As long as I begin to paint, I sink into it.
Paint like rivers, paint like starry skies, paint like fresh blood—all of it, splattered across the canvas.
With the brush, I sketch out the world in my mind, call it forth again, let the imagined world corrode the real one.
As if someone were watching this painting.
As if someone were holding my hand, guiding the brush, spilling the ink.
My hand moved on its own, moving faster than thought, moving ahead of the brain.
As though the painting's completion was destiny itself, not to be hindered by anyone's will or action.
Yes. Yes. Yes...…
Whispers can be heard, urging in my ear. That one cannot wait anymore, wants me to finish this painting quickly.
That's right. That's right. That's right.
I was born for the sake of this painting.
That one created me for the sake of this painting.
Deep... deep...…
Distant... distant......
…My birth? My creation?
I... I am Van Gogh... I am...…
...…
I am… who again?
The room was a mess.
Scattered everywhere—painting tools, sketches. Paint smeared across her face and clothes, making Van Gogh look like some oversized, adorable calico cat.
Dangling her legs from a high chair, Van Gogh sat there blankly, staring at the unfinished draft on the easel.
A strange draft. As though it held power. Like a black hole, capable of dragging a human soul into it. The longer one stared, the more dangerous it became. And yet, for ordinary people, no matter how long they looked, the instant they turned away, they would forget everything about it.
After a long time, the misty pink in Van Gogh's eyes gradually faded. Her gaze slowly cleared.
She set down her brush and palette, jumped from the chair. She did not continue that sketch. Instead, on tiptoe, she slipped quietly from the room.
She didn't know why, but inside her swelled a restless agitation—wanting to paint, and yet rejecting painting.
As though a voice urged her on in her ear, keep painting, while another voice rose from her heart, stop here.
Agitation. No idea what to do.
So she left the room, following instinct, wanting to find someone she could trust to confide in. Even if just to have someone nearby—that alone could calm her.
But when she pushed the door open—what greeted her was darkness.
"…..?"
Van Gogh stepped into the corridor. At the end lay the living room.
The apartment's lights were off. It was dark, and empty.
Her voice echoed through the place, then faded. No one answered.
"Yuna?"
Again she called, stirring the air faintly.
Shadows at her feet stirred, as though they had become living things. Cold, viscous, clawing upward, seizing her ankles.
Shimazaki Yuna wasn't home.
Van Gogh realized this.
The agitation in her chest only spread further, pushing outward from her heart.
Footsteps, heartbeat, breath—everything thundered in her ears. All of it unbearable, maddening.
A droning hum swelled in her ears. That hum twisted, shifted into insane whispers, becoming clearer and clearer as moments passed.
"Yuna… where did she go?"
The cramped rental flat now seemed vast, more desolate than a football field. Dragging her body, dragging the shadows locked around her ankles, she walked and walked, but never reached an end.
"Yuna… left? Van Gogh… was abandoned again?"
"Yuna...… Gauguin... the yellow house surrounded by sunflowers... the jellyfish lantern whispering in the gray night..."
"Van Gogh… scared off someone important again? Ufu fu... ehe he... incurable Van Gogh...… Van Gogh who spreads madness...… patched together, broken apart… dripping blood…"
Black shadows, like ink, like a swamp, clutched her ankles, climbing up her body.
Van Gogh pressed both hands to her face. Her hands, already stained into a deep black, let ink-like darkness drip and slide down with gravity.
"Deep, deep...… distant, distant......"
"A paradise conquered by madness, a forbidden land where reason is driven out."
And then Van Gogh opened her mouth—toward her own arm.
The sound of biting echoed, sharp enough to raise gooseflesh.
Madness burst out like floodwaters smashing a dam, spreading, consuming.
Blood fell to the floor. Nourished by it, around Van Gogh bloomed flowers—wild, dazzling, mad.
A sea of flowers.
...
The sky was heavy, not a star in sight, not even moonlight. A starless night.
Felt like something might crawl out beneath weather like this.
The black clouds pressed not only on the heavens, but also on people's hearts.
