The battle in the streets was currently the manifestation of anarchy.
The people of Chaosflame were faring remarkably well against the invaders. In terms of raw, physical power, every citizen bolstered by the Soul Marriage outclassed the rank-and-file members of the Witch Cult by several magnitudes.
Just a singular blow from any one of them was typically enough to destroy a cultist's ribs or send them spiralling through a stone storefront, never to stand back up.
Yet, it was not the one-sided victory it should have been, based on that information.
Solely because the cultists fought with a disturbing disregard for their own lives.
They cared nothing for self-preservation or the survival of their comrades——they rushed into the meat grinder, happy to trade their lives just to land an attack, no matter how ineffective or shallow it might've been.
Watching from the shadows of an alleyway, Abel's eyes narrowed behind his oni mask.
He immediately understood the tactical nightmare unfolding before him——the superior capabilities of the citizens of Chaosflame were a double-edged sword.
Every ounce of strength they exerted was a direct tax on Yorna Mishigure's own capabilities.
She was no doubt already facing a threat so significant she had been forced to detonate her own castle——and now, she was being bled dry by the very people she was trying to protect.
"Move."
Abel commanded, his voice a low contradiction against the roar of the city around them.
The trio—Abel, Al, and Medium—stealthily made their way through the chaos, sticking to the narrower alleys of the city to avoid drawing the attention of the cultists.
Though whenever a cultist did manage to intercept them, they didn't last long enough to make any sound.
Medium moved with a ferocity that contradicted her cheerful nature as she immediately blurred past a cultist who had lunged from behind a crate, one of her two blades that she had unsheathed, swiping toward the cultist's midsection.
With a singular fluid swipe, the cultist was bisected, his upper torso sliding away in a heap of blood that pooled on the floor below as she hopped over the remains without breaking her stride.
She huffed through flared nostrils, flicking a drop of blood from her sword before she even looked back.
Abel watched her with a cold, appreciative eye. He still didn't quite know exactly what a merchant of this caliber had been doing in a place like Guaral while it was under siege, but his initial assessment still held firm: she was not a spy.
But merely a blunt, yet highly effective tool, and he intended to use her to the fullest.
"Remind me not to get on her bad side——if a 'bad side' even exists for someone that bubbly..." Al whispered, his tone dead serious as he jogged alongside Abel.
He kept his hand on the hilt of his cutlass, grateful that, for once, he hadn't needed to draw it yet.
Abel didn't look at him, his focus already shifting to the next intersection revealing itself before them.
"Now is not the time for jests. Focus on the path."
The closer they drew to the city's center, the thicker the stench of blood and fire became. The narrow alleyways eventually gave way to the wider avenues that led directly up the incline toward the Bloodflame Castle, where powerful shockwaves constantly erupted, even now.
And with the wider streets came a much larger problem.
"We've got a roadblock, boss...."
Al muttered, coming to a halt behind an overturned wagon, his eyes narrowed as he glanced through the visor of his helmet.
Ahead of them, approaching the wide incline before the gate, were many cultists. There were dozens of them——perhaps thirty or more—surrounded by multiple bodies of non-combatants.
Although their power would've been amplified by Yorna's technique, that isn't to say they know how to fight.
It was clear to Abel that this slaughter was clearly more significant than the rest——likely, from this point, nobody is supposed to go beyond this area and up to the castle.
High above them, the ruined peak of the castle shuddered with deafening blows that affected everyone, even this far down below. It was certain that whoever Yorna was battling, it was continuing to escalate.
"They are cordoning off the castle," Abel analyzed with a keen eye. "They intend to isolate the General. If they secure this perimeter, they can slowly bleed the city dry without her interference."
That would imply that these cultists have an overwhelming level of either loyalty or faith to whoever it is that is fighting up above.
The way it is all being staged makes it seem as if, in their eyes, victory was merely a forgone conclusion.
"So, we just gotta punch a hole right through 'em, right?"
