Satoru hadn't noticed when sleep crept up on him, a rare slip for someone who thrived on control. The last thing he remembered was the quiet crackle of the fire, Marcille's soft breathing against his lap, and the weight of the day settling into his bones.
Then, darkness; and that voice again. The same damn voice that had whispered to him in Shinjuku, right before his eyes shut and he woke up in Adramalekh's hell.
It slithered into his mind now, low and insistent, pulling him under. His eyes snapped open, but the ruined room was gone; no charred walls, no sleeping girl, just an endless expanse of white stretching in every direction.
A void, pristine and unnerving, like a canvas waiting for something to bleed onto it.
"Can you hear me?" the voice called, echoing from nowhere and everywhere, a thread of sound weaving through the emptiness.
Satoru tilted his head, Six-Eyes flaring instinctively, scanning for a source that wasn't there. "Yeah, I hear you," he said, voice dry, almost bored. "What's the deal this time?"
The voice went silent, as if startled by his response, and then the white shattered. The world shifted, colors bleeding in; a forest unfurled around him, lush and vibrant, sunlight dappling through towering trees.
A breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the scent of moss and earth, so vivid he could've sworn it was real. But he knew better.
This was a dream, or some headspace trick; too sharp, too deliberate. Whoever was behind this wanted his attention, and they were pulling out all the stops to get it.
"Look forward," the voice urged, clearer now, tinged with a strange urgency. Satoru obliged, turning his gaze ahead, and there it was; a creature standing beside a pond, its surface so clear it mirrored the sky.
A white deer, majestic as hell, its antlers sprawling like a crown of bone, thick fur shimmering in the light, and eyes a piercing green that locked onto his.
It was massive, nearly ten meters tall, its presence radiating a quiet, ancient grace. He squinted, dots connecting in his head; those antlers, that height.
But before he could dwell on it, the voice cut in again. "Don't you recognize it?" There was a challenge in the tone, a nudge toward something he was supposed to grasp.
He opened his mouth to answer, but the scene glitched; static buzzing through the air, the forest warping like a broken reel.
In an instant, beauty turned to ruin. The landscape morphed into a wasteland; trees reduced to blackened husks, the ground cracked and oozing, the sky a bruised smear of gray.
At the center stood that malformed god he'd crushed earlier, its twin torsos pulsing, antlers jagged and dripping, a grotesque parody of the deer he'd just seen.
The air thrummed with rot, the same suffocating miasma he'd felt in the village. Then; snap; the static screeched again, and the world flipped back.
The deer returned, serene and untouched, lapping at the pond as if nothing had happened. Satoru scratched the back of his neck, unimpressed.
"If this is your big guilt-trip play, you're bombing it," he said aloud, voice cutting through the stillness. "I've seen worse, and I don't lose sleep over squashing ugly bastards."
The voice tried to respond, buzzing with intent. "I wanted to show you-bzzzt-the truth-bzzzt-what it was-" The words fractured, garbled by interference, but Satoru caught the gist.
This thing, this deer, had been something else once; a real god, maybe, or some benevolent force doling out wishes and blessings.
The shift to that twisted abomination? Human greed, plain and simple. Unchecked hunger, sacrifices piling up, warping it into the monstrosity he'd turned into a meatball.
He could see it; centuries of blood and desperation twisting a deity into a nightmare. Maybe it was something else, entirely. But fine, sure. But why the hell was he being shown this?
And who was pulling the strings? The voice buzzed again, straining to break through, but before it could clarify, the dream cracked apart.
His eyes opened for real this time, sunlight seeping through the jagged gaps in the ruined room's walls. The fire had died to embers, the air cool and sharp with morning.
Marcille's weight still pressed against his lap, her small form curled into him, her breathing deep and even. He stayed still, letting his vision adjust, the white void and glitching forest fading like smoke.
That voice; whoever, whatever it was; had tracked him across worlds, from Shinjuku to Adramalekh's to here. It wasn't random; it wanted something, and this little slideshow felt like a plea or a warning.
The deer, the god, the truth; what was the point? To make him care? To judge him? He snorted softly, shaking his head. Good luck with that.
Marcille stirred, a faint hum escaping her lips as her eyes fluttered open. She blinked up at him, groggy but calm, the first sleep in years softening the edges of her face.
Satoru smirked, the mystery lingering in his mind but unshaken. Whatever that voice was up to, he'd figure it out; or crush it. For now, he had a kid to look after.
Morning light spilled over the ruined village as Satoru and Marcille set out, leaving the ashes and ghosts behind.