Beneath the bridge, Meteora was on the phone.
"That's about the situation… yes… I need an ambulance here. As quickly as possible…"
Her tone was calm, discussing. After a while, she hung up, turning back.
Behind her stood the blonde knight—Alicetaria.
The last time she appeared, she was every inch the gallant warrior, her bearing outshining most men. But now, she was battered.
Scars covered her body. Those weren't the worst—the worst was her abdomen, a savage, piercing wound.
It had been crudely bandaged, but the bleeding hadn't stopped.
Mamika was on the verge of tears.
"I'm sorry, Alice-chan… if not for protecting me… if not for what I said back then…"
"No, Mamika, this isn't your fault. That person's ability is too strange…" Alicetaria tried to reassure her. "And don't misunderstand, Mamika… I don't regret saving you then. If I had allowed you to be hurt, if I had chosen otherwise, then the chivalry I believe in, the justice I uphold—would weep."
"Alice-chan..."
She meant to comfort Mamika, but those words only made Mamika cry harder.
Selesia stood nearby, close enough to guard them both, and to keep watch.
Footsteps sounded—Meteora returned from the shadows beneath the bridge, approaching.
"I've called an ambulance. They should arrive soon." She glanced at Selesia, then looked to Mamika and the gravely wounded Alicetaria. "Forgive me, restorative magic is not my specialty. I can only offer this simple bandage."
"No… I'm grateful for your aid." Exhaustion seeped into Alicetaria's eyes and voice, her face pale, words weak. "This time, you've saved me. I owe you a debt…"
By all rights, such an injury should have killed any ordinary human in this world.
But the Created had stronger bodies than most. And among them, Alicetaria was one of the strongest. That was why she still lived.
Why she could still remain conscious.
In her own words…
"If I were to just die so simply, then who would save my country?"
Selesia walked up beside Meteora, saying nothing.
Their division of roles was always clear. In battle, Selesia took the lead, because Meteora was not suited for combat, and her fighting power was lower than Selesia's. In negotiation, it was Meteora who spoke, because her intellect was sharper, and she was skilled at analysis.
"We too have our own considerations." Meteora's expression remained flat as she looked at Alicetaria. "We came here in pursuit of a certain very dangerous Created. But when we reached the site, we didn't find the target. Instead, we found traces of battle… and the two of you. So. Am I to understand that you both already crossed swords with our target?"
"I don't know if the one we encountered was the same person you seek…"
"It's fine. Just tell us what you know. Right now, we are desperately lacking in information."
And so, Mamika Kirameki and Alicetaria chose to explain their encounter to Meteora and Selesia.
Because Alicetaria was gravely wounded, the task of speaking fell to Mamika.
Mamika explained: the reason she and Alicetaria had come here was similar to Meteora and Selesia's. The difference was, Meteora's side had come to seek out a dangerous figure, while she and Alicetaria had come to recruit one.
They only knew that another new Created had appeared. According to Altair, they were now seriously lacking in power and companions. So the two of them had come to see if they could bring in a new ally.
But Meteora and Selesia, who had also been searching for Chikujoin Magane, were one step late. Mamika and Alicetaria had found her first.
Mamika approached in good faith, even kindly explaining the current situation to Magane, telling her that their worlds were all stories created by the kami-sama of this world, and that they themselves were merely characters in those stories.
But just as Mamika was about to speak further to persuade her, Alicetaria suddenly stepped forward, weapon in hand, placing herself between Mamika and Magane.
For when Magane learned she was merely a character from a story, and that the Creator of that story was here in this world, she unconsciously released a killing intent that was chillingly dangerous. Alicetaria sensed it at once.
This one before them could never be a comrade. She was a demon who treated killing as amusement, a mouthful of lies. Alicetaria knew it clearly in that instant.
The clash in temperament was immense. Alicetaria and Magane both felt immediate disgust toward the other.
Mamika was still trying desperately to prevent a fight, but the two extremes—Alicetaria and Magane—were both absolutely aware. There was no possibility of shaking hands here.
So the two fought.
