Red-and-blue flashing lights.
Piercing sirens.
They ripped apart the night's quiet like curtains torn to shreds.
The police had mobilized. Orderly, they moved to evacuate and cordon off the area. But tension and suspicion spread through the crowd like sparks leaping across dry hay.
This was Kikuchihara Aki and the government agencies at work. To keep the existence of Selesia and the other Created from being exposed to the public, the information here had to be sealed off.
The trouble was, the battle had erupted far too suddenly, and the battlefield happened to be on an overpass, close to the city center. Such a hasty operation would inevitably leave loopholes and risks.
But they had no choice—only to do what they could.
They were, after all, merely a government institution of one country, not the Holy Church. They couldn't use hypnosis or suggestion to make ordinary people believe everything they said, nor could they pin every incident on the gas company.
It was their first time handling a supernatural event like this. Inexperience was inevitable.
Kikuchihara Aki understood well: in this incident, their agency could only play a supporting role. The true drivers of the situation's course were the Creators and the Created. They were the real actors on stage.
So, they had to choose to believe in Meteora and the others. Believe they could save this world.
On the battlefield, there was no mercy, no censure.
Clashing weapons were the roar of souls. From different worlds, carrying different missions, holding different faiths—they now stood on the same stage. Fire burst beneath the night sky, illuminating one indomitable spirit after another.
When beliefs clash, when words grow powerless, battle becomes the simplest and most effective persuasion. For strength makes surrender easiest—and battle is the purest way to display strength.
The invisible wind now showed its sharpness no less than blades. It seeped through cracks into the weak points of the overpass, slicing through them. The bridge that had borne countless cars was now fragile as tofu. Its fragments were torn away, flung into the air.
The roaring gale surged like an unseen warhammer, shattering pavement, snapping guardrails.
The ground pocked with craters, road signs bent and twisted, shattered streetlamps fallen to the earth—such devastation chilled the heart.
Thud!
The black wooden blade crashed down on the lance. The muffled blast tore the air. The pavement, unable to withstand the impact, split and sank. How could those slender frames unleash such monstrous force?
Leaning his head close, as if pressing his whole body weight forward, Mirokuji Yūya grinned hideously:
"What's wrong? Why haven't you used that form from last time? Your power's not just this much, is it?"
The black blade slid against the lance as Yūya and Alicetaria brushed past each other. Both turned, weapons clashing again. Shockwaves crushed the stones underfoot into dust.
"There's no need," Alicetaria replied flatly, her face serious, earnest.
But Yūya clearly didn't buy it.
"You think it's not even necessary to use that form against us?"
Beneath the grin on his face, the eyes behind his sunglasses gleamed with feral light. "Big talk, aren't you…?"
Alicetaria suddenly withdrew, stepping back. Hangaku's sudden strike cut empty air. But Yūya had already lunged forward, each pounding step swelling his murderous aura, running with the predatory force of a beast locked on prey. The black wooden blade in his grip was his claw and fang.
Just as he was about to catch her, a bullet whistled in. Yūya deflected it with his blade—but his pursuit was broken, his momentum stalled.
Feeling his glare, Blitz Talker's expression remained calm. He hadn't expected that bullet to wound Yūya, even though it was a sneak attack.
"Reflexes sharper than a beast. But much harder to deal with than one," Blitz said coolly, eyes narrowing. "I've fought enough beasts in my time… whether that experience helps here, we'll see."
Yūya clicked his tongue, annoyed at the man floating above.
He was one of their side's strongest fighters—but he couldn't fly.
Selesia could, Meteora could. But him? No. To hit airborne enemies he either had to send Hangaku—or leap up himself.
Embarrassing.
"Oi, old man! Flying up there all the time—don't you get cold?"
"No need to worry. I may look like this, but my body's still plenty tough."
Blitz wasn't coming down. He'd never abandon his aerial advantage over a few taunts. Up there he was barely keeping even. On the ground, he'd be crushed. He wasn't stupid.
Thanks to his support, Alicetaria had pulled some distance from Yūya. But the battle had more players—Selesia came rushing in, sword flashing like an arrow loosed, blade a streak of shooting light. Not as heavy as Yūya's strikes, but far more nimble.
Her sword tore through the rushing wind, its whistle like a dragon's song.
The gleaming arc met Alicetaria's lance head-on.
Just as she breathed relief, a shadow flipped over her head, landing lightly behind. In a flowing motion, Selesia spun, sword tracing a crescent in the air.
The streaming wind split apart—but her strike still fell short of Alicetaria's bare neck. At the last instant, Alicetaria bent back, dodging, and hurled her lance with brutal force.
Boom!
The ground exploded, stormwinds flinging shards of stone like blades.
