Prologue
Memento Mori – The Requiem of the Throne God, The One Above All
What if I said that all life has been decided by fate?
That every action of yours have not been decided by yourselves, but have been decided before your existence?
That life being a journey of limitless possibilities is nothing more than an illusion and no matter how much one struggled, he stood at the mercy of pre-established paths?
The gods shall have their dominions. The powerful shall have their powers. The rich shall have their riches. The poor shall be cursed to poverty. The evil shall be wicked, and the righteous just.
The beautiful, the hideous, the strong, the weak, the big, the small, the fortunate, the miserable...and finally, victors and losers.
What if I said all that has been carved since eons ago, giving no room for divergence?
Then the sinners have nothing to answer for, nor do saints have any virtue to their name.
What if I said that a single action has been carved since eons ago and not done by a person's volition?
Then are we merely drifting in the passage of time?
Tell me, would anyone be content with such a world?
A world to which power is given not earned, would one accept knees bent on a throne built on such falsehood?
Those in possession of such knowledge can laugh joyfully, oblivious to the meaning of life, being nothing more than mere slaves.
Should this be the fate of all, then I, shall resist this meaningless farce.
I shall walk this road to its utmost conclusion, and at the distant place I can call my finale, compose an opera that only belonged to me.
Thus, ladies and gentlemen...
Fellow brethren who were oppressed, weak, frail.
Vow to struggle for eternity till the light of victory shines upon all.
Although all are bind to this cursed chain...
Let us pray that the step we take is the true step that holds the deepest meaning.
Part 1: The Hymn of Death
"Teito Klein."
A slender figure stood on top of a floating, gigantic castle.
As the man gazed down at the human named Teito Klein, he revealed a wide grin.
His existence emanated the aura of a conqueror, an undefeated monarch.
With a grin that suited his personality as the untouchable God of Death, he gave his ultimatum at his sworn enemy.
"I love everything in existence. My love is death. Its flame aches to kill everything in existence: Heaven and Hell, The Chief of Heaven and Mephistopheles; all things in Creation from the most supreme being to the last of existence that will ever be."
As the powerful God of Death and the teenager Teito Klein exchanged glances, the latter spoke in a loud and firm voice: "I will not let you get away with this!"
Thus, the Day of Wrath – Dies Irae; when even the Chief of Heaven would be under Judgement by the Throne would finally begin.
Part 2: Verloren Erwache
"Eve-sama! Stay away from him!"
Numerous men in knight-like armors charged at what seemed to be a man standing behind a woman.
The man was in a black hood and he eerily resembled a death god. No, he was rather created to be the God of Death.
He was named Verloren.
He was supposed to be Chief of Heaven's perfect creation. He presided over souls and cast judgement over them.
Yet, he was deemed beyond salvation as he was infected by a 'bug'.
"Everyone...wait!" the woman shouted, but to no avail.
The knights charged towards them without hesitation, only to be greeted with a single assault from the black-hooded man.
"Fools," the man replied solemnly. "Do not point your weapons towards this woman."
As the black-hooded man fought against the heavenly knights...
There was an opening, and the knights weren't going to let go of such an opportunity.
Verloren could not react to the attack in time, but...
Like a mother protecting a child, Eve leapt and defended the death god from the attack, injuring her instead.
Unlike Verloren and the knights, Eve was not created to fight. She was the Chief of Heaven's precious daughter and had been raised like a princess – sheltered from all forms of violence.
As such, she was not durable enough to take the attacks from the knights.
That was a logical fact.
Yet, for Verloren who had fallen in love, he did not think much but to embrace the wounded maiden.
In normal circumstances, nothing should happen. But, Verloren was an exception.
As the God of Death, he could not touch beings with souls.
For all that received his touch shall taste death except his familiars and the Chief of Heaven.
Thus, what happened?
Yes, the answer was simple. Eve met her demise in the hands of Verloren.
And what was the price of killing the Chief's beloved daughter?
"YOU KILLED MY DAUGHTER!!!!"
The Chief of Heaven raged in fury as he learned of his daughter's demise.
Verloren, the Chief of Heaven's supposedly perfect creation finally incurred the wrath of his creator. Still, for the love-maddened Verloren, it did not matter. For all he needed to do was to find Eve's soul as he escaped Heaven.
