Zeroy's smile faded slightly as she grew thoughtful.
At last, she lifted her head, meeting Patchouli's violet eyes with a solemn yet gentle tone.
"Although this is only an idea—I haven't decided yet—and I believe my will won't be easily shaken, you're right, Patchy. This kind of power is dangerous."
She paused, then her lips curved again into a bright smile, her eyes free of shadow. "So, if that day ever comes, I want you to help me."
Zeroy gently clasped Patchouli's hand, fingers interlacing, warmth passing through her fingertips. "Keep your eyes on me. If one day I lose my way, use the magic you're best at and strike me awake."
Patchouli froze slightly, a complex light flickering in her violet gaze.
She gave a soft snort, her voice tinged with helplessness. "You think it's that simple? Do you think I really have that kind of power, to pull back someone consumed by strength? Especially when that someone is you."
"It's fine." Zeroy smiled more radiantly and sincerely, her emerald eyes reflecting the morning sun. "The point is just to keep watching me so that day never comes, right?"
Patchouli narrowed her eyes a fraction, the purple depths filled with resignation yet softened with warmth.
"You really are a troublemaker..."
"I know I am. So if there's ever anything you need, make sure to tell me, okay~?"
...
The Purge had ended, and in the ruins of the apocalypse stood a single horrifying wonder.
This giant tree had zombies' flesh as its foundation, twisted corpses piled into a massive trunk, exuding a thick stench of rot and death.
Albeit the bodies hanging from its branches were not zombies—they were those once clad in business suits and evening gowns, people of The Company. The power and wealth they held in life had vanished, leaving only tattered corpses bound in fleshy vines swaying in the wind.
They once held fortune, status, and influence. Though now? Now they were... decorations.
Zeroy and Patchouli repeated the method used in the world of Black Bullet, guiding survivors through dreams into a teleportation circle.
Anyhow, the destination was not a safe city. Instead, it was a desolate wasteland outside the city—a barren plain where the flesh tree stood.
The survivors were required to walk one kilometer across this land of death to reach the next teleportation circle that led into the city.
When they stepped out of the circle, the terrifying silhouette of the flesh tree filled their sight.
Hundreds of meters tall, the giant tree pierced the heavens, its twisted boughs like claws stretching skyward, branches crammed with bodies that blotted out the sun.
On the trunk, countless faces were embedded in the flesh, vivid and grotesque, as if souls were imprisoned within, suffering eternal torment even in death.
The wind stirred, and painful wails seemed to echo in their ears.
The stench of decay crawling into their nostrils drove them to nausea.
The survivors' reactions erupted like a tide—
A young woman's legs gave out, collapsing as she clutched her mouth, her scream caught in her throat, tears filling her eyes as the warped faces on the tree were reflected in her pupils.
A burly man clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to flee, sweat beading down his brow as he growled, "What... what the hell is this?!"
An old man, trembling, grasped at someone beside him, lips quivering as he muttered, "God... what sin have we committed to see such a thing..."
"Is this... hell?"
A few stood frozen, eyes vacant, as though their souls were swallowed by the tree's horror, their bodies stiff as statues, only the heaving of their chests betraying their fear.
Above the giant tree, flocks of crows wheeled.
Tens of thousands of mutant crows perched on its branches, their blood-red eyes glimmering like drops of gore, all staring in unison at each survivor passing below.
That gaze pierced souls, sending chills through spines and stirring bottomless dread.
Fresh blood still clung to their beaks; their wings beat with a low, droning hum, like the whisper of death itself.
In that moment, every survivor felt a grim truth—this tree was a tombstone for pests.
The corpses hung above were once sinners who had forsaken their humanity. If they followed the same path, the branches would claim them too.
Fear gnawed at their reason like a venomous serpent, yet within it was a twisted awakening: in this apocalypse, justice's judgment had not vanished.
Yes—this was a warning, oath, and iron law.
"If you become pests, you'll be the next body to hang."
Some screamed and collapsed, others' legs shook too violently to move.
Some gagged into their palms, nails digging into their flesh without noticing the pain.
Some even soiled themselves, urine dripping down their trousers unnoticed.
Abruptly, as their sanity began to break, a refreshing breeze blew away the stench, easing their fear a little.
Beneath the tree, a divine idol radiated gentle, pure light.
It was death and judgment, but also rebirth and protection.
It would shelter the innocent, yet slaughter pests without mercy.
The crows cocked their heads, their crimson eyes watching.
The only sounds were ragged breaths and the choked sobs of children.
At last... someone scrambled on hands and knees toward the next teleportation circle.
Then, driven by terror, all broke into a desperate run.
Behind them, the flesh tree remained unmoving, like a monument eternally proclaiming: In this world, the heretical shall only hang in public as corpses.
"..."
From afar, Zeroy and Patchouli watched.
"Seems it's working quite well."
"If we don't intervene, half of them will die of fright right under that tree," Patchouli reminded.
She thought a certain underworld's Saigyo Ayakashi ought to yield its place to this thing.
"That's fine—after all, we're intervening, aren't we?"
"...Have you chosen a leader yet?"
Patchouli shifted the subject.
"Not yet."
None of the main cast in this world were suitable to manage, and Zeroy had no time to slowly test others.
"What will you do?"
"Let them elect one themselves. We'll see if they can spontaneously form a functioning social system. I'll be watching, and the crows will watch too. Besides, I already gave them a basic template of order. Even if problems arise, they won't spiral out of control."
"Crows?"
Patchouli cast a thoughtful glance at the flock roosting on the tree.
That nickname clearly referred to them—but such a cute name, for those creatures...
Zeroy too looked up at the crows. A few even peered back, tilting their bird heads.
"It's the nickname I gave those little ones."
...
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