and powerful, untouchable, and said something like, "Oh, sweetheart… You're so pretty."
And wasn't that just the most ridiculous part of all?
Because this wasn't a cosplay.
This wasn't a costume.
She was a girl.
She was an elf.
She was a Witch.
And now, she was leading a march of monsters and madmen to the capital, where they were expected to kill and die like pawns in a rigged game.
The people inside the city had probably already seen the sky blackening.
Had probably already heard the rumors spreading like wildfire.
The Witch has returned.
The knights would be gathering. Preparing. The nobles would be securing their mansions, issuing orders, fortifying their strongholds. The slums would be flooded with terrified whispers, people trying to decide whether to run or hide.
And Reinhard would be there.
Subaru's eyes flickered toward the capital's direction, her grip tightening at the thought.
Reinhard.
He was going to be the first line of defense.
The first real opponent between this army and the people inside.
And she knew—she knew—that he would never let her walk in peacefully.
Not without a fight.
If she went to him, would he listen?
Would he believe her if she said she wasn't going to kill anyone?
Or would he just cut her down on sight?
She had no idea.
And the worst part?
She didn't have time to figure it out.
Because right now, at this very moment, the Witch Cult was ready to charge.
They had been waiting for this.
For centuries, they had been waiting for her to lead them to war.
The fanatics who worshipped her were already chanting, some of them weeping openly, hands reaching toward her as if they could touch divinity.
"Satella! Satella! Satella!"
She was going to be sick.
And through it all, through the noise, the weight, the suffocating pressure—
Envy whispered in her head.
"I love you."
Subaru closed her eyes.
Took a slow breath.
The voice was soft. Loving.
And wasn't that the most terrifying part?
The way it felt warm? The way it curled around her thoughts, threading into her very existence, as if it had always belonged there?
"I love you."
Again.
Over and over, the same words.
And Subaru had no idea if she could even fight it.
The sky was black.
Not the soft darkness of night, not the comforting shade of twilight, but a void. A deep, empty nothingness that swallowed the light, stretching across the heavens like a wound. The sun was nothing but a distant memory. The wind howled through the streets, cold, unnatural, hungry, ripping through banners and sending shutters clattering.
The grass withered, the flowers shriveled, the air itself turned heavy.
A death march.
The Witch Cult had arrived.
They moved as one—a wave of robed figures, fanatics with wild eyes and bloodstained hands, their chants rising above the howling wind. Some wept openly, arms outstretched toward the veiled figure that floated above them, leading their charge.
Satella.
The Royal Knights stood at the front lines, clad in shining armor, hands gripping their swords, spears, and shields. Their expressions were steel, but their knuckles were white. Their breathing too sharp, too fast.
They were afraid.
The nobles' armies stood beside them—Crusch and her soldiers, the various knight families, mercenaries, volunteers, even peasants who had taken up whatever weapons they could find.
And yet, despite their numbers, fear was creeping in.
Crusch Karsten could feel it—the way their stances wavered, the way their eyes kept flicking to the sky, to the army of fanatics, to the abyss itself looming over them. She could hear their breathing, ragged, shallow.
She had to act. Now.
Crusch stepped forward, her hand clenched into a fist. She turned, sharp green eyes sweeping over the gathered forces, taking in the fear, the doubt.
Then, she spoke.
"What stands before us is fear itself!"
The soldiers stiffened.
"The enemy wants you to tremble! To hesitate! To falter before the battle even begins! But look around you!"
She extended her arm, gesturing to the knights, to the warriors, to the people who had come to stand against this nightmare.
"You are not alone. This battlefield is not yours to bear alone. You fight beside comrades, beside brothers and sisters in arms! You fight for your families, your homes, your future!"
The murmurs began—small, at first. A shift in the air.
"Yes, the Witch Cult comes with their madness. Yes, they bring death and despair. But do you know what else they bring?"
Crusch smiled, sharp and unyielding.
"A mistake."