They headed south, toward Loran; a bustling trade city. Marcille remembered the direction from her journey before the bandit incident.
She didn't remember the exact path, just a general direction scratched into her memory, but that was plenty for Satoru.
His Eyes could map a route through worse than this backwater mess, and he strode ahead with his usual lazy confidence, hands in his pockets, Marcille trailing close at his side.
The air was crisp, the sky a clear blue, and the road, little more than a dirt track winding through fields and sparse woods, stretched out before them.
It was quiet, save for the crunch of their steps and the occasional bird cutting through the silence.
They'd been walking for a while when Marcille noticed something off. Satoru's stride was still steady, but there was a twitch in his jaw, a faint crease between his brows that hadn't been there before.
His usual smirk was tighter, edged with something prickly. She frowned, her small hand tightening around her staff as she glanced up at him.
Had she done something wrong? Stepped on his toes, metaphorically or otherwise? She chewed her lip, then piped up, voice tentative. "Satoru… did something happen? Are you alright?"
He paused mid-step, turning to her with a look that was half-surprised, half-exasperated. "What? No, I'm fine, kid," he said, waving her off with a flick of his hand. "Just keep up, yeah?"
He didn't know how to tell her; how do you explain to a little girl that the strongest guy around was getting pissy because his stomach was gnawing at itself?
Hunger wasn't something he advertised; it felt petty, beneath him. But it'd been days since he'd eaten anything worth a damn.
Adramalekh's hell hadn't exactly offered gourmet dining, and this world hadn't been much better. Marcille, though? She'd been through the same stretch.
No food since who-knows-when, and she wasn't complaining. He shot her a sidelong glance; she looked fine, if a little tired.
So, he just plastered on a grin and kept walking, brushing off the gnawing ache like it was nothing.
Another hour dragged by. The sun climbing higher, and Satoru's mood was fraying at the edges. His steps grew sharper, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against his thigh.
Marcille picked up on it again, her big green eyes flicking to him with growing concern. She stopped, planting her staff in the dirt, and spoke up. "Um, Satoru… I just remembered; I packed some food yesterday, before we went hunting."
Her voice was casual, like she'd mentioned the weather. He froze, turning to her with a stare so blank it could've been carved from stone. "You… what?" he said, voice flat, disbelief dripping from every syllable.
She tilted her head, golden hair spilling over her shoulder, her expression pure innocence. "It's in my bag. I forgot until now." She blinked up at him, utterly oblivious to the storm brewing behind his eyes.
Satoru's mouth opened, then shut. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard. "You're telling me you've had food this whole time, and you just… didn't say anything?"
She blinked again, tilting her head the other way, as if his irritation was a puzzle she couldn't solve. "I didn't know you were hungry," she said, simple as that.
He stared at her, dumbfounded, then let out a bark of laughter; sharp, incredulous, but not unkind. "Unbelievable," he muttered, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. Let's eat. Dig it out, kid."
Marcille rummaged through her bag, pulling out a small loaf of bread; slightly stale but intact, and a jar of fruit jam, its deep red contents glinting in the sunlight.
She handed them over, and Satoru didn't waste a second. He tore the bread into chunks, slathering it with jam straight from the jar, no knife, no manners, just raw, unfiltered need.
The first bite hit like a revelation; sweet, tart, the sugar flooding his system after days of almost nothing. His Six Eyes burned through energy like a furnace, and this?
This was fuel, pure and simple. He downed half the loaf in record time, then tipped the jar back, scooping out the rest with his fingers and licking them clean.
The whole bottle; gone. He leaned back against a tree, eyes half-lidded, a blissful grin spreading across his face as the hunger finally shut up.
Marcille watched him, and then it clicked. The way he'd been snippy, the tension in his shoulders; it was hunger, plain as day.
She giggled, a bright, bubbling sound that spilled out of her like sunlight breaking through clouds. It was so genuine, so unguarded, that Satoru's grin faltered for a split second, caught off guard by the warmth it stirred in his chest.
She covered her mouth, trying to stifle it, but the laughter kept coming, her eyes crinkling with delight. 'Him,' she thought, 'this guy who tosses gods around like toys, who doesn't blink at anything; he's grumpy because he's hungry?'
The absurdity of it, the contrast between his strength and this petty human flaw, was too much. She'd never seen anything so ridiculous, so endearing.
Satoru arched a brow, setting the empty jar down. "What's so funny, huh?" he said, voice mock-stern, but his eyes were dancing.
She shook her head, still giggling. "You! You're so strong, and you're always joking, even with that… thing yesterday, but hunger makes you all prickly!"