Magane had no combat strength. All she could do was dodge, slippery as an eel, forever slipping free. That frail body of hers couldn't have withstood even a single strike from Alicetaria. And yet, through nimble steps, she evaded every blow.
Even as she dodged, she taunted constantly, words calculated to provoke, fanning Alicetaria's anger higher.
Because she didn't know Magane's ability, and because her character was too straightforward, too earnest—Alicetaria fell for the trap. And so Magane succeeded in activating her ability.
Amidst the flood of annoying, malicious chatter, Magane suddenly said—
"Can't hit me! Can't hit me! Aaah, how terrifying your attacks are! You mean to kill me? But your aim is so bad, like a drunken cat. What if you miss? What if your attack hits your comrade instead? That would be dangerous, wouldn't it?"
Alicetaria, already fed up, snapped back in fury: "Nonsense!" And at the same time, she loosed a charge of blinding lightning.
Chikujoin Magane's ability—[Infinite Deception of Words] .
When someone denies her lie, the lie becomes truth.
Thus, the moment Alicetaria spat "Nonsense," the conditions were met. The lightning cannon did not strike Magane. It turned mid-course—and shot toward Mamika.
It was so sudden that Mamika hadn't even transformed. In the end, it was only because Alicetaria reacted instantly that she shielded Mamika and took the blow herself.
Even then, neither of them yet understood what had happened. They didn't grasp Magane's ability—until Alicetaria's own spear pierced through her body.
Only then did she finally understand Magane's conditions and effects.
Magane's power was terrifying. But it had a weakness—if no one replied, it could not activate.
Though heavily wounded, Alicetaria was not alone. Mamika had chosen to join the fight, and her strength was by no means inferior to Alicetaria's. Magane, outside of her bizarre ability, had no combat strength. So she decisively retreated.
Mamika let her go—because Alicetaria's injury was far too grave, and her heart was seized by worry.
Just as Mamika, flustered and lost, was wondering what to do, Selesia and Meteora arrived on the scene, pursuing Magane. For Alicetaria's sake, Mamika turned to them at once, without hesitation, and begged for their help.
After hearing the whole sequence of events, Meteora's feelings grew complicated.
There was something to be glad of—they now knew Magane's ability. [Infinite Deception of Words]. If wielded well, it was terrifying beyond measure. But now that they knew the conditions, they could prepare a countermeasure.
And yet, what was troubling was this: Magane was without question a dangerous individual. A dangerous temperament, a dangerous ability. To have such an unstable factor roaming free was deeply worrisome.
Meteora sank into thought. Alicetaria noticed, and asked:
"You already confirmed beforehand that she was dangerous? You'd met her before?"
Meteora exchanged a glance with Selesia, then replied with a blank face:
"We received a report. A bookstore owner was attacked. The suspect was a girl with purple hair, dressed in a black sailor uniform. The store was devastated, claw marks everywhere. The owner's corpse had been completely devoured. From the evidence, it was some enormous beast that killed him… and then, we recalled the army of monsters that appeared in Sunshine City the other day."
Her brows faintly furrowed, Meteora fixed her gaze on Mamika and Alicetaria, her voice lowering.
"Since you are not wholly ignorant of those monsters… and you've met the dangerous person who killed that bookstore owner, I want your opinion. Do you believe the one who summoned those monsters… and the dangerous one you fought today… could it be—"
But her words never finished. Meteora's phone suddenly rang.
This was the device Kikuchihara Aki had given her for convenience. Earlier, she had used it to call for the ambulance.
She answered, lifting it to her ear, turning slightly aside.
"Moshi moshi…"
Selesia and the other two were curious, but they knew better than to interrupt at a time like this. They held their tongues, waiting.
…
"What! You and the ambulance ran into monsters on the road?!"
Meteora's brows knit tight. At the same moment, Selesia, Mamika, and Alicetaria all turned to her, eyes gathering.
"Monsters like flowers, like octopi, ones that corrupt the mind… the same ones we saw last time in Sunshine City—they've appeared again?!"
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T/N: OMG IS VAN GOGH THE BIG BAD??