The murmurs grew louder.
"Because they think we will fall without a fight!"
Her sword left its sheath in a flash of silver, pointed straight ahead.
"They think us weak! They think us frightened!"
The murmurs became shouts.
"Prove them wrong!"
The wind carried the echo of her voice.
"Let them see what it means to stand against the might of Lugunica! Let them see what it means to fight for the ones you love! Let them see what it means to face warriors who will not kneel before monsters!"
Shouts became roars.
"If you have fear, let it be fuel! If you have doubt, let it be crushed beneath your will! You will not stand alone! We stand together, as one!"
Swords slammed against shields. Spears struck the ground. Voices rose like fire, burning away the chill that had settled over them.
The fear was still there—but it had turned to resolve.
Crusch lowered her sword, exhaling as the energy around her shifted. They were ready. They would fight.
But whether or not they would win—
That was another question entirely.
Reinhard stood atop the highest tower in the city.
His gaze was steady, unwavering, locked onto the approaching army.
Locked onto her.
Satella.
Even veiled, even distant, he could feel the weight of her presence. The suffocating power, the unnatural stillness.
She did not walk. She did not march.
She floated.
The Witch Cultists moved like insects behind her, their chants ringing across the land, but Reinhard barely spared them a glance. They were nothing.
She was everything.
His sword rested at his hip. Not drawn. Not yet.
His fingers twitched.
He had to be certain.
And then—
She turned her head.
From across the battlefield, across the distance that should have been impossible—
She looked at him.
Her expression did not change. Her indifference was absolute.
Reinhard met her gaze, his lips parting.
"I will end you. Right here. Right now."
His voice carried through the wind, cutting through the noise like a blade.
She stopped, a single, perfectly manicured finger rising to tap her chin. A small, almost imperceptible smirk played on her lips as she looked at Reinhard, then slowly, deliberately, surveyed the marching cultists.
"Oh, how dramatic. 'I will end you.' And here I thought you'd at least try for originality. You see, the beauty of it all, my dear hero, is that you're playing exactly the role I expected. Every move, every word, every indignant breath you take... it's all part of a script, isn't it?"
She took a step forward, her voice dropping to a silken whisper that somehow still carried on the wind, a sharp contrast to Reinhard's booming declaration.
"You believe you are the protagonist, the one who will defy the odds. How adorably naïve. In my story, you are merely a plot device, a catalyst for the grander symphony of chaos I am composing. Your indignation, your rage... they are merely the fuel for the inevitable conflagration. I don't need to 'end' you. You're already ending yourself with every step you take towards me, aren't you?"
Her eyes, still unreadable, flickered to the cultists, then back to Reinhard, a hint of something truly ancient and terrible lurking within their depths.
"You speak of blades and cutting through noise. I prefer to subtly rearrange the pieces, to whisper doubts into the hearts of men, to watch their carefully constructed realities crumble from within. Your 'so be it' is a child's tantrum, a futile attempt to impose order on a world already spiraling into delicious anarchy. My 'so be it' is the silent, chilling recognition of inevitable collapse, the knowing smile of the puppeteer."
She spread her arms slightly, a gesture of mock invitation, as the cultists continued their relentless march.
"Come then, brave hero. Charge into your destiny. Just remember, every heroic deed you attempt, every sacrifice you make, every shred of hope you cling to... it all serves my purpose. You are merely proving my point, aren't you? That even the brightest light will ultimately be consumed by the shadow. Now, let's see how well you dance to my tune."
She simply continued forward.
And the doom marched with her.
Reinhard exhaled.
"So be it."
No hesitation.
He would end them all.
Inside the palace, deep within the highest levels of the royal halls, the guards had doubled, tripled around a single room.
A girl sat inside.
Silver hair. Violet eyes. A presence that was supposed to be calming, kind.
But today, Emilia was anything but calm.
She could feel it.
Something was coming.
Something was here for her.
And the Dragon Tablet had spoken.
TBC