Deep within the sewer lair where filth and despair intertwined, Caster's (Gilles de Rais) gaunt body suddenly jolted. His cloudy eyes snapped shut, not because of a further perception of Jeanne d'Arc's aura, but because he was seized by a deeper, older, and more soul-shuddering darkness!
The codex of rlyeh in his hands trembled even more violently, its pages flipping frantically. The script recording the knowledge of the Elder Gods seemed to let out a silent shriek!
This book, this grimoire originating from the deep sea and closely linked to the Great Old One, was now transmitting a resonance it was intimately familiar with yet instinctively feared—it wasn't its own power, but something from the same source, yet seemingly from a higher level, a more chaotic origin... a dark aura!
"This... this is...?"
Caster's voice was distorted by an indescribable excitement (born from the grimoire's resonance) and fear. "What... what noble darkness! More... ancient than the knowledge of the deep sea! Closer to... the chaos of the Root!"
He felt that the existence carrying this supreme dark aura, along with Jeanne d'Arc's presence, was approaching his lair with an unquestionable, almost all-dominating posture!
...And at the sewer entrance, as Kanjuro was about to step forward, his footsteps paused slightly.
In those eyes that usually held playfulness or "tenderness," a trace of genuine, deeply interested surprise flickered for the first time.
"Oh?"
He murmured softly, his fingertips seemingly unconsciously brushing through the invisible flow of foul magical energy in the air.
"It's not just a crude imitation... this book... is quite interesting. This 'scent' of darkness, though thin and distorted, its core... actually shares a 'texture' that is both from the same source and yet different from the dark bible."
What he felt wasn't Caster's shallow power, but the aura of another "branch" connected deep within the codex of rlyeh, similar yet different from his dark bible, yet equally originating from an unspeakable existence in the depths of the universe.
At the moment his thoughts shifted and a desire to investigate this unexpected discovery arose—
Everything around him froze again.
The dripping of sewage, the flow of foul air, Jeanne d'Arc's slight breathing... even Caster's frantic magical fluctuations deeper in, all fell into absolute stillness.
The scene before Kanjuro's eyes twisted and changed.
The filthy sewer scene receded like a tide, replaced by that not-unfamiliar chaotic temple composed of countless writhing tentacles and non-Euclidean geometric structures.
Massive, slimy tentacles flailing across the sky obscured the illusory heavens, swaying slowly and churning the space composed of what seemed like congealed blood and pure darkness.
In the center of this sanity-defying scene, the Demon Sister Chiyo lay languidly on one of the largest tentacles. Her exquisite face wore her usual smile, which seemed to see through everything yet was full of malicious playfulness.
"Mr. Kanjuro~" Her voice rang directly in the core of Kanjuro's consciousness, carrying a bone-melting sweetness and a hint of approval.
"It seems... you've also discovered another little 'secret' hidden beneath the insignificant surface of this world."
Kanjuro stood in the center of this frantic temple, his expression calm, as if long accustomed to it. He looked up at the tentacles dancing across the sky, symbolizing endless chaos, and spoke flatly:
"I thought the only 'anomaly' active in this world and connected to me was the great power of Nyarlathotep."
His gaze was sharp, as if able to pierce through this illusory space and look directly at the source connected to the codex of rlyeh.
"But in that moment just now, I clearly perceived... the aura of another entirely different, yet equally ancient and soul-shuddering 'existence'. Weak, but its essence... is not to be underestimated."
Hearing this, Chiyo let out a soft laugh, like countless silver bells ringing in the abyss.
"Clever child~" She elegantly raised her hand, and a small tentacle obediently wrapped around her fingertip.
"That's right. The 'world' as you know it is far... more crowded than you imagine. Broadly speaking, there are many divisions such as 'Outer Gods' and 'Great Old One,' but tiny humans, and even most so-called Heroic Spirits and Magicians, cannot perceive even a billionth of them."
Scenes of the birth and death of the universe flowed within her crimson eyes.
"The 'existence' you perceived, with its unpleasant scent of the damp deep sea and slumbering dreams, is precisely one of the Great Old One—Cthulhu. However, compared to the noble me, He... is relatively a little bit 'weaker,' and He spends most of his time sleeping in the City of Rlyeh, tee-hee."
A flash of realization crossed Kanjuro's eyes, followed by a deeper desire to investigate: "So, that grimoire..."
"Is exactly what connects to Him, or rather, carries a portion of the 'knowledge' belonging to His lineage."
Chiyo interjected, her tone nonchalant, as if talking about an ordinary toy.
"Just as the dark bible you possess is one of the 'toys' Nyarlathotep left in the human world, that codex of rlyeh is merely a tiny projection of Cthulhu's lineage of power in the human world. If you can obtain it, or absorb the knowledge within, perhaps... it could add some... interesting 'colors' to your understanding of 'darkness'?"
