The Girl Who Ate The Death God - Upper Bound Volume, Episode 01

Two nations, the Yuuz Kingdom and the Kirrane Empire, had been in conflict for hegemony over the Mundo Novo Continent, and it was apparent that both were in dire times. Their state of affairs, which had been of mutual feints that had never escalated to real conflict, had experienced an abrupt change in the past year.

They had been met with extreme weather patterns, the phenomenon which would later be dubbed the Indignation of the Star God; the frequent disasters that followed had brought about bad harvest on the continental scale, and dealt severe strikes to land and its people.

The Yuuz Kingdom, which occupied the majority of the land with bad harvest, had no choice but to rely on food imports until they could recover.

Nevertheless, their trade partner, the D'holbachs International Union, had suddenly imposed an embargo. In concert, the Kirrane Empire had pronounced the revocation of their Nonaggression Pact.

Nations of the Union were in regions independent from the Yuuz Kingdom, and the Empire, while technically under ceasefire, had continued to wage skirmishes along the national border. The Kingdom's decline was to their advantage, and without disadvantages worth speaking of. They had cooperated in pressuring the Empire, so as to completely snuff out its breath.

Due to the embargo, the Kingdom's financial affairs had been stringent. Heavy taxes had been levied on the peasants, and consequently, there had been outbreaks of death from starvation.

The Empire further proceeded with their plans, and had been successful in persuading the defection of Princess Altura, orphaned child of the crown competitor and elder brother to King Christoph of Yuuz.

Backed with funds and force of arms, she had established the Royal Capital Liberation Force in a bid to overthrow the current monarchy.

As the brains of the cause, the Empire had given her command over officers, and had also appointed their second Prince in line as her second-in-command. It went without saying that the Prince's contributions in seizing the Kingdom and his betrothal to the Princess would come in due time.

The Liberation Force, impressive as it was, still needed supporters, and they had seen no reason in refusing assistance. They had been fully aware of the potential dangers of being puppets. But considering the people, tyrannised and suffering under the succession struggles, the current King was a worse mortal enemy than the Empire had ever been.

In their early days, the Liberation Force had consisted of meagre hundreds, and had been capable of guerrilla warfare​ at most.

The new faction had been neglected by the Kingdom, its governing body citing that they could crush it whenever they wanted; as per their instructions to Yaldar, commanding officer of the Third Army Corps, assets were concentrated to the territorial disputes between them and the Empire.

As instructed, Yaldar had concentrated his troops at the border zone, and despite them not escalating to total war, many fierce confrontations had broken out.

The Liberation Force had capitalised on this opening to occupy the deteriorated, abandoned Salvador Fortress and made it into their stronghold, then proceeded to steadily expand their region of control and called out to those suffering under the Kingdom's oppression to join their ranks.

Day by day, their numbers increased, and eventually, they had become a presence that the Kingdom could not overlook.

Judging that the self-proclaimed Liberation Force would become an increasingly troublesome existence, Prime Minister Farzaam had issued an annihilation order to the Third Army Corps.

At long last, the Royal Army had gotten off their arses and finalised their decision to dispatch their troops, further squeezing the fortune off their hard-pressed citizens.

[Antigua Castle, Vanguard Against the Empire, Yuuz Kingdom Centre Border Zone]

Located in the southern region of the Centre Border Zone, the castle was a vital location which glared right over the Imperial border. Further south from here stood Salvador Fortress, the Liberation Force stronghold.

Hefty funds had been poured into the fortification of Antigua's walls, and the castle had proven its tenacity in repelling the Empire on countless occasions.

Half of the new local soldiers, some conscripted, others voluntarily enlisted, had been dispatched here. To die in skirmishes, to be executed for desertion, or to survive and be paid paltry sums of gold. The conclusions that awaited each of them depended on their luck.

Although there were whimsical fellows who had enlisted of their own accord, the great majority of the soldiers were youths who had been conscripted.

Within the ranks of low-morale soldiers was a certain girl, happily stuffing her cheeks with bread and jerky; she was classified as one among the whimsical.

The bread was dry and grating to the mouth, and the jerky was abnormally salty. But they were edible, and for just that, the girl was satisfied. Having plundered food from the scoundrels who thought of leaving leftovers, she carried her spoils of war under her arm and kept on chowing down.

"As always, you're enjoying yourself... eating. The stuff aren't even that good, you know. The bread is so bad that it's considered the Kingdom's infamous speciality, even. And it gets worse and worse with each bite..."