While that malfunctioning death god escaped judgement, another being chuckled.
A hermit-like being with sharp, mercurial eyes and long hairs chuckled in joy.
It seemed that not even the Chief of Heaven was aware about this hermit-like being's existence. No, rather - it sneered at the Chief of Heaven that was consumed by pure rage.
"Ha. Hahahaha!"
The hermit-like being laughed to his fullest.
He was enjoying the scenery. No matter how many times he has seen this, he could not bring himself but to find joy as he watched the actors – Verloren, Eve and the Chief of Heaven danced according to the script he written.
For he was said to occupy the highest possible authority over all existence and sat over the Throne that encompassed all of existence – even the Chief of Heaven was nothing more than his toy.
"Yes, that is correct, Verloren. My dearest friend. That idiot Chief might think he created you – but behold. This is only the beginning to your true awakening. How does love feel? How does that desire to hold something precious feel?"
Part 3: Raggs Krieg – Alpha und Omega
The closing act of the Raggs War was the manifestation of a total war on an unprecedented scale.
The term 'carnage' was more suitable to describe it.
There was no way out for the people of Raggs. The Barbsburg Empire marched forward with its powerful military, while other countries allied to Barbsburg crushed every resistance possible.
Outmanned and outgunned in every way, Raggs stood in complete isolation, slipping towards the crevice of annihilation.
The virtually endless number of enemy soldiers had already surrounded all corners of the capital city. There was no escape for the defending people of Raggs.
Guns roared along with the screams of death as the city was razed and bombarded by heavy bombardments, Zaiphon and weaponry.
Bloodshed. Carnage. All in order to eliminate the enemies known by the whole world.
The treacherous King of Raggs had tried to revive the wicked Verloren. That was what the world believed.
Justice, love, peace, vengeance, freedom – it did not matter. No matter what slogan was used, the horror would not change.
The chaos engulfing the streets demonstrated quite readily what men would do when presented with a higher cause to justify their acts.
For example...
A blinding light flashed, followed by a loud explosion.
This latest bombardment sent three recognizable humans to their deaths.
Their remains were spread across the pavement.
"Fuck you!"
With a loud curse, a man held a Panzerfaust in his hand as he jotted out of the trenches.
Protected by the covering fires of his allies, he took position at an effective firing range.
He rose to his knees, took aim and pulled the trigger. The projectile shot forward, hitting the flank of a tank.
The tank imploded in a torrent of liquified metal and several thousand degrees flame.
The man tossed aside his Panzerfaust and started to clean up the remaining enemies while being covered by his comrades. Such was war, it was even more terrifying than a youkai attack.
In fact, it turned humans into monsters – effectively replacing the duty of youkai from this world.
It removed man's compassion and replaced it with the primordial instinct of survival of the fittest.
Thus, the perpetrators of this chaos howled and raged. Reveling in boundless insanity to keep their blood afire.
Within this flaming wasteland of gunplay, soldiers continued their murderous dance as if it was some divine offering to the god of war.
Naturally, it was all for naught. No matter what the soldiers did, it was useless. The outcome of this war was set in stone regardless of the soldiers' efforts to repeal the invaders.
The Kingdom of Raggs has crumbled. Its so-called visionary king was nowhere to be found and the Palace was under siege by the Black Hawks.
Rumors had it that the King was slain when the Black Hawks invaded the palace. Well, none of it mattered now.
What remained on the battlefield was the shaken remains of the defeated and the mob of the victors flocking like vultures to the smell of the decaying flesh.
Certain death.
Irreversible defeat.
Any attempt to retaliate was nothing more than a self-serving act of revenge with no hope of salvation.
Still...
"Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!"
His heart beat still.
His hand grabbed the steel of death.
He would not stop for as long as his heart continues its rhythm.
For he swore to do it.
If there was one thing – even a small thing – to justify this insane hellfire, then that alone was a miracle beyond the Chief of Heaven's comprehension.
Honor and glory debased and disgraced, worth less than pig shit – yet human lives remained the cheapest currency.
Such was reality.
"Is this...all that's left?"
After handling the remaining foes, the man retreated and regrouped with his comrades. Including himself, there were only three people standing.