He snorted, reaching over to ruffle her hair, his hand mussing the golden strands. "Rude, kid. Laughing at adults is a crime, you know that? I oughta ground you."
She ducked under his hand, still laughing, and swatted at him playfully. "You can't ground me! You ate all my jam!"
He smirked, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. "Fair trade for keeping you alive. You're welcome."
They sat there a bit longer, finishing the bread. Marcille nibbling her share, Satoru polishing off the rest like it was his last meal.
The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by an easy quiet, the kind that didn't need words. She leaned against him, her staff propped nearby, and he didn't mind; didn't push her off or crack a joke.
It was just them, the road ahead, and a bond that felt a little stronger, a little surer. When they finally stood, brushing crumbs off their clothes, Satoru stretched, cracking his neck. "Alright, Loran's not gonna walk to us. Let's move."
Marcille nodded, falling into step beside him, her laughter still echoing in his head as they pressed south.
With hunger no longer clawing at his gut, Satoru's mind sharpened, gears turning like they hadn't in days. The jam and bread had done their job.
His Six Eyes hummed with renewed clarity, energy coursing through him. He stopped mid-stride on the dirt path, a sudden thought sparking. 'Why the hell are we walking?'
Loran was south, sure, but trudging through fields and woods like a couple of peasants wasn't his style. He could fly them there; fast, easy, done.
A grin tugged at his lips as he glanced at Marcille, who was humming softly beside him, her staff tapping the ground. "Hey, kid," he called, voice light with mischief. "Wanna see another trick?"
Marcille's head snapped up, her emerald eyes glinting with curiosity. She'd almost forgotten his teleportation stunt from yesterday.
Blinking them into the forest like it was nothing; but the memory flared back, and her face lit up. "A trick? Like what?" she asked, voice bubbling with excitement.
Before she could get an answer, Satoru's hand shot out, palm flat, and a faint pull of Blue snagged her. She yelped as her back stuck to his hand, dangling like a handbag, her legs kicking air.
"Huh?" She twisted, confusion creasing her brow. "Satoru?" He smirked down at her, unfazed. "You're not scared of heights, are you?" He didn't wait for a reply; just crouched, tensed, and leaped.
The ground cracked beneath him, a spiderweb of fissures splitting the dirt as he launched skyward with a force that rattled the trees.
Marcille's startled "EHHHHH!!!" trailed behind, a high-pitched yell swallowed by the rush of wind as they shot upward.
They broke through the cloud-line, the world dropping away in a blur of green and brown. Satoru kept it steady; not too high, not too fast.
He could handle thin air and blistering speed, but the kid? She'd black out, and he wasn't in the mood to play nurse mid-flight.
He moderated his pace, soaring just above the clouds, Marcille still glued to his palm, her small form swaying slightly in his grip.
"We're… flying!!!" she shouted, her voice cracking with disbelief, then blooming into pure, unrestrained joy.
Her eyes widened, drinking in the sight; cotton-white clouds stretching endlessly below, the sky a boundless blue above, the wind whipping her short golden hair against her cheeks.
She clutched it back with one hand, the other gripping her staff, and turned her head to the side. Birds glided alongside them.
Small, swift shapes cutting through the air, their wings beating in rhythm with the breeze. Her breath caught, a realization dawning in her chest. 'Is this how they feel? Every day, every moment?'
Free, untethered, the world theirs to roam. Her heart swelled, a sensation so vast it pressed against her ribs, threatening to burst.
Below, the landscape unfurled like a living painting; emerald forests rolling over hills, rivers snaking through valleys like silver threads, lakes glinting like scattered jewels under the sun.
It was vast, alive, stretching to the horizon in a way she'd never seen from the ground. Marcille's eyes shimmered, tears prickling at the corners.
Maybe from the wind, maybe from the raw wonder flooding her. This wasn't just flight; it was freedom, the kind sages chased in dusty tomes, the kind warriors bled for on battlefields.
Greater men would've traded empires for a single taste of this, not for the act itself but for what it carried; a release from chains she hadn't even known bound her.
The village, the lies, the sleepless years; they fell away, insignificant specks against this endless sky. She laughed, a soft, breathless sound, her voice lost to the wind but her spirit soaring higher than they flew.
Satoru didn't say a word; just watched her from the corner of his eye, his smirk softening. He knew that look, that feeling.
It wasn't quite the enlightenment he'd tasted when his Six Eyes first opened, when the world's truest form clicked into place, but it was close.