While she was drinking some water, the man who acted as her commanding officer sparked a conversation with such a statement, as if he was seeing something fantastical.

The bread was only good for filling one's stomach with. It did not boast a remarkable taste, nor would it help when one was taking a dump. Eating it was easy -- simply shove it down with some salty jerky. Among the soldiers who had been safely discharged from military service, it held the reputation of being a food item they would never want to eat again.

"Well, it's because I get to eat a lot, sir. The others aren't eating much because they don't like the stuff, you see. That's coming from the same people who will want to eat regardless of good or bad when they're starving. Besides, it'll taste like something if I eat these two together, so they're good enough, sir."

The girl answered, her use of honorifics odd and inconsistent. Having not received proper education, she had learned to use honorifics solely from the observation of others. Most of her reference thus far have been the flattery-happy scholars, the harlot folks in town, and the castle maids.

"There are those who say they won't eat the stuff even if they're dying, too, you know. Rather die than eat swine feed, they said."

"They should just go ahead and die, then."

The Commanding Officer did a spit take. The excessive nature of her reply was one thing, but he had never expected for the world to house an individual dimwitted enough to take his every word so literally.

"You really are a strange one, you know that? And stop with that weird speech pattern, while we're at it. It's tickling me the all wrong ways. Just talk like you always do."

"Got it, sir."

The girl did not appear to get it at all.

"Shera's fine either way, I'd say. She's always been like that. Putting that aside, boss, do you think the recent rumours are true?"

The platoon soldier lad, one who had yet to experience his first battle, inquired with a voice of worry. Worried enough that he could not continue with his meal, it seemed.

The girl stealthily reached for his food, but the sharp-sighted lad noticed her; "Oy, stop it," he said as he shoved her away with the back of his hand.

"...Hey, go flirt somewhere else. Anyway, what rumour is it this time?"

The Platoon Leader produced a stern expression and gave them a mild warning, and in response, the lad gestured the girl to mind her own business. Then, he continued his conversation.

"The one that says we'll soon be commencing offences against the Rebel Force. More of the higher-ups from Belta seem to be turning up, too."

The higher-ups that the lad mentioned were officers who decorated their chests with heaps of medals, boasted elite bodyguards, and were accompanied by military staff on their marches.

From Belta Castle, stronghold of the Third Army, General Yaldar Gale had come to visit in high and proud spirits. He was a renowned general whose valour ranked high among the Royal Army.

His personnel were to be added to the Antigua Castle reservists; in all, their numbers would amount to roughly a hundred-thousand. This would be the first large-scale mobilization in a long while. Their quantity was plenty, and their equipment satisfactory, but their experience and morale were, needless to say, lacking.

Still, if they were to say so themselves, they were plenty for the subjugation of the rebels, otherwise known as the Liberation Force.

"...Right. Orders should be passed down soon enough. We would do well to prepare and train up. To live or to die is dependent on the results of your training... and your luck."

"Whoa, I knew it. So it's true. Good gods, I don't wanna die now..."

"Thanks for the grub."

"...Huh-- Oy, Shera! You ate my meat, didn't you!?"

Before he knew it, his food had already disappeared. The lad spat as he sounded words of reproach, but the girl was not at all agitated.

"It was good. Thanks a bunch."

The girl, whom he addressed as Shera, put her hands together in a gesture of satisfaction.

The lad reached out his hand with the intent to poke her head, but Shera promptly stood up, effectively dodging him.

"You should think about things other than eating, really. Like, think a bit more about what we just talked about. Gotta worry for your life tomorrow over bread and meat today, you know!"

"Hey, today's bread and meat are more important to me. A lot more meaningful than hanging around and listening to your idle complaints, too."

"Damn you quibbling wench!"

"Just damn wench was enough, thank you."

"Hey, conscripts. Enough of that. If you're done eating, then get your arses back to training. Do these two things so that you don't die: One, train; two, train more!"

The Platoon Leader voiced his rebuke, and the two soldiers saluted before double-timing back to the parade ground.

Upon ascertaining that they went where they ought to, the Platoon Leader folded his arms and lost himself in thought. The lad was, in every sense of the word, a normal young man. With or without training, he would live on if luck was on his side, and would most likely die otherwise. One among the litter of consumable goods, he was a mere soldier who would never leave his name in history.

It went without saying that the definition also applied to the Platoon Leader himself. His only bragging right was that he had the fortune of living this long, after all.