The company responsible to defend the perimeter had been completely crushed. The situation was anything but promising, yet waves of enemy troops are yet to arrive.
"What about our Panzerfaust?" the man asked.
"Unfortunately, that was our last ammo, Sergeant. This is the end for us...the war is lost."
The young man flashed a bitter smile as he handed over his Schmeisser to the other. The older man glared at him but offered no reproach.
For the young man's words were nothing but the truth. The company was gone, and they would join them soon.
"Hmph. Your name, soldier?"
"Joachim Brauner. What about you, sir?"
"I am Walter Gerlitz. I suppose it is best to know the names of the soldiers we're going to die with. You there!"
"Ah..."
It was the voice of a very young boy, most likely in his teen.
If Walter had a son, he would most likely be around his age.
"Marco Schmitt, sir."
Walter was about to ask what a child was doing in the battlefield, but he retracted his intention. It was a foolish question to ask – the enemy would not show mercy, even to children.
The reason for it was clear – they were the loathed enemies of the Barbsburg Imperial Army. The reputed killing machine of the Kingdom. Even if they surrendered to the Barbsburgs, they would either be dead or be slaved to death. Such was the fate of losers.
As such, fighting to the last breath was the only option available to them.
Walter was certain Joachim was prepared to be sacrificed for the Fatherland. As for the child...
"What will happen to the city, no, Raggs, after the war?"
There was no response.
"What about our families and friends?"
The one to interrupt was Joachim.
"Heh. The victors will paint us as monsters that tried to take over the world and release Verloren. This shit will continue as victors will decide history while the losers will suffer as long as the victor wants it too. That is the price of losing."
Joachim's loud voice made his dissatisfaction clear.
"My family lived in the edges of the continent. But they were caught in the massive bombing campaign by the allied powers – never so much found a piece of them. And they called us monsters? Fuck that. We were merely fighting for the Kingdom. And yet those bastards...who the hell do they think they were?"
He would never surrender. Yet, the war was a lost cause. A single soldier could not change the outcome of war no matter how hard he tried.
With this defeat, the current people of Raggs and its descendants would...
Joachim tried to explain his feelings while Marco silently listened.
"So, if I have nothing to lose...at least I should...ugh!"
Several Zaiphon shots echoed from their left just then.
Walter and Marco managed to duck, but Joachim was not so lucky.
The first bullet shot his head, while successive waves of bullets penetrated his chest.
Pelted by endless beams of energy, Joachim's body contorted in a queer manner almost reminiscent of some form of dance before finally hitting the ground.
An anticlimactic ending indeed for a man who had just expressed his desire to fight to the bitter end.
But that was the reality of the situation here. There was no hero, no miracle, no salvation, no hope; only men dying like insects.
Should one allow the emotions of despair take control of himself, the shinigami would be content with that as the person would make their jobs much easier.
War never tolerated idle thoughts. Only knowledge and duty had meaning here.
As Walter rolled into the safety of a ruined building, he shouted the name of his lone surviving comrade with all he could muster.
But, instead of words.
A flashing light became the reply to his shout. A fiery explosion followed suit.
The upper half of the young boy's body was flung at Walter's feet.
Walter powerlessly dropped his knees to the sea of blood.
"Ah...Sergeant...forgive me...for being useless..."
Marco smiled, even as the embers of his life faded away – it was unbelievable someone could still form words in a state like this. Walter took the boy's hand.
"I refuse to die. I can't die. If I die here...then what were we fighting for all this time?"
The old man remained silent.
"Sir...please tell me. What would happen to our capital, and Raggs..."
"You mustn't talk!"
As the gunfire continued, a brand new aircraft rolled into the battlefield. Marco Schmitt was beyond help. There was no other way for him besides death.
Thus, Walter knew his position was to confront the enemies. His ears should be listening to the breath of enemy troops, not to the laments of a dying child. That was his priority as a soldier.
He knew that better than anyone, yet...
"Are we...sinners? Are we...monsters? Is this punishment for our sins?"
There was no honor in murder and battle...but
Joachim, Walter and many other Raggs soldiers had taken up arms to fulfill their duties as citizens of the Kingdom. To defend it from the aggression of the barbaric Barbsburg Empire and its treacherous allies.
