(This Side Story was posted on the official website of Kishin Houkou Demonbane PS2 version. You can find it here )
Just as blood carries oxygen, mercury conveys magic.
Magic’s initiation, the savage power of language.
The logic goes beyond human understanding, interferes with the world, and materializes miracles. This changed the cold, bloodless steel into hot metal.
A fist of iron is swung downward. The destruction is not solely because of its mass. Rather, the blow is imbued with magical energy. A spell runs at the speed of light below the Astral Domain. An attack on the fundamental basis, the very soul, destroying the definition of existence.
A sound of a collision, akin to an explosion, shook the atmosphere. The enchantment, packed with the meaning of [absolute annihilation], caused the Azathoth to tremble.
The impact obliterates both the material and astral aspects,
and the enemy can no longer support its physical shape. Losing its colonial control, the being
emits cries of anguish as pieces of its rotting form scatters like a bloody
fountain.
The enemy writhes in agony to hold on to its collapsing body. Its look resembled a giant wriggling snake, a melting slug, tens of thousands or perhaps hundreds of millions of leeches, and, oddly enough, it was similar to an innocent maiden.
It defies sensible creation. It is the nightmare of a deranged cosmos. A two-hundred-meter-long, gigantic chunk of flesh continues its expansion despite the mass having crumbled. A seed of malice coming from outer space. It is a foul intruder that melds physically and spiritually with the planet’s essence, transforming everything on the celestial body into its own likeness.
The lifeform beyond life, breeding with the ferocity of animals and a desire to conquer like plants—an injustice nothing can overcome—yet a being just now defeated it, injecting it with the deadly poison called magic and bringing about its inevitable destruction.
A 50 meter giant armored in steel. A humanoid created in God’s image.
——Deus Machina Aeon.
A Mechanical God bearing the
name of [Eternal].
But Aeon spares no thought for the damage. Clad in the demeanor of an executioner, it peers at its foe’s miserable struggle to survive.
Its soulless gaze betrays not even scorn. Only an icy glint devoid of mercy.
+
The steel destroyer. A god made from machine——a Deus Machina.
Deus Machina is a general term used for giant robots summoned by mighty Grimoires. They are the crystallization of the most profound magic
.
It is a technology beyond human understanding. It is a power no mortal can attain. Grimoires summoning Deus Machina, and the sorcerers who contract them, are undeniably the world’s strongest.
Among such extraordinary Deus Machina, there is one machine that boasts of being the strongest.
It is Aeon, a dark-colored Deus Machina summoned by the Grimoire [Al Azif].
Who would have known that inside Aeon, sitting in its cockpit, is a sweet young girl? This maiden, utterly unsuited for this gruesome battlefield, is none other than the Grimoire of the highest order, she is
the very
[Al Azif], an otherworldly tome engraved with all kinds of heretical knowledge said to be lost in the present, written by a mad Arabian poet.
“——No.”
The girl muttered. Her tone resembled a young girl’s. And yet her heart holds no feminine feelings.
“This isn’t sufficient.”
Her voice sounds hateful. She focuses her gaze on the other side of the monitor, where Aeon’s broken fist—the same fist that pummeled the foe with the spell of [absolute annihilation]—is displayed.
Still, the enemy persists. Despite the imminent collapse, the thing maintains its form.
That would be insufficient. [Absolute annihilation] is a long way off. The absolute annihilation she envisions proves far more thorough. It is merciless. A [sublimation] so perfect that it gives no time for them to suffer.
To rephrase, it is an exhaustive, unforgiving, and perfectly merciful destruction. And she knows such a technique.
——Does she?
How? How does she learn of the magic not inscribed in her? How can she know something she didn’t see, notwithstanding millennia of conflict
……She doesn’t know. Though unknown, the spell actually worked and dealt a mortal blow to the enemy, despite being an incomplete imitation.
The knowledge she should not have known. But this is as far as she goes. A definitive element is lacking to further refine the technique. So what constitutes it——?
A sword resides within the girl’s heart.
The sword is inanimate, yet shines beautifully in response to the noble spirit of the wielder. That is a pure blade. An innocent blade.