The Platoon Leader reached into one of his pockets for shredded tobacco, held it in his palm, and smoked it up his nose. Its intense scent pierced into his head, and its smoke clouded his eyes.

That girl, on the other hand... He could not get a good read on the female soldier, one still young enough to be called a lass, but also at an appropriate age.

Having enlisted of her own accord, she had been considered a praiseworthy character. She must have been fifteen years of age, give or take. Her birthplace was apparently an agricultural village that had been destroyed by the Liberation Force. The reasons for her application were, as if fooling around, to "slaughter the Rebel Force, and eat until she was full".

There was but one reason that the girl, who had shown no potential in even the handling of swords, had splendidly passed the eligibility test for enlistment.

She had arrived soaked in blood, carrying with her as many as ten heads of the Royal Capital Liberation Force soldiers.

She had offered a large leather bag, in which the soldiers' heads and symbols of their allegiance had been disorderly thrown together, and she had been courteous to also tuck within it a flag of the Liberation Force. She had also boasted that she had not been able to bring all of the heads with her, and that the remaining twenty or so had been left behind at her village.

Apparently, she had thought at first that the attack was by the Royal Army, but then she discovered that it had been a disguise of the Liberation Force, and so she had decided to come here.

The Military Police had also employed their worrisome asking methods on enemy soldiers, but all they had gotten out were either incessant wheezing or gibberish.

Whether her story was truth or lie, there were no means of verifying it now.

Under normal circumstances, she would have been a target of focused suspicion, but it was a matter of pride for the damned magnificent Royal Army. A prompt decision had been made in accepting her enlistment, the explanation being that there would be absolutely no problems if she possessed the power to kill the enemy.

And so, whether dictated by fate or karma, the lass had been assigned under the Platoon Leader's direct command. At first, the man himself, proficient as he may be, could only heave sighs.

"Ugh. Not even sure why, but I'm having a real unpleasant premonition..."

While watching over the parade ground, particularly at the scythe that the girl was swinging, the man absent-mindedly pronounced his uneasiness.

Even though he had given her a sword, her habits had made her hopeless in wielding it. The scythe that she had brought along, on the other hand, she had handled with ease.

When she had first participated in the drills, he had told her to not "wield something beyond her abilities," and had attempted to confiscate her special weapon, but its excessive weight caused him to drop it right on the ground. In the end, it took the combined efforts of two conscripts to lift the ridiculous scythe up (and there was no way they could hope to swing it).

How the seedily-built girl could handle it so freely was a mystery, but it was certain that her capabilities were higher this way than when she wielded a sword.

He had also tried testing her capabilities in wielding a pike, but she had proven to be hopeless with it as well.

With no way around it, he had acknowledged her as an exception, but he still held the opinion that the scythe was half-baked as a weapon. It would not outreach polearms, and it fell behind swords in its cutting edge. Its outward appearance was splendid, but as a weapon, that was all it would be good for. Or, perhaps, it would be a good fit for executions.

The reason such scythes were not seen in combat was uncomplicated. It was severely unfit for killing in the battlefields.

However, at times when he saw the girl, happily swinging her scythe and digging its blade into the straw dummies, he ended up associating her with it, however detestable that may be.

The cursed existence, it was avoided by all with utmost dread. The apparition clad in black, it hunted the souls of pitiful mortals. The sinister character that revealed itself at the verge of one's death.

--The Death God.

"Oy, Shera. You sure you're gonna fight with that scythe? It's a pain in the arse, it's unwieldy... it's not even good for anything. I know you've got the strength of a beast, but still... how 'bout changing to a sword or spear? Not too late to start now."

The same lad from before called out to the girl while practising his sword stance. He may be foul-mouthed, but that, in a way, pronounced him as a kind soul. He and the girl had enlisted at around the same time, and they had known each other ever since.

"I can't handle normal swords properly, so that's out of the question. Besides, this thing just fits my hands a lot better. I wonder why..."

Shera brandished her scythe with one hand, and with its curved blade, sent the straw dummy's head flying. Her tawny-tinged black hair, neither too short nor too long, swayed to the sides with great vigour. She combed it up with her left hand, giving off an air of gloominess.

'Oh dear,' uttered the lad as he shook his head, having had enough of hanging around in observation. He was exasperated at the unfamiliar notion of a girl so dissociated from romantic appeal. Although he had once asked her how she would like her hair longer, she had declined, citing the tedium in its maintenance.