A kid's version, pure and unscarred, her first brush with something bigger than herself. He'd felt it too, once, that rush of breaking free, of seeing everything and nothing all at once.
He kept quiet, letting her have it; no quips, no interruptions. She deserved this, after all the shit she'd waded through.
His gaze shifted south, piercing the distance with a clarity that'd shame a hawk's. Kilometers away, Loran came into view.
A sprawling trade city nestled behind thriving farmlands, a patchwork of golden fields and green pastures that dwarfed the village's pitiful plots.
Even from here, he could see the pulse of life; carts trundling along roads, smoke curling from chimneys, the faint hum of a thousand voices blending into the air.
It looked normal, medieval as hell; stone walls, wooden roofs, people scurrying like ants. He squinted his Eyes, probing for anything off.
No cult vibes, no dark miasma, no bullshit gods lurking in the shadows. Good. He'd had his fill of twisted secrets for a while; Loran could be a breather, a place to restock and figure out what came next.
'Just don't be another hellhole,' he thought, half a prayer, half a threat.
Marcille's voice pulled him back. "Satoru, look!" She pointed at a flock of birds veering west, their wings catching the sunlight in flashes of white.
Her face was alive; cheeks flushed, eyes bright, the wonder still gripping her tight. He grinned, a real one this time, not his usual cocky flash.
"Pretty cool, huh?" he said, tilting his hand so she could see better. She nodded, fierce and fast, like she'd never seen anything so beautiful. Maybe she hadn't.
They flew on, the city growing closer, but Satoru didn't rush it; let her soak in every second of this freedom, this sky that was hers for the taking.
For once, he wasn't the strongest or the savior; just a guy giving a kid a moment she'd never forget.
Satoru and Marcille didn't swoop straight into Loran's gates; much as he'd have preferred to drop in and skip the formalities.
As they hovered above the sprawling farmlands, the city's stone walls glinting in the distance, Marcille tugged at his sleeve, her voice small but firm.
"Satoru, can we… not fly in? I think we should join the others down there." She pointed to the snaking line of merchants, caravans, and travelers clogging the road below, all waiting for entry.
He arched a brow, tempted to argue; why slog through a queue when he could bypass it? But her wide, earnest eyes softened his resolve.
"Fine, kid," he sighed, adjusting his grip on her. "Ground it is." They descended, landing a short distance from the crowd, dust kicking up as Satoru released Blue and set her down gently.
She brushed off her dress, staff in hand, and they fell into step with the procession.
The line crawled forward, flanked by armored guards in steel plate, their visors down and spears at the ready.
Tension hung thick; murmurs rippled through the merchants about dead bodies arriving a day ago, adventurers and traders from Loran who were butchered on the roads.
Bandits, they whispered, or something worse. The guards were on edge, questioning everyone, their voices sharp as they demanded names, origins, cargo.
Satoru slouched, hands in his pockets, while Marcille stayed close, her gaze darting between the towering walls and the stern faces ahead.
When their turn came, a burly guard stepped forward, his helm shadowing his eyes. "Names and purpose," he barked, spear tapping the ground.
Before Satoru could open his mouth, the guard beside him; a younger man with a scar across his cheek, squinted at Marcille.
"Wait… you're that half-elf girl, aren't you? From the northern village?" His tone softened, recognition flickering.
Marcille nodded, clutching her staff tighter. "Yes, I am. Please. We need to talk to someone in charge. It's important."
The guards exchanged a glance, the scarred one hesitating before waving them aside. "Follow me," he said, leading them through a side gate into a stone-walled room off the main thoroughfare; secluded, dimly lit by a single lantern.
Satoru trailed behind, smirking faintly at the shift in pace.
Inside, a woman awaited them; middle-aged, with dark-red hair tied back in a tight braid, her slightly tanned skin marked by years of sun and steel.
She wore polished armor, steel plates gleaming over a dark tunic, her presence commanding the cramped space.
"I'm Vanessa," she said, voice steady and clipped, "chief of the Knights' Order here in Loran. Speak." Her gaze flicked between them, lingering on Satoru's casual slouch and Marcille's nervous grip on her staff.
Two other guards stood by the door, hands resting on sword hilts, their postures stiff but attentive.
Marcille took a breath, ready to start, but Satoru jumped in first, his tone light and breezy. "So, Vanessa, huh? Nice armor; looks heavy, though.
Bet it's a pain to chase bandits in that getup." He grinned, leaning against the wall like he owned the place.
Vanessa's eyes narrowed, a muscle twitching in her jaw, and one of the guards; a broad-shouldered man with a graying beard, shifted, hand tightening on his blade.