"Asked the woman, rolling her shoulders. She twirled her heavy twin blades, the steel humming in the smoke-filled air. She didn't look scared——she looked like she was warming up for a morning workout.
Al sighed, the sound metallic and tired from beneath his helmet. He finally drew his heavy cutlass, resting the flat of the wide blade against his shoulder.
"Listen, Medium. Don't let 'em surround you. These guys don't care if you cut their arms off; they'll just try to bite your ankles——anything that does even the smallest bit of damage. Go for the head or the heart, and don't stop moving."
"Got it! Leave the opening to me!"
Medium didn't wait for a countdown. Her powerful legs dug into the cobblestone ground, and she launched herself from behind the carriage like a cannonball.
The cultists turned to the sound, daggers raised, but they were entirely unprepared for the sheer physical force of the tall woman. Medium slammed into the front line with the impact of a freight train, her pair of thick blades dicing apart everything that sat in her path.
She didn't use fancy techniques, just overwhelming, brutal momentum.
The first three cultists were quite literally torn to pieces, their bodies crumpling under slashes that shattered their weapons, as well as the bones beneath.
"Attackers!" One of the cultists yelled in anger, alerting the entire group.
The mob instantly swarmed——true to Al's warning, they abandoned any and all defensive posture, throwing themselves onto Medium's blades, hoping to weigh her down with their own corpses.
Al clicked his tongue and sprinted in right behind her. "Idiots, the lot of 'em..." he grumbled.
A cultist lunged at Al from the flank, aiming a sharp blade directly at his exposed neck. Al didn't even bother parrying; instead, he moved as if he saw the future——stepping inside the guard and bringing the heavy pommel of his cutlass upward to cave the cultist's face in with a sickening crunch.
Before the body even hit the ground, Al spun back around, using his single arm to cleave another cultist deeply across the torso.
Abel walked calmly behind the vanguard they created without drawing his weapon.
Instead, he simply watched the flow of the battle, his eyes tracking the movements of the enemy like pieces on a board.
"Al," Abel said, his voice carrying clearly over the clash of steel. "Three paces to your left. Two are circling behind the carriage!"
"Yeah, yeah, I see 'em!" Al grunted.
He kicked a falling cultist backward to clear space before shifting his weight.
He swung his cutlass in a wide, horizontal arc, forcing the two flankers to leap back——right into the path of Medium's returning backhand swing.
They were making fast progress, carving a bloody path through the street, but the sheer volume of enemies was beginning to become clearer and clearer.
For every three that they cut down, another emerged out of the burning buildings lining the street.
Another massive explosion rocked the sky above. A wave of intense heat washed over the street, momentarily blinding the combatants as a shockwave of crimson energy rippled from the castle peak.
"We need to move faster!"
Medium shouted, her breathing finally growing heavy as she kicked a cultist through a wooden wagon.
"There's no end to them!"
Abel narrowed his eyes as the castle gates continued to grow with every step forward they took——the only problem was that with every step taken, it became more difficult to progress.
"Do not stop your advance——!"
Abel ordered, stepping over a severed limb without breaking his stride.
"Momentum is our only advantage. If we stall here, the revolution dies in this street!"
The air around Medium seemed to change, though in the grit and smoke of Chaosflame, it looked like nothing more than the heat haze of battle.
As the cultists continued to swarm, Medium didn't falter. Instead, her eyes brightened as a fierce look of focus and willpower manifested in her eyes.
Every time she caught a glimpse of the castle, every time she remembered why they were here——a strange, invisible weight lifted from her limbs. Her strikes, already heavy, began to carry the force of a falling landslide.
She didn't know it, and neither did the men at her back, but her Divine Protection was the cause. The more she committed to the 'rightness' of their charge, the more her own biology transcended its limits.
"Out of the way!" Medium yelled.
