Under Izayoi's fingers, the great mage's wrist felt like a solidified sunbeam—hot, vibrating, yet strangely pliable. Flamme looked at her hand with an expression that mixed horror and awe. She was a memory, an echo recorded in mana a thousand years ago. She could not be touched.
But this brat was holding her as casually as one holds a basket of bread.
She gently freed her hand. Izayoi didn't stop her—contact had been established, the anchor cast. Now she wouldn't disappear until he wanted her to.
"Where are we?" he asked shortly.
"In one of the sanctuaries of the Goddess of Creation," Flamme swept her gaze over the dusty hall, nostalgia flickering in her eyes. "She left the mortal realm millennia ago, leaving humans only her scriptures and... places like this. Hidden, inaccessible to the eyes of mere mortals and even demons."
"A Goddess who left but kept the keys under the doormat?" Izayoi scoffed. "Classic. And you, I take it, are the watchdog?"
"I am Flamme," she said with dignity. "In life, I was called the Great Mage. I am the one who systematized magic for humans. But now... I am merely a shadow. An echo of will, sealed in mana to witness the one who passes through the opened gate. My real body turned to dust so long ago that even the trees that grew on my grave have already died of old age."
Izayoi nodded, absorbing the intel. A dead guide wasn't the chatty type, but reliable.
"So, the 'appointed hour' has come?" he clarified. "Since you're here, and I'm standing before you, someone pushed the call button. What the hell am I doing here, Flamme?"
Flamme shook her head. Her white robes swayed, though there was no wind in the tomb.
"I do not know."
Izayoi blinked in surprise.
"You don't know?"
"The Goddess's will is unfathomable," the mage answered calmly. "I am merely a tool. I embedded a part of my essence in this place to greet whoever came through the rift. But why you are here... that is a riddle you will have to solve yourself. My task was merely to ensure you arrived alive."
"Amazing," Izayoi rolled his eyes, but there was no anger in his voice, only irony. "Divine arbitrariness and zero mission specs. Looks like the management in this world is seriously incompetent."
He took a few steps through the hall, the sound of his boots echoing off the walls. He stopped before the statue, peering into the stone face of the Goddess, then sharply turned to Flamme.
His stance changed. The relaxation vanished. His shoulders squared, and his gaze, previously just curious, became heavy.
"Alright," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "If you don't know 'why,' then answer me another question. One that interests me much more."
The air around Izayoi trembled. This wasn't magic in the conventional sense of this world. This was pure presence. The pressure of a being whose density of existence exceeded the allowable norms of reality. The aura he had been holding back leaked out just a fraction, and it was enough for the dust on the floor to shudder and ripple outward.
The ghost of Flamme recoiled. Even being immaterial, she felt the threat—the instinctive fear a rabbit feels before an approaching storm. This youth... he wasn't just a "guest." He was an apex predator.
Izayoi took a step toward her. His violet eyes burned like two cold flames.
"This world..." he emphasized every word, putting the weight of mountains into them, "...is it interesting?"
The pressure reached its peak. The walls of the ancient sanctuary, which had stood for thousands of years, groaned pitifully. It seemed the space itself was ready to crack if the answer was unsatisfactory.
And then, everything stopped.
Izayoi blinked, the pressure vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. A wide, almost boyish smile bloomed on his face.
"Well?" he encouraged. "Is it worth my time?"
Flamme looked at him with wide eyes. A second ago she saw a monster capable of shattering the heavens, and now before her stood a cheeky teenager looking for entertainment. In her gaze, clouded by centuries of waiting, a spark appeared. A spark of clarity. She understood. He needed a goal and a stage.
She straightened up. Her ghostly figure seemed to grow taller and more majestic.
"This world," she began in a solemn tone, her voice amplified by magic, ringing under the vaults, "is inhabited by monsters that make humans tremble in fear. The forests teem with demons whose only purpose is deception and murder."
Izayoi listened, his grin widening.
"There exists a Demon King," Flamme continued, looking straight into his burning eyes. "A being of absolute power whom no one—not heroes, not armies, not even I—has ever managed to defeat in all of history. This world is full of magic yet to be discovered, and divine miracles that defy all logic."
"Magic is not just formulas," Flamme nodded at the shattered slab. "It is will. The world of magic obeys visualization. If you cannot clearly imagine the result, nothing will happen. But if your will is harder than diamond, and your imagination knows no bounds... you can rewrite reality."
She paused, and a soft, conspiratorial smile blossomed on her ghostly face.
"Here, death walks at your heels, and the unknown waits around every bend. Yes, child of the stars. This world is incredibly interesting."
Izayoi laughed. It was a short, satisfied laugh of a man who had just won the lottery.
"Ha! A Demon King, monsters, and magic?" he punched his fist into his palm. "Sounds like an excellent sandbox. I'm satisfied."
He looked at Flamme, and now there was respect in his gaze.
"Thanks for the pitch, Flamme. You sold me this tour."
He released the mental grip holding her in this plane of existence.
"I do not know who you are," she whispered, looking at him now with relief. "You are not a hero. You are, rather, a calamity. But perhaps a calamity is exactly what is needed to crush another calamity."
"Don't overdo the pathos, Granny," Izayoi snorted, rolling his shoulders. "I'm just a guy looking for some fun. Now beat it and rest. You've done your job."
"Good luck..." her voice became a whisper of the wind. "And remember: demons always lie."
A final flash of light—and the hall plunged into semi-darkness. Izayoi was left alone.
"Demons lie, people die, the King sits on the throne," he listed, counting off on his fingers. "The ideal scenario. Well then..."
In the center of the hall, adjusting his headphones and grinning in anticipation, stood the one who was about to turn the history of this world upside down.