The girl strives for the image. She weaves her magic to get a little closer to her vision. Nonetheless, she fails to achieve her goal. It remains an aspiration too distant from her. Whenever the immeasurable distance crosses her mind, something beyond her comprehension troubles her spirit.
……What are you grieving for? What are you trembling about?
My heart is steel. My soul is for battles. I chase neither ideal, nor is this body assailed by apprehension.
——Then, why do I struggle?
A conflict free of belief and fear, namely, lacks purpose. My obsession with fighting is all I have.
What motivates me to push forward? What drives me to fight?
Living devoid of reason. Knowledge cannot be known. Ideals should never exist. Dread should not be felt. The contradictions are endless——.
And so, in the midst of the fight, the girl wanders into a labyrinth of thoughts.
+
A Grimoire’s strength is found when possessing a soul. When its spiritual level rises, it shall possess a physical vessel. The girl—the spirit of the Grimoire [Al Azif]—is also such an entity.
As Al Azif manifested on earth as a young lass, the will to [fight] grew in her. She sought Other Gods’ power to destroy those harming the world.
Other Gods. Or one might simply call them [Evil Gods]. Individuals who are captivated by these frightening beings and end up becoming enemies of the world always appear in every era.
Therefore, she hunts down servants of said Evil Gods through the heretical sorcery which tramples on existence, and the diabolical magic surpassing it.
The girl, unsurprisingly, does not know the reason behind this contradiction.
However——something is lying dormant deep within her recollections. That which slumbers is urging her.
If she keeps on digging into the depths of her memory to seek it——she will reach the image of that sword.
A distant ideal. An ideal which ought not to exist.
But the matter concluded long in the past. And that which promised for the near future——
Hate-scorched sky——
Righteous——anger——
——The sword——evil——
≪Sword≫.
[Warning. Violation of top secret information. Activate all white blood cell programs. High priority reinforced censorship. Maximum spell level. Begin to overwrite.]
——Whiteout.
+
“…...!”
She regains her clarity after breaking free from the loop of her thoughts. Unbeknownst to her, the situation has changed.
The enemy’s cries have ceased. An eerie quiet settles in. Has it finally finished?
——No.
“This is……!”
The thing broke apart
.
Numerous cracks ran in all directions throughout the swelling mass of flesh. One might even say it blossomed. It was a large, hellish flower dyed in toxic red and decaying yellow.
In the center of the flower, countless white bubbles were ascending. They were [cotton]. The cotton continued growing, and it seemed ready to scatter from the blossom at any moment.
“Seeds!? That thing…… is using the last of its strength to spread the offshoots!”
The girl cursed. Nothing can be done given their widespread dispersal. The Earth will become a demonic world where these unclean races flourish.
A non-shriek voice resonates. It is an abnormal sound wave that would drive a normal person to madness if they heard it. A melody reaching high and low, down to the very soul itself. Is this going to be its song of triumph?
——I won’t let that happen.
“My master, do you hear me? We must finish that creature before it fully bloom.”
Her words were addressed to the other pilot. It was the girl’s master——the magus who formed a contract with the Grimoire [Al Azif], and another pilot of Aeon.
Al Azif waits for no response and activates her spell. Then again, they likely couldn’t reply. With every movement of Aeon, the pilot suffers agonizing magical feedback, feeling a body-ripping sensation. They must have been doing their absolute best to control the machine.
But even so, this enemy needs to be entirely annihilated.
An incantation naturally escapes her lips. It is a prayer from another world, one outside any language that exists on Earth. The two otherworldly songs resonate through heaven and earth in a by no means incompatible chorus.
“Divine Gun Form.”
A twin-helix drawn column of light materialized before Aeon. It reaches out to the radiant beam. There is a burst of light. A pillar comparable to Aeon’s full length comes into being.
Aeon grips a rod in its hand. It is a [wizard’s staff]. At the base of the metallic glowing staff was a trigger.
Holding the wand in both hands, it aims its tip towards the enemy. Its broken right hand’s fingers forcibly entwine around the scepter, while the left’s are on the trigger.
