Episode 64: Burnout Syndrome—Crushing You Before It Sets In.
"OYS, Mode Blue."
"Summon a legendary weapon of equal or greater power for me."
Snap!
The sound that erupted was a dry, sharp crack, far removed from what one would imagine weapons clashing to sound like. It shook the very space around them.
The Treasure Sword Cleshoes—an unorthodox longsword for a Phantom series. It was a strategic-grade weapon of constant, absolute lethality, capable of Soul-scar decomposition—burning and erasing anything it touched, down to the last particle.
If anything could stand against it, it was that greatsword—another legendary-class armament.
"What a cute weapon. Does it have a name?"
"The Fairy Sword, Chastiefol. It was originally a massive spearhead, but some idiot Rouge went and tore it off."
"Wow... I actually feel sorry for it."
They traded a second blow, then a third, the impacts dancing through the air as they tested each other's raw strength. Then, they fell back, eyeing one another through the streaks of blue light emitted by the artificial sun.
"You finally seem to be in top form. I wondered how you managed to survive against Violet the Equalizer with that level of skill, but I suppose this is the real you?"
"Yeah, well, I was just having a spat with my two little sisters earlier. As the eldest, I couldn't help but be worried sick."
The synchronization with the nearly dissociated brain memories of A46 Esil had been completed while her allies were buying time. Any lack of combat data from her past life was covered by Alter, who predicted Hypnos's movement patterns and shared them.
"Continuous."
"You won't reach me."
A blade of pure truth, meant to cleave through infinity, was blocked and vanished just as it was about to seize the enemy’s throat.
The phantom pains of the battlefield, the memories of hell etched into the body, pierced the mind alongside the screams of the children—the allies she had to protect.
"Mode: Black Hole: Repulsion."
"Quite the ominous look."
The black "White Hole" that repelled all matter was summoned at the exact same coordinates as its counterpart, resulting in mutual annihilation.
The pride—the burden—of a war criminal who couldn't bring things to an end crossed her mind.
"......"
"Out of tricks already?"
The will of the mass-produced models who envied the one and only person to be liberated... all of it pressed down on her shoulders with agonizing weight, as if they had taken physical form, screaming that it was all Asuna's fault for leaving them behind.
"Alter, I can handle things here alone."
"Understood. Everyone who can move, listen up! We’re heading to the surface. Sensing the chaos within Paradise, the Empire is launching an all-out assault! I’ve already liberated the Lica series—consider them part of our forces!!"
"So... they're gone."
"Do you really think you can kill me with a face that looks so... lifeless?"
Apparently, he was more drained than he realized. No matter how hard he tried, his fingertips felt light, and his vision refused to focus.
A freezing chill crept through him. His body had been devoured by OYS; he had reached his limit a long time ago.
"This is pathetic. Even with all the stage-setting, I can't see a single path to victory."
"I thought so. Even if you somehow beat me, you look like you'd drop dead right after."
Even without being conscious of it, he had probably lived over a hundred and ten years since his reincarnation... and yet, there were still so many things he wanted to do.
Cleshoes, his partner, was the only thing that wouldn't leave his left hand, as if it were fused to his skin. And he had absolutely no intention of letting go, either!!!
"I won't die even if I lose. I'm going to survive, no matter what."
"So if you manage to run away, you win? Fine by me."
Lungs worn thin by purple smoke throbbed, and blood began to pump through a body filled with nothing but regret.
"Come then, you hero of the masses."
With his right hand—fingertips that would usually be occupied by a cigarette—he beckoned for the declaration of war.
"Thank you, you self-serving egoist."
There was no need for a starter. No need for a signal echoing from the depths of the gut like a conch shell.
(I will respect my justice with everything I have.)
With that single thought, their timing synchronized perfectly.
"Accelerate, my own world... Tachyon: Transcendent Acceleration."
"Open, a space just for me... Narcissus: Self-Adoration."
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