"This isn't a time for your jests," he growled. "State your business or-" Satoru cut him off, waving a hand. "Relax, big guy. Just saying, if I were running this joint, I'd go for something lighter.
Maybe some enchanted threads; style and function, you know?" He winked, and the guard's face reddened, a vein pulsing at his temple.
"Enough," Vanessa snapped, her voice a whipcrack. "You're testing my patience, outsider. One more word out of line, and you'll be in a cell."
Marcille stepped forward, panic flashing in her eyes, and grabbed Satoru's arm. "He's just… joking! Please, don't mind him; he's with me.
We've got something serious to tell you." She shot him a pleading look, and Satoru shrugged, raising his hands in mock surrender.
"Fine, fine. Kid's got the floor." Vanessa's glare lingered, but she nodded curtly, gesturing for Marcille to sit.
The tension eased, barely, as they settled across from her, the guards still bristling but holding their ground.
Marcille started from the beginning; her voice trembling at first, then steadying as she recounted the village's fall.
The merchants and guards slaughtered, the bandits Satoru turned to paste, the cult's sacrifices to a twisted god.
Satoru chimed in, filling the gaps with what he'd uncovered; the well stuffed with child-sized bones, the villagers' immortality scam, Elna's betrayal of Marcille's mother.
His tone stayed casual, almost flippant, but the details landed like blows. The gray-bearded guard's face paled, his grip slackening on his sword as he muttered, "Gods above…"
The younger one, scar-faced, turned away, a hand pressing to his mouth as if to hold back bile. Vanessa remained stone-still, her stoic mask unshaken, but her knuckles whitened where they rested on the table, betraying the churn in her gut.
Marcille's voice broke as she described Elna's final rant; admitting to her mother's murder, the plan to toss her into the well with the others.
"She… she raised me," she whispered, "and all that time…" She trailed off, eyes glistening, and Satoru picked up the thread.
"Yeah, real family values there. Fed their kids to that thing for a few extra years. Oh, and the mercs? Shadowy types; they wiped the place out looking for her." He jerked a thumb at Marcille.
"I did handle them. Was a bit messy, but effective." The room went silent, the air heavy with the weight of it all.
The bearded guard swallowed hard; his voice hoarse. "You're saying… hundreds of children? Over years?" Satoru nodded, leaning back. "Hundreds, maybe more. Bones don't lie."
Vanessa exhaled through her nose, a slow, controlled breath, her stoicism a thin veil over the disgust simmering beneath.
"If this holds true," she said, voice low, "it's a blight on more than just that village." She turned to the guards.
"Send a team; knights and adventurers; to verify their claims. Scour the site and bring back evidence. Move fast." The scarred guard saluted, hurrying out, while the other lingered, still shaken.
Vanessa's gaze returned to Satoru and Marcille. "Until we confirm this, you'll stay under watch. One of my knights will escort you; show you the city, keep you close."
She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Your timing aligns with those bodies we received yesterday; merchants and adventurers from Loran, dead on the northern roads, they were sent here by that very village chief.
If you're right, this mess will ripple up to the Elven Kingdom and Astartes' Guild. Paperwork alone will bury us, let alone the fallout."
She gestured to the door, and a figure stepped forward; a female knight, shorter than Satoru by a head, her frame clad in full plate adorned with faint etchings.
A thin, decorated longsword hung at her waist; its hilt worn but elegant. Her helm was off, revealing sharp features and a steady gaze, her dark-blue hair cropped short.
Satoru's Eyes flicked over her; Mana pulsed from her, crisp and potent, far stronger than those shadowy hunters he'd pulped.
Not quite Vanessa's level, though; the chief radiated a presence damn near a special-grade, a quiet storm in steel.
This knight? Solid, but not a titan. "Name's Lysa," she said, voice clipped but not unfriendly.
"Follow me."
Satoru smirked, standing with a stretch. "Lysa, huh? Hope you're more fun than these stiffs." Marcille elbowed him lightly, whispering, "Please, be nice!"
Vanessa's glare followed them out, but she said nothing more. Lysa led them into Loran's streets, the city unfolding; stone arches, bustling markets, the clang of smiths and chatter of traders.
Satoru kept pace, hands in his pockets, while Marcille clung close, her staff tapping the cobblestones. Until their story was proven right, they were free to take a breather and see what Loran held for them.
.... To be continued!!!
A/N: Another chapter done, hope you'll like it... You can throw in any suggestions or mistakes in the comment section. And drop in what you think about this chapter.
See you tomorrow... Bye!!!