She swung her twin blades in a massive, horizontal X-pattern. The sheer wind pressure from the strike was obliterating the ground surrounding her and launching any cultists nearby through the air like ragdolls.
Al blinked behind his helmet, nearly stumbling as he tried to keep up with her sudden burst of speed.
"Whoa, hey! Someone had their morning coffee late!"
He didn't have time to ponder the sudden increase in strength; he could only be thankful.
In an instant, he rushed through the vacuum that Medium had created with her attack before cutting across with his blade.
He took the legs out from under a cultist trying to crawl toward Medium's ankles and followed through with a brutal overhead chop that split the head of a cultist mid-attack.
"She is accelerating——"
Abel noted, his eyes tracking the gold blur that was Medium.
He didn't understand the source of this newfound strength, but he wasn't one to argue with a sharper blade.
"——Do not let the gap close! Follow her lead!"
Medium was a literal whirlwind as she reached the final barricade before the castle gates——a pile of burning furniture and wagons manned by a dozen cultists.
Though, instead of slowing down, she suddenly planted her foot onto a dead cultist's chest and launched herself through the air, headlong into the chaos below.
"Hyaaaa!"
She came down like a meteor and struck like one too. Both her blades cutting through the top of the wagon, the impact splintering the wood into a thousand jagged projectiles that shredded the cultists hiding behind it.
She landed in a crouch, spun, and cleared the immediate area with a sweeping kick that felt more like a strike from a vehicle.
The massive iron gates of the castle courtyard were finally within reach, though they were scorched and pitted from the battle raging above.
"——Medium! The gatehouse!"
Al shouted, pointing to the heavy iron lever guarded by a trio of cultists who were desperately trying to bar the entrance.
Medium charged at them like a beast, tackling the first two with her shoulders, shattering the bones in their bodies from the explosive impact before she reached out and grabbed the third by his hood, flinging him into the stone wall before bringing her weight down into the lever.
And in an instant, a loud screech of metal roared out——a signal for the rapidly closing gates.
"Get in! Move, move!"
Al yelled, ushering Abel through the threshold just as a fresh wave of cultists turned the corner of the avenue.
They slipped inside, the heavy iron doors clanging shut behind them as Al dropped the internal bar.
For a moment, there was only an eerie quiet——the stone walls of the courtyard muffled the screams of the street, leaving only the earth-shaking sounds of Yorna and Capella fighting directly above their heads.
Medium stood there, chest heaving, a wide, slightly manic grin on her face. Her skin was flushed from exhaustion as she lowered her blades and turned to face the pair.
"That... was... fun!" she panted, wiping a streak of sweat from her head.
Al leaned against his sword, staring at her.
"Fun? Kid, you nearly turned into a human tornado. Remind me to never tell you a boring story just incase get my head taken off by accident..."
Abel ignored the banter between the two and looked up, his mask reflecting the crimson glow of the ruins above. Chunks of the ceiling were still falling, and the heat was becoming oppressive.
"We are inside," Abel said, his voice flat and focused. "But we are now in the heart of the furnace; we must make haste."
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Yorna Mishigure was having a hard time facing the Sin Archbishop after so much time had passed of non-stop fighting.
While she held the advantage in overall strength for a majority of the fight, nothing she did against Capella had any real effect. Yes, she might have technically 'killed' this person dozens of times by now; it was all ultimately ineffective.
For she did not tire or get exhausted, nor did any wounds linger on her body any longer than the others did.
For any limbs blown apart by Yorna's soul-marriage technique, another came back a few moments later as a perfect replacement to strike her in return.
While she was fighting disadvantaged to begin with——for her strength was being divided across her entire city to her people currently under attack—she was beginning to believe that it wouldn't have mattered.
What level of strength would truly matter if the enemy were completely and utterly unkillable?
It would not; that was the answer. The only outcome at that point would be an even longer one-sided beatdown where the Archbishop repeatedly and continuously regenerates until Yorna would grow exhausted.
"——Ghhkr!"
