—o—
When he raised the gun to his head, what truly surged in the depths of his heart?
Was it unwavering courage, or was it endless fear?
The moment the trigger was pulled, the bullet left the chamber.
It tore through fragile skin and muscle, passed through the brain, and exited the other side of his temple, exploding into a shower of blue fragments.
That formless death was like a dense black fog, gradually coalescing into a mass, transforming into a sharp-edged fear that silently seeped into his lungs.
It was like inhaling innumerable fine dust particles, slowly eroding his breath until it clamped down tightly on his very life.
Chiaki was reminded of a fairy tale he’d read long ago, Snow White.
The protagonist, Snow White, was deceived by her wicked stepmother into eating a poisoned apple.
But perhaps Snow White’s death was not murder, but suicide.
Perhaps she knew it was a poisoned apple and bit into it anyway, because her stepmother had already found her hiding place.
She had no way out.
Despair.
The despair of being poisoned by your own mother, the despair of having your life held firmly in another’s grasp, a despair born from this world itself, a despair of having nowhere left to run.
That is why Snow White would have eaten the poisoned apple.
But death is not the antithesis of life, but a part of it.
Only by swallowing the poisoned apple, by drawing infinitely close to death, could one hope to catch a fleeting glimpse of life’s answer.
“Izanagi-no-Okami!
Come forth!”
A mysterious being, five meters tall, clad in a shining silver trench coat and wearing a silver mask, slowly materialized behind Chiaki.
Its arms, legs, and chest were all covered in exquisite, radiant armor.
In its hand, it held a great tachi with a circular ring guard, its blade glinting with a cold light.
The figure was noble and divine, as if a deity stepping out of ancient legend, exuding an aura of infinite majesty and solemnity.
Its name was Izanagi-no-Okami!
The next moment, Izanagi-no-Okami, Chiaki, and Durandal clashed violently, producing a deafening crash mixed with the sharp sound of breaking bone.
The impact forced them apart.
Chiaki spun a full three-hundred and sixty degrees, tumbling backward, while Durandal returned to her original position, pulling her lance from the ground.
“So big!” This wasn’t the first time Kiana had seen Chiaki summon this thing, but she clearly remembered it being the size of a normal person last time.
This time it was five meters tall.
Did it have something to do with that gun?
“Izanagi…
Isn’t that a god from Far East mythology?” Raiden Mei, who was well-versed in Far Eastern literature, immediately recognized the origin of the true name Chiaki had called out.
“Izanagi, is he that strong?” Seele asked, indicating she had never heard of him.
“It’s not a question of whether he’s strong or not.
He’s the father of the gods, the origin of Far East mythology!” Raiden Mei’s eyes sparkled with envy.
“As expected of the captain.”
“Captain versus captain, then?” Durandal understood.
It seemed Chiaki was the strongest member of the opposing team.
In that case, as long as she defeated him, the remaining members would likely listen obediently and return to Schicksal with her.
However, her opponent wasn’t that powerful.
In their first clash, the force of her blow had already broken his right forearm.
Just as she was thinking this, she saw Chiaki raise the gun to his temple and fire again.
“Salvation.”
Izanagi-no-Okami, healed, spun the great tachi in his hand like a propeller.
It swept over Chiaki’s right arm like a gust of wind, restoring the injury.
At the same time, a cherry blossom-shaped tattoo appeared on the back of his sword-wielding right hand.
Stigmata: Yae Sakura.
Chiaki had received this Stigmata at the same time as Jizo Mitama.
Although he hadn’t originally planned to use it, that son of a bitch Otto had pushed him too far.
If he didn’t transform into “Yae Sakura” and cuck him hard, it’d be a disservice to himself for ever agreeing to be his pen pal.
Chiaki and Durandal locked eyes and charged forward simultaneously.
Jizo Mitama clashed against Black Abyss White Flower, sending brilliant sparks flying.
The searing heat washed over Chiaki’s face.
Even with the boost from the Stigmata, the power difference between him and Durandal was still too great.
Izanagi suddenly sprang into action, swinging its great tachi towards Durandal’s throat.
This forced Durandal to abandon her press on Chiaki and defend.
As she moved to parry Izanagi, Chiaki, who had ducked low, slashed at her knees.
As Chiaki’s Persona, Izanagi needed no practice to build rapport.
Any thought Chiaki had was decisively executed by Izanagi.
It was the truest sense of—I am thou, thou art I.
Black Abyss White Flower knocked the great tachi aside, but as it moved to block Jizo Mitama, it found that Izanagi had already launched a second strike with the exact same posture and trajectory, hitting Black Abyss White Flower as it was redirecting its momentum.
Then came a third strike, a fourth, a fifth, and finally…
Legend has it that during the Warring States period, Uesugi Kenshin proclaimed herself the avatar of “Bishamonten” (Vaiśravaṇa), the god of war.
To demonstrate her power, she once unleashed a series of powerful, heavy slashes, concentrating every blow in an instant on the exact same spot on her opponent’s weapon, ultimately shattering their blade.
That technique was called—Bishō Renzan!
The quality of Black Abyss White Flower was beyond imagination.
Any lesser weapon would have already been broken.
But a Divine Key made primarily of Soulium and a Herrscher Core was obviously not something that could be easily shattered by brute force.
Even so, this move was enough to force the Super Doodoo onto the defensive, while the attack from Jizo Mitama below forced Durandal to retreat again and again.
Kiana couldn’t help but clap, cheering for Chiaki.
But before any words of praise could leave her mouth, she saw Durandal split her lance into two weapons—Black Abyss and White Flower.
She blocked Chiaki and Izanagi’s attacks from above and below simultaneously, then forced them both back with a single blow, reclaiming the initiative.
Seeing this, Rita couldn’t help but hum lightly.
Compared to Lady Durandal, everyone else seemed inferior.
But then she noticed something was wrong.
Durandal was condensing numerous points of light, like fireflies, that fluttered and filled the air around her, as dense as willow catkins in spring.
Before Durandal, surrounded by the points of light, could break through, Chiaki had already pressed the Evoker to his head and pulled the trigger.
“Megidolaon.”
The points of light converged in an instant, like dozens of machine guns firing at once.
A mushroom cloud rose into the sky above Nagazora City.
—BOOM!
The scene sent a cold sweat down the spines of many Far East residents, who blurted out, “Holy shit, is this the third coming?”
Durandal emerged from the explosion looking quite disheveled.
Fragments of her sportswear fluttered in the air, revealing large patches of flushed skin.
Sweat trickled down her neck, and beneath her tattered clothes, the lines of her well-toned physique were faintly visible.
Her chest heaved violently, partly from the intensity of the battle and partly from emotions she could no longer suppress.
A hint of half-concealed white lace underwear peeked out, a stark contrast against her fair, delicate skin.
Just then, Rita’s voice rang out.
“Lady Durandal, I have called for Valkyrie battlesuit support.”