It was the Barbsburg Empire and the Church that had declared war on Raggs under the banner of 'justice' as it claimed to save the world.
It was the Emperor of Barbsburg that had ambitious plans to expand further and seize control over the seven continents as the sole, uncontested power of this world.
Yet...
"Waging a war is not a sin," Walter replied, "but losing one is."
Walter found his resentment towards God growing.
Marco Schmitt then passed away in Walter's arm as the man gazed to the heavens. The young boy's smile, albeit tainted with mud and blood, showed signs of boyhood.
"Worry not, Schmitt, Brauner."
A smile mirroring Schmitt's one formed on Walter's face.
"If we lose this one, then we'll win the next one. Or after it. Or after it and after it and after it. We will repeat this a million times, if necessary, until victory is ours!"
His words might seem like the ramblings of a lunatic beast, but it was far more than that.
Walter cocked his Schmeisser, ensured it was filled with Zaiphon and charged out of the building.
"Sieg Heil!"
He let out a roar that threatened to rip his throat out.
Would he end up being gunned down like Joachim? Perhaps he would turn up to be like Marco. Those were real possibilities to be concerned.
"!"
Walter, led by his intuition hid to shelter.
His vision was blinded by an explosion so fierce it dwarfed all the previous bombardments, an explosion that seemed to rip apart the very heavens.
Walter realized this was a weapon beyond anything he had seen before. This was not something made by human hands.
As the light faded...
Vision returned to Walter.
The city he had literally sworn to protect with his very life had turned to a charred wasteland.
The corpses of his comrades, and the presence of enemy troops in the city had all been annihilated.
The scenario was too unbelievable that Walter took time to process this information.
"Ughh!"
Walter's back and flank had been pierced by pieces of metal and concrete. The hand that held a Schmeisser was blown off from the elbow. There was no need to attempt and determine minor injuries suffered by Walter.
His bloody vomit also told him that he suffered internal damage as well as external ones.
He wouldn't make it.
"FUCK! FUCK!"
Walter cursed blindly without caring about the target of his indignation.
As he cursed madly, a voice rang out.
Hear my prayer, O' Lord. To You All Flesh Shall Come. Return onto thy rest, O my soul. For the Lord hath dealt beautifully with thee.
It was a requiem offered to the fallen soldiers.
One sung in a beautiful voice.
Not even a prestigious church choir could produce such melody. Yet at the same time, scorn seeped into the voice. It was all too evident.
It sung of the dead with scorn, malice, ridicule and mockery, deriving the outmost pleasure with trampling upon the last remnants of dignity they possess.
Grant them eternal rest, O' Lord and may everlasting light shine on them.
Alas, the destroyer appeared.
It was a young boy, lacking in years compared to Marco with a face so delicate that a careless glance could mistake him for a girl.
A single look was enough to give Walter the shiver.
Although he had lost a considerable amount of blood, the cause of his freezing chill lay elsewhere.
The sheer enmity and bane radiating from that boy contributed to the freezing chill at Walter's back.
Still, the most fearsome thing was that Walter knew that face.
There lived no one fighting in various campaigns in the war that knew not of that face.
A beast possessed by an insatiable hunger for life, his aberrant mind ruled by inhuman madness.
He gripped a scythe, engraved with words of otherworldly language – the language of the Gods.
It was the face of a boy who should've died many years ago as a sacrifice. It was rumored that he could be seen as an active participant of the war, killing both enemies and allies without discrimination.
"You are...you are...you are!!!"
A member of the Reuen Family that served the God House of Landkarte. An unchained beast that should not be present here. A true God of Death.
But how...
"Ah...if it's not Sergeant Walter Gerlitz. I sure caused trouble for you and your comrades. You doing well?"
Hardly words to be offered to a dying comrade, especially one whose death was likely caused by Landkarte. The boy flashing a devilish smile was no doubt the same monstrous God of Death he knew while participating in the war. He only encountered that Ghost a few times, but stories and rumors of him were widespread among soldiers within Barbsburg and Raggs.
"Why...are...you...here?"
"Hahaha! Do I need a reason? I'm a 'soldier' too! War is what we do, murder is the currency we live on!"