A powerful flying roundhouse kick shattered Capella's skull with explosive force, blasting her body across the crimson-tiled rooftop like a skipping stone before she redirected herself upright and slid to a halt.
Capella's small hand rose upward to the back of her head before, with a loud crack that signaled her regeneration, she popped her snapped neck back into place——the area that was caved in by Yorna's leg already beginning to heal.
"Guahh——Gyahaha! My, my! That one lacked a little passion compared to the last, didn't it, meat scrap?" Capella taunted, licking a streak of her own purple blood off her lips. "Finally starting to realize how utterly pointless this pathetic little display is, hmmmm?"
"Close your filthy maw, defiler——you are not fit to breathe the air of this city, let alone speak in it!"
Yorna yelled in anger as a response to Capella's mocking tone, lowering her steaming leg back down to the ground.
Of course, Capella did not stay quiet; she merely tilted her head slightly before cackling like a madwoman.
"Gyahahahahaha! Oooooh, I just love it! I love watching arrogant, self-righteous meat scraps like you put on a brave face while they slowly break down inside! The realization that everything you're fighting for is a joke!"
Capella clutched her stomach, howling with laughter.
"What was that adorable little speech earlier? Oh, right! 'My love is real!' 'You never stood a chance!' Gyahahahahaha!!"
Yorna did not offer any verbal response, but the subtle waver of her clenched fists certainly did not go unnoticed.
"Mmmmm... what shall I do with a stubborn slab of meat like you?"
Capella hummed, tapping her chin in a childish manner.
"Shall I turn every one of your precious citizens into slimy little frogs right before your eyes? Force them to crawl all over you and have their way with you? I'm sure the men are just dying to get a piece of a seductive, foxy meat-scrap like you! Deep down, they're all just filthy, disgusting lumps of lust, after all!"
Yorna's eyes narrowed, her fangs bared in absolute disgust and anger at Capella's words.
"Wait, no, no, no!"
Capella suddenly squealed, clapping her hands together.
"I have a much sweeter idea for you~!"
"What sick game are you trying to play now?"
Yorna growled in a low tone, a combination of confusion and anger still a constant look on her beautiful features.
"Hehe~ no game, no game at all, meat scrap, just a little... experiment."
The moment Capella spoke, her entire body warped and transformed, muscles forming beneath her flesh as her bones stretch and enlarge, facial muscles shifting in a way until her entire body was completely altered.
"Ooooh, nothing huh? That cold look in your eye didn't even twitch! So, not a filthy, sweaty man, then?"
Capella asked with a craned neck, more-so as a rhetorical question than a genuine one——of course, she would've never quite received an answer either way.
Yorna was far too confused to understand what the monster before her was plotting.
Her entire anatomy underwent a transformation again as Capella shifted into a black-haired woman.
Capella's eyes glinted as she scrutinized Yorna's stoic expression. She huffed, dramatically crossing her newly formed arms.
"Not black hair either, huh? Mmmm... brown? Nope!" The hair instantly bleached itself white, then became a deep blue. "Blonde? Ah, not that either! Your heart is just an icy little thing, isn't it? Then how about... orange?"
"Enough of this!"
Yorna yelled in rage, the red aura of the Soul Marriage violently flaring around her as she raised her kiseru to strike.
Capella had underwent several transformations all at once, her hair rapidly flashing through different lengths and colors until it landed on one that seemed to make Yorna's expression shift the most.
She found that change to be orange hair——but as she had proclaimed, something was different.
"I will not let you defile——!"
So she shrunk herself down——her anatomy subtly shifting until it seemed to match the one thing Yorna Mishigure loved the most in this world.
"Gyahahaha! Found it!"
Yorna froze in shock, the air leaving her lungs at the shocking sight before her. Her momentum died in an instant, her zori skidding to a halt against the ruined tiles.
