She tried to crawl toward the giant statue on her stomach, reaching out toward it. But her vision had already begun to fade, growing hazy and unfocused.
Then a memory surfaced—the city, its golden lights glowing beneath the evening sky.
Didn't those lights look like fireflies?
As though a swarm of them had settled over the city.
But the lights slowly faded away.
All that remained before her eyes was her trembling hand.
The man in the cloak seized her and lifted her into the air.
She could not see the man's face; it remained hidden beneath the hood. All she could feel were his fingers tightening around her throat as darkness spread beneath her skin, crawling through her body like black veins.
Her mind tried to push away the thought that this might be the end. Perhaps this was what surrender was supposed to feel like—when there was nothing left to do but accept it.
'No one checked if she was alive... and no one will do it for me.'
'Will I become a demon when I die? They said bad children become demons.'
'They say a person sees their entire life before they die... but I can't remember anything.'
'Was my life really so meaningless?'
Then words she had learned long ago came back to her.
They reminded her of the words spoken by the saint inside the church—the old man kneeling before the statue in reverence, his hands clasped together as though peace itself had descended upon him.
People had grown accustomed to repeating words like those whenever they faced hardship.
She had repeated them countless times.
But they had never done anything for her.
Now, the words became tangled with her thoughts. She could no longer tell whether they were truly hers, or merely something she had heard from others—words spoken by kneeling men and women, words she had learned simply because everyone else repeated them.
Would I even know how to say them properly?
Why do I need to say them at all?
Does a god really need words to save someone?
Yet fate had already begun to move.
All those thoughts rushed through her mind at once, scattered and half-formed, her consciousness slipping in and out.
And still, she began to repeat the words she had heard from the people who knelt before their gods:
'The Crimson Dawn that burns away corruption and madness.'
'Will your light receive me? Will you embrace me despite my sins? Even after having been foolish and neglectful? If I kneel now... does that make me a believer? Or just a human being who is afraid to die?'
'At least... I had one last glimpse of the horizon.'
The reflection of the moon shimmered faintly in her eyes as the darkness crept across them, while her legs dangled helplessly in the void.
'The sky is beautiful... but... why is the moon red?'
Suddenly, glowing symbols appeared before her fading vision, suspended in the darkness before her eyes.
"Those chosen by the Clock shall carve their path with their own hands.
Bound by a curse unto death...
Raise your sword, Crimson Warrior."
A crimson flash burst from her chest, engulfing the man's arm and tearing it apart until it vanished in a burst of crimson light.
Then the wind howled.
A red vortex erupted, while crimson light spread through the cracks in the stone floor. The glowing pattern spread outward, connecting to the pillars and walls, until the earth itself seemed to burn within a radiant crimson circle.
The red moon cast its bloody light over the ruins. It was as though time itself had begun to run backward. The shattered pillars started to mend, their broken pieces drawing toward one another until they were restored to their former state. Above them, a ceiling gradually took shape, resembling a vast crimson dome.
The sword began to glow intensely, as though it were ready to return.
Sikakama lunged toward it and grasped its iron hilt.
As she pulled the sword from beneath the statue, the man's scream tore through the air.
"Nooo!"
He reached out instinctively, as though trying to stop what was about to happen. But the instant the sword left its resting place, a bolt of crimson lightning struck, and a wave of raw energy erupted outward like a living tide, hurling him backward.
The wave swept across the city at night, twisting through its narrow, cobblestone streets. Two hooded figures stood atop the rooftops, their eyes fixed on the source of the wave, frozen in astonishment.
Inside a room high within a towering structure, a man stared through a stone window, as though he could feel the force that had engulfed the city.
Meanwhile, a woman holding a black umbrella sat on the edge of the clock tower, her legs dangling over the side as she gazed downward, as though sensing the pulse of the energy.
Far away, another figure seized a thick rope and pulled it with all his strength. The massive bells of the tower rang out, their echoes spreading across the city until they reached a man on horseback, who stared toward the distant crimson lightning descending from the sky.
From within the flames...
She rose.
A towering warrior emerged, clad in crimson armor. Half of her face was concealed behind a sharp metal mask, while strands of golden hair spilled from beneath it. A flowing crimson cloak trailed behind her, whipping violently in the storm of power.
She gripped a massive sword with both hands and slammed it into the ground, sending shockwaves through the ruins like thunder.
The man gathered all his magical power and unleashed a devastating attack.
But Sikakama tightened her grip on the sword and charged toward him with blinding speed. The air behind her seemed to split beneath the force of her movement.
Her first slash tore through the incoming attack, cleaving it in two. She did not stop. She continued forward, her sword cutting through every assault that came at her from the right or the left.
But the next explosion erupted beneath her feet, tearing the ground apart—yet she had already leapt, soaring toward the wall.
Defying gravity, she ran along the vertical stone as though it were level ground, her crimson cloak billowing violently behind her, dancing through the chaos like a banner of war.
Explosions ripped through the wall directly behind her, chasing at her heels.
She leapt into the air.
Her sword cut through the night as she descended toward her opponent, who simultaneously unleashed a wave of dark magic straight at her.
Their forces collided in midair with a deafening explosion, sending successive shockwaves through the ruins.
When the dust finally settled, the place fell silent once more.
Only a few shattered pillars remained scattered across the ruins. Everything else had returned to its former state, while the silver moonlight cast a calm glow over the scene, dust drifting gently through the night breeze.
Sikakama lay motionless on her back.
Then the man appeared again.
His body re-formed from black liquid, taking shape before her once more. Sikakama could only stare at the figure standing before her. Her wound had already bled enough, and the deadly pain was beginning to return.
He staggered, struggling to remain on his feet. One hand covered half of his face, where blackened flesh had spread across his skin like living rot.
His voice came slowly, deep and distorted by the corruption twisting through his body.
"Why… do you resist? Anger… corruption… suffering…"
He staggered again, his foot scraping against the stone. His fingers tightened against his ruined face.
"None of this… was ever meant to begin."
His teeth clenched.
"It should never have happened…"
He lowered his head, trembling with rage. A bitter breath escaped him.
"Why? Why must we endure this?"
His eyes slowly lifted toward her.
"You were never supposed to crawl out of the Crucible."
Suddenly, a gunshot shattered the silence. The bullet struck the man in the body, tearing through him and sending him crashing to the ground.
Two figures emerged from behind a pale, veil-like curtain of light—a man and a woman.
The woman stepped forward. Her long, thick, wavy black hair flowed freely over her shoulders, mingling with the night breeze. Her pale face stood out against her dark cloak, and in her hand she carried a staff with an oil lantern hanging from its tip.
She knelt beside Sikakama and gently placed both hands against her face. Then she leaned closer until their foreheads touched.
Between them, tiny swallows began to appear—delicate, ethereal birds of clear blue light. They flickered into existence one after another, fluttering silently around Sikakama before fading away like fragments of magic.