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The cautious question came from a man wearing a felt hat and a long trench coat.
His posture was composed. Elegant. His facial structure carried that refined European sharpness — the kind that would make actors from my former world look painfully average in comparison.
Brad Pitt would have felt insulted standing beside this disposable extra.
Dohnaseek.
The lone male Fallen Angel among Raynare's ragtag collection of failures.
Before I answered him, two more silhouettes emerged from the cellar's darkness.
The first was a tall woman.
Straight, glossy blue hair flowed down her back like silk. She wore a tight crimson outfit that emphasized her generous chest, slender waist, and curving hips. Her short skirt exposed smooth, toned thighs that contrasted beautifully with her cold, narrow golden eyes.
Despite being a Fallen Angel, her appearance carried an unmistakable oriental elegance.
Kalawarner.
The second figure was smaller.
A petite blonde girl with blue eyes and a refined European face. Her hair was tied into twin tails with black ribbons trimmed in white. She wore a gothic lolita dress — modest, elegant, and oddly aristocratic.
Cute.
Fragile.
Yet the sharpness in her gaze hinted at something more stubborn beneath the surface.
Mittelt.
The only childlike presence in Raynare's irritating little circle.
"Gilgamesh," I answered flatly.
Dohnaseek and Kalawarner's expressions stiffened instantly.
Mittelt, however, simply blinked in confusion.
That amused me.
"That name…" Dohnaseek narrowed his eyes. "You're our human target. Our subordinates should have intercepted you. Why are you still alive?"
A flicker of anxiety crept into his voice.
"Where are they? Speak, human — or I'll kill you."
I stared at him.
The threat was painfully generic.
Predictable.
I had heard variations of that line countless times — anime villains repeating themselves like broken recordings.
"Huh? So he's the target?" Mittelt chirped, tilting her head. "He's cute. Too bad. Let me play with him before we kill him, okay?"
My eyebrow twitched.
This little Fallen Angel…
"Mittelt, be quiet," Kalawarner whispered sharply, her golden eyes scanning the blood-soaked church floor. Unlike the others, she was already assessing the situation.
Smart.
I shrugged casually.
"Those idiots? Who knows. Maybe they're scattered across the room somewhere."
Dohnaseek exploded with rage.
"YOU—!"
He lunged forward, conjuring twin light spears in his hands.
The process took less than a second.
To me, it stretched into eternity.
I watched the light gather around his palms, condense, solidify.
Slow.
Pathetic.
I moved.
The world froze.
Blood-red scales crawled across my left arm as Boosted Gear fully manifested. My hand transformed — dragon claws replacing fragile human flesh.
I grabbed his head.
[BOOST]
[TRANSFER]
A wet sound followed.
squelch
His skull ruptured like a fragile shell.
Brain matter, bone fragments, and blood painted the air — splattering across Kalawarner, Mittelt, and my own face. Dohnaseek's body dissolved into light moments later, returning to the mana cycle as his consciousness vanished into the void.
"KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Mittelt screamed.
Her trembling eyes reflected pure horror.
To her perception, I had simply vanished and reappeared beside a corpse that no longer possessed a head.
"What… impossible…" Kalawarner whispered, her voice shaking. "That gauntlet… the Red Dragon Emperor's Gauntlet… How?! There was no report about you being the current Sekiryuutei!"
Fear gripped her.
Instinct screamed at her to flee.
The will to fight drained from her instantly.
Boring.
She attempted teleportation.
Too slow.
My claw snapped around her throat before the spell could complete, crushing the magic formula mid-cast.
Her escape vanished.
I allowed a fraction of my presence to leak.
Pressure flooded the room.
Not power alone — will.
Dominance.
Murderous arrogance.
Carnage.
Massacre.
Bloodshed.
Despair.
Death.
Their minds buckled.
Both of them trembled violently — fear stripping away composure, dignity, pride.
Mittelt collapsed into desperate sobbing.
"P-please… don't kill me… I don't want to die… I'll do anything!"
Kalawarner couldn't speak — my grip denied her that — but terror was already written across her face.
The predator-prey dynamic had become painfully clear.
And with that clarity…
My interest faded.
They were no longer opponents.
Only frightened animals.
Within the blood-soaked church stood three figures.
Me.
Kalawarner — restrained, gasping.
Mittelt — trembling, soaked in tears and terror.
I studied Kalawarner carefully.
Despite the fear, her eyes still searched.
Still calculated.
Interesting.
She wasn't broken.
Not yet.
She was waiting — waiting for a moment, a mistake, a single lapse in attention that would allow her to escape even if it meant abandoning her companion.
Cold.
Practical.
Ruthless.
A survivor.
I couldn't allow that.
But killing her immediately felt… wasteful.
So what remained?
How do you leash someone who survives through calculation?
I already knew the answer.
Simple.
Absolute.
Irrefutable.
Death.