Her hair was the color of the setting sun, framing a face that was haughty, delicate, and devastatingly familiar. Deep crimson eyes looked back at Yorna, glinting with an arrogant innocence that belonged to a ghost.
"P-Prisca...?" Yorna whispered. "W-What have you done...?!"
The name slipped from her lips before she could stop it, her voice trembling, entirely devoid of the Mother of Chaosflame's usual regality. The kiseru in her hand shook wildly as her eyes took in the sight before them.
"Gyahahahaha! Oh, this is perfect!"
Capella cackled. That disturbing, vulgar laugh erupting from the sweet, innocent face of a child Priscilla was a blasphemy that made Yorna's stomach violently heave in a whirlwind of confused emotions.
Capella ran her small hands down her new face, her orange eyes practically glowing with sadistic euphoria.
"Look at you! Look at how pathetic you look! your precious little aura is flickering, meat-scrap! Is this it? Is this the little lump of meat you love so much?"
Capella suddenly reached up, burying her own fingernails deep into the child's cheek. Blood welled up beneath her nails as she dragged them down, tearing the pristine skin open.
"——Stop!"
Yorna screamed, stepping forward, her hand reaching out instinctively to protect her daughter.
"Ah-ah-ah!"
Capella giggled, her fingers moving to hover directly over her own crimson eye.
"Take another step, meat-scrap, and I'll gouge this pretty little eye right out! I'll snap these tiny little arms like twigs! Let's see how much you love her when I turn her into a screaming, bleeding pile of trash right in front of you!"
Yorna stood paralyzed, the absolute sovereign of Chaosflame completely broken by a phantom of her past.
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He warped into the open streets of Chaosflame, which were currently under attack; he had already killed scores of these cultists, but they were surprisingly numerous.
That, however, made no difference in the outcome when Satoru Gojo was taking things seriously.
Before this, he had already decided that he would not play with his food and that he would not treat his foes lightly, regardless of how helpless they appeared to be in front of him.
After all, the last time he did so, it cost him dearly——Natsuki Subaru unexpectedly hit him, somehow avoiding Infinity and rendering him unconscious in a single blow.
He did not like to think about what would have happened to him if it weren't for that odd woman, wrapped in that shroud of darkness.
As soon as he woke up and looked at that man wearing a helmet, Al, all of his senses began to scream at him, giving him goosebumps.
And the reason for all of that was that he took things too lightly to begin with, not realizing the danger he was in and the repercussions of underestimating his adversaries.
Never again.
So he flickered past the last cultist he'd cut down, and split the next with that silent pledge he made to no one in particular.
He pulled his right arm back, ripping the cultist from their standing position with enough power to create whiplash, while a blue aura burst between his fingertips.
Before the next cultist could even realize what had happened, he rotated his body mid-lunge and thrust his hand straight through their neck. His hand extended like a blade, slicing straight through the neck and blasting the cultist's head off their shoulders in an arc of blood that traveled too slowly to get near Gojo.
As he moved farther and farther down the street, Infinity halted the blood that was drawn, severing and chopping off the heads of any cultists who were unlucky enough to be noticed by the six eyes.
"———!!"
Gojo flickered past the scene of a civilian grappling with the cultist's knife, their body going limp in an instant.
Before he bent his knees and launched himself into the air, heads flew through the air and enormous amounts of blood decorated the destroyed streets of Chaosflame. His arm was outstretched to grip a spire that was snagged out like a branch, and he made a fast turn in midair to land at the end of the next street below.
The Six Eyes blazed as he landed upright and quickly took in the whole one-way street in front of him.
As a result, he reacted quickly, his lips parting to speak a familiar incantation while his right arm swung into position.
"——El Jiwald."
Four powerful beams of gold were launched from each of his fingertips as soon as those words were said.
They were ideally positioned to blast tiny holes through the domes of four cultists while traveling at the speed of light.
Then it happened again—four more beams of light, and then again—firing one after the other while landing almost simultaneously to the point where the civilians fighting for their life could only see the wreckage of fallen bodies as Gojo proceeded along the next street.