"But really, where'd you get that thing from? Not custom-made, is it?"

"I found it lying around."

"Stinkin' liar! As if something that dangerous would be left around randomly!"

"So you want to know, no matter what?"

"If you're telling, I'm listening. We're in this topic and all, so might as well."

"...Truth be told,"

Shera suddenly lowered her voice and produced a mischievous smile. In contrast with her usual self, her countenance was now strangely charming. To the expression which, in his eyes, possessed an elevated romantic appeal, the pure-hearted lad involuntarily gulped down his spit.

"--I'm a Death God."

Upon the whispering of those words into his ear, the lad realised that he was being bantered with; he yelled back, face flushed,

"Y-you damn wench! And there I was, listening all serious-like!"

"Since I told you, how about get me some bread later? Melted cheese too, while you're at it. It's a promise, yeah?"

Shera held out her hand, but the lad rudely brushed it aside.

"Shaddup! You're better off eating grass! I'll never live this down, dammit!"

The lad squared up his shoulders and headed toward a different straw dummy. Shera saw him off in good humour, then resumed her training.

"Let's see... I'd eaten grass a few times, but they weren't so good. Not filling at all, too. People aren't horses or cows, after all. Of all the stuff I'd eaten, the most delicious things's gotta be--"

She had eaten grass. Tree barks, too. She had thought of catching bugs, but the difficulty had prompted her to give it up. They were bitter and not at all filling. She would not eat humans, because they were not delicious. The bastard's neck was indeed tender, but it was too awful to swallow. Humans were not meant to eat their own kind, it seemed.

She reminisced about the time when her village was being destroyed. About the texture of food that she had never imagined to be of this world. About the unexplainable, supreme sweetness, so pleasant that it had melted her to the brain. Undoubtedly, that was what the forbidden fruit would have tasted like, Shera thought.

She had wolfed it down with insatiable gluttony, and had drained its juice to the very last drop. She had thoroughly devoured it, leaving not a single scrap.

Simultaneously with the gratification of her soul, she had lost something irreplaceable. She could no longer turn back. At that moment, Shera had paid a great price, and had been born anew.

"--the Death God from back then."

Shera licked her lips, then raised her scythe overhead and brought it down in a vertical chop, tearing the straw dummy in half.

[Third Army Corps Headquarters, Yuuz Kingdom]

By decree of General Yaldar, commanding officer of the Army Corps, the final decision was made to commence a surprise attack in the dead of night.

Marching at night carried with it a high risk, because there would surely be an outbreak of deserters. In carrying out this surprise tactic, he had resolved to face such complications.

The ones to commence the surprise attack were the honourable elites of the Third Army Corps, a division of ten-thousand under the banner of Major General Jira Zade.

The plan was for the division to combine with the Antigua Castle reservists, then launch a scathing attack on the supply storehouse in the vicinity of Salvador Fortress, the enemy stronghold. If successful, the Rebel Force would suffer fatal losses.

The enemy would naturally be vigilant, but Yaldar, overflowing with confidence, pronounced, "Despite all difficulties, the elites of our forces will certainly annihilate the enemy," to which the lines of officers agreed by majority vote to carry out the strategy.

The platoon of Shera's affiliation was given the honour of participating in the surprise attack. Though for those in question, it was considered a misfortune. If they were to fight, they would die.

This strategy was composed of two stages: surprise attack and interception. Upon the success of the surprise attack, the Military Staff will pursue the Rebel Force without fail.

Within the woodland in the path of pursuit, a division separate from the Surprise Attack Unit was to lay in ambush. Then, together with the Pursuit Unit, they were to herd the enemy in and attack, aiming for utter annihilation. If all went well, the rebels who fancied themselves the Royal Capital Liberation Force would be driven to collapse with this operation alone.

General Yaldar held the conviction that it would be a swift victory.

"...You think this night attack will succeed? I'm kinda worried..."

"Don't know, don't care, but I'm looking forward to the Supply Storehouse. It's gotta be full of food. We'll get to eat anything we want, no doubt. I'll wipe out the rebel scum and eat all the good stuff."

The lad and Shera, clad in mediocre armour, whispered while they marched on.

The vicinity was enveloped in complete darkness. Being a surprise tactic, torches and conspicuous sounds had naturally been prohibited. They simply pressed onward in the woodland, so as to not attract the enemy's awareness.