The boy playfully surveyed the landscape – it was enough proof of his statement. And what followed was nothing short of unnatural.
Something akin to opaque vapor erupted in the vicinity. Like a fog, or a haze.
At the same time, dreadful moans assaulted Walter's senses.
These were cursed cries of vengeful spirits and souls of fallen soldiers fated to suffer and lament until the end of times.
This endless chorus of lamentation caused even the air in the battlefield to cool down.
Walter felt he could make out the faces of Joachim and Marco among the swirling mass, as well as the destination towards which they were spiraling.
Straight into Landkarte's mouth.
True, he was a God of Death with authority over souls. Yet, his manner of devouring souls was different from the likes of gods similar to himself. It was an unimaginable spectacle – an unthinkable method that no Ghost would be capable of. Thus, what was this 'Ghost' named Landkarte and what had he achieved?
Confronted with such otherworldly spectacle, Walter could not decide whether he should give himself over to rage or simply weep.
"Well then, my dear Sergeant. I am done with my meal, so time for me to take my leave. How about you?"
Walter was breathing his last. He was in no condition to spill blood like soldiers should do.
"Well...killing a hundred or two hundred more Barbsburg bastards would not change anything at this stage. But look around you. Is this the Raggs you swore to protect? Are you really content with this? Is this the so-called glorious Kingdom that should have survived for a thousand years?"
Walter threw a piercing glance. Indeed, no one would be content with such an outcome.
He'd had friends to call his own. A family to go home to. A woman to love. He'd cherished this country.
All that met its end due to Raggs's defeat. It was a dishonor no centuries could clean.
"Unforgivable, right? Those repugnant lowly bastards are desecrating your homes, pillaging your riches, raping your women and children...hanged your elders! My dear Sergeant, Walter Gerlitz, sworn and loyal blade of the Raggs. What do you desire?"
"Ag...agh..."
The amount of blood flowing out of the man's mouth made speech difficult, but that was not going to stop him.
The boy standing in front of him was unmistakably a demon. But that mattered little at this point.
"I desire victory! Ein Volk, Ein Reich, Ein Konig!"
He wished to fight for his family and friends.
To bring victory, peace and glory to the God-blessed Kingdom of Raggs.
To bring prosperity to generations yet unborn.
Above all else, for his soul to rest peacefully.
"Sieg Heil! That's right, Sergeant! You made the right choice. You deserve the honor to be His flesh and blood! This war will never end. We will not allow it. We will continue to repeat this war until we get the outcome we desire."
Landkarte turned his scythe at Walter's direction as the last light of the latter's soul began to fade.
Grant them eternal rest, O' Lord and may everlasting light shine on them.
The requiem was filled with scorn and malice for the fallen, yet Walter thought it to be like the song of the angels.
It was then that he realized this would be the apocalypse.
He would be one of the many that would join His legion and fight endlessly to victory.
He would soon join many others to march and destroy the world.
As Walter's soul was sucked into the very essence of Landkarte.
"That should be enough...it should be about time Master began. The chaos from Pandora's box stealing was enough to cause such mayhem. Although, those fools haven't realized that the Pandora box is not what Master is after."
With that, the Ghost named Landkarte vanished.
At the same time...near the Raggs Palace, another nightmare was beginning.
"Huargh!!!"
Such was the agony of a few Barbsburg soldiers that turned into fleshes of meat.
"You're in the way."
Another person in Barbsburg military outfit walked as if he was strolling leisurely in a park. He swung his blood-tainted blade as if he was playing with a toy.
His lax posture, however, was a farce. His enemies knew that from the simple fact that he casually murdered fellow Barbsburg soldiers with disregard for his allies.
"That guy, isn't he one of the Black Hawks...?"
Anyway, the soldiers of Raggs knew they were dealing with a monster.
For everyone knew the reputation of this monster. One of the Strongest Swords of the Black Hawks.
The monster himself did not express any emotion. He simply sliced anything and everything in his way.
"..."
"What a letdown. Tell me, Hyuuga. What's the point of partaking the souls of lower lifeforms such as these?"
Another man calmly walked towards the monster from the Black Hawks.
He was dressed in Barbsburg Army's uniform and was supposed to be dead.