He kept doing this until there were no more cultists attacking this area of the city that the Six Eyes could see.
Gojo was running along one of the innumerable rooftops, jumping from one to the next with a steady taptaptap of his boots, and a tiny smile stretched across his lips.
The Six Eyes were the only reason he would now be able to cast so many "El-tier" spells. Prior to this, he had been continuously improving his efficiency with these spells; although it was still far below the level of his efficiency with Cursed Energy, it shouldn't be too long before he reaches the point where it is impossible for him to run out of mana.
He could now cast dozens of "El-tier" spells before running out of mana, which is certainly okay, but not quite what he is looking for.
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"Look at you, all out of breath and shaking like a little leaf!"
Her daughter's ever-familiar face had smiled and ridiculed, and those youthful characteristics she'd never forget appeared so odd on the face of this creature in front of her.
A thick line of purple blood welled up against the pale, sensitive flesh as she sank her nails more into her own cheek.
Yorna's breath caught. Normally so full of fiery, uncompromising pride, her blue eyes were wide and shaking.
The golden kiseru fell out of her grasp and clattered pointlessly against the red tiles underneath. The Mother's waning resolve was directly linked to the flaming, glowing aura of her technique that enveloped the city as it rapidly flickered and dimmed.
"P-Please..."
Yorna's legs struck the stone as she choked through a combination of shock and exhaustion.
Now kneeling was the undisputed sovereign of Chaosflame, a powerful warrior who had thrown a dragon through a fortress with ease.
Priscilla's young face distorted with delight, a flush staining her cheeks as she covered her mouth and cackled like a madwoman.
The mother of this city, formerly a self-assured ruler, was reduced to a terrible sight of inner conflict, and her red eyes narrowed as she gazed down at her.
It was simply too wonderful!
"Gyahahaha! You're giving up? To me? What does your pitiful one-sided perspective on love perceive now, after all the BS rubbish you were talking about?!"
Capella threw her small arms open, the wound on her cheek rapidly closing, only to aggressively wrap her own hands around her tiny throat.
"Oh, this is just sooooo good! But meat-scrap, giving is insufficient! I want you to absolutely shatter! I'm going to cut this gorgeous little throat out and make you wear it like a——!"
Capella left the sentence unfinished.
Behind the Archbishop, a tiny, dark blur burst out of the smoke. There was only the silent, perfect footwork of a skilled assassin emerging from the shadows, no grand battle cry to reveal the approach, and no intention to murder.
However, this assassin was not your typical one. Bathed in the deep, crimson light of the Soul Marriage technique, the little figure was virtually glowing.
Currently, a young girl's veins were being forcibly pumped with the physical might of a Vollachian warrior——a technique intended to lift the weak to the domain of the strong.
And for that reason, this was achievable.
Meili Portroute struck Capella in the back like a cannonball.
"——Ghk?!"
Capella was totally unprepared for the tackle's quick ferocity. With a terrible crunch, the archbishop's face plunged savagely into the crimson tiled floor as her little, disguised body was flung sideways.
Meili was on top of Capella before she had a chance to shift around the hit. Trembling uncontrollably, her small hands grasped a shattered piece of rubble from Yorna's destroyed roof, which was iron-reinforced and sharp, and used terrible, inhuman effort to drive it down.
The Archbishop was pinned to the roof tiles as the improvised stake went straight through the back of Capella's shoulder.
"What the——Gyaaaah!" Capella let out a scream.
Her focus was disrupted by the abrupt, severe pain and the sheer shock of being attacked.
At first, Meili remained silent. She could not speak.
Her eyes were wide with fear as she gazed down at the wriggling creature beneath her. Her teeth chattered so loudly that it sounded like glass cracking. She was being screamed to flee, hide, and ask for forgiveness by the deep-seated, paralyzing fear of the 'Mother' who had raised her in the dark——the monster she was conditioned from birth to obey completely.