Kanjuro suddenly understood, but then his gaze toward Chiyo became deeper, and he asked the question that had been lingering in his mind:
"So, Chiyo... you, Who exactly is it?? Bestowing power upon me so generously, is it really just because of... 'interest'?"
The smile on Chiyo's face became increasingly eerie and blurred. She slowly sat up from the tentacle, her bare feet stepping on the writhing flesh ground as she walked toward Kanjuro step by step, the surrounding tentacles bowing slightly as if in worship.
"I told you, my dear brother Kanjuro,"
She reached out with a cold finger and gently brushed Kanjuro's cheek, her eyes filled with an emotion that transcended human understanding—a mix of near-maternal instinct and possessiveness. "I, am merely one of the myriad incarnations of the [Crawling Chaos · Nyarlathotep], a 'clone' who is... particularly interested in you."
Her voice dropped, carrying a hint of unquestionable authority:
"I give you rewards and guide your path entirely because... I find you 'interesting'. Watching you struggle on the edge of humanity, dancing in the abyss of darkness, turning order upside down... it brings me pleasure. So, you must work hard and please me~"
She leaned close to Kanjuro's ear, her breath like an orchid but carrying the chill of the abyss:
"I called you here this time just to remind you that beyond this tiny planet, within the endless void and dimensions, there exist many... 'existences' that you might not be able to understand. Some of them, though not as great as me, could still make you... completely 'disappear' if you are unprepared."
Her figure began to fade, along with the sky full of tentacles and the blood-colored temple.
"Now then, continue your performance, my lovely brother... let me see how you will 'handle' this unexpected 'gift,' and... that old friend who 'harbors ill intentions' toward your daughter..."
Her voice drifted away.
Time resumed its flow.
Kanjuro still stood at the entrance of the sewer, as if everything that had just happened was but a fleeting illusion.
But deep within his refocused eyes, a flame more blazing and greedy than before had ignited.
He was not only going to "rescue" his daughter but also "receive" that unexpected "gift" from the Great Old One of the deep sea.
He glanced at Jeanne d'Arc beside him, who was completely unaware, a corner of his mouth curling into an incomprehensible arc of excitement mixed with cruelty.
"Let's go, Jeanne d'Arc. Let's meet this 'colleague' holding an 'alternative bible,' and... properly 'thank' him for his 'hospitality' toward my daughter. After all, this man is also an old friend of yours!"
In the dark sewer, Uryu Ryunosuke looked at the tied-up Rin, his face still wearing that innocent yet cruel expression of excitement. He turned obediently to Caster and asked, "Grandpa, 'guests' are coming. Should we deal with this little girl first? To keep her from getting in the way."
Caster—Gilles de Rais—suddenly raised his hand to stop him.
His cloudy eyes flickered with an abnormal light as he stared fixedly toward the entrance of the passage, his withered fingers tightly clutching the constantly trembling codex of rlyeh. He could not only feel Jeanne d'Arc's presence, which haunted his soul, but also clearly sense another darkness... faintly originating from the same source as the power deep within this grimoire, yet deeper and more terrifying, approaching.
"No..." Caster's voice carried a strange tremor, containing both ecstasy at Jeanne d'Arc's impending arrival and an instinctive awe of that unknown darkness. "This child... cannot be touched for now. There is... something about her... closely related to the newcomer..."
His gaze swept greedily over Rin, as if looking at an important bargaining chip or sacrifice.
Rin, her mouth gagged, her heart pounding, heard every word of their conversation.
(The dark aura is closely related to the newcomer?) This realization sent a piercing chill through her. (Why is the aura similar? Who... is coming? Could it... really be related to Uncle Kanjuro?) Immense doubt and unease nearly overwhelmed her.
Just then, the viscous darkness deep in the sewer was silently sliced open by two figures.
Kanjuro and Jeanne d'Arc, appearing as if strolling from another dimension, emerged at the entrance of this filthy lair.
Kanjuro still elegantly covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust and a condescending scrutiny.
And Jeanne d'Arc, her silver armor emitting a cold light in the gloom like a snow lotus blooming in the mud, her ice-blue eyes calmly swept over this living hell before finally settling on the hunched figure kneeling on the ground.
"Jeanne d'Arc!!!!"
The moment Jeanne d'Arc's figure fully came into view, Caster, as if struck by a thunderbolt, let out a heart-wrenching howl mixed with extreme ecstasy and faith.
He threw himself to the ground, almost crawling forward on all fours for a few steps, then prostrated himself before Jeanne d'Arc in the most humble and devout posture, his withered body trembling violently with excitement.