Yes. That man was supposed to be killed in that same war recently while shielding someone. Still, he was standing there as if nothing happened.
"Yukikaze-kun, you know better. Now, now, I wonder where Aya-tan and that abomination of an existence is?"
The man named Yukikaze adjusted his glasses.
"Oh...Hyuuga-kun, such questions are nothing more than mere folly. You know better the answer. For he is a sworn friend of our leader – staying together, like brothers. They are inseparable."
Up in the Raggs sky, tainted by blood and fire.
Taking the form through the carnage of the capital...was a large swastika.
A man stood atop the towering spike atop its center.
The voice of Yukikaze rang throughout the city.
"Listen, people of Raggs, soldiers of Barbsburg! Our great Lord, the God of Death himself graces you with his message! Listen to his exalted words in silence!"
At that moment, all elders ceased their flight, all children stopped crying and all soldiers, regardless of friends or foes ceased fire. It was of such power that even Kor and the gods froze in awe.
Each and every single soul gazed up to the sky as if possessed.
On the very day Raggs fell, a devil of blinding light descended from the heavens.
He looked like a floating mane, emanating a golden radiance. His regal gaze equally golden.
It was golden in nature, surpassing creation itself – a majestic beauty mixed with a beastly hue.
A being that shouldn't exist in the realm of man.
At his side, a man with feature dark and twisting as the darkest of shadows.
He was garbed in the plain garbs of a hermit, with ambiguous features that made it impossible to determine his age.
A Yin to his Yang. The two existed at a level beyond anyone's comprehension. They were monsters feared by monsters themselves.
Number I and X of the Black Hawk's Obsidian Round Table.
The Supreme Leader and the Vice Commander of the Table.
"Brothers and Sisters!"
Gazing down at Raggs – no, the entire world – he began his speech.
What if I told you that everything is decided by fate?
That victors were born for glory; the defeated live to serve? You live your live as it has been decided in advanced, always reaching the same finale, unable to diverge, no matter what happens. What if I told you everything was made from such cruel fabric?
If such is the case, then hard work means no different from sloth. Dreams and prayers both equally lacking in value. What if I told you that the divine graces, as well as the wrath of the heavens were carved into stones eons before?
All of you, who were labeled as the Devil's offspring, born only to be destroyed, downtrodden, violated and annihilated even without sins...simply because it was decided since time immemorial. Nothing more and nothing less.
Such is the law of the detestable cycle – this wicked law.
Death brings no release, only another cycle of suffering, failure, pain and defeat. There is no nirvana.
And so you will find nothing but eternal suffering and defeat because you were born of shouldering that fate, no more and no less. Do you not find this outcome infuriating?
Do you not wish to turn the tables?
Nothing awaits you but eternal grim and suffering.
The God of Death's grim words reached to every single soul in the Kingdom of Raggs.
His voice possessed a magical quality, capable of penetrating the hearts of his listeners; the best comparison was to the cries of the ancient gods of the past.
A juggernaut of a voice that could ensnare all of creation.
And the being that possessed the voice was certainly no mortal.
If you agree...then fight.
If you wish to rid your miserable lot in life, then offer your very soul.
If you wish to wash away the stigma of the defeated...ride to battle at my side.
Take the pen and sign the pact with blood.
If such is your desire...then enlist in my Legion.
The moment those ponderous words ended, the unthinkable happened.
All men with guns shot themselves.
All men with knives thrust the knives deep into their bodies.
Those without armaments threw themselves into the inferno surrounding the city.
Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of men offered themselves as sacrifices for the God of Death.
The Raggs war may have started due to the Kingdom of Raggs trying to steal Pandora's box, but it was unquestionable that each person in power had their own motives for starting the war.
For example...why was that God of Death excited about the prospects of Raggs losing this war? Not even the upper echelons of the military knew of his ambitions.
The hermit-like man laughed.
"Look at that. How hilarious. The people you're supposed to lead and protect, both as the Major General of the Barbsburg Army and the 3rd Prince of Raggs are throwing their lives for you."
In response, the beast that ruled over Death, Ayanami replied.
"Was it not you who taught me about this? Was it not you who came up with this and revealed a hidden secret of the world not even God knew of?"