Striking 'Mama' was a transgression that had consequences worse than death. All of Meili's instincts told her that she was about to be butchered——no, transformed into something terrifying.
However, Meili was surrounded by a fiery red aura of the Soul Marriage, which contrasted sharply with the chilly, oppressive blackness of her past.
The woman who was crying on the floor at the moment gave her a warm, unconditional power. She was determined to keep the warmth alive.
"L-Leave her... a-alone..."
"D-Don't y~ou dare hurt her!!"
Meili stammered, tears flowing down her pale cheeks as she applied all of her magically augmented bodily weight to the iron stake in order to keep the Archbishop fastened.
The terrifying, paralyzing ghost of her daughter had just looked up, stunned and perplexed as to how Meili, of all people, had suddenly grown so strong.
As Meili's 'Mother,' she was well aware that Meili's ability to control Witchbeasts came from her Divine Protection rather than her physical strength.
So, exactly what is this?!
"This is all YOU, isn't it? You nasty piece of meat, you horrible bitch!" At the top of her lungs, Capella let out a scream at Yorna.
Yorna raised her head, but she ignored her daughter's form.
Instead, it was the small assassin she had taken into her care who stood between them, trembling like a leaf but unwilling to back down.
Yorna's Od was violently shocked to see the shaking girl battling through her own greatest nightmare in order to save her.
Not only did the wavering crimson aura surrounding the Mother of Chaosflame stabilize at that precise moment, but it also burst into a towering inferno of astounding physical strength and willpower.
"Meiliiii——you stupid little brat! You thought the last punishment was the worst Mama could give you?! Oh no, no!"
While Capella shrieked those words, her mouth split open and extended unnaturally, the tip of her tongue reforming into the shape of a blade that launched straight toward Meili, who had her pinned.
It appeared as though it was going to cut the child, but then a heel suddenly pierced Capella's face, smashing the back of her skull on the red-tiled surface she had just pulled up from.
Capella tried to raise her arms to grab Meili, but Yorna's hand yanked the child back just in time, causing enraged gurgles and wheezes to come from her throat.
"I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me, Meili——I apologize. After all, a child's job is not to save their mother."
With those remarks, Yorna withdrew her bloody heel from Capella's face and retreated a step.
Capella attempted to scramble upright but was forced to use her power to pry out the piece of metal in her shoulder.
"W-Wait.... you wouldn't hurt your beloved daughter... though, that doesn't make any——"
"You are not my child."
The Divine General spoke, her voice growing solemn and her eyes fixed down upon the bleeding figure of her daughter.
"Do not make that mistake——you are no fake, not even a facade."
"A-Ahkk!! Fuck, you bit——!!"
Capella exclaimed as her pupils constricted in anger, and just as she was ready to rip the piece of metal in her shoulder out, it suddenly ignited her hand ablaze. The fire quickly scorched her palm with severe burns that spread along the limb.
"UAAAAAGGHHHHH!!"
Screamed Capella as the scrap metal suddenly detonated, causing the upper-right part of her body to split apart. The blood that was extracted sizzled and popped from the strong heat that burnt her entire body into a repulsive pitch-black shade.
The Archbishop of Lust's eyeballs kept regenerating and bursting on the spot, causing her to scream in agony for several seconds before the flames finally began to recede.
"Being called a faker is a title far too kind for a disgusting creature like you."
"———!!"
Once more, when a portion of her castle—controlled by her Soul Marriage—flew down and hit her body, it exploded and ignited her once more.
Every swipe and swing of Yorna Mishigure's arm served as a trigger for Capella's ongoing torment, where thousands of degrees of heat were continuously applied.
As Yorna realized what she needed to accomplish, her Soul Marriage became even more powerful.
If a vile creature like this Sin Archbishop continues to exist, the world will never reach any form of peace.
And so——the cries came.
——The cries of agonizing pain.