Selesia dared not catch the throw. Even its wake was deadly. She retreated again and again, ducking the hail of rubble.
Alicetaria snatched her lance from the ground and charged like a war chariot. But suddenly Yūya blocked her path.
"Hey! Don't turn away! Our fight isn't done yet!"
With a vicious grin, he swung down. The sword-wind ripped the road open. Alicetaria smashed her lance down, shattering the gale.
She had neutralized his strike, but her expression tightened. A glance showed Blitz locked in combat with Hangaku's blue-flamed naginata. That left her to face both Yūya and Selesia.
Hesitation flickered—then resolved.
"Very well."
Her emerald eyes blazed with golden light, radiant as the sun, heavy with divine majesty.
Selesia and Yūya froze under that gaze. Backs prickled. Hearts raced. Breaths grew heavy. The pressure struck at the level of life itself.
She looked at them—and that alone filled them with terror.
"If you wish to see… then I'll show you."
Her voice, brimming with boundless authority, shook the air. Slowly, Alicetaria raised her hand.
And in the next moment, the darkness was driven away. Night reached its end.
A blazing sun rose—then shattered, bursting into countless solar blades.
At last, the overpass that had borne the battlefield could endure no longer. It collapsed in thunder.
...
The cleanup and aftermath were a nightmare. How to explain that searing sunburst to the public? How to cover the ruins? But more urgent still was another fact:
Selesia and the others had lost.
Like the sun falling to earth—when Alicetaria revealed that form, the balance of power was destroyed. Selesia, Yūya, Hangaku were crushed, unable to resist.
Meteora, already grievously wounded, could never have stopped Blitz and the godlike Alicetaria. In the end, Suruga Junma and Takarada Gai, two Creators, were taken. Prisoners.
Not only had they lost two Creators—their morale had been shattered.
Yet perhaps they could call it fortune: Selesia and the others weren't gravely injured. Alicetaria had held back. And not all Creators were seized—one was left.
In the meeting room, Kikuchihara Aki formally announced the addition of Yatouji Ryou. Alicetaria and Blitz had taken only the Creators of their own worlds, leaving behind Yatouji—the Creator of Yūya's world.
He had seen it all with his own eyes: the world-shaking battle, his colleagues, fellow Creators, seized by their own characters. Whether he liked it or not, Yatouji had to accept reality.
In another time, Yūya would have grabbed his Creator for a long talk. But now, he had no mood for it.
He said nothing—just kicked the door open and was first to leave.
"Yaa… Yūya's not in a good place right now," Kanoya Rui murmured, slumped on the table. "No… not just him. None of us are."
The air in the room was heavy, unbearably so.
Matsubara and the others hadn't fought themselves, but their creations had. To see your own characters defeated by another's—resentment was natural.
Van Gogh, ever sensitive to atmosphere, frowned uncomfortably.
"Wind… and air… heavy, smothering… like jellyfish crushed in the deep sea… wind whispers, frightening water and flowers…"
Shimazaki Yuna sat quietly beside her, hands folded on her knees, gaze flicking from face to face, reading each expression. At last she looked to Kanoya Rui behind her.
"Why's your mood so different from everyone else's?"
Lowering her voice, she asked curiously: "They're all crushed by the loss. Why don't you seem down at all?"
Rui squinted one eye, peeking at her with the other. "Of course I'm not. I wasn't even in the fight."
Straightening, he went on: "Unlike the others, my [Gigas Machina] is way too huge to hide. So we just hovered over the city the whole time. I watched them—one second it was dead even, then the next, that knight girl transformed, and… battle over. Before I even processed it, she and the old gunman had snatched the Creators away. Crazy strong, that knight. No idea where she got that power. That's gotta be outside her Creator's 'settings,' right?"
It baffled Rui—how could a Created, pulled out of story, wield power never written into them? Was that really possible?
But he wasn't going to dwell on it. He was the type to charge in fists-first, not think through riddles. That was Meteora's job.
"Hey, Yuna, Van Gogh—let's go eat something."
His voice dropped so only they could hear, eyes sparkling with a child's anticipation of food.
The meeting was done; leaving now was fine. Yūya had stormed out first anyway. The others stayed only to discuss the Creator-modification experiments proposed by Meteora and Yūya—the idea of altering Created settings.
So far, no success. But Alicetaria's overwhelming display had left them no choice. To fight on equal terms, this was the only path left.
Yuna thought it over. She and Van Gogh couldn't contribute here anyway. She nodded, agreeing to Rui's suggestion, then turned to Van Gogh.
"Van Gogh, is there something you'd like to eat?"
Van Gogh tilted her head, smiling faintly. "Van Gogh… likes anything that fills the stomach… all is fine…"
"Too broad."
"Then… what Yuna likes… Van Gogh likes… too."