"...You know, I've been wondering for a while now. Is it all about eating in that head of yours? Shouldn't you have anything else to think about? Like your future, or family..."

"All about eating, yeah. You didn't know that?"

"Good gods, how I envy you, always so happy-like... I'm scared as all hell, really... Like, what if I never get to go home? There's still a bunch'a stuff I wanna do. I'm scared. I don't wanna die."

The lad clenched his shivering fists tightly, as if to cover up his dread.

Shera produced a roasted bean from her pouch and popped it into her mouth, filling it with astringency. A dud, this one.

This particular kind of cultivated beans, which had been sent in from the Belta Region, possessed inconsistent taste. Although each bean had the same shape and colour, their taste varied greatly. The hits were sweet, and the duds were astringent. The lucky hits were said to be as sweet as honey, but she had yet to come across one.

"...Oy, your drool's dripping."

The lad, noticing that she was drifting once again into her food fantasy, nudged her with his elbow.

After wiping her drool, Shera gave her answer to the topic at hand.

"You won't be scared anymore if you die, so why not let it be? No need to worry about every little thing."

Beyond incensed by her insensitive words, which he took as her telling him to go ahead and die, the lad suppressed himself with a wry smile. His sense of dread has abated, if only so slightly.

"Heh, and you won't be hungry anymore if you die, yeah? The dead ain't got stomachs to worry about, you know?"

"Oh yeah, that's true. You're a smart guy, huh?"

"I know, right? Lookin' like this, back home I was a prodigy--"

"Hey, keep quiet! The enemy will hear you!"

The two exchanged glances, agreeing in their minds that the Platoon Leader's voice was the loudest, and fell silent.

By the time the soldiers' sense of time has started to numb, they were visited by a sudden blast of destruction.

[--Kingdom imbeciles! Die here, every single one of you!]

[Archer Unit, volley! Annihilate them!]

Together with shrills of brimming bloodlust, torchlight streaked through the surrounding trees. At the same time, together with the shredding sounds of wind, fire arrows hailed down on the Royal Army.

"I-it's the enemy! Rebel ambush!"

"Fall back, fall back! Retreat--!"

Jira, spearheading the Surprise Attack Unit, raised a furious voice while passing down his commands.

They were supposed to be carrying out a surprise attack, but they were lured into an inescapable situation instead​. They had to escape as soon as possible, or else.

"The fire is spreading too fast! Y-your Honour, they're sprinkling oil! The fire is spreading everywhere--!"

"First of all, open a path of escape! We will be annihilated as is--!"

Their surprise tactic had been leaked to the enemy in its entirety, and the path of their woodland march had been strewn with hay and oil beforehand. When they were finally there, a myriad of fire arrows hailed down.

Having fallen into disarray, the Jira Division was already at their wit's end. They were being pursued by their adversary, Liberation Force, with utmost persistence.

Helming command, Jira kept on bossing the soldiers, urging them to figure out some way of escape, but in the end, the Liberation Force struck him down.



Shera's platoon, situated in the unit's rear, was also swallowed by the vortex of fire.

Arrows continued to hail incessantly​, killing more and more of the platoon's soldiers. Among the fallen were Shera's acquaintances, who had given her bread on occasions.

Shera produced some bread scraps that she had put into her pockets, popped them into her mouth, and started chewing. She found it regrettable that she would never be given them from those lost comrades again.

"We'll all burn to death even if we hold our ground. It's all or nothing... We can only exit the woods. Steel yourselves for the worst, all of you."

The Platoon Leader subdued his voice and made the announcement to the soldiers.

"B-but boss, aren't we completely surrounded outside as well--"

"If you don't want to, then stay. I won't consider it a violation. But you will burn to death... Anyone with the guts, follow me. Charge all at once with my signal."

Peeking in through the firelit trees was the sight of the open plain; there were no enemy soldiers to be seen.

However, it was highly likely that they were lying in ambush. Black smoke, screams, and flames were on the rise in the location ahead.

From behind, a different platoon raised their incoherent voices and sprang out to the open plain. At the same time, the Platoon Leader issued his order. It was now or never.

"Charge--!"

"After our Leader--!"

[--Fire!]

To the platoon's bold rush, a rain of arrows fell.

The Liberation Force soldiers had been restlessly lying in wait. None of them had been discovered by their enemy. They had concealed their bodies, nocked their arrows, tightly grasped their spears, and quieted their breaths of piercing murderous intent.

