"To shed those sins, you must make amends to those you hurt. Only when they forgive you will your evil vanish. Otherwise, if it keeps piling up—even without worse deeds—you'll still become pest. Quantity shifts to quality."
"So take care of yourself. As for your mission, I won't interfere. Once I leave, you're free to act."
The man truly had to be careful. Hellfire and Zeroy's Evil Slayer judged by complex rules.
One was consequence. Stealing a few hundred might mean little. But if that money was someone's lifeline, and the theft caused their death—that was immense sin.
Tokonosu's matter was only an episode.
Albeit it reminded Zeroy of something crucial—though her mission here had ended, and she left coordinates, that didn't mean other Reincarnators couldn't arrive.
This world wasn't hers alone. Others could still land here, even plant beacons.
Though a Reincarnator herself, she never thought them good for worlds. Their kind was too mixed.
She didn't want them in worlds she'd saved. They'd ruin her order.
Thus, she pondered: how to privatize a world? Or create her own? A heaven of her own, to store the saved!
The latter was far beyond her reach, for now.
Meanwhile—Hellfire truly could purify hearts. It stripped filth, drew remorse through pain.
Those burned became "good."
But only if their sins weren't mortal.
That is, if they weren't too far gone, Hellfire could change them.
And that was good enough.
After this test, Zeroy considered burning everyone.
No matter good or evil. Burn them first.
Pests would die. Innocents, scorched, would improve.
...
Steel blades tore open a hidden base. Dust and shards filled the air.
"Hm? You're still alive? Great~"
H.A.M.P's massive head tilted, cold sensors locking onto a figure in the corner.
The old man's pupils shrank, sweat trailing down his brow.
The Company had monitored outside. He'd seen that steel god appear, carving through cities, smashing every creation, approaching his hideout.
He thought himself hidden. He'd driven the base to minimum power, shut devices, even slowed his breath—like a rat in doomsday, hoping unseen.
But they came anyway.
Layer by layer, steel defenses peeled like a can lid. Sunlight and cold wind poured in. The old man stood exposed, prey under a spotlight.
"From your face... you don't remember me?"
From the giant came a girl's bright voice, teasing.
He stared, mind clawing memory, dazed.
"Y-you are...?" His voice rasped, half-begging.
"It's me~"
The cockpit opened. Zeroy leaned out, smiling bright, waving like to an old friend.
"Hi! Long time no see~ Last time... I had no time to deal with you. I left you."
Her smile deepened.
"This time I came just for you~"
"—!"
Memory surged. A glimpse from a past video call.
His body spasmed. That face now overlapped the nightmare.
"No! Wait! Spare me, we had no quarrel—"
Her smile froze cold.
"Don't talk, old thing. Die. Time you reported to hell!"
One of the Company's board. The rest would follow.
Whether they wept, begged, or clung to dignity—the end was the same.
Under Hellfire, nothing stood. All would end broken, sobbing, fouled.
...
Zeroy's great cleansing neared its end.
By her count, only 800,000 survivors remained worldwide.
Humanity was nearly gone, dead by their own hands.
Though, she mused, not quite. In Highschool of the Dead, it was Company's fault, not humanity's.
In Black Bullet, too, though there the nations' leaders were all complicit.
Numbers of the guilty varied.
Like in Black Bullet, she gathered the survivors into one city.
...
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