"You're back! You're really back! Ahhhhh—! I knew it! I knew you wouldn't abandon this world! You wouldn't abandon your most loyal Servant! Gilles de Rais!!"
He was incoherent, his voice hoarse and broken, cloudy tears gushing from his sunken eye sockets, mixing with the filth on the ground.
Jeanne d'Arc looked down at him expressionlessly, looking at this former Marshal of France who had once fought alongside her, now fallen into such a pathetic state. In her eyes, there was no joy of reunion, no warmth for an old friend, only a cold silence that seemed to freeze the soul, and a faint... disappointment.
She spoke slowly, her voice cold and clear like a melting ice spring atop a snowy mountain, instantly dousing Caster's fanatical flames:
"Gilles de Rais... I never expected that when we met again, you would have fallen this far."
These words were like the sharpest icicle, ruthlessly piercing Caster's heart.
"No!! It's not a fall!!" He suddenly looked up, his face full of the pain of being misunderstood and a frantic obsession, defending himself hoarsely, "Jeanne d'Arc! You don't understand! Everything I've done was for you!!"
He waved his withered arms, pointing at the horrific remains around him, at this bloody workshop, as if displaying his great achievements.
"Those damned churches! Those treacherous Britons! They all deserve to die!! They slandered you! Betrayed you! Sent you to the stake!! They didn't understand your greatness and nobility at all!!" His voice twisted with extreme rage, "We gave everything for this country! Our faith! Our blood! Our lives!! And what did we get? The stake!! Infamy!!!"
He stared fixedly at Jeanne d'Arc, twisted flames burning in his eyes:
"I will have revenge! Using this power from the abyss, I will take revenge on everyone who failed you and hurt you!! I will make this world feel pain! Let fear and despair wash away the humiliation you suffered!!
Only then... only then can your light shine upon this world again in another way!! Everything I've done... was all for you! Jeanne d'Arc—!!!"
His roar echoed in the narrow sewer, filled with a hair-raising'sincerity' and madness.
And Kanjuro, from beginning to end, was like a spectator standing apart, listening with interest to Caster's pathological 'confession,' a corner of his mouth curling into an incomprehensible arc of mockery and a hint of... appreciation.
Jeanne d'Arc listened to these mad words, looking at the completely twisted soul before her, and in the end, it only turned into a barely audible sigh.
In that sigh was the exhaustion of centuries and a final, cold resolve.
The old friend was gone; what remained was only a monster consumed by obsession. Kanjuro's voice, carrying playfulness and a hint of malicious guidance, sounded exceptionally clear in the deathly silent sewer as he turned to Jeanne d'Arc and asked in that feigned 'gentle' tone:
"Oh? Jeanne d'Arc, from your tone, you seem to look down on his 'fall'?" He raised an eyebrow slightly, his gaze shifting between Jeanne d'Arc and the prostrate Caster. "But haven't you also abandoned your former faith and Caster yourself into the 'darkness' on my side? Speaking of which, you're practically 'kindred spirits,' so why be so harsh on him?"
Jeanne d'Arc's ice-blue eyes didn't flicker in the slightest; she didn't even glance at Kanjuro. Her gaze remained on Caster's humble and fanatical posture, but there was no resonance in that look, only a condescending, cold disdain.
"My 'fall' is fundamentally different from his." Jeanne d'Arc's voice was resolute, carrying an unquestionable sternness. "My descent was a sober choice made in the abyss of despair after enduring the burning of flames, the collapse of faith, and betrayal by everything I protected. What I have witnessed and endured is far beyond the fragile collapse of mind caused by mere temporary setbacks like his."
Her gaze, like physical icicles, stabbed toward Caster:
"And him?" A very faint yet extremely ironic arc curled at the corner of Jeanne d'Arc's mouth. "Simply because he witnessed injustice and encountered failure, he acts like a spoiled child smashing things because he can't get candy, twisting his own pain and incompetence into indiscriminate venting against the entire world. This isn't 'falling'; it's just... cowardly escape and frantic displacement of anger."
Her gaze slowly swept across this bloody 'workshop,' over the fragmented corpses of children who had long lost their lives, over those indescribable objects formed from human pain and despair, emitting a stench and an evil spiritual glow. Finally, a hint of almost irrepressible disgust entered her cold tone:
"Furthermore, look at his 'actions'..."
She paused, as if even describing them was a defilement.
"In the name of 'revenge' and 'love,' he commits such acts that desecrate life and trample on humanity. Using the blood and wails of the innocent to fill his empty and twisted desires. This kind of... senseless brutality, devoid of any beauty or meaning, which even darkness would despise, only makes one..."
Jeanne d'Arc's gaze returned to Kanjuro, her eyes clearly conveying her resolve:
"...nauseous."
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