The mercurial shade nodded. No matter what, the hermit definitely enjoyed this scene. Even if he had seen it many times, he would continue to treasure this moment he viewed precious.
"Of course. I taught you the secrets of Die Ewigkeit. What will you do with it?"
The God of Death snorted at the hermit.
"You know better about my goals. To find the precious one I've lost and to wash away this wicked world controlled by God by bringing death to God himself. Isn't that what we sought?"
The hermit nodded. He approved the answer given by that monstrous existence standing beside him.
"Certainly, certainly...you are correct, my friend. Among those that I've taught this knowledge, you are the only one who truly mastered and understood its secret. I made no choice in teaching you this knowledge, Major General Ayanami, no, God of Death, Verloren. My sworn friend."
The hermit revealed a smile of satisfaction as he observed the ground.
Human corpses consisting of Barbsburg and Raggs citizens were seen everywhere. It was possible that millions have committed suicide after being ensnared by the juggernaut that was Ayanami.
The God of Death, Major General Ayanami remained composed and inhaled the air tainted with the stench of death. As he did that, he could feel invisible energies entering his body.
"Not even I, as Verloren could control and amass such number of souls and store it as my source of power. What an amazing power...and to think that this is something beyond the Chief's authority."
Major General Ayanami looked at the palm of his right hand. He could feel a drastic change within himself.
"With this, the awakening of Verloren's soul is complete. You are no longer bound to the rules set by the Chief of Heaven. Not even the Chief of Heaven can destroy your soul and your body is no longer required. You are also no longer bound to creation, for you have exceeded it and escaped the Chief's authority."
Verloren grinned. He no longer required Pandora's box as his awakened his true spiritual power, independent from the 'curse' that was Verloren's power.
"Of course. I will get my vengeance on that bastard who shackled me to my fate, my dear friend."
The hermit unveiled a smile of satisfaction, as if he was anticipating for his friend's greatest desire to manifest.
"It is about time that you leave this place, my dear friend. What will you do?"
The God of Death grinned.
"I will take my Yukikaze, Hyuuga and Katsuragi with me."
"Excellent plan, my dear friend. I believe no finer selection could be made. And thus, it is time I leave the stage for my Ahnenerbe to blossom in this world before the Day of Wrath begins. Let us pray that the next time we meet, we will succeed."
Major General Ayanami, Verloren glared at his friend.
"Karl, this is an attitude of yours I find annoying. I do not need prayers. What I need is a vow, for I will succeed and surpass God."
"Ah, I apologize, my friend. Well then, let us vow that we will succeed."
"Definitely, my friend."
Part 4: Die Gott
"Chief! This is terrible! The souls that were caught in the bloodshed that was the Raggs war did not go through the cycle of reincarnation!"
The magnificent being slowly covered his face with his palm, somewhat showing his frustration with the ongoing situation.
"I know! I know! This is a serious defect in the supposedly perfect world I've created!"
"Not just that, but it seemed that the souls of those who were caught in the war has been engulfed by Verloren's latest reincarnation!"
The enigmatic being narrowed his eyes as he heard about that report.
How was Verloren's reincarnation able to amass such number of souls? He was Verloren's creator, but even if Verloren was to be resurrected in his body, that was a feat Verloren could never achieve. As its creator, he knew that much.
"How did that happen?!!!!"
For once, he was baffled.
He was like a human that discovered a bug in his creation without any knowledge of solving the bug.
An image manifested before that man.
It was the image of the hermit-like being that was seen around Verloren's reincarnation when the latter made his declaration of a Holy Crusade against the Chief (or so the Chief thought).
Upon seeing the image, the enigmatic being who created Verloren felt a sensation of déjà vu.
He was said to be omnipotent, but this was something beyond him. The déjà vu continued to pollute his mind, as if he was consuming a mercurial poison that slowly killed his mind.
(Who is this man?! I do not know him! I have never created him!)
Still, his ego prevented him from admitting his weakness. He couldn't admit that he never created that 'hermit' and that 'hermit' beyond his authority as the Chief of Heaven.
For the beings of Heaven might revolt if they realized that the Chief was not omnipotent.
(Damn you...wicked hermit!)
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And thus, the Grand Guinol shall continue.