“I shall burn you up without leaving a single speck of dust behind.”
The tip of the rod [unfolds]. It deforms and grows bigger, defying Euclidean geometry and the laws of conservation of mass. The staff then assumes a new form.
An Anti-Spiritual Rifle.
Surrounding the barrel are many layers of magic cannon formations. They spin rapidly at a speed impossible to see. It is a spell motor that converts thousands, if not tens of thousands, of magical symbols into a language with [meaning] per revolution.
A vicious light emerged from the depths of the muzzle. It eagerly awaits the moment to be unleashed.
The enemy’s song grows shriller. The seeds of a nightmare were about to be sown right then.
But before that can happen, Aeon pulls the trigger.
“Cthugha.”
It was the identity of the shot from the gun barrel.
The world is painted white. All sound is stifled.
Destruction engulfs everything.
+
——Cthugha.
As a result——
“Return to the void.”
This was the scenery: Far in the background, the earth had been hollowed out. The scars gleamed like glass. ——It melted. Naturally, nothing could have ever received this blow and come out unscathed. The enemy was eradicated, leaving no grain of dust behind, mirroring the girl’s unwavering declaration.
“……It’s over.”
The girl heaves a sigh of relief after the battle. Relaxing her body, she leans back in the pilot’s seat. Absurdly, it seems that a Grimoire can also develop a feeling of fatigue.
The muscles on her face, stiffened from tension, became loose. Heh…… she had a smile for the first time. Indeed, it was a lovely, girlish grin.
“You held out pretty well, my master……”
At that moment, the magic wand clasped by Aeon came undone into a string of runic patterns which dissipated in random directions. The sorcery insignias that have lost their meaning begin to break down to the level of Azathoth and disperse shortly after.
The spell wasn’t dispelled. It did that on its own.
“……Master?”
There was no response, only a heavy silence returned. A bitter grimace crossed her face momentarily.
Checking the other cockpit’s status from this point proved impossible for her. Bestowing a light enchant on her own body, the girl leapt over to her master in a swift bound.
Although she promptly approached close by, her master did not react at all. Her face freezes, emotionless.
They were dead.
There were no injuries that appeared like external wounds. They just collapsed, with a single tear of blood running down from their right eye.
Such was the expense of the magic they exercised, coupled with the price of a horrifying vision. Fear and insanity ultimately claimed their life. A death by madness.
“…………”
The girl glanced down at her master’s corpse while maintaining her expressionless face.
This is anything but out of the ordinary. Most people who fight against the servants of Evil Gods end up suffering a similar fate. She herself has witnessed countless such individuals.
With care, she closed their eyes, still slightly open. Her face showed no emotion, as usual. As she continued to put on her vacant stare, the girl said a few words,
“Thank you for going through such trouble.”
expressing her gratitude to her master.
+
And so the girl finds herself alone once more.
No one marks a name on their grave. Only the sabre her master had wielded serves as a grave marker there. With one last drop of alcohol left in the flask, she moistens the soil where her master sleeps before leaving, turning her back on him.
She vows never to turn around again. Nor does she have the right to look back. She is herself unholy, advancing as she treads over the piles of her pact-makers’ corpses. The quiet end needs no more disruption than is necessary.
Now, let’s depart. To the next battle. To the land where later evil shall appear.
The girl stretches her hand to the daybreak heavens. Her gaze isn’t on the sky. Before her eyes, in her outstretched hand, is that noble sword. A distant ideal.
The girl dreams of the day she would get that sword, of the day she could achieve her unrealized ideal.
What if? Just what if? Should the time come when this palm grasps that blade, and if such an act is to be allowed, would my eternal solitude also come to an end? She ponders.
An ideal that cannot exist. Thus, this is a hope impossible to be.
The sun rises. Morning comes on the glassy earth.
The girl starts walking towards the dawn.
Illuminated by its pure brilliance, something sparkled dazzlingly beneath the girl’s pupils.
Then, as time passes by——
“Y-Y-You……! Why did you just stand there!? Blockhead, idiot, cretin! You utter fool!”
The girl——she and [him] shall draw forth the sword that smites evil.
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