The platoon that had rushed on ahead has now been laid waste to. The land was littered with arrow-pierced corpses.

In the vanguard, the Platoon Leader also took an arrow in the forehead, then multiple through his torso; he died without raising any scream, nor was he able to express any shock.

Shera and the lad were safe. The girl was unwounded, and while the lad had been shot in his shoulders and right knee, his injuries were not fatal. But his fate was, most likely, unchanged. The only difference was how long, or short, until the inevitable.

The enemy soldiers, now switched from bows to spears, closed in on them. The vicinity was littered with injured platoon soldiers; they were in no condition to fight. Nor could they expect reinforcements.

"W-waah... G-go away-- Go away--!"

The lad was pointing his sword at the enemy, but with his crumbling stance, it was futile. He thought of laying down his arms and surrendering, but soon shook the idea off. In this occasion, a mere private such as himself would likely not be taken prisoner. The enemies' faces were conspicuously pronouncing their intent to kill.

'--I'm so dead.' The lad prayed to God, declaring his unwillingness to die from the bottom of his heart. Again and again, he prayed.

"So our boss is a goner, huh. He used to give me bunch'a food and snacks, too. What a shame."

"--Huh?"

Right as he thought he was hearing Shera's usual voice near his ear, something plunged right into the midst of the enemy. It happened so fast that the lad had to give it his best effort just to follow with his eyes.

In the firelit air, splatters of blood danced with reverberations of screams.

"UGYAAAAH!"

"Aye-yup."

"--Huh-ah...?"

The arc of a scythe severed the right arm of an enemy soldier, then sent flying the head of the dumbfounded man beside him. Its cutting edge was keen, and it decapitated the Liberation Force soldier like trimming weeds and grass.

The man who had just lost his right arm, in a state that suggested cluelessness as to what had happened, fainted upon seeing his wound. His bleeding was severe; his death was most likely unavoidable.

"H-hey, what're you doing!? It's just one enemy! Surround and kil--"

While the man, seemingly the enemy officer, was issuing his order, the scythe's pointed end plunged into his face. It continued to scythe aslant, distorting the face and tearing it off. Shera had reached the enemy officer before anyone knew it.

"E-eekkkk--! B-boss!"

The enemy soldiers screamed in resonance. Anyone would do so upon witnessing the disaster that had befallen those who were alive by their side just moments prior. The face of their leader had been completely hollowed out; he was unrecognizable.

"I won't leave anyone out. I'll massacre the rebel scum. As if I'll let them go... I'll kill anyone who dares to take my food away..."

While in a soliloquy, she absent-mindedly dodged the thrust of a spear. She then raised her scythe overhead and cut her opponent deeply with its crooked blade. In the blink of an eye, the vicinity was turned into a sea of blood. Irrelevant corpses of the Liberation Force soldiers were scattered into the woods.

Having fallen into a state of panic, the soldiers fired arrows with their shivering hands.

Shera spun her scythe, parrying them down like they were nothing. She was just like the Heroes and Supermen in fairy tales, the lad thought.

One after another, the enemy soldiers backed off. Having lost their drive, the troop's coherence collapsed as if hit by an avalanche.

While swaying her scythe like a pendulum, Shera produced a faint smile and stepped her right foot forward; that moment,

"--H-help! It-it's the Death God!"

"W-what a monster! We can't win this!"

"I-I don't wanna die here!"

The few surviving souls screamed and scampered away.

Shera locked on to one among them and flung her scythe vigorously. Its blade sunk into the large tree up ahead, but not before cleaving in half the soldier in its path. The body began to spasm as its entrails gushed from the cross-section.

It was instant death.

While the lad and the surviving soldiers were dumbstruck, Shera, now at ease, went to retrieve her weapon.

Before a backdrop of raging fire, she stood resting the scythe on her shoulder, smiling a smile of bona fide delight. Her face was bloodstained, and so was her armour. Flesh and organs still clung to the scythe. It was a spectacle that one could not take a straight look at.

"Was that the end of it?"

"Ngh--!"

"...What's wrong? You're looking pretty pale, you know that?"

Amid the dense odour of blood, the Death God looked over its shoulder, then turned to face the lad.

That was Shera's silhouette, projected by the flickering radiance. The image of a skeleton monster, clad in black rags, was reflected in the lad's eyes.

Its sinister scythe fluttered about, as if in craving for its next prey.

And so, the lad has reached his limit in maintaining his consciousness.

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